An Address to the Skeptic: I am a Mother of 3 under 4 at 27.

I must admit that I have been thinking about the impending birth of my third child and what it means to other people in general and what it means to other people about me.  And I would like to say that I frankly do not care, but that would not be genuine and untrue. I do care, but not in the way that it makes me feel–not in my own insecurities, but in the way it translates to how other young mothers/families may feel.  I warn you my thoughts and words may seem brash, but I know so many mothers who do not have to words to say what I hope to.

Don’t think I don’t notice your eyes drift to my swollen belly as you watch me holding the hand of my 3.5 year old, carrying my 1.5 year old on my hip while hauling my diaper bag on my shoulder as a walk into the grocery store. Don’t think I didn’t catch the disapproving undertones in your voice as you boldly declared how close together they are, or how “full” my hands will be very soon.  Don’t think I know you may not have chosen this life for yourself. And certainly don’t think that I don’t know you believe the circumstances of my life to have been an accident.  My choices aren’t your choices and they don’t have to be your choices and I feel sorry for you that you cannot separate my life from yours.

The truth of my life is that I grew up in a good home. I am college educated. I have worked in my field of study. I have owned 2 homes and 3 cars. I am married to an outstanding man who sees me truly as an equal and lets me be me. I am 27 years old.  In less than a month I will have three beautifully superb daughters under the age of 4. I do not belong to a faith in which, culturally, many kids close in age are customary; and to many people’s surprise, I have utilized contraceptives willingly and happily.

My husband and I chose our children almost as much as God chose us to be their parents.  We wished for and longed for these girls.  And they were not a surprise or a mistake. They were intended and prayed for. They were deliberate and a gift. We are aware of our age. We are aware of their ages. We are aware that child rearing is difficult and taxing. To many, that seems a shock that this could “happen” to two informed people. Two informed, young (although on the back half of my twenties, not by any means old, but moving out of young) adults. We, as a couple, made this choice because we love our children–we love having children. We chose them because of the immeasurable joy they bring to our lives daily, despite the constant hardships of being a parent. It makes us long for more of that. It is a reflection of the Father to be in their presence and it is so sweet. It is life and discovery. It is imagination and adventure. It is innocence and curiosity. It is peace and true, unadulterated, unconditional love. And we LOVE having that in our lives. We love being with our kids so much that one, even two was not enough. And the importance of their possible friendships with one another drove us to have them close–for them to love each other, forgetting how hard it will be for us to juggle it all. And for us, because children are magical and fulfilling.

For those that think they are being witty and conversational when they remind me I’ll have to get a bigger car, or my life will be crazy, or how busy I’ll be–just don’t. These are all truths I recognize and I accept and I do not find the humor in your reminders.

For those who feel it appropriate to ask me if any of my children were mistakes–what makes you think that is acceptable to inquire of a stranger. How bold and offensive. My children are gifts, not mistakes. Shame on you for making mothers feel ashamed and embarrassed.

And finally, for those people who ask me if child rearing is so hard, why do I do it at all? Why should they do it? Because for every story I have of life being hard, I have a thousand of life being grand with them, because of them.  My life is an extreme adventure around every corner. I have not the time or the space to tell you everything there is and why children are every drop worth it. It fills my heart to the brim. And experiencing the love they have for me and the love I have for them is a blessing. It is a gift. And I feel confident that you will love it, too–and be great at it.

You will say what you will, but I am not sorry for myself. I am sorry for you that you cannot see my joy. That you cannot feel how big my heart is for them.

I am not sorry. I am not ashamed. I will not make excuses for you any longer to help you feel more comfortable with the way I have chosen to live my life–the way that many families choose to live their lives.

 

Slow Liberation from Excess

Right after Ember was born Eric and I bought our first home. It was a cute, suburban, cookie-cutter, beige house. It had a nice groomed yard right next to the park. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, two car garage, and a basement. It was perfect–for someone else.

