On Vulnerability and Parenting a Ninja

Inspired by Brenè Brown and so many other women out there writing and sharing and championing vulnerability, I started my own blog last week. At the moment when I wrote it I was feeling more.. how do you say... "On the verge of losing my marbles" than "inspired." Fortunately being on the verge of losing your marbles can be really helpful when it comes to writing something real. 

After I posted my blog I had some really kind and wonderful people encourage me and offer to help me in my pregnant/sick/sleep deprived/wild-eyed time of need. I was reminded that even in the moments when I feel lonely as a mostly stay-at-home mom, I am surrounded by this amazing, caring community of people--many of whom have been right where I'm at--and that I am not at all alone. Thank you so much for that reminder. 

The other thing I took away from the experience of sharing was just what Brenè Brown was talking about when she wrote "The Power of Vulnerability." 

Once I shared a parenting low point (and lest you think that wasn't so bad, we have been much lower, trust me), I began noticing some changes. 

For instance, I didn't feel my blood pressure rise to dangerous levels when Henry found Christmas sprinkles in the pantry the next morning and dumped them all over our floor (Yes, he dumps out all of the things. All of the time. We are working on it. Anyone who knows him can attest to the fact that he is basically Dash + Curious George combined. So fast. So sneaky. A toddler ninja really.) 

    Our little Ninja at work 

Anyway, I'm looking at this blanket of sprinkles on the floor and wondering why I don't feel my usual bubbling rage/anxiety. And these are the super tiny sprinkles, guys. They are freaking everywhere. His face is dyed green. His hands are dyed green. My pantry door is covered in green handprints. 

I bathe the kids and we have another great flood but today I don't care about it as much. I calmly grab the towels that I had to wash from the bath time flood the night before and soak up the mess. While my kids giggle and cover one another in bubbles I ponder where this new zen Kelly has come from. Where has she been all of my life?! Then it hits me. 

The great power of vulnerability is that the perfection jig is up. Hey world! I'm not always awesome at my job and don't always love it and my home currently looks like a frat house that got hit with the flu (for reals), so if you stop over unannounced you won't be surprised that I haven't showered in 3 days and there's pizza sauce on my walls and I am throwing bowls of Cheerios (Now gluten free! Mom win!) at my children for breakfast while they sit on the couch naked. Sorry. We buy organic and I make some awesome green smoothies (those are still in right? Or is that soo 2010?) just about every day around here but every once in awhile Portillos cheese fries are in order. I'm only human. 

Phew. That felt good. You guys already knew I wasn't perfect. Now I know that you know and this is all just soooo much easier. 

Freeeedom!!!

I'm not saying that because I shared with you all how many times I pee my pants every day when I am pregnant and have bronchitis, I'll never lose my temper again. I obviously will. The other day Henry walked into the bathroom with an empty plastic cup and emerged with a full one... It hit me as the cup touched his lips that I NEVER HEARD WATER RUNNING. That's the kind of stuff I'm dealing with over here. 2 year olds chugging toilet water. Barf. 

I AM saying that after one of the most dark and challenging years of my life (I'll go into some of that another day), I needed some light. I've been praying for healing. And I feel like God answered my plea by reminding me of two incredibly important things this week. I'm sharing them for anyone else who needs a little light right now:

Be Real

This one is obviously not a novel idea... Many have said it before me and more eloquently. But sometimes I have to hear things a million times before they sink in so I'm sharing it again for people like myself... Find a community with kind people and in your own time, in your own way, share your reality. For me, writing helps a ton because I have always communicated better that way. But hey.. You do you. 

Find Your Yoga

We all have a thing (or multiple things) we like to do where an hour passes and it feels like minutes. Whether it is quilting, writing, drawing, actual yoga, running, building model airplanes, singing.. Whatever isn't a paid job and brings forth a sort of meditative state in your day.. Make it a priority. The hard things don't seem as overwhelming when you are tackling them from a place of fullness. And don't make the mistake of thinking that just being busy will fill you up. Be intentional! 

Fortunately for me, writing hits both of these items on the list. So now that I am feeling restored and have a sleeping toddler, I am off to tackle the mountain of laundry that has been staring at me for weeks. (And by "tackle laundry" I clearly mean turning on The Barefoot Contessa and doing lunges while I text my besties.)  

