Ezra,  Family,  Health, Wellness, & Self Care,  Little Brother,  Messy Faith,  Miscellaneous,  Personal and Spiritual Ramblings

In which I word vomit about my life

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My house is quiet. My mother-in-law has taken Ezra away to get a 3-day head start on our family vacation and Little Brother is sleeping. The only sound is the air conditioning, the quiet whrrrr of my computer, and my husband in the next room talking with gaming buddies. Ah, this is the life…

Scratch that. Little Brother just woke up. No, literally. I’ll be back.

Okay. Baby is fed a bottle and back asleep so I’m back.

I just turned on Pandora for some mood music.

So I’ve put a lot of effort into blogging this year, honing my SEO skills and getting really good at making Pinterest graphics (I think). But sometimes it detracts from those times I want to just write without thinking about graphics and SEO.

Here’s the unedited 152 Insights Into My Soul about my life right now:

I have both nothing and everything to say. Nothing in that there’s not really anything here that I could write an entire blog post about, but I will probably have no problem breaking 2000 words with the ramblings I’m about to word vomit on you.


School is good. Amazing, I think. I currently have a 96.24% in my English class and a 97.94% in my music class. In other words, I’ve still got it. And I’m darn proud of it. What I am doing by adding school onto a plate that is already WAY TOO FULL borders on insanity and is REALLY HARD. But I’m killing it.

Probably too much. I go back and forth between being incredibly self-conscious that I am most likely the smartest person in my classes and saying, “Screw it, this is who I am, and I’m not going to apologize for it.” This probably makes me sound like a real…um…jerk…but seriously. This is one of the reasons I love online school. Because not only will I (and they) move onto another class, but I don’t have to see their faces when I correct their oh-my-goodness-how-did-they-even-graduate-highschool grammar and punctuation errors. Or when I tell that dude that he should really pay attention to his peer responses because in both the first and second draft of his paper I pointed out that united states should be capitalized and it’s still not capitalized in the final draft.

Then there’s the instructor, who is not only ridiculously slow in responding to emails, can’t get part of the curriculum fixed so I can actually FINISH THE ASSIGNMENTS I’m supposed to be able to access, and whose writing on my graded papers is so ineligible that I have absolutely no idea why he docked me points. And this was AFTER he sent me a PDF file which was supposed to be easier to read than the first file he sent.

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I told him that I hoped that future gradings will be more legible, which made me feel like a real…um…jerk. Whatevs. This is a freaking English class. The least he could do is write so people know what they’ve done wrong on their papers.

My music class teacher is even less communicative. Our class is reading a book, listening to music, and answering questions and taking tests, all on our own. With random discussion board “essay” questions every other week. Like “what genre of music do you think has been the most influential?” I’m already a month ahead.

I’m hoping that next semester, the teachers will be more communicative. I’ve decided to take American government because 1) I have to take it 2) it’s an election year and 3) maybe it will make dealing with this Trump vs. Hillary debacle a little more palatable. I’ll also be taking Spanish…cuz, diversity. No, rather because it was my best subject in high school so I’m hoping it will be more easy credit to get while I’ll be dealing with a TODDLER underfoot.

Speaking of the TODDLER…

This child is totally scaring the heck out of me.

In which I word vomit about my life

I know he’s not a toddler YET, but he wants to be. He’s pulling up and letting go and he really wants to walk and he will probably be walking by 11 months. At least that’s my totally based-on-my-gut guess. Which means it could be completely off. AND FOR REAL CAN THE TIME PLEASE SLOW DOWN?!?!?!