As our town grew and grew over the two years we owned that house, property values increased and people flocked to our old neighborhood.  It was a great place for people to get the best value for their money. Best bang for your buck, if you will.  The schools were good, the yards maintained, and the neighbors were nice. A place where one could raise a family.  But as we passed our time there as first time parents, our hearts were discontent.  Our house had no character–no squeaky floors, no charming historic accents, no real quirks or warmth. We felt so disjointed with what we owned, yet we worked relentlessly on making it our own.

Towards the end of our second year as homeowners we had our second daughter, Elodie.  Each of the girls had their own rooms and closets with plenty of space to spare for toys, books, shoes, and clothes.  We wanted for nothing in our home. But still, we struggled, a little less each month, but we still struggled with living where we were. So, we decided to sell our home and move.

It sold at an alarming rate and soon we were left trying to find a new home to call ours.  Eventually we found a teeny tiny 103 year old house in a small old town neighborhood. If we wanted to live there, we couldn’t afford a bigger home.  We saw this home, and in the shambles it was in, thought that we could make this our place. We could raise our family here.  The house is a little over half the size of our first home. It has only one bathroom and only two bedrooms.  It has two small closets (one in each bedroom) and no pantry to speak of.  The kitchen is tight, the master bedroom has no room to spare, and the girls are sharing a room. Soon they’ll be sharing it with their new sister, too.

We downsized a little earlier in life than we anticipated. We are still getting rid of furniture in droves.  My winter wardrobe is smaller and in containers under my bed.  I donated dishes and kitchen ware, toys and clothes, and found a way to keep food for my growing family stored in only one small cabinet and the fridge.

You know, though? Never once have I wished any part of my home were bigger.  A pantry would be helpful, yes, but I’m not lacking anything.  A transformation is happening in my heart and soul and I am still happy, happier even, with less. It’s an amazing thing really.  I was sitting in a home several weeks ago and it is grand, beautiful, and fully furnished. “How nice,” I thought. I sat bewildered at the space for a family of three. I sat there admiring the play room, the sitting room, the family room, the gourmet kitchen, the five bedrooms, the large basement never once imagining myself there some day.  Amazing, really.

With this gradual release of my possessions and things I’ve accumulated over the years I feel a gradual growth of my own soul.  So much of what we carry with us is meaningless. It’s stuff that fills boxes that sit in our attics until we move again. They are things we never return to, but won’t part with because we are innately selfish. It’s just….it just is unnecessary.  It’s stuff that ties us down and fills our pockets until there is no room left for what is really meaningful.

While I still have a long road to travel in shedding my excess, I believe I’m headed in the right direction.  And I’m not thinking about what’s next. I’m living in my home with my family right now. I’m not lusting over the next house, town, space, things, fill in the blank. I’m not looking back, either.

I’m in love with my tiny home and where we live. I love its rickety 100-year-old wood floors, its art deco tombstone door out to my laundry room space; I love its clothes drying rack in the back yard. I love its quaint rooms and high ceilings. I love that it’s been here for nearly four times my lifespan. I love that my family of 4 (soon to be 5) fits here and that it’s uniquely ours.  It’s perfect–for us.

Thoughts on Being me. And other Artist-y things.

Yes. This space has been neglected. Ok. The elephant has been addressed.

I realize I only visit this space anymore when I feel a certain longing in my soul. When I’m blue and lost. When there’s a void that can’t be filled by Netflix, wine, and stuffing my face with the candy I was supposed to give Ember. Ha. 

Did you know I was/used to be/maybe still am an Artist? Yeah, I often forget too.

I remember a conversation I had with another fellow artist friend some time ago now about being an artist. What it REALLY means to us Artists. And how other “non-Artists” just don’t get it.  We talked about how being Artist is a hard journey to be on (stop rolling your eyes, you don’t get it ;). An Artist’s identity is so much about being an Artist. To be creating, and thinking, and making, and using tools, hands, colors, light, ideas. It NEEDS to be what we DO. It’s how we define ourselves. You know. And when we aren’t doing those things…when we become so much of something else that our Artist self isn’t showing anymore, there is a tremendous disconnect between the path that is physically being walked by our own two feet and where our heart and minds think/hope that they are headed. Que the blues.

