Seasons

Most of the time, blogging is my heart.

Usually it's a much needed, stress-releasing form of therapy and a really important memory-capturing creative outlet.

But sometimes I get in a rut, sometimes I put pressure on myself to blog even when I really don't feel like it, and sometimes I feel inadequate.

I've talked about it often. But blogging, and social media in general, can create this horribly false sense of who someone really is. Worse yet, it paints this picture that someone has the perfect life. With perfect children. Who dress in perfect outfits. Who live in a perfectly styled home.

Oh my goodness, it drives me CRAZY.

Of course like most normal people do, it's so easy for me to get caught up in this desire and portrayal of perfection. It can leave me wanting and wishing for more. But all it takes is a quick glance around to realize that my life has everything I could possibly ever want or need.

Besides, I find perfect quite boring really. {Ironic coming from the queen of perfectionism - a quality that is simply a defense mechanism I use as a crutch when feeling insecure, I suppose.} But I tend to seek out and connect with others who embrace imperfection. Not because it makes me feel better about myself. But because we put others at ease when we share who we really are. And I like that. I strive for that.

While being conscious of my family's privacy, I try really, really hard to portray reality here on my blog. In fact, anyone who knows me will tell you that it's near impossible for me to hide what I'm feeling. I'm the poster child for wearing my heart on my sleeve. And I thoroughly enjoy tracking, writing, and sharing what I am truly going through in every season of life.

It's just that this particular season, specifically after leaving teaching, starting a new job, and then deciding on permanent maternity leave after having baby#2, has been a really fabulous one. So my blog posts for the last year and a half have really been about how lovely life is. How much I'm obsessed with my babies. How I'm sickeningly happy.

But I must say, although many of my recent posts have only focused on the blissful, I too have experienced quite the opposite. I've gone through my share of darker seasons. I can think of periods when I would wake up, praying for that particular season of life to be over. More recently, I look back at the time I returned to work after having Lyla, and I don't even recognize that person. For quite a many reasons, that was a very trying year. But it is only through these difficult seasons where we are shaped, become stronger, and walk out on the other side with a lot more confidence.

Because, after all, without darkness, there would be no light.

{And suddenly this post got a whole lot deeper than I ever intended it to be. Refer back to earlier paragraph re: my inability to hide emotions}.

I only bring all of this up to explain that my most upbeat and restful season has been desperately needed as it followed a much darker one. I have done a lot of reflecting, catching up, spending quality time with those who really matter, and detoxing things that created stress in my life. I have learned to say no. I have stopped over scheduling and focused more on my family. I have infused peace and simplicity into our home. I have thought about my role as a mom and what that means for my girls. I have realized that maintaining my personal identity is equally as important.

Then, we had Adaline. And while bringing home a new baby presents its own set of challenges, it also helps us to remember to slow down and breathe in the everyday. That it's okay to pick up takeout and leave the vacuuming of the dog hair for another day. And it's okay to stay in the same sweatpants two days in a row because you are too busy building a lego tower with your two year old in between nursing sessions with your newborn. That it's okay to hibernate and do not much of anything else but snuggle under blankets. {There are some definite advantages to having a baby in the winter}. And most importantly, it's okay to not focus on accomplishing but to focus on being. Being with these little people who will no longer be little much sooner than I'd like.

And that's exactly what I've done these blessed 10 weeks.

But, my friends, the seasons are about to change yet again.

The newborn haze has begun to lift, and it's time to hop back in the saddle. Admittedly a teensy bit nervous, I'm ready to begin a new venture and enter a season of a little bit more...productivity. One that will boost my need to create and build connections with others, while still focusing on what matters most. One that will require being strategic and intentional with my time. One that will motivate me to get out of my yoga pants and out of the house. I'm ready and very excited to get started on my next project. {I'll share specifics soon soon!!}

I truly feel that I've taken the time I needed to start with a fresh slate. I have a positive outlook, have had much needed quality time with my girls, and am ready to bring on some new challenges. Because in all reality, we only grow when we step out of our safety zone and face challenges head on. There will be plenty of hectic moments I'm sure, but my hope is to always return back to this exact moment where things are clearer than they've ever been.

That family is my number one.

More info on this exciting life change to come soon...

Life with Two: A peek into reality

The first two weeks of Adaline's life were exactly what I'd hoped for. Our new life with two surprised me as they were so much better and easier than I'd imagined.

Gabe was on paternity leave. We all slept in. We made breakfast every morning. The weather was still beautiful, and we went for walks to the park - sometimes more than once. Lyla was adjusting and even thriving in her new role as a big sister. Adaline was {and still is} incredibly laid back and a rockstar eater and sleeper. And we had multiple days where we all stayed in our pj's until noon - with nowhere to be and nothing to care about but our family of four.

But it was Lyla's reaction to Adaline that surprised us most. She wasn't so sure about this new tiny human when she first met her, but after a few short seconds, she was in love. And the love and intrigue continued once we brought Baby A home. She made sure to let us know when "Baby Adaline crying, she's sad" or "Baby Adaline sleeping" or "Adaline needs baby paci". She would gently rub her head, watch her while she napped, hold her little hands, and continually ask to lay down with her little sister.

I was nervous about how Lyla would react to me nursing the baby. And the first time, it frightened her. She saw me feeding Adaline, looked confused, and began to cry. but she immediately walked over, observed for a few moments, and then said "Adaline drinking milk?" Now she pulls up a chair next to me and chats while I feed the baby. She also loved helping to burp the baby. She would gently pat her and tell her to burp. But this only lasted until Adaline started spitting up frequently. Now, Lyla gets this disgusted look on her face and says "baby throw up - ugh!" So I can no longer count on her to help in this area. :)

Lyla was also the comfort police. The moment Adaline seemed uncomfortable, Big Sis had to do something about it. When the baby started crying, Lyla would rush to her rescue with the "baby paci" and shove it in her mouth. We had to teach her to gently put it in...and explain that she didn't always want it. Or if she thought the baby was cold, she'd throw a blanket over her. And the moment Lyla woke from nighttime or nap, she asked to go say good morning to Baby Adaline.

