How To Build a Better Lunch Box (and GIVEAWAY!)

*This is a sponsored post* 

One week.

While the first day of autumn does not arrive for another month, my family's summer is officially over in one week. Why? Because school begins!

This year is extra special. Not only because Hubby and Chica are back to the school grind (as teacher and 3rd grader, respectively). But Bug is going to be a big kindergartener!  Our program is in its last year of half day K, so it's only a few hours a day. But it will be a big shift having to put her on the bus (NO, I'm not crying - there's something in my eye) and to have everyone out of the house every day.

One of the things I'll be trying to focus on this year is offering better lunches for the girls. During the summer, since there was more time and we didn't have to pack anything, we had some great "out of the box" lunch ideas. Produce was fresh from the garden or farmer's market, and we had the time to be more creative.

My goal is to extend the same ideas to our school lunches. And, luckily, Giant Food Stores is here to help! Not only are their Nature's Promise products chock-full of healthy goodness, but their on-staff nutritionists offer great tips on building a better lunch. 

Here are some tips on building a better lunch box this school year!

Group It Up

MyPlate is a fantastic resource for what our "plate" should look like for each meal. With the pickiness of kid's palates, it's easy to get into a habit of missing some of the core food groups. MyPlate is a goo reminder to include the five food groups each day. 

Parenting Lunch Box Goal: aim to include a minimum of 3 food groups in your child's lunchbox each day.

Section It Out

I started doing this last year and I feel like it was super helpful for both me and my girls. Using a lunchbox with divided sections or separate containers helped me think beyond the sandwich and get creative. I felt free to try foods like salads or dips and vegetables that I wouldn't be able to use in a traditional lunch box. It's also a gentle reminder to include different food groups. It's a win-win, because the kiddos like seeing the different sections and not having their food touch.

Pump It Up

Pump it up...with protein! I've been more conscious of trying to incorporate foods full of protein into school lunches. Not only is protein an important part of MyPlate, but it's a great way to keep little tummies full for longer. Almond butter is one of my favorite protein sources (I always have a jar of Nature's Promise Almond Butter in my cabinet). Pack a double protein punch by adding some some granola as a greek yogurt topper.

Think Outside of the (Lunch) Box

How often do we plateau in a lunch-making routine of PB & J sandwich, goldfish crackers and a squeezy yogurt? This is a great lunch, but the same ol' same ol' can get boring. 

Use your divided lunchbox to break OUT of the box with new ideas! Try tortilla roll-ups, carrots and ranch dressing, quinoa salad or build-your-own tacos. Sometimes a smattering of random things is a great option, too. Cut up some cheddar cheese, add some crackers, hardboiled eggs, applesauce and raisins for a tapas-style meal. 

I know several parents who have had success putting mac-n-cheese or meatballs in a quality thermos and it's still warm and ready to go at lunch time! 

Shake it up - your kids will thank you!

*****

To help you build a better lunchbox, Giant is awarding one of my lucky readers a $25 gift card to start the school year right! To enter, fill out the rafflecopter below. Happy winning - and cheers to a great school year!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Disclosure: I was provided product and monetary compensation for this review and giveaway. All opinions are my own.

The Playdate Pledge

As a regular to playdates, there is an unspoken code to follow. 

Have you taken the pledge?

I solemnly swear to support any and all playdate events that I am invited to. If I am unable to make said playdate, I will still comment or like the invitation on social media, knowing Facebook will out me as having seen the post but not responding. I will make every effort to attend the playdates I am invited to, because I secretly cry and eat ice cream and question my friendships when people skip out on the playdates I plan.

I, having been appointed an invitee of a playdate, promise not to judge the host on the amount of toothpaste dried on the bathroom sink, and I will overlook dirty dishes in the kitchen, piles of unfolded laundry or areas of clutter in the home. We can attest that you most likely hyper-cleaned before we arrived but, hello, KIDS.

I take an oath to allow each playdate participant to vent, choosing from a variety of topics including (but not limited to): child-rearing, marriage, in-laws, grocery shopping, television binge-watching, spousal arguments, meal recipes, public education, private education, common child feeding practices, bedtime routines, shopping deals and where do you get the big bottles of that wine for so cheap?

When a playdate invitee is struggling - mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually - it is the job of remaining invitees to lift him or her up. Listen. Encourage. Advise. Speak positivity and truth into his or her life. Because some days are hard, bad and dark. And in those times, playdates are safe havens and silver linings, just to know you are not alone.

Above all, I vow to not judge my parental friends, while attending playdates or otherwise. Because we're all adults here and we're all struggling in this whole raising small humans thing together. Lord knows it is difficult. And while some people may choose to tackle parenting different than me, I know that we all need to do what we need to do to get through the day. And if that's co-sleeping for you, bottle feeding for you and going to a 9-5 for you, then WORK IT, GIRL. Different strokes for different folks, and we all could use a little support and encouragement.

Last but not least, it's generally agreed upon that coffee and/or wine are acceptable beverages for consumption at playdates.

I solemnly swear.

Sleepovers: YAY or NAY?

Blue or red-checked?

I agonized over what pattern I should opt for in the sleeping bag my mom was purchasing. What would look the coolest? I couldn't fail my first sleepover, especially when every girl in my class would be there.