{Speaking of time…I heard this song on Pandora today that was a mashup of all of the hit songs of 20-freaking-12. And I realized that it was FOUR YEARS AGO when Call Me Maybe was a hit and I was watching the summer olympics and for real? Four years ago? NO WAY! And for the first time, pretty much ever, I understood what people meant when they say “I feel so old.” And I don’t feel old, because I’m only 29 and WHO LET ME ADULT? But now that Call Me Maybe was four years ago and my baby is gonna be SIX YEARS OLD in two months, I really DO feel old. Which makes me feel all kind of confused about how quickly life is moving. Even more confusing is the fact that I’m writing this while listening to TAYLOR-freaking-SWIFT. And no, not Blank Space. Love Story. Which is soooooooo 2008. I can’t even…I’ll just shut up now.}

Back to Little Brother.


He is so wonderfully easy, especially now that we are formula feeding almost 70-80%. But this boy has the strongest little will. He communicates SO clearly about what he wants. And when he doesn’t get it, wowza. When it’s bottle time, he guzzles until he’s done then pushes, or SMACKS that bottle away. When he wants to play with something that he’s not supposed to, he will make a beeline for it and can NOT be redirected. And trying to change his diaper or dress him? Have you ever tried to put clothes on an screeching octopus? Because I think it’s something like that. 

He hates to wear bibs. When he wants to take it off, HE WANTS TO TAKE IT OFF. And hell hath no fury like a baby who can’t get his bib off when he wants to take it off. (Which is why I have tortured him by buying these. I will never buy any other bibs ever again in my life.)

Ezra is determined to get his way, but in a very emotionally disregulated way. Most of the time he really doesn’t know WHAT he wants, he just knows that he doesn’t feel right and so he vocalizes that frustration in defiance.

Little Brother’s defiance and will is SHEER defiance. It can look the same, but it’s so different. At least that’s what my instinct is telling me. So I hold him close and beg him to take it easy on me when he reaches toddlerhood because I am TOTALLY IN FOR IT.


In which I word vomit about my life

Speaking of THE FORCE

I have spent an entirely unhealthy amount of money (which shall not be named) on decorations and gifts (like this this this this and this) for the Star Wars party I am throwing for my September babies (and my husband who has a late August birthday). Can I blame it on the fact that I woke up at 4:50 AM on Saturday and could not get back to sleep because of all of the ideas for this party running through my brain?

Also, there’s this:

prime because i can't pinterest

And I’ll take spending that-sum-which-shall-not-be-named over hours of Pinterest-perfect-DIY-birthday-party-planning any day.

Hmmm…what else?

Well, my blog stats have been insanely low. Which is probably because I haven’t been blogging because…life. It’s been mildly disheartening, but my blog’s Facebook page has been growing like crazy. Two reasons. 1) Funny memes. 2) This trick.

It goes like this: I share a funny mommy meme. People like it. When they like it, it shows up in people’s news feeds. So random people “like” my post. Then I invite them to like my page. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. But that’s how it works.

So I’ve been focusing a lot of attention over there. And by attention, I mean spending way too much time on a Saturday scheduling 195 funny memes for the next sixth months. Prepare to be amused.

Also, Facebook Live. Because it’s a lot easier and quicker to sit in front of my phone and ramble for 10 minutes than it is to write a blog post. PLEASE WATCH MY VIDEOS. LEAVE COMMENTS. At least throw a “like” or “haha” my way. Otherwise it’s just me talking to my iPhone like a crazy person, and I’m going to start questioning my sanity. Like, more than I normally do already.

Speaking of Sanity

Ezra is home for the summer. And I’ve increased my Zoloft to 75mg. Those two events may or may not be related.

No really, as hard as I know this summer is going to be, we’ve had a really decent week. We have had two mornings where he has slept til 8. Oh. My. Word. No. I’m not joking.

He also spent FIVE HOURS in the basement BY HIMSELF listening to this. He rested on the couch, played Legos, and made a huge mess of the basement. BY HIMSELF. FOR FIVE HOURS.