My heart exploded nearly every 15 seconds of this new life with two.

But there were also some enlightening moments that made me deeply sad. Overnight, Lyla became a big girl. {No seriously, she was a giant compared to the newborn we brought home.} But not just physically. We all of a sudden {and unintentionally} expected Lyla to act like a big girl because she was now the big sister, and we needed her to be a big girl.

And in an instant, one that I hadn't prepared for, Lyla was no longer a baby. She had grown up.

The tears stung as they streamed down my face at the thought.

Then there was the moment when I realized that Gabe and Lyla were developing an incredibly close bond - one that I couldn't participate in because I was taking care of a newborn. Don't get me wrong. I have the best husband. He was (and continues to be) a saint during those two weeks he was off - cooking, cleaning, changing dirty diapers. But most of all, he entertained Lyla and gave her all the attention that I was unable to give her. He took her on walks, played the tickle game when he was exhausted from middle of the night diaper changes, and took her on a father-daughter date to a soccer game.

Lyla adored this one-on-one time with her dad!

But we all know good things must always come to an end. And after two of some of the very best weeks of my life, Gabe left me to fend for myself with two children.

The nerve.

And that's when reality slapped me in the face. So hard, it left a mark.

I woke up my first morning ready to tackle the day. And things were actually off to a really good start. I fed the baby. Made a huge breakfast of eggs and pancakes for Lyla and I. And then I got both girls dressed so we could go to the park as the weather was supposed to get frigid...and I was desperate to soak up the last few moments of sunshine.

It was 9:00 when we started getting ready for our walk. We didn't make it out the door until 10:30.

My first dose of reality had been swallowed.

My second dose was a bit stronger, and shortly followed our arrival home from the park. Where Lyla had no less than 5 tantrums. The baby started to cry, at first it was a subtle quiet cry, but quickly turned into a SCREAMING I'm hungry cry. That's when Lyla told me she had to go "yucky poo-poo". {Something that has been a struggle for months}. I ran Lyla to the potty. She sat and sat. Meanwhile, the baby was still screaming. So, I took Lyla off the potty and told her we'd try again later. I started nursing the babe. Then Lyla came out of her room crying hysterically. She had an accident. I stopped nursing the babe. Went to go clean Lyla up who was crying harder than I'd seen her cry in awhile. I sat her back on the potty. Baby started screaming again. Lyla begged for me to take her off the potty. I made her sit in case she still had to go. I went to check on the baby. Then I heard Lyla screaming louder. I ran back to the bathroom, and she had gone in the potty {something she is terrified to do}. She cried uncontrollably and refused to flush it and kept begging me to take her out of the bathroom. I praised her, hugged her, cleaned her up, and gave her a sucker. She was instantly happy.

So, 20 minutes later, I got back to nursing the baby.

Oy.

Similar scenarios happen daily. But I'm sure I'll get the hang of it.

Right?

But more than the adjustment of handling two on my own was Lyla's sudden change from being happier than I'd ever seen her to a sobbing, cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat mess. She cried over everything from having skin on her apple to the eyeball falling off on her turkey sticker for her potty chart. And it really was so sad to witness because she just seemed depressed and confused. She didn't understand why she was acting the way that she was and was having such a difficult time sorting out her feelings.  Needless to say, I've let Ellie {her silk elephant that we only want her to have during naps and nighttime} go with us everywhere. And the thumb? In her mouth 24/7.

But she's coping the only way she knows how.

The silver lining is that Lyla doesn't dislike her little sister and isn't taking any of this out on her. In fact, just the opposite. Adaline is sort of a buffer and turns Lyla's tears into laughter, and Lyla is still just as intrigued and in love as she was a couple of weeks ago.

And actually, as of today, Lyla seems to be getting back to normal. I've been trying to be more intentional about giving her one-on-one attention throughout the day. And I've also been adamant about getting her back on her regular schedule and routine.

So here we are. Each of us learning and adjusting daily. And still enjoying this time and trying to bottle it up.

Because as we all know, it will be gone in the blink of an eye. :(

More than a Pretty Face

It was a pivotal moment for my fourth grade dream to one day become a beautiful actress. 

We were on our second round of The Babysitters Club Game. 

My older, tall and lean, olive-skinned neighbor friend drew her playing card:
If you had to choose between being really pretty or really smart, which would you choose?

And do you know what she said?

Well, I'd much rather be pretty. But since I'm already really pretty, I guess I'd choose to be smart.

I can't be sure, but I'm almost positive I threw my game piece at her face.

Or maybe I just thought about it. 

{Way to encourage intelligence, drive, and self-esteem, Milton Bradley.} 

Either way, that was a defining moment for me. 

From that point forward, in my own fourth grade understanding, I knew that I never wanted my self-worth to be tied to appearance. 

And I was also quite confident that it was possible to be pretty and smart. 

That being said, I am no women's right activist. 

I would never think about burning my bras. {They're way too expensive}. 

Nor do I have the hopes to one day show all my male corporate counterparts who's the boss. 

And I'm definitely not the girl who never wears makeup and rarely shaves her armpits.

Eww.

