Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom

Too Hard, Too Fast

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 23 May 2012 19:17:00 +0000

I'm struggling with something right now that I think a lot of parents deal with at one time or another: deciding whether or not too push our children, nudging them gently in the right direction, knowing that with each step they're moving farther and farther away from us.

That's where I'm at lately. As I mentioned last week, G just wrapped up her first year of preschool. It's been a fabulous experience; so fabulous, in fact, that she is beyond bummed that the year is already over. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. She was also really sad when she figured out that her current teacher, Miss B, wouldn't be with her next year. So when I found out that Miss B would be teaching our preschool's new "extended day" program for four-year-olds in the fall, I had to make the gut-wrenching decision as to whether or not to send my daughter to school four-hours-a-day, five-days-a-week.

Miss B has done so many wonderful things for G, as well as all the other students in her class. My three-and-a-half year old - the youngest in her class by a full three months - can write every letter in the alphabet, both upper and lower cases. She can sound out and identify in print most basic words. She can do simple addition and subtraction (numbers 10 and under). But that's not what makes Miss B so incredible. What's really remarkable is that Miss B has managed to teach these skills to EVERY CHILD in G's class. No, I don't believe that every child in G's class is a budding genius - I just believe Miss B is that good of an educator.

Plus, the idea of G getting to have Miss B for a second straight year is alluring in and of itself. After all, once a child moves on to the public school system, it's unlikely he or she will ever have the same teacher in back to back years. I feel the continuity of having Miss B, whom G simply adores, next year will really help my daughter grow socially and intellectually. I also feel that having a teacher who really knows G will help when it comes time for the decision I've been dreading since my OB told me her due date more than four and a half years ago: whether or not to send her to kindergarten just shy of her fifth birthday. I know that Miss B will provide us with a straightforward answer, based on her interactions with G over a two year period; her insight will be invaluable and, quite frankly, an opinion I won't challenge. If she says G is ready, I'll send her; if she says G isn't ready, then she'll return to preschool (this time in the school's K-5 program) for another year. It's as simple as that.

But despite all my love for Miss B, there's still a part of me that wonders if I'm pushing my daughter too hard, too fast. She's only going to be a child once, and I don't want to fill up her days with too much regimentation and routine. On top of school (which she loves - the child has never once asked to stay home from school over the past year, and on the one day she was sick, she cried and cried and cried because she was missing out on all the fun), she also takes dance classes and swim lessons. I don't want to fill up her schedule and have her be one of those stressed-out, over-scheduled kids you read about so much these days. I want her to be a kid.

Ultimately, though, I have to acknowledge that my daughter is awake for roughly 85 hours a week, and that preschool, dance, and swimming combined will occupy just 1/4 of that time. We'll be left with more than 60 hours every week for being silly and spontaneous, to go on adventures and spend quality time together.

Maybe my fears over pushing her too fast have less to do with her - deep down I know she's ready for it - and more to do with my own struggles letting her grow, letting her grow up, letting her slowly but surely move away from me.

School's Out; Mommy's Crying

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 15 May 2012 12:30:00 +0000


Photo Courtesy: Phillip Martin

When I was a kid, I lived for summer vacation. Sure, I loved the school year - I have always thrived in an academic environment - but by the time March rolled around, I was already counting down the days til summer break.

My, my, my, how times have changed.

A week from tomorrow is G's last day of preschool - the last day of her first year of preschool. She's attended a local church's preschool every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since September. She spent the year in a three-year-old classroom, meaning most of the kids started the year at age three and have since turned four, even though G didn't turn three until her second day of class. Nonetheless, she's more than exceeded our expectations, learning how to write all her letters (upper and lower case), spell basic words, do simple math (adding and subtracting numbers 12 and under), and begin to sound out words and read at a very rudimentary level.

I'm so proud of all she's accomplished this year, but I'm a little sad as well. No, I'm not sad because of how quickly she's growing up.I'm sad because once school is over, my unofficial three-hour-long break every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning will be O-V-E-R.

Over the past nine months, I've used those nine hours a week to bond with ~~Baby~~ C, giving him one-on-one attention he otherwise wouldn't get with his older sister around. I've used those nine hours to work out at our local Y. I've used those nine hours to do work - both housework and business work. I've made the most of those hours, packing more into them than many people pack into an entire day. I've been a productive, busy momma.

So when school officially lets out next week, I won't be looking forward to a summer by the pool, free from the strict routine of the school-year. Well, I guess I will eventually, just not yet. Instead, I'll be trying to figure out how to occupy my precocious daughter for an additional nine hours every week.

Moms, how have your thoughts about summer vacation changed since having kids?

Defriending My Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 09 May 2012 14:42:00 +0000

If you remember this post, then you know I was a strong opponent of the amendment to add language defining marriage as between one man and one woman to my state's constitution. Well, I'm heartbroken to say that the amendment not only passed, but passed by an even wider margin than polls were predicting: 61% to 39%. Yup, that means that more than 1.3 million voters in my state (NC) voted for fear, bigotry, and legalized discrimination.

I'm not going to go into the depths of my feelings right now - they're too raw, so I'll probably leave them for another post when I've cooled down. Instead, I'm focusing what I'm doing - or trying not to do - in light of this new amendment.

What I'm doing is calling my family and friends to action. Whether you live in North Carolina, Washington, DC, New York, or California, you can help stand up against this intolerance by signing a fast-growing petition posted on Change.org - again, you don't have to be from North Carolina to let your opinion be known on this issue.

What I'm doing is letting those whose voices - and hearts - have been silenced by the self-righteousness opinions of closed-minded individuals know that I stand with them. I have stood by their side, and will continue to do so. In fact, I'm pledging to do even MORE, even if I don't know what that is quite yet.

What I'm not doing - or, at least, trying not to do - is defriending all my friends, colleagues, and acquaintances on Facebook who voted for this amendment. I'm trying not to let one political act define how I feel about these individuals, despite the fact that they have chosen to judge others based on God's own design. I'm trying not to call them hypocrites, bigots, and prejudiced. I'm trying to show them by my actions that open-mindedness and tolerance is the path to glory, not judgment and fear.

I've had others on the other side of the gay marriage issue tell me they've been called by God to vote against the union of two men or two women, based on words Jesus never said. Well, you know what? I feel like He's called me too. He's called me to stand up for the now legally under-privileged. He's called me to give a voice to those who now have none. He's called me to be a light for love - love of all his people, just not those who meet society's narrow set of standards.

Will you stand up with me?

When You Were Inside Me

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Thu, 03 May 2012 12:49:00 +0000

Dear Baby C,

When you were inside me, I used to dream of your face. I wondered who you'd look like - me? your daddy? your sister? I pictured you with your daddy's strong features, my blue eyes, and your sister's wide smile. I could make myself giddy thinking about your chubby little feet, or how you'd have those adorable dimples where your fingers met your hands. Little did I know that you'd also be the only member of our family to have delicious dimples on your cheeks as well.

When you were inside me, I thought about your future. I daydreamed about your first t-ball game, football game, basketball game. I daydreamed about watching you take your daddy's car out for your first real date. I fretted about the day you'd pack up and leave us for college - Duke, naturally. I wondered what career path you'd choose; maybe medicine, the field I gave up on so long ago. I thought about the girl you'd one day bring home to meet us, about the day she'd walk down the aisle and meet you at the front of our church. I thought about how her daddy won't be the only one giving something - someone - away that day. I thought about the day when you'll see your children enter the world, how you'll finally understand what a parent's love is all about, how you'll finally get to witness a miracle.