It wasn't until 4th grade that my parents finally acquiesced in letting me go to my first sleepover. I was late to the game, as many of peers had been attending sleepovers since Kindergarten or first grade. My first sleepover was a birthday party, and pretty much everything you'd imagine in an overnight bonanza: gluttonously grubbing on food, listening to music, playing Truth or Dare, gossiping and a lot of giggling. Just about anything but sleeping. I went home the next day in a zombie state, having had a scant amount of shut eye while my blood coursed with pure sugar.


Over the years, I spent many a night over the houses of friends - too many to count. Some were group sleepovers; others just one-on-one. I think back on these nights fondly (if not sleepily).

Now that I have a second grader, the sleepover requests have begun. There haven't been any official sleepover birthday parties (yet), but a few inquiries of having a friend stay the night.

And I'm conflicted. 

Sleepovers were a definitive part of my childhood, but, as a parent, I feel there are so many things to consider. Part of my hesitancy comes from my pre-kids work with Children, Youth and Families. I have so many stories, friends. Insane, sad, mystifying tales of the things that happen to kids. The disturbing reality of abuse is that perpetrators are almost always someone a child knows, and happens in a place a child would consider "safe."

One can't unknow, unhear, unsee the things I counseled as a caseworker. Some cases still haunt me. While this is a huge roadblock for me, there are others. I am concerned about not knowing parents well enough. Who are the people taking care of my child? Is the house safe? Are there weapons? Drugs?

I also think of the mischief I got into during sleepovers. Most incidents were innocuous enough: prank phone calls, Truth or Dare, unsuccessful cooking experiments. But I definitely encountered activities that bordered on age-appropriateness. And with bullying (particularly in social media) such a serious social issue right now, I worry that sleepovers make unsuspecting kids easy targets. 

There is also the question of whether or not a kid is simply ready.
My friend, Julie, of Juliverse has a great post which serves as a checklist for whether or not your child is ready for a sleepover. Both of my girls mostly pass the obstacles Julie covers, and I feel they are generally ready, socially and emotionally. Chica has some issues with nightmares (previously, night terrors) and talking in her sleep. So, that's also a definite reservation.

Where does that leave me? I vacillate between embracing the innocent fun of sleepovers and wariness of the potential hazards. I know kids need to learn independence, and I am hardly what one would consider a Helicopter Parent. 

But it's also our duty to keep our kids safe. Were sleepovers "less dangerous" when I was a kid? Of course not. There are new struggles today, though, that we didn't have to contend with ten or twenty years ago; namely, social media. And that's not something to overlook.

So, I'm still undecided. I'd love to hear others weigh in on the topic:

Are you okay with sleepovers? 

What age is appropriate to begin overnights with friends? 

What safeguards, if any, does your family have in place when it comes to sleepovers?

Join the conversation - leave a comment because I'd love to consider your thoughts. 

Reasons Why My Kids Wake Me Up In The Middle of the Night

As parents, we've all been there: the startled awakening from a deep sleep, caused by the small voice of your child calling out to you. There is no graceful way to handle this forced wake up. Glancing at the clock, I determine it's 0'dark hundred, an ungodly hour for anyone to be conscious. 

As one who wears contacts, I wrestle my covers to get out of bed and stumble half-blind in through my dark room, crashing into bed posts, falling over the clutter on the floor, all while assessing if my state of dress is kid-appropriate. I always rush, not knowing what has caused my child to wake, sometimes coming to near-injury on the small flight of steps between my room and theirs. In a panic (is this real or a dream?), I hurry to the afflicted child's bedside to determine what is wrong.

And 99% of the time, I find I have been awoken for a completely unreasonable issue. 

Here is just a short list of the reasons my children have woken me up in the middle of the night:

1) They had to ask if I believed dinosaurs became extinct due to an asteroid.
2) Their blankie dropped on the floor. 2 feet away from them.
3) It's too hot.
4) It's too cold.
5) They don't want to go to school tomorrow.
6) They want to read a book.
7) They had a bad dream.
8) They had to inform me that they would never, under any circumstances, want to be the owner of a Komodo dragon.
9) They tell if their sister is in her bed on the other side of the room.
10) They don't like the way their covers are laying over them. Would I mind adjusting them, please?
11) They want to read a book.
12) They heard a weird noise.
13) They have to go to the bathroom but won't go alone.
14) They don't like the outfit I picked out for them for school.
15) Can they have peanut butter and jelly in their lunch today?
16) They wanted me to know they really like chocolate chip cookies.
17) They needed me to know that their sister hit them today.
18) They need a drink of water.
19) They don't need a drink of water.
20) Their sister (who is 100% asleep) needs to tell me something.
21) They just wanted to know what I was up to. 

So for those who are in the season of babies, dealing with nighttime feedings and unknown middle-of-the-night crying sessions, it totally gets better.

What  reasons have YOUR kids woken you up in the night for?

To The Slightly Better Than Average Mom

Some days you just wake up defeated.

Not because of anything intrinsically bad about the day. Rather, you ended the previous day in defeat. As parents we've all had them: long, unending days that start with a fumble - a spilled milk, the wrong shirt, fighting over who gets to brush their teeth first - and that fumble dominos into a catastrophic and unstoppable Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day chain of events. 