But I do have a problem with our celebrity-obsessed culture of trying to achieve fictional perfection. We're trying to look like someone we're not. Buying clothes that we can't afford. And putting way more focus on how we look than who we are. 

Take the other night for example. We were chatting with a friend's girlfriend who is a high school teacher at an all-girl school in Australia. Her class had to complete an assignment on their biggest hero - a woman whom they looked up to and wanted to emulate. She was so excited to get their responses, being that she's a history teacher. But nearly the entire class wrote about Miley Cyrus or Kim Kardashian. I'm sorry. What?

And I'll take this moment to go right ahead and confess. I totally get sucked into the addictive Kardishian vortex from time to time. But heroes? Hardly. 

And now we have this daughter. A 17 month old who is the girliest of girls. And I secretly LOVE that about her. I adore that she enjoys being in the kitchen and loves accessories just as much as her mom. I love that she squeals when it's time to pick out her shoes and pretends to put on mom's makeup. And I am absolutely smitten by our mother-daughter relationship. Just thinking of our future girls-only shopping trips, hair tip exchanges, slumber parties, boy advice, and prepping for school dances makes me positively giddy. And I don't think there's anything in this whole world more fun than dressing my little girl. 

Toddler fashion is an addiction, I tell you. 

However. And I do mean a giant HOWEVER, it is our goal to teach Lyla that beauty is more than just being pretty. So much more. It's using your imagination, learning, trying new things, exploring, accomplishing, being a good friend, embracing unique, nurturing a relationship with God, and loving, helping and accepting others.

We want her to know true beauty.

But truth be told, this concept is often difficult to instill within girls. Because from an early age, they are bombarded with a false sense of beautiful. Someone once challenged me to think about "small talk" I make with little girls versus little boys. And it's so true. When you see a little girl, the first thing you say is, what an adorable dress or you have the prettiest eyes or you are so beautiful! And of course I can't help but feel a twinge of pride when I hear how cute my kid is, but I also want to hear how smart/helpful/interesting she is!! 

So even though I am quite frankly obsessed with being a girl mom, I want to try really hard to encourage more than twirling in tutus. I mean, let's be honest, Lyla will never be a rough and tumble kind of gal. But it makes me so happy that one of her favorite things to play with is her buddy's toy cars. Or that she is so proud when she rolls or throws a ball, in that awkward toddler kind of way. Or that she spends 45 minutes figuring out how to fit pieces of something together.

Those things are just as fun as dolls and pretties {GiGi's word for jewelry}. 

So in addition to learning about how to do a mean fishtail braid or 6 ways to tie a scarf, we will also learn about history and nature and language and cultures. Because what's a pretty face without a big ol' brain to back it up?!?!

Needless to say, I'm beyond thrilled that one of the hot topics in education is placing more importance on STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) subjects in elementary school - especially with girls! There's a huge gender gap when it comes to STEM careers, and this movement hopes to lend support for a more balanced workforce. Despite the fact {or maybe in spite of the fact} that I was absolutely terrible in all STEM subjects, I am a full supporter of this influence. These subjects are crucial, and in the past, girls have not always been encouraged to pursue or even explore them. But luckily that mentality is changing because some of my most inspirational friends are gorgeous engineers!

Of course I'll be proud no matter the path Lyla decides to take in life. If she decided to paint herself purple and call herself an artist, I'd be showing off her work to everyone I knew. But I also think it would be pretty awesome if she turned out to be an electrical engineer. Or a neuroscientist. Or a financial planner. 

And if she ever has to complete an assignment about her biggest hero, I'd be super stoked if she said someone like Debbie Sterling. Talk about inspiring. I am absolutely obsessed with Debbie's cause - to get more girls to tap into their engineering strengths through Goldiblox, the cutest girliest construction set toys for girls. 

But seriously, have you seen the marketing for these things?

   

There is sheer brilliance in engaging kids at an early age in not-so-fun subjects. And that is exactly why I retracted my teasing comments for my husband when he came home with a turtle game geared at toddlers to teach them the basics of computer programming. As much grief as I gave him, I actually see the value in this clever little game.

Besides, you never know. Maybe one day a high school girl will have reason to write about Lyla as her hero.
And {God-willing} it won't be because of how she looks in a mini skirt.
But because of her real beauty, as evidenced by her scientific and mathematical talents.

**Edited to add: My bestie just informed me that Goldiblox will be a featured commercial during the Super Bowl. Uh. Big deal. SO HAPPY for them!!!

The Season of Boring

Gabe mentioned something to me during our Saturday morning coffee talk a couple of weeks ago.
Something that's really had my wheel's turning.

This week marks the longest we've ever lived in one place since we've been married.
Exactly one week longer than the time we lived in Rhode Island.

Naturally, it feels a bit odd to not be packing our things.
It was always such a thrill getting news that we were to relocate somewhere we'd never been.
We would immediately spend hours Googling potential neighborhoods and reading Yelp reviews on local coffee shops and cafes.

{Sigh.}
Moving around provided some of the best years of our married life.
And I'd be lying if I said we don't get the itch every now and then.

Even just over a year ago when I was still pregnant with Lyla, Gabe mentioned the inkling of a desire  to move to a big city with more opportunity, culture, and hustle and bustle.
But as exhilarating as it may be to go in blindly to a new place, I really like being settled, I sure like convenience, and I really like a little thing called family.
I think I'm past my prime for the fast-paced city life, I told him, just like I'm past my prime for roughing it in the wild. I prefer having a car, clean towels, and being less than 5 miles from Target. 

I think after that, he went to the bedroom and cried a little.

And then it occurred to me.
Do I no longer thrive on living life on the edge or by seeking new adventure?