When you were inside me, I never had to worry about where you were or what you were doing. I could feel you, and we were one. I didn't have to wonder if you'd managed to climb the baby gate (again), only to crawl up the stairs at the speed of sound. I didn't have to get on my hands and knees to help retrieve you from underneath the coffee table. I didn't have to worry whether that bump on the head was just a bump, or something more serious.

When you were inside me, I was always able to protect you. I was able to guard you against the too harsh sun that would burn your baby skin. I could keep you safe from the small toys your sister is always leaving around the house. I didn't have to see your salty tears that feel like they're coming from my eyes.

When you were inside me, your life was an empty book, waiting to be opened, waiting for God to write the opening lines. Your time inside of me was just the prologue.

You've now spent 365 mornings outside of me.

The cord may no longer be attached, but we're still one, you and I. You still hold my heart as surely as if you'd lived inside of it, not simply next to it for nine months.

I still remember the morning I learned you were inside of me, the fear and anxiety I felt that there wouldn't be room for you in my life. Now, I've had a whole year to bask in your baby sweetness, to nibble on those chubby toes, to take in your baby smell, to watch as you throw back your head with a hearty peel of laughter. I've had a whole year to see your personality bloom - a personality that is equal parts mischief and tenderness. I've had a whole year of pulling you into bed beside me every morning, the first beautiful face I see as the sun rises to greet us.

I love you, my sweet, sweet boy. I don't want to admit that this first year is over; it's gone too fast. But I take solace in knowing that we have a lifetime of memories still to make - first steps, first words, first day of school. So many firsts, seconds, thirds that I'll lose count and won't be able to mark each one. It won't make them any less sweet, though.

Happy birthday, Baby C. I can't wait to see what life has in store for you.

Love,

Mommy

(PS - many of you have been asking when I'm going to post pictures of my kids again! Since my blog is public, and I want to keep my kids' images private, I won't be posting any more pictures of them here anymore; most of you are friends with me on Facebook, though, and I'll post some there soon, I promise!)

When It's So Hard To Remember

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 14:21:00 +0000

It's been a tough week in our house. G got in big trouble at preschool on Monday for hitting one of her little friends - something I've never seen her do with any of her other playmates, and something that is, quite frankly, unacceptable in our household. Since then, we've had one meltdown after another over her behavior. DH and I have been at our wits end, pulling out all the parenting stops in hopes of finding a solution to bring back our sweet little girl.

That's when I stumbled across this video online:

It's a simple concept, really; a man in The Netherlands compiled videos of his daughter, Lotte, over a 12-year period and put them all together in one 2:45 piece. By the time I finished watching the video, I was in tears.

Time goes by so fast. After tucking G into bed last night, I spent a moment looking at some of the pictures I've posted on a cork board that hangs from her bedroom door. There was me, holding my days-old daughter in the hospital on the first day she was allowed to wear clothes - her newborn-sized onesie proudly proclaimed "New!" and I am wearing the proudest new-mommy grin. There's another one of G hoisted on top of her daddy's shoulders, the early autumn sun silhouetting them at a college football game. There's a picture of her holding her baby brother for the very first time, a smile of amazement and curiosity spreading across her lips.

I get so bogged down in the day-to-day elements of parenting that I often forget to look at the bigger picture - that one day, my daughter won't need me to tuck her in at night anymore. She won't need me to kiss her boo boos to make them better, won't want my help brushing her teeth, won't laugh at me when I do a silly dance through the grocery store freezer section. Whether I like it or not, she's going to grow up. She's going to go off to college, forge her own path, create her own identity very much separate from the life I lead. It's inevitable. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I'd be a failure as a mother if I didn't want those things for her.

It's my job to prepare her for what's out there. It's my job to teach her about all the world has to offer. And, of course, it'll be my job to cushion her fall if she ever flies too high or too far and needs to come back to the nest.

But seeing little Lotte grow up - literally before my eyes - made it so poignantly clear that although we try to hold on to our children's baby days through pictures, videos, and memories imprinted in our minds, our efforts can only go so far. We can only take them so far before they have to spread their wings and make the journey on their own.

It's the toughest part of being a mother.

Booked, Paid, and Ready: Our Disney Reservations

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 13:38:00 +0000

If you can't tell, I'm more than a little excited about our upcoming trip to Disney World. I've been plotting and planning out our vacation for years now (no, I'm not exaggerating; DH & I decided we'd be taking G to Disney World this summer TWO YEARS AGO when she was still just a year old), and the closer it gets, the more anxious I become.

There's so much to plan - the park passes (you'll remember that we already booked our discount tickets through the website Billy Boy's Discount Tickets last month), the travel arrangements (we are going to drive there, since our local airport doesn't offer direct flights to the main airport in Orlando, where Disney provides free shuttles to and from the resorts), plus the hotel reservations.

I've been focusing on that last part - the hotel reservations - for about the past month. Unlike a certain friend and work colleague, who shall remain nameless, I cannot wait until the last minute to decide where I'll stay: I'm too impatient for that! It would absolutely pique my anxiety, and this trip is supposed to be enjoyable. So planning in advance is the right option for me and, hence, my family.

Photo Courtesy: Walt Disney World Resort

We knew we wanted to stay on park property. This will be my 8th trip to Walt Disney World, and I've stayed on Disney property all but two of those times. One time, we stayed in Kissimmee because my parents were looking to save money; instead, we wasted about two hours a day in hotel shuttles going back and forth from our hotel to the parks. It wasn't worth it. The other time, we stayed just outside the park - maybe a five minute drive from the Magic Kingdom parking lot - but only because DH (who was at that point only DF, as in darling fiance) was playing in the Champs Sports Bowl and my mom and I wanted to stay at the same hotel as his college football team. It was nice, but it lacked the awe and wonder of a Disney resort - yes, even to two adults.

Originally, we'd planned on staying at a value level resort, which includes Disney's All-Star themed resorts. DH & I stayed at the All-Star Sports resort one spring break in college (again, he was DF back then) and really enjoyed ourselves. We were all set to book our stay when Disney - like they often do - started running a sale that gave us up to 25% off rooms resort-wide. That meant we'd be able to stay at a moderate level resort - places like Caribbean Beach Club and Port Orleans - for basically the full sticker price of a value resort. Since we've had two years to budget for this trip, we knew we had the cash and decided to "splurge."

We've made reservations for seven nights at Disney's Port Orleans French Quarter. In all, we'll pay $1187, which averages out to $169.57 a night (although Friday and Saturday nights are more expensive). We'll have access to the resort's pools - including the pools at the neighboring Port Orleans Riverside resort - plus water launch access to Downtown Disney. We'll also get free transportation to the Disney theme parks, including Epcot which we could basically walk to from our property. What swayed me to the French Quarter resort over the other moderate value properties was the room location; I mentioned to my super-friendly customer service rep (how do even customer service reps sound magical over the phone? That's Disney for you...) that G loves to swim, and he told me that the standard rooms at French Quarter are closer to the pool than standard rooms at any other moderate or value level property. I loved getting that personalized information.