On these days, it's everything you can do to wipe up the spilled milk to the din of fighting from the bathroom, only to have to grab a bandage for the scraped knee that just happened as the kids hurried down the stairs. It's a war zone: every mom for herself, triaging one disaster after another and HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU IT'S NOT OKAY TO BITE YOUR BROTHER OR THE DOG?

You're lucky to get lunch on the table, let alone the perfectly sculpted aquatic-themed lunch your friend Susie posted on Facebook, complete with cute fish cut out of cheese and hotdog octopuses. In this world of social media, where everyone can conveniently share only the greatest parts of themselves - the shining victories, the pictures of perfection- it's really easy to believe that if parenthood was a class that was graded, you'd be racking up a big fat F.

But, as our friend Titus Andromedon says on The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, it's all smoke and mirrors. A facade. A lie. We live in a high pressure Pinterest Perfect World where it's almost wrong to share our frustrations and failures. We don't share our struggles with postpartum depression. We don't share the moments where we cry in helplessness as our baby cries. We don't share the real photos of our bedrooms with unmade beds and dust accumulated like an inch of snow on the top of our dressers. We don't share that we've spent more time yelling than laughing in the past 24 hour time period. We don't share that sometimes we miss our pre-kids life. We don't share that some weeks are spent glaring instead of gazing at our partner across table.

Instead, we agonize over the carefully and purposely depicted perfect lives of those in our newsfeeds that we will never live up to. Their elation as a new mom. Their magazine-ready homes. Their Ina Garten-eqse meals. Their married selfies in the amber glow of a setting sun. We scroll, unable to shake the sinking feeling that everyone else has got this whole winning at life thing figured out while we flounder like a fish on dry land.

The struggle is real. And I don't mean that in a light-hearted meme kind of way. Struggle. Is. Real. It's part of life. And we all face it, whether we choose to admit it or not. Imagine how unattractive Pinterest would be if we shared the most real parts of ourselves. Unattractive, maybe. But so, so beautifully real. Because there is beauty in unity, in realizing you are not alone. That, yes, the struggle is real, but it is also universal and we're all in this together.

We're all in this together.

So, to the parents who went to bed defeated, who woke up slightly broken: you are winning today. The milk might be spilled. The kids may be fighting. The marriage might have tensions. And the walls of the shower may be slick with grime and begging to be cleaned. But you didn't dial it in today. You showed up. And the lunches may not be themed or perfectly sculpted, but it's made. You may not make it to the gym today, but you walked 5 miles around your living room to get your baby to sleep  And you might yell more often than you'd like, but you're here. 

You're trying. 

Your kids won't remember made beds and clean floors. They'll remember the muffins you made with them, which left crumbs on the counter. They'll remember the joke you told them when they cut their hand. They'll remember snuggling with you on the couch watching a TV show before bed. They'll remember the chaos of hurrying out the door to get to school on time.

Go confidently into the mess that is today. Remember that life is lived in the boring and mundane. Our memories won't be Pinterest Perfect, but they will be warm, imperfect and real. 

What matters most is who is in them.

Here's to the slightly-better-than-average parents.

Parenting and Preconceived Notions

"Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"When I grow up I'm going to marry John."

We were driving, running errands while her big sister was at school. There is one month between Chica starting school and Bug starting school. Sometimes that month can seem v-e-e-e-e-r-y l-o-o-o-o-n-g. But I mainly soak up this special time with just the two of us. She has my undivided attention, no big sister to steal her spotlight. We talk about a lot of things. And just like on many of our car rides, her small voice piped up from the backseat. A seemingly innocent assertion, but one that opened a door to a greater conversation.

I've spent a lot of time thinking recently. About many things, but largely on parenting. My parenting. In today's culture. Our society certainly doesn't make it easy. But perhaps that is what every parent thinks during their season in history. We've seen so many setbacks and victories in the past few years, and it's telling about how our culture is moving, growing and remaining stagnant.

My own mind has experienced many setbacks and victories during these years as well. I've learned that my beliefs, my perspectives, are less permanent than I originally thought. That, really, they are quite viscous, ebbing and flowing, taking new shapes as they encounter new pieces of information. Over the years I've examined myself inside and out (a well-examined life, one might say), challenging the notions that are the bricks and mortars of my worldview.

Children are pliable creatures, sponges soaking up all things. In my examinations of self, I realized that the building blocks of my thoughts about life were constructed before I was actually conscious of most things regarding life. It starts with watching the world around as small children, listening to conversations, particularly from the primary people in our life. Our parents.

This realization struck me hard. As I've challenged my ways of thinking, turning them over to decide what is right, what is good, I see that what I'm actually fighting against are the preconceived notion building blocks set up during childhood by my parents and other trusted adults. Growing up, community was almost entirely caucasian. How those of different skin colors were regarded, described and treated were little building blocks set in mortar. My notions, stereotypes, prejudices and beliefs about race were formed.