I'm not exactly sure when the switch was flipped.
The switch that made it so I suddenly became *seemingly* a dud.
But it most certainly was flipped somewhere along the line.

Of course having a baby changed a few things: outlook, perspective, priorities, the need for a more supportive bra, and the nap that I will never have again.
And then there was my job-change that offered a much more relaxed change of pace.
And can I count this cold winter as playing a part in my lack of desire to get out and explore the world?
But more than having a baby, changing jobs, and dealing with icky weather, I truly feel like hitting 30 caused the momentous change inside me. A change that was exactly what I {unknowingly} needed. A change that somehow made it ok to do the things that make me happy, even if those things seem stale and insignificant to the young whippersnappers.

Now that I've hit the big 3-oh, I say it's socially acceptable to be boring.
And thank the Lord.
Because I've been waiting on boring for the last 30 years.
I was never cut out for the party scene.
And I'm such an old lady at heart.

But don't be fooled for a second.
Boring, to me, does not actually mean insignificant or mundane.
And it definitely does not mean "not a thing on my plate" or "brutally un-fun".

It simply means more relaxed. Not caring what others think. Doing what makes me happy. Not focusing so much on what makes others happy. Enjoying the small things. Being less self-absorbed. Refining my taste. Experiencing a newfound confidence. Quality of friends over quantity. Wine and coffee. Intelligent conversations. Slowing down to take it all in. Reading interesting {and factual} articles. And accepting the fact that I'm much more of a homebody than I ever realized.

And so what.
I really like books and house projects and movies and lazy weekends {all of which completely describe last Saturday at our house}.

My 21 year old self is horrified.
But my 30 year old self doesn't care.

But this is also the season of life where I have finally let go. I no longer strive to do what I think I'm supposed to do or what I think others think I'm supposed to do. I do what I want to do. I fully embrace this life I've been blessed with. I'm abundantly thankful. When at one time, I wasn't always so grateful. I compared and envied and even felt slighted at times for not being given the same opportunities as others around me. But now that I'm older {and wiser}, I fully believe that regardless of the deck of cards we've been dealt, we ourselves must create opportunities. I've done a lot of growing and a lot of maturing and am fully confident that our circumstances, especially the bad, shape us into the beautiful individuals God intended for us to be.

I'm in a season where I actually like me.

I guess all I'm really trying to say is that growing up really doesn't suck as bad as I thought it was going to. In fact, being a grown up is my most favorite thing ever. I mean, of course I have those days where I would give anything to be back at the ADPi house watching The Bachelor, where my only worry was that I ran out of Diet Coke mid-rose ceremony. But overall, I much prefer this season of life over any other that I've experienced.

I've always loved the changing of seasons. So much that it leaves me to fight my constant intrinsic desire to move onto the next big season and battle my never-ending "need" to accomplish, to do, and to change. But I am humbly reminded to "be still" and savor this time, for this is one season that I'd like to stick around for just a tad bit longer.

Here I am. Just being boring with my Beans. 

A Moment of Silence.

Forgive me in advance.

I am well aware that social media, particularly blogging, is a place to show your best - the happy, the funny, the light-hearted.
But I've always made it a priority to reflect reality on my blog.
Because life isn't sparkles and sunshine all day everyday.
And to be completely honest, I don't think I have even the slightest ability to pretend with my emotions.
What you see is what you get.

I was actually planning to write a post on Lyla's holiday wish list.
But that now seems so completely trivial, it's embarrassing.
Because today, my heart is heavy.

There's been a pit in my stomach since last evening.
I received a text message from a friend telling me that my OBGYN had died in an accident while on vacation.

Here's the thing.
He was not just my OB.
The fact that I'm writing an entire blog post dedicated to my doctor is telling of that fact.
And I guarantee there are hundreds {if not thousands} of women out there who are feeling the same way that I am today.
Not to mention the unimaginable loss his family and friends are experiencing, only two short weeks before Christmas.

Dr. Douthit had a way of making me feel special at every visit. He got to know me, got to know Gabe, and never rushed me. He remembered even the smallest details of my life - like the fact that I put so much work into being a good teacher. He respected my birth plan and worked with me to make my desire to have a natural childbirth possible and comfortable. He made me laugh at every visit, and I even have a silly keepsake in my wallet that he gave me. It was a diagram he drew of my "womanly cycle" showing me the days to really try NOT to get pregnant. {Since we were unsuccessful in "not trying" the first time around}. In his words, this diagram was for our next child's baby book - implying that we don't seem to do well with our own version of "natural family planning".

When I saw him just a few weeks ago, he asked to see pictures of Lyla and then immediately pulled out his iPhone and proudly showed me pictures of his granddaughter.  A few minutes into my appointment, he got a phone call from the hospital telling him one of his patient's was starting to push and that he was needed immediately. He apologized to me and started to head out the door to go deliver a baby. But then he stopped, turned around, and said with that infamous smirk, "Eh, this won't take too long. I feel like I have to make up for the fact that I missed Lyla's debut. I'll just tell her I was dealing with a really demanding patient". He asked me a few more questions, finished my exam, shook my hand, and he said "Make sure you tell Gabe hello!"

It was after this last visit that he uknowingly "sealed the deal" for me.
Prior to that day, I was actually thinking about switching doctors, purely for logistical reasons (like having to wait 2-3 hours during prenatal appointments).
I had been debating for a few months with the thought of switching for our next baby, but I always turned my thoughts back to staying with Douthit. We had such rapport, and I trusted him with my life.
And after my most recent visit, I came home and told Gabe, "Decision made. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't imagine being in the hands of any other doctor."