So now we're all ready to go - now I'm just waiting for the dates of our trip to get here, so we can indulge G in a magical week!

The Blame Game

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 15:53:00 +0000

Before the kids and I left to spend a week in Ohio with my parents, I'd opened a box of my favorite cereal, Kashi. (Yes, I realize I'm probably the only person in America who absolutely loves what my mother refers to as "twigs and berries in a bowl.")

When I came back home, the entire box was gone. My husband, who doesn't even like it, later told me he ate it because it was there.

I was furious. I screamed. I slammed a cabinet door. I used foul language. I blamed my husband for eating my cereal.

But was it really his fault?

Last July, I wrote a post for this blog about how I always found myself saying "I'm sorry" - even in situations where I was in no way to blame. At the end of the post, I vowed to stop apologizing for things that weren't my fault.

I guess I did a pretty good job of keeping that resolution: maybe too good of a job.

These days, I find myself blaming everyone but me for everything that goes wrong in my life. My husband ate all of my favorite cereal?!?! Damn him, he should have known better! There's no more room in my favorite yoga class at the Y?!?! Screw you, you exercise anorectics! My house isn't selling as fast as I'd like it to?!?! My Realtor's to blame!

Of course, in all those situations, my own actions played a large role in the ultimate outcome. My husband wouldn't have eaten my cereal if I'd simply communicated with him that I'd appreciate it if he'd save it for me until I returned. There would have been space for me in yoga class if I'd gotten out of the house sooner instead of fiddling with my email on the computer. My house would probably sell faster if my husband and I actually listened to our Realtor and were more realistic about the asking price.

I've always been an extreme personality, apt to see the world as black and white, ignoring the millions of shades of gray in between. I don't do well with nuances; I simply want to be told what's going on, in BIG BOLD FONT instead of being forced to read between the lines. Maybe that's why I went from one end of the spectrum - apologizing for everything - to the other - blaming others for everything - in such a short amount of time.

What I do know, though, is that I dislike my current behavior as much as I disliked the old doormat treatment I was getting last summer. When I refuse to take accountability for my own actions and the roles they play in my life - and in the lives of others - I lose my grasp on reality. I start to imbue a pack mentality, fearing that everyone is out to get me, when in fact, that's not the case at all.

So now, I'm making another vow: I'm going to take the middle ground. I know doing so will be far harder than embracing the extremes, as I'm usually apt to do. But it's something I have to do, not just for me, but for the people around me (who are probably sick of me blaming them).

When Is A Year More Than A Year?

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 13:53:00 +0000

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

-Winston Churchill, November 1942

When is a year more than a year? When it is really ten years, or 30 years.

Think about it. When the world was partying like it was 1999, waiting with baited breath to welcome in the year 2000, we were celebrating more than the start of a new year: we were marking the dawn of a new millenium. We were recognizing the start of not just a new year, but of a thousand new years.

That's why tomorrow seems so monumental to me. My 30th birthday marks not just the start of a new year, but of a new decade. I have ten years ahead of me with a "3" holding the tens spot. It's time to say goodbye to my 20s.

Yet, as all beginnings do, tomorrow also marks an ending. It's why I included Winston Churchill's famous 1942 quote at the beginning of this post. The British Prime Minister uttered this quote during a 1942 speech, after his army's successful defeat of the Nazi military mastermind Rommel in Egypt. Churchill didn't go as far to say that the battled had turned the tide completely in the Allies' favor, and with good reason: it would be another two and a half years before World War II would finally come to a close. However, he did acquiesce that the victory marked the end of the beginning, a beginning which had been a tough road for the British.

As I stand on the precipice of a new decade, I feel much like Churchill back in November of 1942. The first 30 years of my life are in the books; they, like Churchill himself, are history. It's the end of the beginning of my life. I'm now embarking on my middle years. By the end of this chapter of my life, I'll be 60 - the age both my parents are right now. I'll probably have a grandchild or two. DH or I may be retired. It seems like a lifetime away, really.

But I can't wait to start this journey. Because, even if it is the end of the beginning, it is the beginning of the middle. And, judging by PB&J sandwiches and Oreo cookies, the middle is always the best part.

Things I Can't Abide

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 14:55:00 +0000

Photo rights: Mother Jones

You're not supposed to talk to your friends about two things: money and politics. Well, I'm about to break that rule and get all political up in here.

So yeah, booyah.

Next month,voters in my state will be asked to vote on a same-sex marriage amendment. If the amendment passes, same-sex couples will be prohibited from tying the knot - as well as from receiving any types of marital benefits, such as health care coverage - in North Carolina.

Quite honestly, I'm disgusted that the state legislature is even asking me to vote on this measure... but not for the reasons you may think.

As I've mentioned many times on this blog, I'm a practicing Catholic. I go to church every week, celebrate all the sacraments, spend a few minutes every night before bedtime with my devotional booklet. Saturday, I received a monthly newsletter from my Catholic diocese. A huge, full-page ad on the back of the paper urged me to vote in favor of the same-sex marriage amendment, telling me - among other things - that marriage helps give men and women a healthy way to fulfill their sexuality while strengthening family bonds.

I nearly choked when I read it.

It's no surprise to me that the Catholic Church is vehemently opposed to same-sex marriage; it's a pretty conservative religious institution, despite what other denominations (those that think we're all papists, mostly) may believe.

What might surprise you, however, is that I am not.

In fact, I'm not only not against same-sex marriage, I'm 100% for it. With all due respect to my Catholic diocese and that massive ad, I believe:

Marriage of any type strengthens family bonds. Whether it's a woman and a man, two women, or two men running a household, having two parents actively involved can have nothing but positive benefits for children.
Marriage of any type is going to give its participants the opportunity to fulfill their sexual desires. I'm sorry if you think same-sex sex is gross.
While parts of the Bible - specifically the Old Testament - prohibit a man from lying with a man, no where does Jesus speak out against this. NOT ONCE. He does speak out about adultery, but the only reason why same-sex marriage would be considered adultery (in the church's eyes, adultery is ANY sex outside the bonds of marriage) is because the church - and in some places, the government - won't let same-sex couples marry!

I have a friend - one who I know reads this blog from time to time - who is Catholic, but who has a tough time abiding by some of the tenets of our faith. I've been the first to defend my church. Maybe that makes me a bad Catholic. But I tend to view the Bible the same way a loose constructionist views the U.S. Constitution - as a malleable entity, one whose connotation changes with the times. Perhaps homosexuality wasn't a major issue in Jesus's day, explaining why he never directly addressed the topic. But in my point of view, the absence of any significant discourse on Christ's part to condemn homosexuality leaves me to believe that it was A-OK with him (oh, and please don't start on the whole "homosexuality is against Moses' law" argument; so was working on the Sabbath, and we know that Jesus healed on the Sabbath).

I don't think same-sex marriage is a threat to the institution of marriage. Never once have I looked at my husband and thought, "Hmmm, if those gays and lesbians are allowed to get married, we should probably get divorced."

Want to know what I think is a threat to the institution of marriage, and - maybe more importantly - the institution of the family?

People like Newt Gingrich, who marriage hop from woman to woman...

Men who father multiple children with multiple women, then fail to play any significant role in any of their offsprings' lives...