I grew up for the first part of my life in a home where my parents, a man and a woman, were married. This is what was normal to me, what I was encouraged to anticipate some day. "One day you'll meet a prince and you'll get married!" My Barbies were always paired with Kens. So, I naturally believed and sought to marry a man, who was most likely white, one day when I was old enough. There were building blocks forming my notions, stereotypes, prejudices and beliefs about relationships.

I had the privilege of a stay-at-home mom when I was young. Her presence was always there, which was a comfort. As this was my basis for normal, it never occurred to me that women could 1) choose not to have children and 2) could work outside of the home. My parents never drilled this, and of course taught me to be industrious and motivated. But my experienced told me girls grew up into women who got married, had children and became homemakers. This was a notion that haunted me during the first few years of my own transition to motherhood. Because although it was never said to me, it felt wrong for me to do anything other than be a stay-at-home mom. Yet I felt so unsettled and struggled a great deal with identity.

While children are pliable, sponge-like beings, we become more rigid and calcified as we grow. Building blocks placed in wet mortar harden and set. As an adult, examining and challenging these foundations has been frustrating. My black and white understanding of race, of gender, of relationship, of equality started turning hazy and grey. My foundation felt unstable. Having kids only pushed me to challenge further. Because my worldview no longer impacted only me; it now impacted my daughters.

So what does one do when they face firm walls that need to be rearranged? They work to break them down, piece by piece. Which is how I've spent the last few years of my life. Every news story provided an opportunity: every presidential race, every marriage law passed, every racial injustice headline written, every mass shooting covered, every technological advance made, I have a chance to take what I know and challenge it.

On this journey, I've also come to realize the weightiness of words. If I tell my daughter that one day she'll grow up and marry a man and become a mommy, I'm placing preconceived notion building blocks about love and relationships into wet mortar. The way I choose to refer to someone of a different skin color, a different ethnicity than me within their ear shot will mold their understanding of race. If I allow myself to berate my looks or comment on my weight in front of my girls, they will store this away as appropriate self-worth.

Building walls.

Brick by brick.

My children will inevitably make big life decisions some day. Perhaps my daughter will choose to never get married. Maybe she'll marry a man they love. He may be white. Or Asian. Or brown. Or martian. Maybe she'll marry a woman. Maybe she'll opt to be a stay-at-home mom. Perhaps she'll choose to a career outside of the home. She may decide to not have kids at all.

When it all comes down to it, what is normal? What is right? What is good?

Regardless of the decisions my sweet girls make, they will stand firm in the knowledge that we love them, support them and do not judge them. They will not suffer from the internal guilt or quietly bear the agony that comes from feeling like they've disappointed their parents due to whatever path they've chosen in life.

So, I choose my words and reactions carefully. I allow conversations to play out. I ask questions. I work hard to be open-ended, transparent and accepting. And, above all, I make sure they know they are loved.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"When I grow up I'm going to marry John. And when I grow up I'm going to have babies."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm going to be a mommy too."

"Well, I think you'd make a great mommy if that's what you choose."

In the rearview mirror, I see her brow furrow, and I brace myself for where the conversation will go next.

"And I'll let my kids eat snack all. day. long."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yep! They can have anything they want."

"I see where this is going."

"All day. Whatever they want."

"I'm guessing you wish I gave you more snacks."

::Side-eye::

::shrug::

"Well, I love you, little snack monster."

"Love you too, Mom."


Life Lesson #5271: deep, life-changing lessons come in all shapes and sizes.

The Sunday Choice

Work. Grocery shopping. School supplies. Giving the girls a few more opportunities to make summer memories. Conference call. Edits on content. Get to the gym. Transfer money to the bank. 

I lay in bed and the thoughts overwhelm me. One after another pops into my head, creating layer upon layer of to-do action items. Layers of anxiety. Layers of things I have to do. 

It's Sunday night, and tomorrow is the first day back to school for Hubby. Chica has one more week before she has to board the bus for her First Day of School, but since Hubby is a teacher, he has a week of inservice. And despite having one more week with the girls, it feels like the unofficial end of summer the day he goes back. It's when everything changes and we begin to settle into our School Year Routine.  And right on cue, The Sunday Night Thoughts come raging back.

Sunday evenings are spent in anticipation of the week to come. It's like being at a race and suddenly your prepping on the starting line, heart racing for the starting gun to go off. Some weeks, I'm set well and start strong. Other weeks I fumble over my shoelace and face plant the moment I'm told to "go."

So, as much as I try to prep and fight it, I spend many Sunday nights laying in bed inundated with various work projects on tap for the week, the errands I have to run, the meals I need to cook. But minds are funny things. And inevitably my rushing thoughts become more deeper, more provoking. Thoughts about heading to the store for school supplies sparks a wondering if my girls had a good summer. Did we do enough? Did we eat enough popsicles? Did we make enough memories? I make a mental note to consider hitting the beach one more time, if our schedule allows.

I start going through my grocery list, making sure not to forget that we need hand soap. And I find myself feeling bored with the current rotation of recipes. Are my meals interesting enough? Healthy enough? Is it bad that Chica eats waffles for breakfast every morning? Am I eating healthy enough? I promise myself not to buy junk food this week and make a commitments snack less after the girls go to bed (a struggle I've been having). 