He cared about every one of his patients, and it was evidenced by the hundreds of pictures of him holding fresh-from-the-womb newborns while displaying a certain number of fingers {which signified the birth order of that baby}. These pictures wall-papered his entire office.

This is the doctor who promised me that even if he was NOT on call, there was a 90% chance he would still deliver my baby.
Unfortunately, Lyla decided to enter the world the one day he was out of town.
He came up to the hospital on his lunch break the next day - just to meet my new baby.
He gave me a huge hug and told me that he heard all about my hard work during my natural labor. He told me he was proud. Then he teared up when he held Lyla and said how sad he was to miss her birth.
He asked to get a picture and held up a number 1, "This time", he said, "meaning one day late".
Talk about making me feel special.

My heart and my prayers go out to his family and his practice.
May all whom Dr. Douthit impacted find peace during this difficult time.
There are a countless number of babies, children, and now grown adults who are here because of his work.
What a truly amazing doctor, and what a legacy this Godly man has left behind.

Dr. Douthit, you will be missed!

Transparency

Every once in awhile, I think about making my blog completely private. 

Not even open to friends and family.
Just me.

Of course I won't do that.
I have become part of such a wonderful little community through blogging.

But.
It crosses my mind from time to time.

I simply don't want to lose sight of why I blog in the first place.
Which is truly to document life. To look back and remember my exact *raw* feelings I had at a given point in time. To remember the everyday details of life with my family. To vent, purge and celebrate. And to scratch my writing itch, of course.

But with having a public blog, I have to be acutely aware that it is public.
So I often find myself backspacing *a lot*.
Aware that I may offend some.
Or simply share too much information.
Or worst of all, portray perfection.

Sometimes, I feel like a fraud.

Like I paint a picture of my easy, perfect, happy-happy-happy life.

Mmm. Not perfect.
Promise.

Like today, I was going to blog about our trip to the pumpkin patch. Just like every other blogger. You know, pics of pumpkins and babies and perfectly styled fall outfits. But, it just didn't feel right today. Other things are on my mind and in my heart. And when my heart speaks, my brain listens. Because my heart rules the roost around here.

But, trust me.
The pumpkin patch post is still coming.
Who do you think I am?

Instead, today is about transparency.

I don't want to confuse transparency with complaining.
This is not a post to talk about all the things that are wrong with my life and poor, poor me.
Because, honest to goodness, when I take a step back, my life really is pretty close to perfect.
But my life is also very real.

And I want to tell an accurate story.
You know, be relatable.
Not a unicorn.

I internally cringe when I run into acquaintances, they tell me they read my blog, and proceed to gush about how Lyla is the happiest baby they've ever seen, or how my house should be in a magazine, or how cool to live such an exciting life, or how I really must be Super Mom.

I literally cringe.

Because absolutely none of that is true.

Last week for example.
Lyla was cranky, clingy, and irritable.
Even at the {gasp} pumpkin patch.
She didn't want to be put down.
Did not crack a smile even once.
And fussed if we moved her the wrong way.

Last night, she was so cranky, we put her to bed at 6:00.
Then she woke up crying, sometimes screaming, about 10 times throughout the night.
She wouldn't go back to sleep without being rocked.
And today, we are absolute zombies.

Teething, perhaps?
{The infamous scapegoat excuse that gets blamed for every little "wah" and fuss.}

And she's been throwing actual tantrums.
If we don't get her shirt on fast enough, if Samson takes her toy, if we don't get that banana from counter to plate in .5 seconds gosh-darnit, there is an all-out melt-down.
In her defense (and to make me feel better), I just got an e-mail from Baby Center saying that toddlers at this age are really starting to understand their independence. But when they're limited by things like being able to communicate what they want or *ahem* being unable to walk, they get mad.
Perfect timing, Baby Center. I needed that!

So that adorable, smiley toddler that I post pictures of all the time?
She's a real toddler.
Pinkie swears.

And Lyla's not the only one who has meltdowns around here.
I recently had myself an adult tantrum.
Because we were home for all of 5 minutes last weekend.
Got back into town late Sunday night from a day trip to KC.
Just enough time to pack lunches, iron clothes, pack Lyla's bag, put away laundry, prepare a crockpot, and go to bed.
We started off our week with a 5:30 a.m. blaring alarm and the usual whirlwind Monday morning routine.
And our week hasn't seemed to slow down for 1 minute since.
Not to mention neither Gabe nor I have slept more than 5 or 6 hours every night this week.
Recipe for adult tantrum, for sure.

Or let's go ahead and just talk about the house, shall we.
First of all, any pictures you see are typically in our living room or Lyla's bedroom.
The only completely "finished" rooms in the house.
From the moment we moved in, it seems like we've had something to fix. And when somethings needs-a-fixin, all the fun cosmetic stuff that you want to change gets shoved to the side.
Like wanting to replace the disgusting tile that was grouted-over-grout-over grout in our kitchen and dining room. {Seriously. What were the previous owners thinking?}

And until about two weeks ago, all home projects were completely put on hold after having Lyla.
Gabe and I finally had a little pow-wow and created an excel spreadsheet splitting up his and hers house projects. {Now, how jealous are you of the exciting lives we lead?}
It is a slow, slow process being a working mom and dad.
However we are trying to hop back on the get-this-house-in-order band wagon.

And finally, a little share about my recent and very real feelings.
Feelings that I try very hard not to dwell on.
Or have at all.

But feelings are feelings.

Lately, I have been having feelings of regret.
And falling into the trap of "If only..."

"If only" is a bad, bad place to be.

I am a very firm believer in "everything happens for a reason".
And I am 100% confident that God is in control.
Of everything.
But I also believe we have been given the ability to make choices.

And many of those choices begin the domino effect of how life unfolds.

