FB:
"Oh my gosh! These carrot sticks are divine! I love eating healthy!"
Reality:
They just downed 50 Cheeto Puffs.
Rationalization:
Cheeto Puffs look like carrot sticks. And they are divine.
FB:
I'm so excited to run my 50 millionth marathon!
Reality:
They take a picture at the finish line with sweat they earned...walking to the finish line from their car.
Rationalization:
I'm not actually going to run a freaking marathon! You kidding me? But everyone else is. So I should, too. Even if it is just in my mind.
FB:
I love being a mom. It's the greatest thing in the world.
Reality:
Probably just got pooped on. And slapped by a two year old. And probably have sixty loads of laundry sitting in the middle of their living room floor. And probably, they haven't showered in 5 days. And probably, that smell is them.
Rationalization:
Reality sucks.
FB:
"I feel fabulous after pushing out my 15 pound baby! I could run home from the hospital if they let me! I even brought my size 2 jogging pants just in case! They totally fit me!"
Reality:
Probably wearing a size two DIAPER to catch all the blood leaking out of their hoo hoo. The only running going on is down their leg. You know what fits them? That mumu they've already leaked a gallon of milk all over.
Rationalization:
Reality sucks.
Kelly's Corner (This is where I go to spout out my opinion. I.e., this entire blog is my corner.)
It's really wonderful that people live these perfect lives. But I don't. Not even close. Most of the time I am deliriously happy. I have awesome friends, a great guy, cute kids, and a McDonalds right up the street from me.
We have little debt, a nice home. Strong testimonies. Food in the pantry.
We have a good life. But that doesn't mean that sometimes it doesn't suck. Sometimes our life is horribly difficult.
Sometimes my perfect husband is one insensitive comment away from getting a hatchet in his head.
Sometimes my cute kids are covered in marker from head to toe. And stink to high heaven. And scream at me. Sometimes they even say they hate our house. They call me a mean mom. Often, they don't eat all their vegetables.
Sometimes I cry for hours. Go to bed at 6. Let the kids stay up way past their bedtime so that Brett has to put them to sleep when he gets home from Young Mens, and I can just go to bed.
We get take out two times a week. Most of the time.
I eat out for lunch way more than I should.
My running consists of diving for the last bag of Cheeto Puffs before the two stoners reaching out for it nabs it. Seriously, I did this.
I wear pajamas to WalMart.
I only get to wash my hair about once a week, sometimes twice. I do, at least, try to minimize my stench if I'm going out in public.
What I'm saying is, I truly believe most of what we read on blogs and Facebook is what people want us to believe their lives are like. There's nothing wrong with this. Selective truth is still truth. Like I said, I have a great husband. Take from that what you will.
Don't be bummed by what others say. Maybe their life is perfect. Probably it's not.
I think President Uchtdorf's now famous talk says it best:
"Everyone has strengths and weaknesses.
It's wonderful that you have strengths.
And it is part of your mortal experience that you do have weaknesses."
I have my strengths, friends. So do you. I'm terribly jealous of so many of my friends' strengths. But I know that like me, they have their weaknesses. I hope we all realize that life is beautiful, and ugly, and fun, and difficult, and totally worth it. No matter who you are. And your life is your life. Don't compare it to others. Because what you're comparing it to actually doesn't exist.
Reality is...a bag of Cheeto's, sweaty pits, bloody show. It's also lazy mornings, singing together, laughing hysterically, games, car rides, vacations, and a million other absolutely wonderful moments.
C'est La Vie! Live it! Love it! And maybe, just maybe, you'll get to sleep in...one day...
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Reality Check
Apparently, having four kids is haaaaard.
At least for me.
I really don't know why this should be. I mean, when I had Chloe (#3), things went as smooth as if I had taken a bottle of Xlax. Exlax? Whatever. You know the joke.
The transition was so good. Cohen and Kembry accepted her like a sister. Ha.
Is it because this time around I have a two year old?
