finish the sentence friday

One day, over five years ago, my husband and I made a conscious decision for me to become a stay at home mother with the birth of our next child. This was by no means his push, it was completely mine. Being a mom who did the majority of the cooking, cleaning and child-raising were wearing on me and I was just tired.

More than that, I was an awful wife.

And I probably wasn’t that great of a mother.

My husband worked long hours and made it home most nights to put our son to bed.

For me, it was too much.

Even before staying home, I knew my life would change.

The day started out just like no other. I woke up, dressed, dressed my son. I was a little off, tired, drained, but chalked it up to a short night of sleep.

Then something new happened.

I walked from my front door to my car and was completely winded. I had to catch my breath before I started the car. A walk no more than 100 feet had completely winded me, a walk without stairs or incline, a walk on a cool winter’s morning.

Something was off. Something was different.

The next few days, I continued in exhaustion. No more stairs to my office. Out came the rolling suitcase from the high closet shelf. I couldn’t walk a flight of stairs without breaking a sweat, so I stopped trying.

When I finally took the test, it confirmed what I had already suspected. I was pregnant. (SIDE NOTE: Did you know WalMart sells pregnancy tests for 88 cents? Yeah, they do and I got three, just in case.)

They all confirmed my theory. I was pregnant. After trying for less than a month, we were going to become parents again.

The rest of the pregnancy continued poorly, adding nausea, a never ceasing sweet tooth and massive swelling.

My exhaustion didn’t end either. I came home every day, just awake enough to make my son a sandwich for dinner and take a nap on the couch. The nap almost always turned to bedtime. Luckily my son was pretty self-sufficient and homework was minimal.

I made it through the pregnancy without any medical problems, just major discomfort, only to give birth to a beautiful little girl who would still make my life pretty miserable.

She was momma’s girl. Bee did not want to be held by anyone else, refused to take a bottle and wouldn’t sleep more than 20 minutes on her own. She loved cuddling and nuzzling with me and sleeping with me and playing with me.

Close to her first birthday, she finally decided that she would let the others who loved her into her life, into our circle.

Then we found out another little girl was going to be part of my family.

The exhaustion hadn’t wavered and now there would be three!

I worried, I made plans, we made moves. But now, here they are, my gorgeous girls: Bee and Butterfly.

Growing up, I never considered being a mother, especially not a mother of three, with one in heaven. I have grown mentally, spiritually, and emotionally.

When I started making purposeful decisions for people who weren’t me, I understood when I was being selfish and when I wasn’t.

These blessings have changed my life for the better and I would never want anything different.

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. The sentence is “When it comes to blessings…” and it’s an extra-special week because we’re linking up with the Blessings Month with Tuesday Ten and #1000Speaks for Compassion. Write about “When it comes to blessings…” or Ten Ways I can bless people… or Ten Ways I am Blessed…

The linkup is available from August 4th to 11th (one week), and you can link up with any of our hosts:
Yvonne, Vidya, and Michelle (the blessings thinker-upper) for #1000Speaks
Rabia and Lisa for their Tuesday Ten
and me,  for Finish the Sentence Friday

A long, long time ago, I wrote stories. I wrote stories about finding lost jewels, having tons of friends, and starting my own business. I wrote stories about dreaming and happiness and disappearing into a world far away, in alternative dimensions. I dove into a world that I wrote instead of lived.

Now, I don’t really write those stories anymore. I’m not sure if it’s that I don’t have time, or I don’t find the same inspiration as I did before. But the creativity simmers beneath the surface, only wishing that I could figure how to write, raise my children and clean the house all at the same time.

My stories have slowly come out as I’ve raised my children. Sometimes as entertainment, sometimes as a distraction. Now, they’ve become a part of our bedtime routine. Each daughter gets to choose a book to read, then my favorite part: made up story time.

Normally Butterfly goes first… Her story typically goes: “Once upon a time, ddest destald cdkale ckeoal ckeale ckeolw.” for about three minutes. I have absolutely no idea what she’s saying even though when it’s not story time, she’s fairly articulate. I’ve asked her “say words” but I’ve given up. Each story is about the same. A lot of gibberish until she trails off and I declare “The End” and she follows along with “The End.”

Bee is a little different. Her stories always include the entire family, there’s always a mommy, daddy, brother and two sisters. Most of the time the girls go out to play (and the family tags along) and then they go home.

Finally, I tell a story, with the two sisters as the main characters. They have adventures in the woods, storm castles, make furry friends and play with princes and princesses.