But I suppose it’s not just the blues. It’s one of those moments when you see someone in front of you but they are clearly somewhere else. And you ask what they are thinking of and they don’t even realize you are speaking. And when they do, they can’t tell you because they were lost and even they were unsure about what they were thinking about? Never had that experience? Well, like I said earlier, it’s a void. A deep void. It’s easily filled by other things, but never satisfied by anything but creating, manipulating, doing, being an artist.

So…”Create!” You command. “Go, do your artist thing. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

But, alas. No. Not easy peasy. Because I am an artist still, you know. No one tells me what to do. 😉

 

 

These days are the ones.

January hit us like a ton of bricks falling from the tippy-top of the Empire State building.  The New Year is always full of hopes and dreams and optimism…in December.  But, when that calendar turned over one more year we were headed straight into the tsunami only to find February in the wake of its destruction.  I will take a mulligan, please.

Sick parents and sick babies rounded out our holidays. Coughing, fevers, ear infections, sore throats, fatigue, antibiotics, cough medicine, and no one to take care of mommy.  Ugh. I could do without that for the rest of time.That snotty mess lead us straight into a large, brand-new hospital bill for Elodie’s birth, a continually emptying checking account, and a new set of worries to make its home in my brain.  Yet, we hoped, and prayed and crossed our fingers, only to be let down expectation after expectation.  I felt that my hope was waning and I was discouraged to continue looking forward; the muck kept creeping up past my shins until I was knee deep in it all.

When February finally arrived we were finally all feeling well. Albeit, not all 100%, but well enough to live.  We set a very strict budget to help us reach some financial goals we’d been talking about for ages. We got over some of the disappointments we faced a month ago.  And, we are almost finished sorting through the debris that this emotional storm left for us. Thank the Lord. I’m starting to want to see the light on the other side even though it still looks pretty dark in here at times.

Now February is on its way out and I can’t stop thinking about how 2013 is nearly two months down, only ten to go and I still can’t categorize the time correctly or quickly enough to keep up. And as any mother can relate to, some days are great, full of sunshine and hope, while others (like yesterday) are bleak, full of storms and turbulence–and oh, so many tears.  There are just things that go unsaid. Unsaid between spouses. Unsaid between parents and children. Unsaid between veteran parents and brand new ones. Unsaid to ourselves.  Things that I keep turning in my mind.  Muttering to myself as I go about my day, caring for my daughters. There are things that I wish someone would have told me before I dove head first–not so to prevent me, but to prepare me.  Such things that have stripped me down and left me sobbing on my knees in confusion, hurt, and fatigue.

But I can’t stop thinking that these are the best, if not the hardest, times of my life.  For every deep valley is preceded and followed by an equally steep peak.  And what when I get everything I have ever wanted? What will I appreciate then?

I will look back on those days where I am so angry I cannot look at my daughter without crying.  But then I will see her face and hear her tiny voice, “Sorry, Mama. Love you,” and feel the shadow of her crazy blonde curls lean against my thigh.  I will look back on those days when Elodie’s face is red and tears are dripping out the corners of her eyes and her back is arched and stiff–I am on my last thread. But then I will remember how it feels to have her collapse into my arms and soften her breathing until she slumbers.  I will look back on the days when Ember makes me “tea” and “cupcakes” with her miniature china. We sit and enjoy them together. I will look back on the days when Elodie sees me glance her way and she smiles. Her eyes bright, dimple deep, and smile wide. These are the days I cherish. These are the days I appreciate. These are the ones I will remember.

When my girls are big and are holding their babies in their arms, I will tell them so many things. I will tell them–these are the days that you will be tired. These are the days that you will be broke and your bank accounts minimal.  These are the days that you will cry and question.  These are the days that your hearts will be filled with happiness and joy.  These are the days that you will hold your babies to your chests and be saturated with love. These will be the hardest days of your lives. These will be the best days of your lives.  These are the days you will cherish.

Photos by Rachael MacPhee with Rachael {hope} Photography

This is it

This weekend we had a family weekend. No plans. Just the three of us. Hanging out. Doing whatever we wanted, together.