Is it because she screams over every, teeny, tiny little thing?
Am I simply less capable than most people?
Is it me?
The problem here is that I made this goal to be more patient with the kids. Yeah, I think that's the problem. Who makes a goal to be more patient with their kids when they're only getting, on average, 4 hours of sleep at night. Interrupted sleep, no less.
Not smart, Kelly. Not smart.
So now, I'm being more patient with the kids. But all that annoyance builds up, and all of the sudden I'm taking it out on my husband.
He's the same man as always, I think. But now I want to slug him in the face when he tells me he's tired.
You're tired!? I want to wail. You're tired?!
One night I actually whacked him in the face in the middle of his dead sleep.
With a pillow, calm down.
On the plus side, I absolutely love my family. I feel it when I pray to ask for forgiveness for my murderous thoughts. I feel it when they hug me despite being so unhuggable. I feel it in the middle of the night, when I'm nursing sweet Kian, and he grabs my hand and stares up at me. I even feel it when Chloe gives me loves after a 45 minute tantrum.
I feel the love. And it keeps me going. Even if it doesn't help me bathe more often. Or do the dishes. Or take care of that weird smell in the house I can't identify. Or change diapers. Love is still pretty magical.
At least for me.
I really don't know why this should be. I mean, when I had Chloe (#3), things went as smooth as if I had taken a bottle of Xlax. Exlax? Whatever. You know the joke.
The transition was so good. Cohen and Kembry accepted her like a sister. Ha.
Is it because this time around I have a two year old?
Is it because she screams over every, teeny, tiny little thing?
Am I simply less capable than most people?
Is it me?
The problem here is that I made this goal to be more patient with the kids. Yeah, I think that's the problem. Who makes a goal to be more patient with their kids when they're only getting, on average, 4 hours of sleep at night. Interrupted sleep, no less.
Not smart, Kelly. Not smart.
So now, I'm being more patient with the kids. But all that annoyance builds up, and all of the sudden I'm taking it out on my husband.
He's the same man as always, I think. But now I want to slug him in the face when he tells me he's tired.
You're tired!? I want to wail. You're tired?!
One night I actually whacked him in the face in the middle of his dead sleep.
With a pillow, calm down.
On the plus side, I absolutely love my family. I feel it when I pray to ask for forgiveness for my murderous thoughts. I feel it when they hug me despite being so unhuggable. I feel it in the middle of the night, when I'm nursing sweet Kian, and he grabs my hand and stares up at me. I even feel it when Chloe gives me loves after a 45 minute tantrum.
I feel the love. And it keeps me going. Even if it doesn't help me bathe more often. Or do the dishes. Or take care of that weird smell in the house I can't identify. Or change diapers. Love is still pretty magical.
Tuesday, September 04, 2012
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
There are many things I didn't forget about having a newborn.
Like how incredibly soft he is.
How he molds to my body, snuggles right up in my neck, sighs and goes to sleep.
How he smacks his lips when he's hungry. *Swoon* Why is this so cute?
But there are a few things I totally forgot about. Good thing, too.
Like how hard it is to swaddle a squirmy baby in the middle of the night.
How tired I am in the middle of the night.
How when he's sleeping, I want him to be awake, and when he's awake, I want him to be asleep.
How he'll take a binky from anyone but me. Seeing as how I'm the human binky, and he prefers it.
How he poops. All the time.
Baby gas. So sad.
That crying jag at 1 in the morning and you have no idea what's wrong. You bounce, you rock, and soon you run out of ideas because you're so tired you probably wouldn't know how to use the restroom yourself right now let alone sooth a fussy baby.
But I also forgot...
About their tiny hands and nails. Tiny feet.
About watching older brother and sisters loving on baby. Oh my.
About how he shudders with complete contentment when he's done nursing.
About bath time.
About tiny socks and onesies and diapers so small they get mistaken as bouncy balls by my 2 year old. Probably ought to throw those away in a more timely fashion...