A divorce rate that some statisticians say is upwards of 50 percent for first marriages, and subsequently higher for second, third, and fourth marriages...

Two women who love each other and want to dedicate their lives to one another are not a threat to my marriage vows. Two men who yearn to raise a family together don't pose a risk to the ring I wear on my left hand.

Over the past 150 years, this country has had to come to grips with its ghastly inequal view of those who are different. 150 years ago, black men couldn't vote. 100 years ago, women couldn't either. But things have changed; we have changed. We've learned that different isn't always bad or wrong or dangerous. Most of the time, different is good. Variety is beautiful, showing us that we don't all have to look alike or behave alike to be worthy of another's love.

So come May, I'll be heading down to vote against the same-sex marriage ban... God can judge me if he sees fit, but I have a suspicion that the Lord who urged us to love one another as we love ourselves has better things to do.

Don't Call Me Skinny

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 15:12:00 +0000

As I was hustling out of the gym this morning, carrying a fussy Baby C in my arms, I literally ran into two women I knew from my Body Pump class.

"Hey!" I exclaimed as I recognized the pair, "I saw you out running when I dropped G off at preschool more than an hour ago! Now I feel guilty - I've only been here 45 minutes!"

"That was us!" one of the women replied. "I needed it, though; you're so skinny."

There it was. That word that makes me bristle like someone's just used a coarse, horse-hair brush on my skin. To some women, four-letter words get them all riled up. For me, it's this six-letter word that sparks my ire.

I know this acquaintance meant it as a compliment. I'm 5'8" and 135 pounds (I know this because I'd spent part of my 45 minutes at the gym weighing myself, as I do just about every Friday), so it wasn't off the mark either. I am skinny - I just don't like anyone to call me out on it.

The fact is, I'm kind of new to the whole skinny thing. When I was a toddler, I had the kind of cheeks old ladies in supermarkets liked to pinch. As an elementary school student, well-meaning family members often commented on my inability to lose my "baby fat." By the time I reached middle school and later high school, I had trimmed down, but I'd also dove headfirst into competitive swimming, giving me the bulky shoulders and broad back that would define my body type - and, no less importantly, my body image - for more than a decade.

By the time I headed off to college, my weight had stabilized at 153 pounds, putting me squarely in the "healthy" BMI range; however, I was still self-conscious of my swimmer's physique, especially since I'd eschewed my university's swim team in favor of its ballet classes. Around the lithe ballerinas, many of whom couldn't have topped 115 soaking wet, I felt like a bull in a china shop.

While my weight had some ups and downs in college, I was the exact same weight - 153 pounds - on the day of my college graduation as I was on the day of my high school graduation. Feeling confident that I'd found my "adult weight," I celebrated my entry into the real world (aka, grad school) by purchasing a new wardrobe, all size 8s. They fit perfectly... for a while.

I don't know if it was the stress of grad school (which I hated), my upcoming marriage, or both, but I ballooned in the months leading up to my wedding day. While the traditional school of thought says most brides lose weight before walking down the aisle, I packed on 15 pounds. None of my size 8s fit anymore, and I found myself buying size 10s and even a few 12s. My wedding gown itself was a 14, as wedding sizes tend to run small compared to off the rack clothes.

My weight vacillated between 155 and 165 until I got pregnant two and a half years later. My OB instructed me to gain between 25 and 35 pounds with my pregnancy, most of it during the latter half when the baby was really growing in size and weight. I, however, packed on 22 pounds in my first 22 weeks, sending me into a mental tailspin over exactly how much weight I would gain by the time it was all said and done.

Positive that I'd never again fit into the size 8s I'd purchased after graduation, I went through my closet, donating all my smaller sizes to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. When it was all said and done, I ended up with only double-digit sizes in my wardrobe when I gave birth to my daughter in September of 2008, having gained a total of 37 pounds.

And that's when something strange happened...

As I started to breastfeed G, the weight started coming off... fast. By the time I took her to her two-week pediatrician's appointment, I'd already lost 20 pounds. By the time she was six weeks old, I was down to my last five pounds of baby weight. When I went back to work four months after giving birth, I actually weighed ten pounds less than I had before I got pregnant. By the time G celebrated her first birthday, my weight had leveled off around 140 pounds, where it stayed until I got pregnant with Baby C in August 2010.

I gained an even 40 pounds with Baby C, and on the surface, I was worried that I'd never lose it all. But deep down, I had a gut feeling that breastfeeding would rev up my metabolism into overdrive, helping me lose the baby weight once again. Here I am, with Baby C coming up on 11 months old, weighing 135 (at one point late last month, amid the stress of my dad's health, my weight actually dropped to 131 pounds - a number I hadn't seen since the seventh grade).

Why do I tell you all this?

Definitely not to make you jealous of me. Heck, if I were reading this five years ago, I'd say my future self was being a braggart. But please, don't misinterpret my extensive use of details for pride. That's not the point.

I've had body image issues all my life. Up until a few months ago, I've never been a person who got called skinny. That word was always directed toward my friends. I was always as "muscular" or having an "athletic build" - I was definitely not described as thin.

Maybe that's why I'm so uncomfortable when someone actually uses one of those complimentary words in my direction. "But I'm not!" I want to call out. In a way, being called skinny makes me feel like a fraud, a traitor; after all, I spent most of my life as a "big boned." I may look like a skinny woman, but I don't feel like one.

If you'd told me on my wedding day - when I was stressing out because the five additional pounds I'd packed on since my final dress fitting a mere two weeks earlier - that I'd be a thin mom, I'd have called you a liar. I think as women, we always want what we don't have; it's the whole the grass is greener mentality. I've been on both sides of that fence, and let me tell you:

The grass isn't always green over here.

While the number I see on the scale has changed, to some extent, what I see in the mirror hasn't. I still see the child with chubby cheeks; I still see the teenager with bulky shoulders; I still see the bride who feels like a stuffed sausage in her gown. My body image hasn't changed. And until that happens, I don't think I'll ever be comfortable being called that six-letter word.

A Beginning and an End

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 17:10:00 +0000

Over the weekend, someone I hadn't seen in a long time came to visit. She arrived before I'd even had a chance to prepare for the day, catching me completely off guard. After all, when someone who was once a frequent visitor disappears entirely for 20 months, you kind of forget about her.

In case you haven't figured it out, I'm talking about my period.

Yup, Aunt Flo arrived for the first time since Baby C's conception in the first days of August 2010. I'd been feeling twingy and crampy on and off for weeks, so I knew my body was gearing up. The day she arrived, however, I'd been feeling just fine... until I saw the telltale signs on the tissue paper.

That's when the floodgates opened.

I cried when I saw the spots on my baby boy's feet, indicating he'd managed to contract hand, foot, and mouth disease (this, on the heels of his close call with pneumonia, a stomach virus, two ear infections, and roseola).

I cried when I saw the trailer for Disney Nature's new movie, "Chimpanzee," causing my husband to laugh out loud, believing an episode of 'Modern Family' had materialized in his very own living room.

But it wasn't until I laid my head on the pillow that night for bed that I realized exactly why I'd been crying all day long: to me, the arrival of my period signified a bittersweet ending.