The word struggle reminds me of the frustration faced earlier in the evening at bed time. My patience has been thin with night time requests. Just go to bed! is so often my refrain. I'm reminded of how often I'm short with the girls, how often I raise my voice. I watched that damn Quaker Oats video a few minutes ago and was bawling. The days are long, the years are short, I chide myself. My kids just want time with me. And I have a haunting fear I don't give them enough of myself.

Suddenly, my mental to-do list becomes a progressively weightier guilt pressing on my shoulders: Am I efficient enough? Am I healthy enough? Am I connecting with my friends enough? Am I keeping up with work enough? Am I parenting well enough? 

Am I enough enough?

No wonder we dread Mondays.  

I go to sleep defeated before I even start my week. As I lay there allowing my seeming inefficiencies to take over, a small, confident voice clearly rings:

Tomorrow is a new day.

It's my own voice, a stronger part of myself declaring reason amidst the muck. Tomorrow is a new day. It's a fresh start. No matter how full my to-do list is, I have a new week to accomplish it all. Despite how defeated I'm feeling on so many fronts, I have a blank slate on which to try again. I will wake up tomorrow with a new opportunity to parent differently, to be a better friend And yes, even to get to the gym (oy!). 

For the first time, I decided that instead of looking toward the new week with dread, I could embrace the opportunity for new beginnings and fresh starts.

We have a choice, friends. Every week. Really, every day: to dread or embrace. To be overcome or to OVERCOME. 

I choose to conquer this week. 

And if I fail?

Tomorrow is a new day.

Choose to OVERCOME this week.

To the Creators of Disney Pixar's Inside Out

To the Creators of Disney Pixar's Inside Out:

My world has been rocked.

I've been home for about two hours since your movie, Inside Out, ended. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. What started out as a tentative (we'll get to that in a minute) movie date with my daughters turned into so, so much more.

You see, I wasn't sure I wanted to bring my girls to the movie. Or any movie, for that matter. Because starting a few years ago, when my oldest was around the age of four, watching movies became dicey. It first happened watching one of the Disney princess movies. We get to the end, and there is my daughter, weeping silent tears. I lean over and hug her, ask her what she thought of the movie. 

And she has a complete. melt. down. 

Crying, moaning, thrashing, requesting grandparents. I try to stay calm, and after a while I was able to ferret out that she struggled over the near-death of several characters, as it made her sad. Or anxious. And then when everyone was reunited in the end, it made her happy. In a sad way. For her little 4-year old mind, it was very confusing and completely overwhelming. Since then, most of our movie experiences have had similar results.

My heart goes out to her, and really, I know I am to blame. Because I am a completely emotional person. Overly-emotional. I feel all things things, all the time. I live the life of a secret crier, with a list as long as your arm of things that will bring me to tears. But it's not only sad emotions that I feel so strongly. It's happiness. And discomfort. And anxiety. And fear (because it's totally normally to be completely incapacitated after a stinkbug encounter). 

I feel things. And I've passed this blessing (or curse?) down to both of my daughters.

This is why I was tentative going into Inside Out. Because the movie is about emotions. And I may or may not have cried every time I watched one of the trailers. I could only imagine the sobbing mess my girls would be, and did I really want to put them through that? Well, yes. I did. Because Hubby and I know the importance of embracing our emotions, not hiding from them. And sheltering the girls from situations that cause them to feel emotions will do more harm than good. So we decided to no longer shy away from emotional situations, particularly the opportunity to go to the movies.

After getting our snacks and watching the previews, we settle in for our movie journey. The girls could hardly contain their excitement, and I felt a glimmer of hope that this may be a positive experience. Perhaps the girls might actually learn something about emotions, helping them realize feelings aren't scary things. 

Funnily enough, I think I'm the one who walked away having learned the greater lesson.

From the moment the movie started, my daughters and I were completely drawn in to the story, which centers around 11 year-old Riley. You learn that from the moment she was born, her "Headquarters" were piloted by emotions: Joy, Sadness, Disgust, Fear and Anger. For most of Riley's life, Joy was the leader of the team, giving Riley a very happy childhood. 

But a cross-country move leaves Riley (and her emotions) struggling, especially when Joy and Sadness find themselves separated from Headquarters and lost inside Riley's longterm memory. As Riley tries to come to grips with the emotions she is feeling (as Disgust, Fear and Anger unsuccessfully man the ship), Joy and Sadness journey to find their way home.

I loved reading that the writers of Inside Out spent several years making this movie because they were so carefully consulting with psychologists. I was floored by the amount of scientific information the movie offers, and I believe it will actually become a great resources for psychology classes and child therapists. The film creatively covers abstract thought, core memories, the subconscious and how emotions and experiences work to build our personalities.

I've always had a vague sense of what goes on inside the human brain. I took psychology classes, and it was part of many discussions in my coursework as a social work major in college. I had a general understanding of my emotions, why I felt them, how I felt them. 

Yet somehow, in the span of 2 hours,  Inside Out helped me (a 33 year old woman) understand my emotions better than any class, textbook or therapist I've ever encountered. 

Thanks to seeing it come alive on screen, I finally understand the way our emotions are with us from birth, but as children we let them take the wheel one emotion at a time. As kids, we feel things in a single way: we are HAPPY, we are SAD, we are ANGRY. But something inevitable happens in our pre-teen years: we grow up. 