Praying your week is full in all the best ways! 

kb

"Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light."

Brené Brown

Keep Your Friends Close and Your Toddlers Closer

I pull a Tombstone pizza out of the oven, sneeze, and pee my pants.

Damn.

I quickly slice pieces for the kids, pour them some Gatorade (mixed with water, I'm not a monster), and try to silence the voices in my head telling me that the preservatives and refined sugar in this meal are most definitely going to give them ADHD and cancer.

Hey! Self! You've had bronchitis for a month. You are pregnant. You haven't been able to sleep more than 3 hours/night in a week. They'll survive. It's ok to be imperfect.

But is it?! I immediately picture 10 horrifying articles posted by well meaning friends that prove that it is in fact NOT ok and that with each frozen meal I cook or (gasp!) pop in the microwave.. I am slowly but surely poisoning my sweet babies. My heart aches.

Ok guys, mommy has to run upstairs and change. Work on your pizza ok?

Ok mamma!
Kaaaay!

So sweet. So innocent.

After searching through the pile--nay, the EVEREST--of unfolded clean laundry covering my bedroom floor for 2 minutes I snag a pair of underwear and leggings, get dressed, and race back downstairs. 2 minutes was plenty of time for my kids to cover their bodies with pizza sauce and knock their Gatorade-water on the floor. Henry has pulled his stool away from the island and over to the counter. He wobbles precariously on top of it, victoriously waving the pizza cutter in the air.

I rescue Edward Scissorhands from himself and am too exhausted to get angry about the pizza-tastrophe.

Ok guys. Dinner is done. Bath. Now.

Yay!!! They squeal and get naked as they run up the stairs, throwing pants and diapers and underwear into the air like confetti. Bath! Bath! Bath! they chant. I follow them up the stairs frantically trying to wipe their hands with baby wipes as they smear pizza sauce all over the walls.

Once they are in the tub and satisfied with the quantity of bubbles, I breathe and remind myself Ty will be done with his meeting in an hour and a half. I can do this. They are so happy in the tub! They are nutso but I really have the sweetest babies. I really do... Sigh..

I cough and pee my pants again.

DAMN.

In the 30 seconds it takes me to run to my room and put sweats on they have somehow flooded the entire bathroom floor. I step into the bathroom before I realize what has happened and soak my socks.

Nothing pisses me off more than wet socks. Nothing.

I yell like a maniac and say this bath is DONE! DONE!!!! I use all 2 of the clean towels in our house to soak up the lake formerly known as our kids' bathroom. I lecture them about wasting water and the dangers of mold damage and they look at me like I'm speaking Portuguese. I drain the bath water and go searching for clean jammies. I can't find one pair. While I am looking they start to refill the tub and dump out an entire bottle of shampoo. 

To pass the time until the bath fills, they begin throwing their bath toys into the toilet. They can't play catch from one foot away but when it comes to tossing toys in the toilet they are draining shots like MJ. What the heck.

GUYS! I fish the toys out of the toilet and put them in the sink to sanitize later. Add it to the list. You don't throw anything in the potty! Ever!!!! I shout with my squeaky half-voice. Understand? You guys are making me crazy!

I am reminded that I need to call a plumber about our powder room toilet which is currently clogged since Henry flushed a half roll of toilet paper down it. I remember I need to call a contractor about the laundry room door that my little Hulks have somehow pulled off the track. I step in a still-damp blue spot on our carpet and realize that I really do need to call a carpet cleaner about this situation that happened the day before when a sweet babysitter thought my kids were napping upstairs:

I cry an ugly cry, dress my children in the comfiest clothes I can find, and tell them to get in bed. I will bring them their milk. It is 6:18 p.m. and tonight, that is bedtime.*

*Author's note: Not every night is like this. Fear not, humans of the world, we are not raising a couple of Caillous over here. (I hope!) The redeeming moment of the evening actually came when I served my kids their pizza and Violet grabbed our hands and prayed this prayer:

Dear Father,
Thank you for this wonderful day.
Thank you for this delicious pizza that you and Kelly made for us.
Thank you for helping my mommy feel better.
Amen.

Amen.