I was snuggled up with Ember on the couch and we were watching her favorite movie, Monster’s Inc., and I was having a conversation with Eric. We were talking about our efforts to be more present for our daughter. We’d made a commitment to putting our phones away in the evening when Eric gets home from work. We take family trips to the park, sans phones, and play together.  We eat ALL meals together on the weekends. We get down on the floor and play with her until her heart’s content.

Eric looked at me and said, “I’m really trying to soak up these next few weeks with her. This is going to be the last time it’s just her, with us. This is the end of us three, you know?”

And while I had thought about this before, and am extremely excited to welcome my second daughter to our family, this hit my heart.  I couldn’t help but look at my daughter as her eyes gazed at her beloved characters and feel a little heartbroken for the ending of the exclusivity of our relationship.

Eric was/is right. This is the end of us three. I’m going to miss that. I’m going to miss being just Ember’s mama. Oh my heart. Oh my soul. My little girl.

It has consumed me over the past few days.  And, like my husband, I am desperately trying to commit her, as my only daughter, to memory. I’m trying to be present for her in every moment we are together. Even in the hard moments when I’m tired and she’s whiny, because this will be the last month of our lives where she will be my only child and she won’t have to share me.

She’ll always be my little girl. My first daughter. My first experience with motherhood. I love her beyond comprehension.

World View (Sorry, no pictures :)

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve visited this space regularly. And honestly, I don’t even know if anyone still reads what I write. But, I’m okay with that. As my last post may have illuminated for fellow readers, it’s been a bit of a rough ride here lately. I’ve been dealing with my struggle to reach out to the friends I have and truly open my heart. Eric and I are always fighting the uphill battle of juggling finances and life.  I’m trying to learn how to parent a strong-willed, independent, and free-spirited toddler (I’m so sorry mom. I feel like I’m raising myself). And what else…everything else. I don’t need to remind you of the story.

But, I’m sitting here at ShmarShumcks (my favorite vice) after finishing up my work for the day while Ember takes a break with MorMor and PopPop (my parents). It’s the perfect place for me really. There are people bustling, a cold drink just to my right, two gentlemen talking about how great Ft. Collins’ water is (fellow FoCo residents will know just what they mean) and there is trendy music playing in the background.  It’s so perfect because I whenever I look back at my life via memories I always imagine there’s a soundtrack to my life as if someone was watching me in a movie. And here, at this franchised java joint, I have a real life sound track to my moments spent here. And for the cherry, this perfectly manicured moment is aiding in my reflection of the past week.  And what a memorable one it has been.

One of my best friends just had a baby. She just had her first child, her first daughter. And I’m sitting here with swollen belly about ready (2 months ish) to birth our second daughter thinking about how motherhood has consumed her in  a most beautiful and meaningful way.  I remember the days before I had Ember. Everyone always tells you how great it is to be a mother. And how they (kids) are totally worth any and all hardship you endure to have them. I remember telling her the same things. And I remember the look on her face, much like the look on mine, “Yes, you’re not the first person to say that to me…I know.”  But we really don’t know. We don’t really get it until that oh so satisfactory moment when you’re holding your child in your arms for the very. first. time. Bliss. Is there any moment more perfect or glorious than that? I would venture to say not.

And I know this is a common story and for those of us who have kids, we can remember those feelings so well, as if it were yesterday that the trembling, naked, perfectly made infant was placed in our arms upon our chests. But it’s not just that story that I want to bring to light here. It’s that this week has taught me that we can have those types moments all the time. I’ve been missing the significance of them being consumed in everything else I have to get done. In everyone I have to call. In all the events I have to plan.  In all the house I have to clean. In all the sorrow I have to feel for myself. It’s that this week has reminded me that I can sit and watch my daughter flip through the pages of a book and memorize the way her round cheek looks so soft and pink in the sunlight. And the way her hair is so blonde it looks white in the right light. And the way her fingers are miniature replicas of mine, even down to the slightest bit of dirt under certain nails. And the sound of her breaths as she concentrates on the images on the page. And I can let that moment consume me like the time I first held her to my chest–forgetting everything that is around me except for her and this moment. And, I can then commit it to memory and cherish it for what it is.

I cannot say this is an original thought. I can say with certainty that even though we are reminded of this we fall right back to where we were, trying to fight our way back to peace and joy.  Human nature is a finicky one, isn’t it?