To me, it was more than just a single monthly cycle. It was proof that my childbearing days are unofficially over. With Baby C's birth last May, my husband, and later I, decided our family was complete. That pregnancy was to be my last pregnancy. That childbirth to be my last childbirth. And, these last 20 months, the last time I'll be free from the monthly pain in the butt until menopause arrives some 20 to 30 years from now.

The start of my period was a symbol of the end of my baby boy's infancy. While I guess he's still technically an infant until he reaches his first birthday six weeks from now, he's crawling, pulling up, cruising, babbling, playing, exploring. He's not a newborn anymore - he's a growing boy who is learning about and discovering the world around him every second.

Somewhere, deep down inside of me, I am completely at peace with the decision to limit out family to one of four. Financially, it's a no brainer. Physically, I can't imagine having another child underfoot until one of my current two is much, much older. Emotionally, though, I'm torn. I know a mother's love is infinite - I know I could easily fall as deeply in love with a third child as I have with my first two. But while my heart may be divided, at least on some level, my brain knows unequivocally that the two children in my life right now are the only ones I'm meant to have.

So that's the ending... the ending to the expansion of my family, to my childbearing years.

But then there's that beginning. Every door closed is another open, right? Right?

You let me know when you figure out what's behind that door, ok?

I Went To Duke. Go Ahead, Make Fun Of Me

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 12:14:00 +0000

Go ahead, laugh in my face. Tell me how my alma mater's coach looks like a rat. Tell me how the student body - of which I was once a member - is a bunch of spoiled, entitled brats. Remind me that the Tarheels/Wildcats/Jayhawks are better than the Blue Devils in every way imaginable.

Then go look at this, and tell me where your alma mater falls on this list.

Sure, Duke might have made an embarrassing first (well, technically second) round exit from the NCAA men's basketball tournament, but they've maintained their ranking on a far more important list - the #10 spot on the U.S. News and World Report National University Rankings.

Over the years, my alma mater has sparked the ire of the sports nation. Forget that Coach K has won more NCAA games than any other coach in history, despite largely eschewing the whole "one-and-done" mentality embraced by other coaches (hello, Kentucky fans), without suffering any major NCAA violations (I'm talking to you, UConn), and while graduating the majority of his players (yeah, that's you, Syracuse).

Sure, Duke earned its undesirable reputation by playing cocky SOBs like Christian Laettner and, more recently, JJ Redick. Now, I can't speak for Laettner - he was well before my time on campus - but I sat next to Redick in a class my senior year. He was one of the nicest guys I'd met in my four years on campus. He treated the professor with respect. He didn't act like he was better than his fellow students. Despite the fact that it was a spring semester class and Duke advanced to the Final Four that year, he managed to get all his classwork in on time.

But it's beyond the basketball court that Duke's reputation nationally bothers me. While the school has a (well, usually) great basketball team, it is so much more than that.

Let me say it again: Duke is more than its basketball team.

In the past ten years, Duke has won national championships in sports like golf, lacrosse, and tennis, as well as individual championships in swimming and diving. Duke has had 43 students receive the prestigious Rhodes scholarship. It's medical center ranks amongst the very best not just in the nation, but in the world.

Duke has more than 12,000 undergraduate, graduate, and professional school students. The basketball team includes just 15 of them.

Duke is more than its basketball team.

The House That Mickey Mouse Built

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 19:25:00 +0000

My very first memory is of Disney World.

I had just turned three years old. In an effort to make my family's move to a new house - in a new town - a little easier, they bribed me with a week-long trip to the happiest place on earth. What nobody told my parents was that even the happiest place on earth can be downright miserable with a nap-deprived preschooler who wilts like a spring flower in Central Florida's mid-summer humidity. The result? My first memory is of my mother yelling at me in the middle of the Magic Kingdom after I'd melted down over not being able to ride in a pink teacup with red trim.

Ahhh, the joys of parenthood...

Now it's time for my husband and I to take G on her first trip to see Mickey Mouse and the gang. We actually won't be traveling until August - just before her fourth birthday - in hopes of avoiding the tantrums that plagued my initial visit. And, as with anything I do, I have one major priority when it comes to planning this trip:

It. Must. Be. Affordable.

While the folks at Disney do a great job of entertaining my whole family, the resort can be a downright money pit for ill-advised guests. My husband and I are committed to staying on Disney property - the extended park hours and on-site transportation (making it possible to get back to the hotel as quickly as possible in the event of a meltdown) make it well worth the money. So, we sought to save money on our park passes.

That's when we found Billy Boys Discount Tickets. Billy Boys has actually been a sponsor of this blog for several years - if you take a look over on my far right sidebar, you'll see their text-link ad. When I first started working with Danny from Billy Boys, I didn't think twice about the company; I just figured they were a great, family-friendly advertiser for my blog. But as DH and I got deeper into planning our Disney World vacation, I started spending copious amounts of time on the Billy Boys website, comparing park pass prices.

And I liked what I found:

Say you want a 5-day base ticket for two adults (ages 10+) and one child (between the ages of 3-9). If you purchase these tickets directly from Disney, it'll cost you $781.72. But if you get your Disney World tickets from Billy Boys, you'll pay just $741.85, saving you $39.97!
Let's pretend you want to upgrade your Disney tickets from a 5-day base ticket to a 5-day Park Hopper pass (the Park Hopper gives you the ability to visit multiple parks on the same day). At the Disney website, you'll pay $957.44; head over to Billy Boys, and your passes will cost you more than $40 less - just $915.85!
Now, let's go for the grand-daddy of all Disney passes: the premium ticket. These tickets include the Park Hopper option, daily admission to Disney's water parks, plus they never expire. For my family, they would cost us $1,500.59 if I bought them from Disney; but if I bought them from Billy Boys, I'd save more than $50, paying just $1,446.85!

Even if you purchased passes through one of Disney's vacation packages - which can combine hotel, tickets, and dining plans into one - you'd still be paying more for your tickets than through a third-party ticket broker like Billy Boys. Example: A six-night stay during value season at a Disney value resort (the "lowest" tier) would cost you $607, including tax. Add 5-day base tickets for two adults and a child to that and you'd pay an additional $785 - that's even more than you'd pay for a la cart tickets direct from Disney, and $43 more than you'd pay at Billy Boys.

If you plan on seeing more than just Disney World on your trip to Orlando, Billy Boys specials become even better. While the folks at Disney can't offer you discounts to Orlando's other attractions - like SeaWorld and Universal Studios - Billy Boys can.

So, when we head to Orlando in August, we'll be using Billy Boys for our ticket needs. That way, even if we lose our sanity while traveling with our almost-four-year-old, at least we know we won't lose our shirts paying for it!

Disclaimer: Billy Boys Discount Tickets is a paid advertiser of this blog. Their business relationship with Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom did not influence the thoughts and opinions expressed in this post.

My Baby Clothes Boutique - Giveaway Winner

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 11:54:00 +0000

After 131 entries, we've got a winner in the *My Baby Clothes Boutique* giveaway. The winner of a $25 gift card to the site is...

#67 - Connie Gruning!

Connie, please email me no later than Wednesday, March 14th to claim your prize. If I haven't heard from Connie by the end of the day Wednesday, I'll select a new winner.