I also spent $40 at Target to buy this:


Speaking of Target

I have a lot of friends who have “Broken Up” with Target. And I get it. At least I kinda do. But when I go to Target, I’m not really too worried about strangers in the bathroom. I’m worried about how I’m going to survive this:


In other words, “Dear Target, please hurry up and take my money before one of my children starts melting down. Nope…there he goes! Sorry. Whoops, no Little Brother you can’t climb out of the cart right now, because I’m trying to deal with your screaming brother! No, Ezra, I will not unlock my phone right now. I told you if you sat down, I would give it to you. I did NOT say I would unlock it. Yes, I would like some help out to my car. Oh those are his shoes…we aren’t buying those. Those came in with us. Yes, Ezra, you have to walk in your socks because you are the one who took your shoes off.”


Bathrooms? I’m just glad I made it home before I peed myself, because by the time I got home I had been holding it for way too long and let me tell you what, ChickFilA sweet tea will wreak havoc on your bladder.

Speaking of sweet tea

I’m pretty sure I’ve gained 5 pounds this month. And I have ten VERY GOOD reasons. They are as follows:

1) Coke Life

2) Sweet Tea

3) Breyers Lactose Free ice cream, chocolate syrup, and Spanish peanuts

4) Coke Life

5) Stress

6) Never exercising

7) Children

8) Sweet Tea

9) Coke Life

10) Coke Life

Also, this:


So instead of hating people, I’m hating my closet. Also, this makes swimsuit shopping very depressing. Because I have a size 14 belly and size 8 boobs, and there’s just nothing even funny about that. In fact, swimsuit shopping was so depressing that I had to drown my sorrows in a burger and Cheerwine.

In reality though, as much as I struggle with loving my body, I wouldn’t trade the beautiful boys who ruined it for anything else in this life.


I’m coming into something really beautiful as a person. It’s called acceptance. I am more at peace with my life than I feel like I’ve ever been before. I feel like I say this probably 4 times a year at least, but it’s really true.

Yes, the carousel never stops turning, and I still have to referee EPIC MELTDOWNS and fights between husband and son in the middle of state parks. (because apparently, it isn’t a good hiking trip unless we’ve had at least ONE father-son meltdown-slash-fight). But the good news is that in spite of this crazy, they still WANT to go hiking and they still want to go hiking WITH EACH OTHER. And they can always pull it back together and have a good time in spite of it all.

And I hear myself tell myself: It’s okay. This is just our life now. 



Also, while I may be drinking way too much Coke Life and not exercising, I’m hiking 2-6 mile hikes a few times a month…with a baby.


Speaking of baby-wearing

I’m so over baby-wearing elitism.

Little Brother hated the Ergo. He hated the Moby beyond month one.

But this $30 “crotch dangler” that apparently is horror-of-horrors, spine and hip damaging, and worthy of pity from sanctimommies everywhere? He loves it.

He really is not a fan of facing in. We are working on it, but I can normally only get him to cooperate with facing in when he is sleepy and ready to nap:


Otherwise, it’s “crotch dangling” for the win!


“What is this ‘crotch dangling’ you speak of? Cuz this is FUN!”


Which brings me to the stuff I really want to talk to but don’t really know where to start.

Little Brother was born by c-section which was, honestly, awesome. Eye opening. And healing. Healing because I realized that I didn’t need “MY VBAC” to be a whole person. I’m just glad I didn’t make any stupider decisions than the ones I did. That he is happy, healthy, and wonderful.

Somewhere between having a repeat c-section, putting Ezra on ADHD meds, going on Zoloft, giving up on cloth diapers, and switching Little Brother to formula, I’ve walked away from all of it. Not just the “attachment parenting” crap, but ALL OF IT. The obsession with natural EVERYTHING. Natural birth. Natural food. Natural remedies. Natural sunscreen. Natural cosmetics.

You know what natural did for me? Nothing but waste my money and stress me the heck out.

I still have had severe IBS since I was a little girl. I’m not eating 5 million foods. (Which might be why I’m binging on Coke Life and LF ice cream…and steak. Because I pretty much can’t eat anything else). Tomorrow I’m going to go to a GI doctor and beg him to give me a colonoscopy so maybe, someday, I can eat a burger with ketchup and onion without praying I don’t spend all day tomorrow in the bathroom.