But my hope for myself, and my new mother friend is this; that every once in a while when life consumes us, we can fight our way through the muck to view our world and every moment in it as if we were holding our daughters for the very. first. time. What a beautiful world that could be.

The Same, but Different

Ember’s been snacking on her art supplies. (:

It often surprises me that I sometimes struggle to find my voice. Be it in conversation with others, writing here (or in any space), and even in my visual art it can sometimes be an enormous mountain for me to climb. For being a person, that I think, speaks her mind with ease and confidence (sometimes a little too much confidence) I have noticed that the times that I really need to shout “Hey, I’m having a difficult time over here,” and I mean really shout…I find myself saying softly amongst a crowd in a whisper, “Hi. I’m kinda having a bad day. But, I know you’re busy so….ok” instead.

I guess it’s part of the complexities that make me “me.” And I know that it’s one of those whole swirly mess of personality traits that I’d rather smother under a good book that lets me wallow all by myself. I also know that it’s something I’d like to change about the way I deal with adversity in order to operate as a more healthy and functioning individual.  But/and it has been the quintessential thing that has made me aware of how my life and my surroundings are changing.

I’m not sure if they’re changing rapidly, or if they’ve been sneaking around behind my back for ages now trying to get things done and on with, but I do know that I’m feeling it more than ever in the core of my emotional and introspective being. And let me be the first to point out that my current state (I’m VERY pregnant) IS contributing to this “despair” and that if I could pull myself out of irrational hormones for just one little second I would realize that things ARE in fact changing and I AM a little tender about it, but there’s no need to cry over the fact that Ember sticks her fingers in her yogurt every…single…morning.

We recently made a decision for our family that completely and utterly altered our lives and our community–a life and a community that we had spent the last six years building. That we invested time, money, laughs, cries, and you name it in. We do believe that we have made the right decision and that we were obeying God’s call, but we were kidding ourselves if we thought that things would carry on as they were, that things would be the same, but different. I know that when you make a change your subconscious exudes it despite your best efforts to keep it under control, thus contributing to the fact that people and things react/act towards you differently than before. But, as always, that’s only one side of the story.  And it’s both sides if our story that has me in a certain frenzy of self-realization and almost loneliness. So now we are just floating in this in-between-world of “where do we really belong?” and “who really loves us?”

So, with sparing you the gory details (although I know some of you are DYING to know 😉 I thought I’d be a little real with you about the state of Emily A. Doran right now. It’s been hard.  Being at home (while what I want to do) can be so isolating, especially when I accept that my social life is changing, and not just in a “I can’t go out whenever I want” sort of way.  Ember and I are SO similar that we get frustrated with each other easily, all. the. time.  Being pregnant doesn’t help. I have become a human jungle gym now that I have a toddler and my aching body can’t handle it.  For some unbeknownst reason to me if I have to make a phone call for work (and it’s only for work calls) it sets of an alarm in Ember that reminds her to scream her best scream so that I have to make the phone call in the bathroom with the door shut.  And then there’s the ever-present money issue. Ugh, do I even have to go there, I mean, most of us get it anyway. I miss my friend Brittany a great deal. I’m on the computer/my phone/email more than I want to be. And the only things I’ve gotten for the new baby is a pack of diapers and a swaddling blanket. To top it all off, I feel like my options for my go-to “get it off my chest” friends are rapidly dwindling as schedules tighten and lives change. And I am deeply saddened by this reality even though I know it’s a product of natural life happenstance and probably a tale that will be revisited time and time again.

For now, I’m working on saying “goodbye,” and “thank you,” to the way my life was just a short time ago and working on welcoming the scary and new. But, it’s going to take me a few tears, one or two heart aches, and a bit of time to come around. I know I’ll come out on the other side.

Wow, Has it Really Been that long?

I’ve been away awhile, but I think that ought to change. Here’s  a little update while I scrub the rust off.

Currently.