Burnt Out

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 16:16:00 +0000

It's been one hell of a two weeks for my family - and I don't say that lightly. It began when Baby C started running a fever that spiked at 104.9. When I rushed him to the pediatrician for an "emergency" visit, they started using words like "stat" and "serious." If I wasn't already on alert, those words certainly made me realize just how critical his situation was. They ordered blood work in the office and monitored his pulse oxygen for a while before sending us to an imaging center for a chest x-ray. His pediatrician thought he had pneumonia, but it turned out to be a virus that was simply mimicking pneumonia. He did have an ear infection though - even though he'd just come off antibiotics for the same condition four days prior - and they prescribed yet another round of meds.

Just three days later, I got a call from my mother about my dad. I'm not allowed to go into details - my parents specifically ordered me not to blog about them - but suffice it to say that it put me on even higher alert than I already was: I didn't know that was possible! My mom's phone call resulted in me and Baby C throwing our stuff in the car and booking it to my hometown (G stayed at home so she wouldn't miss school, dance class, swim class, etc.).

My dad is fine (praise God), but it took that phone call to realize just how much I still want and need my father in my life. We've always had a close relationship - I'm so blessed to be able to call both my parents my friends as well - but this just helped me to see how important he is, and how much I would miss him if he weren't there for me. It's funny; we spend the first 20, 30, in some cases 40 years of our lives letting our parents take care of us, then - seemingly overnight - we suddenly find ourselves in the role of caring for our parents. Although the fear of those initial moments has passed, it's still an uneasy feeling I won't soon forget.

Anyway, with all the emotions - not to mention the travel - of the past few weeks, I am feeling burnt out. I'm physically on my last leg (could somebody PLEASE get me a nap around here?), but spiritually and emotionally worn out as well. I need time to process everything that's gone on, but I'm really not sure how to do that without dwelling on what could have happened, rather than - thankfully - what did happen.

I'm sorry to be so intentionally vague about this whole situation - I wouldn't have blogged about it at all, except that I find writing cathartic... and I didn't really tell you anything anyway, did I?

I do hope, however, that you'll take this away: if you're lucky enough to have your parents in your life, give them a hug. Or a phone call. Or send them a letter. Let them know how much they mean to you, and how lucky you are to have them. While you're at it, give your kids an extra squeeze too.

My Baby Clothes Boutique: Giveaway & Review

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 16:56:00 +0000

My daughter is obsessed with dresses. She'll always go straight for the dresses in her closet before ever opting for even the most comfortable pair of pants. What can I say, she's a girl after my own heart?! But sometimes, it's tough to find age-appropriate dresses - and clothes of all kind, for that matter - for my little fashionista.

That's why I'm a huge - no, a HUGE - fan of My Baby Clothes Boutique. Whether you're looking for baby clothes - including baby hats and baby headbands - or clothes for your toddler or preschooler, this online retailer has it all, including a full line of clothes for boys.

When Lori from My Baby Clothes Boutique asked me to review an item from their spring line - and sponsor a giveaway - I went straight to the dress section. I pulled G on to my lap, and we searched through the options together. Ultimately, we (ok, she) decided on this three-tiered number:

But to mention this dress alone would be an injustice - without further ado, here are some of the "honorable mentions" that almost earned a spot in my picky daughter's wardrobe:

On top of these dresses, My Baby Clothes Boutique also carries a comprehensive line of tutus for little girls of all ages - perfect for first birthday pictures or just a special dress-up outfit.

BUY IT!
The Zuccini 3-Tier dress my daughter selected retails for $27.99 -
For an additional $5, you can add your child's monogram.
Plus, score free shipping on orders over $49!

WIN IT!
I'm giving away a $25 gift card to My Baby Clothes Boutique!

HOW TO ENTER:

Leave a comment telling me you follow on Google Friend Connect (1 entry - this is mandatory; if you are not a follower of this blog, your other entries will not count!)
Follow My Baby Clothes Boutique on Facebook (1 entry)
Follow My Baby Clothes Boutique on Twitter (1 entry)

You must leave a separate comment for each entry, or they won't count!
THE FINE PRINT:
Entries will be taken through Sunday, March 11th (selection Sunday, for my college basketball friends!); a winner will be selected using a random number generator and will be announced on Monday, March 12th. Sorry, U.S. residents only.

GOOD LUCK!
FCC DISCLAIMER: My Baby Clothes Boutique provided me with the Zuccini 3-Tier dress, retail value $27.99, plus free shipping for the purpose of this review. The opinions expressed in this review are my own, and were not influenced by the sponsor company.

My Lenten Facebook Fast

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 20:01:00 +0000

When the clock strikes midnight, I'll be saying farewell to Facebook for the next 40 days and 40 nights.

It's the start of the Christian season of Lent. It's a time to give up things that keep you from God. It's a time to focus on spiritual improvement. It's a time to start new, healthy habits - a restart on your New Year's resolution, if you will.

In past years, I've given up everything from swearing to chocolate, almost always unsuccessfully. Typically, I haven't even decided on what I'm going to give up - or on what area of my life I'll be striving to improve - until after the priest has made the sign of the cross in ashes on my forehead (this is a not-so-vague reference to Ash Wednesday, for those of you who aren't practicing Christians). My Lenten sacrifice is more often than not an afterthought, selected more out of rote habit than out of spiritual growth.

This year, though, it's going to be different. More than a month ago, I started thinking about what is truly standing in the way of my relationship not only with God, but with my closest family and friends. The answer was alarmingly obvious: Facebook. This spring marks eight years since I first joined the world's largest social networking site, and I shudder to think just how much time I've wasted (sorry, CAK - my friend who works at Facebook) on the site. Days? Definitely. Weeks? Probably. Months? Most likely. I can undoubtedly say that I've spent more time talking on Facebook with high school classmates whom I haven't seen in person since graduation than I have in conversation with God.

That's a kind of pitiful realization.

My friends are already taking bets on whether I'll be able to maintain my Facebook fast; they are, naturally, casting those votes - where else? - on my Facebook timeline. Technically, the season of Lent is the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Good Friday (which, as it happens, is my 30th birthday), excluding Sundays - however, I'm not going to take advantage of this "Sunday cheat" and will be staying off Facebook completely until Easter Sunday. I know over those six and a half weeks, I'll miss wedding pictures and baby pictures; I'll miss pregnancy and birth announcements; I'll forget birthdays and special events, because I won't have the social network to remind me. I'll be out of touch in so many ways.

But, I hope that I'll become more in touch with the things - the people - that really matter. I'll spend more time talking to my husband instead of sending him reminders to pick up eggs at the store on his Facebook page. I'll spend more time talking to my best friend on the phone than over the web (she's giving up Facebook too - great minds do, indeed, think alike). I'll be able to focus on my father's upcoming surgery without thinking about posting status updates about him online.

There will be more time to play with my children.

There will be more time to finally shave my legs.

But, most importantly, there will be more time to talk to God and really open up to him.

I don't think it's a coincidence that I chose the six weeks leading up to my 30th birthday to do this. This is more than a fast - it's a cleanse, a readjustment of my priorities looking ahead to the next fabulous decade in my life.

After all, Jesus spent 40 days wandering in the desert, being tempted by Satan himself, only to die for us on the cross. The least I can do is give up Facebook.

Novica.com Giveaway Winner

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 13:37:00 +0000

The winner of the $50 gift card to Novica.com is... drum roll, please...