I’ve seen naturopaths, chiropractors, herbalists, and massage therapists. I’ve eaten gluten free, Paleo, and low-FODMAP. I’ve taken every supplement under the sun. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on essential oils, natural cosmetics, supplements, powders, and alternative therapies.

Fatigue is still a very real issue for me. But you know when I started feeling better and when my fatigue levels started improving? When I realized there was more to life than pushing a baby out of my vagina. When I realized that vaccines don’t cause autism because they are too busy SAVING LIVES. When I realized that ADHD meds have radically improved my son’s life. When I realized I’m a much better mother when I’m on anxiety meds and not bothering with diaper laundry. When I realized that when I give my baby formula I get SLEEP, and that when I get SLEEP I am a different woman. When I realized that babies need boundaries. When I realized that leaving the grocery store every week in tears because I spent $400 in one trip because I was terrified of parabens, HCFS, nitrates, and MSG was no way to live this life. When I realized that not everything can be fixed with breastmilk, coconut oil, apple cider vinegar, guided imagery, and affirmations.

I’m over it.

I’ve tried to keep it quiet because I’m pretty sure that half of my friends sell DoTerra and the other half sell Young Living. I have said a few things here and there. Posted a few links. I tried to explain to a friend how conflicted I feel about all the stuff I said in my 31 Days VBAC series because some of the sites I link to give some serious awful advice. I told her I was angry because I feel like I was duped and deceived. Not because I didn’t “get my VBAC” but because I was so convinced I had to stand on my head (literally) to get one and be healed from “birth trauma.” I told her I’m afraid of babies dying because of things I’ve posted on my blog. I’ve tried to explain that a cesarean can be an amazing, beautiful thing. But it’s gotten me blocked from a VBAC page. Because apparently the only stories they want to hear is from people who “got their VBAC.”

So here I am with my Gerber and my Huggies and my Zoloft and his Ritalin and his Infantino crotch dangler. I’m living on the edge and buying things like *gasp* 409, Coppertone, and Skintimate. (Although you will still have to pry my Burt’s Bees lip balm out of my cold, dead hands.)

I’ve done a complete 180 and become the kind of person I used to look down upon. It’s so liberating. Because I put myself through so much unnecessary pain and stress and insanity. That makes me really, really angry. Angry at myself mostly, for being so stupid and darn proud.

I guess I just had to get it out really. To come out of the crunchy closet, because I’m not “one of them” anymore.

It’s hard and lonely sometimes because there are some amazing people who meant a lot to me when I was trying for “my VBAC.” I love them and the role they had in my life. I just don’t believe the same things they do anymore. And it’s hard when they want to have nothing to do with me.

You know what it’s like? It’s like leaving the IFB. Everyone is so darn convinced that they have some special truth, that they are the only ones right. They judge and glare and say you are just acting out of hurt and pain, when really, you realize that “the other side” is so much better, so much free-er, so much saner. And you can’t imagine ever going back.

Speaking of leaving the IFB

Can I just say how much I LOVE my church?

I love it so much it scares the crap out of me. It’s panic-inducing.

Because I’d come to believe that what I wanted in a church didn’t exist. I had come to believe that people like this didn’t exist. I’d come to believe I wasn’t worthy to sit in a pew unless it was at a church where they start their prayers by saying, “God, you rock.” I’d come to believe I could never sing hymns without being triggered – it turns out I can. Day By Day held a special place in my heart this morning. I’d come to believe I could never be myself when walking through the doors of a church. I’d come to believe that no one would ever love my difficult husband and my son the way that I do.

Turns out I was wrong. I’m still in the pinching-myself-to-make-sure it’s real phase. I’m holding my breath. I’m waiting for this house of cards to come crashing down on me. It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful. It’s grace.

I just hit 3000 words, and it’s 11PM so I’d really better shut up now.

If you read this whole thing, go buy yourself a Coke Life or eat some ice cream.

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