Baby burps.
Baby snuggles.
Even baby cries. So sweet.
I can almost (almost being the KEY WORD here, folks) see how people have 8,9,10 kids. Having babies can be a teeny, tiny bit addicting. Loving every stage.
I watch Chloe and my heart pitter pats and I remember when she was a baby but I wouldn't change back time and give up this fun new stage with her. Never the less, I have a hard time putting down my baby boy. Every time I do, I feel the clock ticking away and feel him growing bigger and bigger and needing me less and less, and while it's nice to have a little independence, it's also so wonderful to watch them fall asleep in your arms.
There is something so exciting about getting to know a new human being every step of the way. A new member of our family we don't even know, who will be with us for Eternity.
But, Eternity can wait. Right now, I think I'll settle for a baby kiss, a Chloe kiss, and a nap.
Like how incredibly soft he is.
How he molds to my body, snuggles right up in my neck, sighs and goes to sleep.
How he smacks his lips when he's hungry. *Swoon* Why is this so cute?
But there are a few things I totally forgot about. Good thing, too.
Like how hard it is to swaddle a squirmy baby in the middle of the night.
How tired I am in the middle of the night.
How when he's sleeping, I want him to be awake, and when he's awake, I want him to be asleep.
How he'll take a binky from anyone but me. Seeing as how I'm the human binky, and he prefers it.
How he poops. All the time.
Baby gas. So sad.
That crying jag at 1 in the morning and you have no idea what's wrong. You bounce, you rock, and soon you run out of ideas because you're so tired you probably wouldn't know how to use the restroom yourself right now let alone sooth a fussy baby.
But I also forgot...
About their tiny hands and nails. Tiny feet.
About watching older brother and sisters loving on baby. Oh my.
About how he shudders with complete contentment when he's done nursing.
About bath time.
About tiny socks and onesies and diapers so small they get mistaken as bouncy balls by my 2 year old. Probably ought to throw those away in a more timely fashion...
Baby burps.
Baby snuggles.
Even baby cries. So sweet.
I can almost (almost being the KEY WORD here, folks) see how people have 8,9,10 kids. Having babies can be a teeny, tiny bit addicting. Loving every stage.
I watch Chloe and my heart pitter pats and I remember when she was a baby but I wouldn't change back time and give up this fun new stage with her. Never the less, I have a hard time putting down my baby boy. Every time I do, I feel the clock ticking away and feel him growing bigger and bigger and needing me less and less, and while it's nice to have a little independence, it's also so wonderful to watch them fall asleep in your arms.
There is something so exciting about getting to know a new human being every step of the way. A new member of our family we don't even know, who will be with us for Eternity.
But, Eternity can wait. Right now, I think I'll settle for a baby kiss, a Chloe kiss, and a nap.
Monday, September 03, 2012
Tortuga
How we spent our Labor Day.
"King of the Turtle! Call me 'Tortuga'."
"King of the Turtle huh? I'll call you nothing but a cab to take you away from my Turtle Island. Call me Queen Tortisa!"
And then, of course, there's Chloe. The stoic.
"My turtle."
At least Kembry is always ready and willing to pose.
Always.
Ï feel pretty."
Öh so pretty."
Ëven when my toothless brother tries to ruin the picture."
Here she made this face because, and I quote, "Sometimes super models make this face, mom."
She can get away with it. She's such a doll.
And then there's the stoic.
Ï will sit here like a lady, but I will not subject myself to the stereo types of the world. If my sister chooses to focus on looks and looks alone, to dole out smiles whenever someone points a camera at her, that's fine. That's her choice. As for me and my standards, you may take my picture, but that is for posterity. And grandma."
"You can take my profile. Profiles have been documented for centuries. A profile picture is a perfectly respectable thing."
Älright. One cat walk pose."
My kids. Cohen isn't in most of these pictures because he was busy climbing to the top of the water fountain.
The End
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