Inside Out captures that uncomfortable transition we face as our emotions become complex. And for the first time I truly appreciated the fact that as we grow, our emotions become multi-dimensional. That we can feel simultaneously happy and sad. And that our emotions are beautiful and necessary to make us whole. 

I feel like I am feeling for the first time, with new lenses with which to experience things. This new awareness makes me appreciate not only my emotions, but my daughter's emotions as well. When they freak out over emotional scenes in movies, I finally understand that one strong emotion is at the wheel, and it's scary. I can now picture Fear or Anger completely freaking out in their Headquarters, and their little minds having no idea how to handle it. My girls need to know that feeling emotions is a beautiful thing, and no emotion is wrong or bad. 

So, thank you, Creators of Inside Out, for giving me a new capacity to parent 

Friends: I can't recommend this movie enough. You need to go see it. 

Now. 

And if you cry, it's a totally beautiful thing.

Something I'll Never Say to My Girls

There are so many messages thrown at us each day. 

Buy this!
Avoid that!
This is sexy!
This is beauty!
This is healthy!
This is harmful!

From the commercials we watch, the ads we drive past, the magazines we read. If we sit back and really take it in, we realize we are truly bombarded. We are consumers. And every single thing we buy tells us something: about the way we eat, the way we sleep, the way we parent, the way we love, the way we live. Whether it's the ingredient list or the person pictured on the front, it is part of what forms our conscious (and subconscious) ideas, beliefs and perspectives about the world and about ourselves.

As a parent, I've come to simultaneously realize that we are bombarded with messages and that my daughters are sponges soaking up those messages. It's kind unnerving. If I innocently put on a TV show, the commercials between episodes tell my kids they need things.

Daughter: Mom! We have to buy a Stuf-It!
Me: A what?
Daughter: A Stuf-It!
Me: What's a Stuf-It?
Daughter: It's this stuffed animal thing that opens up and you stuff things inside it!
Me: First off, that's weird. Second, you've lived this long without a Stuf-It. I doubt that in the past 30 seconds it has become an actual need in your life.


It's not just commercials. It's the pictures of happy "healthy" kids they see plastered on sugary dye-filled fruit drinks. This message tells them that this drink makes you happy! And healthy! And not at all hyperactive! 

It's the radio ad (that I don't always have quick enough reflexes to turn off before it begins) about laser hair removal that will make you more beautiful. It's the ultra-thin models donning the outfits we are told to buy.It's the astoundingly short skirts marketed toward 6 year olds at Target.

But the loudest, most profound messages they hear most of all?

The ones coming straight from my mouth. 

I am so, so painfully aware that my little sponge girls pick up on everything I say. Whether it's the accidental curse word that flies after burning my hand on the stove or watching the kind of humor that makes me laugh - they note it. They start laughing at things that they've learned I consider funny. They say things like, "What the HECK?" after hearing one of our friends say it during a visit. 

Raising girls is tough in this world of messages. Boys too, for sure. And all these messages affect both genders alike. Being a girl myself, though, I know exactly how the messages we receive day in and day out affect females.  So while I can't catch everything that comes out of my mouth, there are certain things I refuse to ever allow to grace my tongue. I have vowed to never let my daughters hear me say:

Or any derivative sentiment: 

"I hate the way I look today."
"I need to go on a diet - look at me."
"I'll never look the way I did in college."
"Ug. I'm feeling ugly today."
"I can't eat this because I didn't go to the gym today."

I won't say these things. 

And friends, that isn't easy. 

Because, hello, I'm a woman. So you know I have my fair share of image issues. I struggle just like the rest of you with what I see in the mirror. I'm trying to change my own self-image, to embrace the beauty that is there in all of us. But I fail daily, and I am internally haunted by the thoughts that arise about how my jeans fit, how my hair is laying, and wondering why I can't get rid of the weird gross phantom hair that appears every few weeks on my cheek.

I wrestle with these thoughts and I'm working on processing them (and I'm becoming more victorious each day!), but I wrestle with them outside of earshot of my girls. Because I remember growing up and hearing the women in my life agonize over the person they saw in the mirror. I heard their disparaging remarks, the off-handed comments about their weight or looks, their defeat against self-worth.

And it affected me.

Everything is a learning process with children. They take the things they see and hear, and it helps them build and understanding of the world. As a child, when I heard those comments, it taught me to be critical of the way clothes fit, of the person I saw in the mirror. We all experienced comments like these as a kid, and whether we realize it or not, it was part of how we came to understand our own self-image. How we defined beauty and being healthy. This is the breeding ground of poor self-esteem, of eating disorders, and of a general distortion of what beauty and health truly are.

While it is hard sometimes, I speak only positively about myself in front of my girls. Because it won't be too long before they come up with the disparaging thoughts about themselves on their own. They'll hear their friends distress about their outfit or weight. They'll see some episode of a TV show where the girl struggles with anorexia. We censor curse words in front of our kids (or, ahem, try to), so shouldn't we watch how we express thoughts that could affect their self-esteem?