Reading: I am reading, well plan to start reading any day, Peace Like a River.  I’m in this little book club with some other women and we read one book a month. Thankfully our June meeting got postponed to July because there was going to be NO WAY I’d finish in time. Which, fortunately, isn’t a problem with our group, but the perfectionist in me says it’s completely unacceptable. I love reading dearly. I love being swept away into a different world–feeling a roller coaster of emotions and anticipation as I brush the pages by one by one. It’s been hard to read having Ember and working and trying to do everything else I expect myself to do. But, it’s nice to have something to look forward to at night before I crawl into bed.

Watching: The Next Food Network Star. Eric and I watch it off and on, but we try to catch it every Sunday.  Any reality t.v. show that has to do with excellent food is worth watching. But other than that, I’ve got some Sesame Street and Yo Gabba Gabba on my queue. Exciting right? First one–guaranteed to get songs stuck in your head. Second one–guaranteed to give you ADHD. Love kids’ shows.

Anticipating: Our trip to South Dakota next week. I know what you’re thinking….South Dakota? Hmm, that’s an interesting place for a vacation.  I know right? But….the Black Hills are beautiful (which is where I will be ALL week) and they are currently NOT on fire (bonus).  I’m looking forward to smokeless skies, 20 degrees cooler temps, Reptile Gardens ;), and returning to a Colorado where all the fires have been miraculously put out so  I can continue to pretend that natural disasters only occur by tornadoes and hurricanes. Only one of which is any threat to a small part of Colorado. Sigh, a girl can hope, right?
Laughing about: How much this little baby moves! She kicks and spins and rolls and swims ALL day long. It’s funny when I rock Ember for a nap or bed time, the baby goes nuts! I always ask Ember if she can feel her baby sister kicking her. Ember always nods, yes, with a smile.  I’m also laughing at the fact we are having another girl. It’s a giddy kind of laugh. I’m delighted that Ember will have a sister so close to her own age. What fun they will have, right?

Listening to: Brandi Carlile’s new album, Bear Creek. She is one of my favorites. An instant classic. I have listened to it over and over and over again. I’m hoping I’ll be able to make it to Red Rocks this summer to see her headline. There really is nothing quite like one of her shows. She makes you feel like a friend sitting around a campfire just singing all your favorites.  She’s truly a great performer and talented singer. I just know you’ll fall in love.

It is Time

I haven’t decided why, exactly, you all don’t know this yet. I can’t put my finger on it. Perhaps it’s because it’s not new, it’s not my first time. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, or I was trying to dodge weird comments or awkward questions.  Perhaps it’s because our lives have been busy and besides the daily reminders, it still slips my mind…

But one thing is for sure. It’s not because it’s not important. It’s not because we’re not excited. It’s not because it’s NOT a wonderful, magical, spectacular thing.  Because it is.

Maybe it’s because I love the power of a secret. The mystery. The control. The possessiveness. Maybe it’s because I know what people think of when I just go out and say it–and that’s private (;

But I guess now is the time to spit it out, spill the beans. Sooooooo…….

Well, excuse me…Did I do something for you to dislike me?

Ember at our story time quite some time ago.

I must sadly admit that I have had this post sitting in my drafts for over ten days now. I apologize for my lack of urgency in posting it. I think I’m finally starting to settle into a better routine for my life…thus, I’m hoping that more regular posting will return (:

…………………………………………….

I’m not a stay at home mom. I’m a work at home mom. I am employed, I bring in a regular paycheck, I pay income taxes, I clock hours, I have staff meetings, I deal with customers.  I just do all of this from home (or my boss’ home). But because I have the ability to work from my kitchen table, I get to keep my daughter with me. I get to take breaks during the day to go to the library, the park, sometimes even the zoo! I get to operate like a stay at home Mama, but with more obligations to someone else.

Instead of my work being centered around taking care of my kids and my home, it’s centered around my kid(s) and my customers. Yes, my home suffers, yes, my husband helps me make dinners nightly, and clean the house on the weekends.  The laundry piles up, the dust gathers, the dishes sit in the dishwasher longer than I’d like. But, my energy must be focused else where during the day. Ember’s naps don’t belong to me, but to my work. But, I guess this might be a post for another day.

What I really wanted to say is that even though I’m not a stay at home mom, I get to pretend I am in public.