Without going into too many details, I have been feeling lately like I made a poor choice.
The choice to leave a stable, successful, and enjoyable career years ago.
To pursue a dream and go back to school.
To become a teacher.
Only to then leave teaching.
And subsequently leave our family in debt.

Debt that has made it so that I am unable to stay home.
Or unable to save as much money as we'd like for things we want.
Like college, travel, or another house.

Not to mention that I left a solid career to become a teacher. A career where I found enjoyment and success. With good-luck-finding-those-anywhere-else benefits, strong financial stability, and professional experiences that helped define my adult outlook, skills, and interests.

Luckily these feelings of regret are usually fleeting.
But very real feelings nonetheless.

Because I also know that had I not pursued teaching, I always would have wondered, hoped, and dreamed.
Without teaching, I wouldn't have met other teachers who have turned into some of my best friends.
I wouldn't have worked with students who gave me a purpose each morning.
I wouldn't have developed essential skills like juggling approximately 4,500 things at once.
I wouldn't have experienced one of the hardest years to date. Which alternatively wouldn't have allowed me to truly appreciate every moment I have with my daughter.

I must say, I rocked teaching in my two short years.
Gave 100% of myself all day, everyday.
And absolutely thrived in the art of teaching.

I still believe I am a teacher through and through.
I'm just finding other ways to channel that desire and ability.

But, that doesn't mean I don't sometimes wonder what if...

So this is me being real.
And sharing for the sake of transparency. :)

Bottom line.
My blog is a pretty accurate reflection of who I am and what my life entails.
If you know me, you know that I really am a bubbly person who loves being around people and who loves life in general.
But that doesn't mean my life doesn't encounter reality.

In fact, as I leave you with a smiling picture of my daughter who is very much indeed not smiling at the moment, I will be tending to the overflowing sink and doghair-infested baseboards.
On my day off.

My Equilibrium Point

Finding balance.
It's what I desperately sought out to do and failed.
Over and over again.

Until recently.
When I made some major decisions.
And felt immediate gratification.
Instant relief.

But that doesn't mean I don't still struggle some.
With imbalance, that is.
I'm human.

And as humans, we get caught up in ridiculous things.
Like wanting bigger {better} houses.
Wanting more lavish lifestyles.
Thinking others have it easier.
Better.
Wanting more.more.more.
Wanting period.

Often, social media adds fuel to the fire .
Social media and I seriously have a love/hate relationship.

It can be so fun.
So helpful.
So productive.

...So exhausting.

Having Instagram-worthy wardrobes for baby.
Throwing Pinterest-perfect parties.

Blegh.

And I'm the first to fall victim to it!

I recently read an article.
It talked about how some social media sites can correlate feelings of loneliness or depression.
I also recently read this funny *sarcastic* blog post.
About how Pottery Barn Kids {one of my all-time favorite stores might-i-add} sometimes makes mothers feel inadequate.
Hello sandwiches in the shape of exotic animals and pre-printed lunch notes. 

Here's the thing though.
I love DIYing.
Love hosting a fabulous soiree.
Love Baby Gap.
And *gasp* love PBK.

Nothing wrong with that.
Not one bit.

It's just...
I really have to be aware of my intentions.
And focus on gratitude, not envy.
And know when my equilibrium is off.

When greed or self-pity start to seep poisonous thoughts.
When I start to think I don't have it so great.

Absolutely the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard, right?
Makes me cringe.

It's a dark, tempting path that I try my best to avoid.
Or at the very least, turn around and find my way back.
But I'm human.
Remember?

That was a lot of deepness.
All to say that this weekend, I found my equilibrium point.

Spending my Friday off with my baby toddler.
Having coffee on the deck with my husband.
Going to the zoo {to see the just-born tiger cubs}.
Spending time with a group of girls who always bring me back.
To my equilibrium.
No pressure.
Just true friendship.

Feeling very blessed.

Mission Accomplished: Finding Me

This summer, I've actually had time. 

Time to seek balance.
Time to reflect and think. 

*So much time to think, that I decided to inadvertently quit my job.* 

A decision that is completely out of character. 

Thus, supporting the general theme of this post. 

I have mentioned on many occasions, the struggle I had with going back to work after having Lyla.

An all-too-familiar feeling that most moms have after maternity leave. 

Many mamas adjust by making more-flexible career changes.
Others love their jobs and find joy in the balance it provides. 

And a few lucky ones leave the workforce all together. 

While most have to stick it out because they have no other choice. 

Needless to say, last year was hard.

One of the most difficult times I've ever faced, in fact. 

There were many variables that made it so painful. 

But I'm going to focus on one variable in particular:

My struggle with the question, "Who Am I?"

First, allow me to introduce myself. 

Hi.

I'm Angela. 

A hard-working, high-achieving, people-pleasing, perfect-seeking, social butterfly who is trying to figure out this whole working mom thing and how to overcome a serious overcommitment problem.

(Yes I said working mom. As in present tense. I'll get back to that). 

Let me start by focusing on who I am as a person. 

At my core. 

Coincidentally, Gabe came home from a work conference a couple nights ago, and he couldn't wait to share about a tool he used throughout the week. 

He wanted to perform an in-depth personality test on me. (The same test the F.B.I. uses to profile people). 

My results are *always* the same with these assessments.
And this test was no different.  

I was labeled primarily as an "I" or "Influential". 

"Outgoing, magnetic, warm, enthusiastic, at-times impulsive, motivated by friendship and social recognition, fears disapproval, seeks popularity, and weakness is overcommitment."

Yep. 

Spot on. 