#4 Tricia, aka Mama Marchand

Congrats! Please email me at my (dot) confessions (at) live (dot) com to claim your e-gift certificate! You have until 11:59pm on Wednesday, February 22nd to contact me, or another winner will be drawn and announced the following day.

Because I'm A Mom...

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 14:41:00 +0000

Don't forget to enter my latest giveaway for a $50 gift card from Novica! Click here for entry details!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Because I'm a mom...

...I have no problem going to bed at 8:15 in the evening,
even if the baby is still fighting sleep in his crib.

Because I'm a mom...

...I factor in the 300 calories I'll consume eating the
pizza and PB&J crusts my daughter leaves on her plate
into my daily caloric intake.

Because I'm a mom...

...I pick out not one but two outfits for myself every morning,
that way when the baby inevitably throws up on me,
I've already got another shirt ready.

Because I'm a mom...

...I've accepted the fact that my purse will be filled with
diaper rash cream, boogie wipes, and suckers,
making it impossible for me to find my keys, wallet, and phone.

Because I'm a mom...

...I've given up on ever watching trashy TV shows
in the middle of the day;
instead, I'm relegated to endless episodes
of Little Einsteins and Angelina Ballerina.

Because I'm a mom...

...Going to the gym isn't a way to lose weight;
it's a way to take advantage of free child care.

Because I'm a mom...

...I should vacuum the floor every other day in order to pick up
the tiny crayon wrappers, cheerios, and bits of baby wipes
my children always leave behind;
but I don't.

Because I'm a mom...

...I know all the words to all the songs from
School House Rock - and I like them.

Because I'm a mom...

...I've become an expert at using a nasal bulb syringe,
yet I've forgotten how to apply mascara.

Because I'm a mom...

...I have two hearts, both bigger than I could have ever imagined,
neither of which reside inside my body,
yet are an intrinsic, inseparable part of me nonetheless.

What makes YOU a mom?

I'm Changing My Name (Maybe)

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 15:10:00 +0000

Don't forget to enter my latest giveaway for a $50 gift card from Novica! Click here for entry details!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I was standing around G's classroom during her preschool Valentine's Day party when one of the other moms sidled up next to me and pointed at one of the other little girls in the class.

"Isn't her name Grace?" the mom asked me. I knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

"She used to be Grace," I started, "but over Christmas break she decided she wanted to be called Courtney instead. So now she's Courtney." (To be fair, the little girl's middle name is Courtney, so it's not like she made it up out of thin air.)

Our little conversation got me thinking - are you ever too old to change your name?

I've been an Elizabeth - and only Elizabeth - my entire life. As a baby, when well-intentioned family members tried to give me a nickname like Betsy or Liz, my mother would ferociously snarl, "Her name is Elizabeth." In my third grade Sunday school class, I introduced myself as Beth in an act I can only describe as willful disobedience to my mother. My Sunday school teacher did, in fact, call me Beth for several months, until the day she had a conversation with my mother and mentioned my new moniker. My mother had no idea about whom my teacher was talking. When she got home, my mom asked me - with tears in her eyes - why I insisted on calling myself something other than what she thought was the most beautiful name in the world. By the next Sunday, I was back to being Elizabeth full time, and never tried to change my name again.

That is, until now...

I've always wanted to be a Libby. It's a nickname for Elizabeth, and in my opinion, it's one of the cutest ones. It makes me think of Sam & Libby shoes, the original ballet flats, and what's nicer than a good pair of shoes?

Is 29 (and yes, I'm rounding down - my 30th birthday is still a solid seven-plus weeks away) too old to make a fresh start with a new name? I envision my new Libby-self as a light-hearted, optimistic gal; the kind who doesn't have a care in the world, or at the very least, doesn't let the world's cares get her down.

What do you think... would you call me Libby?

Novica.com: $50 Giveaway!

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 16:20:00 +0000

**This giveaway is now closed.**

My husband and I don't really celebrate Valentine's Day. I wish I could say it's because we're romantic types who spend each and every day cherishing one another, but that's not entirely true; we just don't see the point in using a fabricated holiday to justify extravagant gift-giving.

But you know what I do support? Extravagant gift-giving to oneself. Yup, there's nobody I like to spoil rotten more than loveable old me.http:
And I guess I like to spoil you, too. Because I've got a $50 gift certificate to Novica.com for one of my readers! What better way to say "I rock," than by rocking out one of Novica's new arrivals, like green scarves, shawls or women's clothing?

In case you're unfamiliar with Novica, here's the skinny: affiliated with National Geographic, Novica is a microlending website that helps bring artisans from around the globe together with potential customers. There are mens cufflinks from Indonesia and womens Central American accessories.

Novica also provided me with a $50 gift certificate in order to review their services and merchandise, and I selected this rayon batik dress in "Java Twilight" (I think that's an exotic name for "blue"). It's coming to me all the way from Bali! I chose this dress because I think it can pull double duty for me this summer: by day, it'll be an easy-to-pull-on poolside coverup, while by night the right necklace, earrings, and shoes will dress it up for a dinner out with my husband... if we ever manage to get three seconds to ourselves.

BUY IT!
You can buy the rayon batik dress in either Java Twilight or Java Emerald for $59.95, plus shipping (shipping costs range from nothing up to $15, depending on your purchase and shipping preferences)

WIN IT!
Or, you can win a $50 gift certificate to Novica.com and use it to buy an item of your choice!

HOW TO ENTER:

Leave a comment telling me you follow on Google Friend Connect (1 entry)
Visit Novica's website and leave a comment here telling me what you'd buy with your gift certificate (1 entry)
Post about this giveaway on Twitter or Facebook, making sure to link to this blog post; then, leave me a comment telling me you did so (1 entry for each post)

You must leave a separate comment for each entry, or they won't count!
THE FINE PRINT:
Entries will be taken through Sunday, February 19th; a winner will be selected using a random number generator and will be announced on Monday, February 20th.

GOOD LUCK!
FCC DISCLAIMER: Novica provided me with a $50 gift certificate for the purpose of this review. The total cost for my purchase was $63.50, including tax and shipping; I paid the $13.50 overage. The opinions expressed in this review are my own, and were not influenced by the sponsor company.

How Did I Get Here?

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 15:25:00 +0000

Last night, as my kids were happily playing with each other in the bathtub, I had the feeling that I was watching an intimate scene from a life other than my own. After a few minutes, I snapped out of my haze with a question fresh in my mind:

How did I get here?
After all, it was only four years ago that I first learned I was pregnant with G...

Seven years ago, DH and I weren't even married; eight years ago we weren't yet engaged...

Ten years ago he and I hadn't even met - and I was dating the man who is now my daughter's Godfather...

12 years ago I was a high school senior who had just been accepted to her dream college...

15 years ago I'd just had my heart broken for the very first time by my very first boyfriend...

17 years ago I lost my grandfather; sometimes, I can hardly believe that I've lived more than half my life without his physical presence...

26 years ago, I was the same age G is now; this is right around the time I have my first true memory of me dancing on the unfinished subfloor of the house my parents have now called home since 1985...

29 years ago, I was the same age Baby C is today; although I'd been with my parents for almost eight months, I wouldn't legally become their child until my adoption was finalized a year later...