It's important that the main woman in my daughter's lives - ME -  is a role model. That when they hear me and see me, they see a woman who is working to think positively of herself, in the hopes that they'll learn to think positively about themselves too.  So it's all the more important for me to watch my words, because my girls, and all the young girls I know, need role models.

I let myself say out loud that I like my outfit today or the way my hair is falling. That I'm proud of myself tackling a new recipe. I eat my meals with them, so they see I eat healthy, well-rounded (and filling) meals. They watch me suit up for runs, so they know I enjoy being physically active. They hear me tell Hubby that I love him. 

And when I finally get dressed and ready for the day, I let them stand beside me in front of the mirror.  We assess ourselves, and I make sure to finish off my preparations with a smile. I want them to see me smiling at the person I see in the mirror. 

Each day, I'm embracing the beauty, worth and talent of the person in the mirror more and more. 

Fear of Failure

My first job out of college was as a caseworker for my county's Children, Youth and Family services. Yes, the people who investigate abused kids and yank kids from unsafe home situations. They also do amazing things like coordinate adoptions and foster families as well as provide respite and other services to people in the community. I was on a less-intense unit that provided services to teenagers who had home issues but were also on probation. Working with me was a part of their probation contract.

It was hard work, and at first I really enjoyed it. But over time, it became tiring. The paperwork, reports and court appearances piled up. And I felt that even after a few years, I was struggling to really find a groove. After the 3 year point, I started dreading work and I became disheartened when past clients came back on my roster.

What good was I really doing? And what was wrong with me that I couldn't be more successful in my work?

I left this job for a brief stint with a faith-based non-profit whose focus was high school kids. I had worked with this organization as a volunteer for several years, and it had been my dream to go on staff with them. I was assigned to a difficult position in a fledgling area with structural and economic issues. In some ways, I felt set up to fail. But shortly after taking up the assignment and moving, I found out I was (unexpectedly) pregnant with Chica. And in this area plagued with difficulties, it was an uphill battle. I was constantly frustrated that I wasn't excelling at this job, a job I had dreamed of working for half of my life.

When Chica was born, Hubby and I were on the same page that I'd stay home with her. I grew up with a SAHM mom, and I guess I'd always assumed that is what I would do when I had kids. Yet, I was not prepared for the lifestyle. To outsiders, the stay-at-home life seems luxurious: lazing around the house with your sweet babe, tackling household tasks with the greatest of ease.

If only this were the case.

I was rudely awakened, when after 3 days home with Hubby he went back to work and I was facing my days (and a new baby) alone. Alone is a word that would best describe my first few months as a new mom. I was bewildered by this wiggling, crying, pooping charge that had been left in my care. I had no idea how to juggle the baby's needs with the daily tasks of cleaning, laundering and getting meals made. Hygiene went out the window. For the life of me, I could not get a handle on taking care of myself as well as taking care of my house and another human. At the time, there were few people I knew who were home with kids, so I just felt lost.

Once again, I felt like I was working at a job I was not cut out for.

Yet, this was my new life.

It took several months to make the transition from "working" to "stay-at-home." And it was a dark road. I eventually eased into my role as Momma, and even went on to have baby #2 a few years later. The truth of the matter is that every mother, whether she is open about it or not, struggles. Some struggle more than others, some hide it better. But we all struggle: with the ups and downs, with the needs, with the responsibility. And, above all, the notion that you were in the process of royally screwing up your children.

About a year after having Bug, I started taking on small chunks of part-time work. Most of the work stemmed from my blogging, leading to freelance writing gigs and social media management opportunities. Over the years, in direct correlation to my kids getting bigger and going to school, I've taken on more and more work. And I now find myself in the position of a new kind of job: Work-at-Home Mom.  We are strange creatures, WAHM's. 90% of my work is at home, with 10% taking me to various meetings or events. (I'll cover the complexities and struggles of being a WAHM in an upcoming post.)

And it is in a job field I feel like I do well in, which makes for happy working.

Sort of.

In taking on this work, which has reached a level of fulltimeness (a phrase I just coined here and now), I feel the familiar strings of ineptness being pulled. I find myself worrying about my performance, if my clients are happy, or if I am in jeopardy of losing work. Being an independent contractor is wrought with uncertainty and instability. My workload changes from month to month. Some months, I am happily overwhelmed, while others I am looking for new work opportunities. And in this, I hear the voices whispering that I am unqualified, ineffectual and temporary. 

So for a while, now, I have struggled with the notion that something is wrong with me. That perhaps I am not really good at anything, that I am not cut out for work. I ruminate on this often. But I was recently struck by a thought that has changed my perspective. 

Yesterday, I was running with two friends, and we were talking about parenting stuff. My one friend was reminiscing on the early months of being a new mom, and how she wished she could go back to live it out differently, now that she knows more. She remarked, "I was just so worried all the time. I was so afraid I would mess up."

And a light bulb clicked for me.

I've spent the better part of my life being afraid of messing up. I live in a constant fear of failure. At my first job, I couldn't just except that I was working in a position that was not a good fit for me. Or that at my second job, the circumstances of the area where I was working were outside of my control. The only option in my mind was that there was something innate to my being that was messing up. I assumed something was wrong with me. I only felt this driven home when I took on the role of being mommy. I spent so much time worrying, so afraid I would mess up yet another "job," and this one being a person! I couldn't embrace that all jobs come with difficulties. I couldn't believe that everyone struggled. Rather, I wallowed in what I felt was my unique ineptitude.