Except it didn't say anything about being a sometimes-Type-A perfectionist.
{That part was in my secondary profile match.}

But I'd like to take a minute to focus on those primary characteristics.
Those are me.
In a nice, packaged little nutshell.

Except they went missing for quite awhile.
I could never quite find my groove last year.
Never really felt like myself.

And in hindsight, I did a very good job of hiding that.
Because of course little bursts of me would shine through.
*Those little bursts of energy are hard for me to control*.

But aside from the hour each night I got to spend with Lyla, I wasn't happy.
I may have appeared it on the outside.
But I sure wasn't Me happy.
Bubbly, carefree, always-wants-to-socialize, make-others-smile happy.

And I tried so desperately to find my old self.
Everyday, I prayed and searched deep in my soul for me.

 I was living in a lopsided, non-balanced world of teaching and baby.

Those truly were the only two things my life consisted of.

It finally hit me one evening after a night out with friends.
The first night, I might add, in a really long time where I actually had fun.
And laughed.
A lot.
But then we got home.
And Gabe said to me, "Are you ever...able...to relax? To have fun?"
I was so confused, "Did I not look like I was having fun tonight?"
"Well. Not really."
So even though I truly was having fun, apparently I still looked miserable.

That conversation was the push I needed.
I decided to seek help.
And begin counseling.
Because I absolutely refused to reflect any of my sadness onto my child.

I went to a few cognitive behavioral therapy sessions.
It was so nice to let it all out.
I'm just so good at talking, you know?
And the exercises were so mind-blowingly effective, yet so simple.
They train your brain to completely let go and relax. Much like yoga or relaxation techniques we learned in our birthing classes.
Then, there were the countless Saturday morning coffee talks with my supportive husband.
These were *just as* beneficial, and I owe him my sanity.

After a month or so, my eyes were opened to so many things.
Most of these things revolved around trying to find me again.

The hardest part was realizing that having a baby changed me.
Or at least did a major overhaul on my priorities.

Some of my core traits were conflicting with what I desperately wanted out of my life.

I've always thrived by pouring myself into all that I do. 

Mostly my career. 

So here I was.
This overcommitted overachiever who really just wanted to slow down and simplify.
I didn't know how to handle that.

It all began when I got pregnant with Lyla just as I was beginning a new career.
Completely unexpected.

And all new teachers will tell you the first years are brutal.
Building your resources.
Hours of creating and crafting.
All-nighters planning and preparing.

However.
The great longtime teachers put in almost as many hours as new teachers.
You know the ones.
The ones whose classroom everyone wants their child in.
The ones who never become complacent.
Who always strive to provide the best possible education for their students.
And put in countless hours after school.
And *gasp* during summer break.

That was me.
And always *would have been* me.
Never doing the same lesson or following the same basal year after year.
Always trying to keep things fresh and exciting.
Caring *so* much for each individual student, constantly trying to meet his or her needs.

And if I put that much effort into a job?

You can only imagine what I put into another human being.
A little being that I carried for 9 months.
A really cute little being, at that.

Putting an equal effort into my job and my baby was impossible.
Truly.
Something had to give.
And it eventually broke me. 

I was struggling with so many internal conflicts.
Having an identity crisis of sorts.

I felt I needed to stick it out another year with teaching.
Something I dreamed of doing my entire life.
Something I left a promising corporate career for.
Something I went into *debt* for.
Something I went through the grueling process of getting a masters for.
Something I was naturally good at and worked so hard to excel at.

But then part of me wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom.
Crafting. Teaching my babe at home. Baking. Park Dates.

But part of me still missed the business world.
Adults. Recognition. Ability to advance.

I was all over the place. 

And then I was dealing with my overcommitment problem.
Born with the curse of the inability to say no.

My entire life, I've been involved in everything.
Volunteering.
Committees.
Clubs.
Leadership roles.
And, I never, ever miss out on a social event.

Busy.Busy.Busy.
Never sitting still.

However, after having Lyla, I found that I no longer wanted those things.
I no longer craved busy.
And I would cringe at the thought of being "lazy".
Shouldn't I want to be busy?

Instead of busy though, I desperately craved quiet.
And for the first time in my life, I started saying no.
A lot.

But, not wanting to be overcommitted freaked me out.
Again, I struggled with, "Who am I?"

Combine all of that with my perfectionist nature?

And my natural desire to be Pinterest Perfect?

And you've got yourself a recipe for a nervous breakdown. 

*Which I had a couple of those*. 

Until finally.

Summer came. 

And along with it came a mental reprieve. 

And the plan was to go back to school for at least one more year.

Give it one more shot.  

But as summer went on. 

I was able to completely detox my mind. 

And I realized I could not go back. 

Back to a completely-out-of-control whirlwind. 

With no chance to catch my breath. 

And it was finally during one of our Saturday morning coffee talks, Gabe asked a very simple question.  

"What do you want out of life?"

Tears immediately began pooling. 

And I knew exactly what I wanted. 

simplicity.

family.

solid friendships.

time for me.

I want to de-busify. 

To stop over scheduling.

A blogger that I've followed for awhile says it perfectly here. 

I want to stop committing 120% of my time. 

(An actual problem with society today).

I am finally ok with an open calendar. 

And with saying "no". 

And with de-committing. 

I'm ok with completely shifting my focus. 

Saving room for family. 

Relaxation.

Spontaneity. 

Quiet.

Being with people I love. 

I personally could not do those things if I continued teaching. 

At least not at this point in my life. 

That being said, I am starting a new job next week. 

A much simpler job where I can turn off my brain at night. 

With a happy work environment. 

Working with incredible people.

Where the office is closed on Fridays. 

And *most importantly* we get a lunch break. 