So how did I get here? How did I become a mother of two who is closing in on her seventh wedding anniversary? How did I become a work-at-home mom who has more work than she ever dreamed? How did I manage to surround myself with the most amazing network of friends a girl could ask for?

One word: FAITH.

I can only say that faith brought me this far. Faith in my parents guidance, faith in my husband's love, faith in the miracles that are my children. But, most of all, faith in Him (as Lady Gaga would say, "Capital H-i-m). I doubt I could have navigated life's ups and downs without His presence in my life.

Do you ever find yourself shocked at life's twists and turns, and how you've managed to navigate them?

Why I Haven't Returned Your Email

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 21:35:00 +0000

As we speak, there are no fewer than a dozen personal emails awaiting a response in my inbox. One is from a dear friend who moved across the country more than a year ago; another is from one of the other moms in G's preschool class; a third is from an intern I mentored back in my TV news days.

They're all there, just waiting for me to reply. And yet... I just can't do it.

Honestly, I spend too much time on the computer already. When you work freelance from home, the Internet becomes your lifeline, your way to communicate, meet goals, make money. Between all my various freelance pursuits, I'm obligated to spend no fewer than 10-15 hours online each week - and that doesn't include my very heavy addiction to Facebook.

All in all, I check my email at least five times a day. Scratch that - I check my main email account, which receives messages from my personal and professional contacts, at least five times a day. Then there's my blog email account, my couponing email account, and my pool secretary email account: I check each of those at least once a day.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I find it impossible to reply to personal emails in any type of timely manner.

I could use the ubiquitous excuse of every mother, every where: I'm busy. It wouldn't be a lie, I am busy. Too busy to bother cleaning my house. Too busy to cook dinner. So it wouldn't really be that far of a stretch to say I'm too busy to hit the reply button and fire off a three sentence response. But that would be a lie. I intentionally choose not to answer these emails.

The reason is far more complex than simply a matter of time. You see, I am a wordsmith, a journalist, a professional writer. Whether I'm writing a post for this blog, for one of the professional sites for which I write or a personal email, I hem and haw over every word. I struggle internally over whether or not to include the Oxford comma. I ponder whether the intended audience will notice my use of alliteration, symbolism and parallel structure. I refuse to hit the send button until I've crafted the perfect piece of art.

I've never been a procrastinator, and I don't consider this an act of putting off the inevitable. I will admit to being a perfectionist, and I think my inability to quickly reply to emails has everything to do with that facet of my personality.

So, if you're eagerly awaiting a response from me, please stop holding your breath. (Travis, that means you - I can almost see you turning purple.) I've got four different drafts saved in my inbox, all pending proper revisions and rewrites.

I'll get back to you...

...eventually.

What About The Dog?

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 14:56:00 +0000

Yesterday was a banner day for me. I wrote five articles for my new gig as a staff writer for several personal finance websites. I attended G's first parent/teacher conference at preschool. I managed to squeeze in a little "me" time during her evening dance class.

What I did not do is remember to take the dog outside. Not once.

Yes, I'm a bad, bad doggy mommy.

The truth is, our poor dog has slowly tumbled down my priority list. I remember vividly the final days of my first pregnancy, cuddling with my precious pup. "I'm not sure any baby can be cuter than this dog," I told my husband as I cooed at our first child.

How very wrong I was.

By the time my daughter was three seconds old, the dog was already second fiddle. When we brought G home from the hospital, we held her, fawned over her, baby-talked to her, ignoring the poor dog. We still allowed the dog (whose name is Ducky, by the say) to sleep on our bed, but even that right was removed when Baby C arrived two and a half years later.

These days, Ducky is lucky if she makes it outside before noon. My husband and I often turn to each other at 10 o'clock at night to ask if the other fed her dinner (usually the answer is no, with both of us assuming the other remembered). We've had to move her food and water bowls so often - away from G's and C's curious hands - that she sometimes forgets where they are anyway. We avoid taking her on walks - she's so unaccustomed to it that she drags us through the neighborhood as she pees every five steps, making it too much of a struggle when you've got two young children in tow.

The final blow? I even removed any mention of Ducky from the "About Me" section on my blog - an unintentional yet stinging slight.

When I hear an as-yet childless couple remark on the large place their pets occupy in their hearts and minds, I inwardly chuckle. If only they knew how far down the ladder their pups will fall once a baby arrives.

Shhhhhhh!

noreply@blogger.com (Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 14:45:00 +0000

I came down the stairs this morning to find the closet door, three cupboard doors, the bathroom door and the dishwasher door wide open.

No, we hadn't been robbed - everything was still where it had been the night before... including the dishes from my husband's late night snack (who apparently doesn't believe that all calories consumed after 10pm go straight to your inner thighs).

My husband gets up every morning at 4:30. On good days, he eats breakfast, gets dressed and heads to the gym to hit the treadmill before work. On bad days, he falls back to sleep on the couch, only to wake up at 6:45am to the sounds of me screaming that he's going to be late.

It's no secret that I think my husband is the loudest person in the world. Whenever he talks on the phone, he basically shouts into the handset. Even if his family didn't live a thousand miles away, I'm pretty sure they'd be able to hear him - without the phone.

Having a private conversation with the man is impossible, especially in crowded locations (the types of locations that are ideal for "people watching"). He simply doesn't know how to whisper.

And you can forget the idea of him sneaking up on anybody. He blames his flat feet for his inability to walk quietly, as every footfall causes the floorboards of our not-very-old house to creak.

But my husband has over-estimated the noise factor involved with just about every one of his morning tasks. He's convinced that closing a door makes enough noise to wake up the kids... so he doesn't close them. He's convinced running the sink to rinse out his breakfast dishes is so noisy that it'll make our dog start barking... so he leaves them in the sink for me to take care of. He's convinced that putting his electric razor back in the medicine cabinet will disturb me... so it remains on the bathroom counter.

While I appreciate the steps to take to ensure that the kids and I can continue sleeping long after he's gone, I don't appreciate having to spend the first five to ten minutes of my day cleaning up after him. It's at times like these when I do, indeed, feel like his mother instead of his wife.

The fact of the matter is, he has no concept of what makes noise and what doesn't. Closing doors? Cleaning dishes? Putting his razor away? They don't really make a lot of noise. Grinding up beans for his morning cup of coffee? Pressing the snooze button on his alarm twice? Forgetting to turn off the security alarm before walking out the door? These are the real sources of noise pollution in our house every morning!

Confessions From A Work-At-Home Mom

Too Hard, Too Fast

School's Out; Mommy's Crying

Defriending My Friends

When You Were Inside Me

When It's So Hard To Remember

Booked, Paid, and Ready: Our Disney Reservations

The Blame Game

When Is A Year More Than A Year?

Things I Can't Abide

Don't Call Me Skinny

A Beginning and an End

I Went To Duke. Go Ahead, Make Fun Of Me

The House That Mickey Mouse Built

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Burnt Out

My Baby Clothes Boutique: Giveaway & Review

My Lenten Facebook Fast

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Because I'm A Mom...

I'm Changing My Name (Maybe)

Novica.com: $50 Giveaway!

How Did I Get Here?

Why I Haven't Returned Your Email

What About The Dog?

Shhhhhhh!

My Baby Clothes Boutique - Giveaway Winner