I fear failure because I believe that failing means I am flawed, ineffective, broken and incapable. 

But this isn't true. We all struggle in our various roles in life. We all doubt ourselves or get anxious about our job performance. Most people can embrace that they are not suited for some roles are, or accept that all jobs come with difficulty that just needs to be faced. I, instead, believe the lie that if something isn't working, if something is hard, it's my fault. Which leads to me being very hard on myself (and a heaping load of anxiety to boot). This kind of thinking can easily sink a person.

The truth is: No one is suited for all things. I'm not suited to be a chemistry teacher or a financial advisor or an artist. I'm not skilled in those ways, just as people in those roles may not be suited for writing or social media. Some mothers feel they are at their best when they can stay home with their kids. Others need the professional outlet of working to feel balance in their life. 

I'm learning that it's okay to mess up sometimes, that mistakes won't sink me. I won't always parent perfectly. I will make plenty of grammatical errors in my writing. I will have to face clients who are, for whatever reason, dissatisfied with my performance at times. These are opportunities to learn and grow. 

I'll end with a quote from Book 1 of Game of Thrones (sorry for this temporary geek-out), which struck me deeply as I've been processing these things. Tyrion Lannister is speaking to Jon Snow, and they are reflecting on their various flaws, as society would see it. Tyrion says to Jon,

"Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

I could let my fear of failure completely overcome me. I would be sunk. It could completely paralyze me if I let it. Instead, I can turn this flaw into a strength: to be better, to learn from my mistakes, to have grace with others, to empathize, to grow. 

Friends? 

Whether you are a stay-at-home parent struggling in the role of mommy (or daddy) or doubting yourself in your role at work, embrace this truth: there is no such thing as failure. There is only the opportunity to learn and grow. Let mistakes make your stronger. Let difficulties give you a tender heart to others who struggle.

There is no option to fail. 

Only to grow.

One Hundred Minutes

"In a minute."

I must say this one hundred times a day. As I'm making breakfast. As I'm folding clothes. As I'm talking on the phone. As I'm checking my email. As I'm doing any number of things on a given day and one of my girls, my precocious little bugs, skips up to me and asks me to give them attention.

"Mommy! Can you get this toy for me?"

"In a minute."

"Mommy! I need you! Chica took my doll!"

"In a minute."

"Mommy! Can I show this to you?"

"In a minute."

"Mommy!  Can you watch me?"

"In a minute."


One hundred times a day these words tumble thoughtlessly out of my mouth. One hundred minutes. One hundred minutes of choosing this over that. Of choosing a chore over a moment. 

Of choosing myself over them.

I have chosen wrongly.

Even as I read over the words I've typed my heart aches and my eyes fill with tears. Guilt seeps in from the deep, dark places. I've chosen wrongly, and for every day of their lives, I've wasted one hundred precious minutes. One hundred irreplaceable moments of connecting with beings of my own flesh and blood, giving them my utmost attention and praise, and hearing their sweet voices.  

These moments I will never know. A ballerina's dance to an empty room. A work of art crafted upon construction paper. A tender conversation between sisters. Small bodies snuggled up against me as I read a story. One hundred opportunities to hold tiny hands and receive tender butterfly kisses on my cheek and tell my beautiful daughters I love them. I forfeited the rights to these moments, and they passed, unnoticed, in other rooms. 

All in exchange for a minute for myself: a chore, an email, an item on my to-do list.

I ache over the hundreds of thousands of moments I've already lost with them. I scold myself for all the in-a-minutes I spoke today. And I sit, wondering, how many things I've missed.

So today, friends?

Today I choose rightly.

Today I choose to give all my minutes to them. To put down my phone. To shut my laptop. To let the laundry go. To put off dinner by a few minutes. Today I choose to watch. To play. To laugh. To listen. To draw when they bring me crayons and paper. To applaud when they perform their intricate dances. To read aloud when they bring me a book. 

Because all too soon, the minutes will be fewer and far between. In  a time not too far from now, I will be chasing after them for time and attention. And amidst the chaos of their ever-growing lives, they'll say, "In a minute, Mom."

How many minutes do I have left?

Today I will capture minutes.

Reclaim lost moments.

And treasure them in my heart.

Potential Titles for Books On Parenting

We are always surrounded by books at our house.  Maybe it's the curse of being the wife of an English teacher, maybe we are just truly lovers of books. But I see their titles at so many moments of my day. And it's inevitable that my creative (if not wickedly witty) mind starts to play with the familiar title phrases.

Today I started using these classic titles as a basis of inspiration for  titles of new books...on parenting.

If someone is going to write a book about the adventures of parenthood, they should at least make sure the title is creative. So I figured I'd do the work for them. Here are some titles. Now someone go write the book. 

Just make sure to throw some royalties my way, savvy?

Here they are, in no particular order:

Now I call upon your creative genius. What potential parenting book titles can you come up with?

Leave a comment and share your best ideas!