**Without getting too specific (because you never know who is lurking this side of the internet), it's a front desk job in a medical office setting. And I'll eventually be working on some exciting social media stuff too as the clinic is in the process of a major rebrand.**

This was never about me not working. 

It was about me finding balance.  

But mostly, it was about getting back to the old me, while embracing the new me. 

Mission Accomplished.

Getting Real

The Scene:
March 2004.
ADPi study room.
Super late night.
Feverishly working on a PR Design project.

I'm startled as my best friend breaks my concentration,
"Hey Ang, you've got to come check out this new website."

I walk over.
Sit down beside her.
And am instantly drawn in.
Like nothing I'd ever seen.
So forthcoming.
So revealing.
So...voyeuristic.

I didn't quite get it.
Yet was so intrigued.

And just like that.
I became a Facebook believer.
*And for those of you young-uns out there, this was before you could post pictures and you had to have a college .edu e-mail address to even join. 

Two years later, I found another way to suck the life out of my time.
I became addicted to the blogging world.
Just another outlet where others could over-divulge information.
And I loved every ounce of it.

Then, just in time for me to begin my teaching journey, Pinterest came along.
A perfect place for someone who lacks original creativity.
Like my very own personal lesson planner.
*I can remember the days when looking for lesson ideas and only 2 or 3 (and many times zero) results came up when I searched. *

I mean.
What did we ever do without social media?

The thought makes me shudder.

However.
Social media also has a dark side.
Well.
I really should just speak for myself.

Although quite entertaining and often useful, today's addiction to blogging, Instagram, and Pinterest can be somewhat destructive...if I personally am not careful.

I sometimes find myself going down a not-so-uplifting path.
As I am bombarded with pictures and blogs posts of "perfection".

Bodies that look like they've been hand-sculpted.
Homes that look like Martha herself came in and designed every room.
Meals made from scratch with ingredients I can't pronounce...every night of the week
Family photos with babies who never cry and hit every milestone 6 months early.
Vacations in private villas nicer than my own house.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to accept my after-baby body.
And we thank our lucky stars if only one thing falls apart or needs fixed in our house on a given week.
A California Pizza Kitchen pizza on sale at Wal-Mart is pretty much gourmet at this point in our lives.
I'm pretty sure there's an instant fuss-and-crank button for the moment I pick Lyla up after work.
And our idea of a luxury vacation is making it through a full episode of Mad Men and going to sleep by 9 p.m. on a Friday.

How would the social interwebs feel about that painted picture of perfection?

But isn't real is so much more entertaining and relatable?
Real is what I really want to see.
I want to see the 6 mounds of laundry and the fact that you've been living out of your laundry basket for 2 weeks.

I want to see pics of frozen peas and oatmeal for dinner. 

I want to see your tantrum-throwing toddler screaming in the isles of Target.

Two recent conversations stick out in my mind as much-needed encouragement, and they really put things into perspective for me.

I want to remember these conversations.

1). When my best friend from Rhode Island came for a visit over spring break, we discussed a lot about being perfect. I mentioned that sometimes it seems like everyone but me seems to have it together. And she replied by reminding me that people only share the good and amazing. No one really sees the ugly. Or the reality. All we really see via social media outlets are the Pinterest-perfect nurseries, the spent-my-entire-paycheck-but-at-least-it's-designer outfits, and the ridiculously expensive so-perfect-it-could-be-in-a-magazine weddings. And, is it just me, or do you know those people who you swear create a scenario simply to post and prove to others just how "perfect" their lives are?

Well. I'm really not interested in that.
I want real.

2). Last week, I had a phone conversation with another b.f.f. in Atlanta. We were also talking about the everyday stresses of life and the all-too-common painted picture of perfection. She said she saw an interview of a very successful career woman and mom. A woman, who like many of us, struggled with the pressure to be perfect. Until one day, this woman had an epiphany. She stopped striving to be Pinterest-Perfect and instead focused on being real. No more color-coordinated over-the-top birthday parties for her kids. Just a cupcake with a candle...and a whole lot of love. No more working til the wee hours of the night to add just the right touches to a project...when that project was presentation-ready hours before. It wasn't until this woman let go and just enjoyed reality that she could truly see how perfect her life really was.

Now, don't get me wrong.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with obsessing over details.
Or putting blood, sweat, and tears into DIY projects.
Or spending way too much money on fashion-forward outfits for your newborn.
Or spending your entire summer searching for the perfect decor for your kid's only first birthday. *Ahem*.

However.
We put enough pressure on ourselves.
And then add in life, careers, and children?
Oy.

So, the added pressure of social media bombarding us with seemingly perfect everything can be a bit overwhelming. 

Because you know something?

My life is nowhere near perfect. 

In fact, if you secretly took a still-frame at any given moment in my day, I'm sure you would find me disheveled, running around like a lunatic, and looking like I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.
You'd see me in a 10 year old t-shirt with mismatched socks. 

You'd see unfinished house projects and half-painted wall trim. 

You'd see a pile of dust at least 6 months old on top of the refrigerator and food splatters in the microwave.

But you'd also see that I'm happy. 

Like, real-happy.

Not perfect-happy. 

You'd also see that my heart is close to bursting into 5 million pieces.

Because despite the fact that my sink is overflowing with bottles and my bed hasn't been made in over a month, I've got a little Chunkin who's clapping for herself because she is finally rolling over. 

*Four months later than other babies.*

And you'd see that I'm clapping with her. 

And I'm smiling so hard, it hurts. 

Because I'm proud too. 

So, here's to being real.
Here's to the new perfect.

P.S. Hop on over to Bloglovin.
I mean, why not add one more social media outlet to your list. ;)

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