Recently, my stories have centered around finance and budgeting, teaching the girls about how to have a healthy relationship with money and understanding what a budget is, how to thrift store or find great deals, and learning patience before purchasing.

I’m sure it’s because I’ve spent the last month planning a financial seminar and I’m working on putting on a financial series (coming soon) in my neighborhood. That’s sparked a series of stories in my head.

From there, my creativity has been sparked with a series of stories about these two rambunctious, adventurous little girls. So, anyone know a children’s book publisher? LOL.

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s sentence is “A long, long time ago and very far away, there lived…” (or “There once lived…” or “A long time ago…” or similar – you get the idea).

Your hosts: Kristi, from findingninee.com and this week’s sentence-thinker-upper, Deborah from Life is Like a Hand Grenade.

My soul yearns to have the confidence that I once had. I used to live by my personal motto:

Tweet this

It wasn’t until I wrote this post that I realized I had forgotten this.  I felt like a walking contradiction.

On one hand, I was extremely shy when dealing with personal talents, where I could thrive in front of people, public speaking, self-promotion, and singing. I didn’t. I shied away from any of the opportunities.

On the other, I felt I could conquer the world and get anywhere I wanted to. I would do things that my friends never thought of… like asking to get into a club for free (which I always did) and sending resumes to local law firms for a job that they didn’t know they had (landing a job for $15/hr while going to school full-time).

But here I sit, almost 20 (gulp!) years later and I freeze. Ask me to pitch a company, excuses fall out of my mouth. Ask me to post my blog in a new space, what if they don’t want it there? Ask me to MC, well, that’s still the same.

Here I am, in front of a new place in my life, and I’m too afraid to take that step, and in some places those leaps to get me to my next goal.

A series of questions run through my head:

• What if they don’t like me?
• What if I stumble over the words?
• What if my words upset someone?
• What if I make a mistake? Like, misuse a word?
• What if I am dry?
• What if they fall asleep while I’m trying to talk?
• What if they talk while I’m trying to talk?

…and on and on.

But where does any of that get me? Living the exact life that I have. Not that it’s a bad life, but it’s not the one I dreamed of.

In my quest to fight this desire to crawl into a ball, I’ve started reading Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes. She was an introvert who only appeared through her words, her stories, her imagination. She didn’t show up and always said “no”. Until one year…

I want to say that I have her commitment, her competitive spirit to turn every “no” into a “yes”, but I sure as hell going to try.

***

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. Your hosts are, as always, Kristi from Finding Ninee and this week’s sentence-thinker-upper, Deirdre from Deirdre’s Daily Dose.

Sleep. Productivity. Social life. My career.

What stops me from thriving in all of these? My children.

When we lost Alexander, my life changed. Really it changed my priorities. Before it was work, social life, family. Now, it’s family, work, social life.

My sleep disruption started with Bee, my third. Ever since her birth, she was a terrible sleeper. I tried “sleep training” her, I tried letting her cry it out, but neither was effective. The only way she would sleep is if I held her; keyword here “I”. Dad couldn’t take her, friends and family couldn’t take her. Even when my husband did manage to get her to sleep, he would lay her across his legs on a pillow, get a fan going and shook her to sleep. On one hand, she would actually go to sleep instead of cry. On the other, all of the extras made it more difficult for me to put her to sleep, who became a stay at home mom after her birth.

Bee continued to sleep most nights in our bed well after Butterfly was born. She would start in her bed and come into our bed every night. We would go back and forth throughout the night. Putting Bee in her bed and her returning. This stopped fairly recently with a bribe of candy the next day for staying in her bed. It’s working.

Somehow, Butterfly has picked up this terrible middle of the night habit. Ultimately, the biggest problem is that I don’t mind them in the bed with us, I just know it’s a bad precedent if we ever want our bed back.

In short, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in over four years.

My productivity overall has dropped drastically with my children around. I used to work a lot. In college, I was working more than 40 hours a week. In law school, while others were partying and studying, I was working about 20 hours a week. After law school, I worked anywhere between 60 and 80 a week and I loved it.

Now, I have to stop and do things like hug, kiss and love on them. We spend a lot of time reading, learning numbers and playing instruments. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, “Yes Ms. Bee”. Elsa and Anna costume time? “Of course, my dears.” Want to go grab sushi? “Yes, son.” But that last one may be more for me.

My social life… what happened? This one had a slow disappearance for me. Every week, I make a choice to spend time with my kids over going out. Maybe it’s their age, maybe it’s their personalities, but I actually like them, no matter what I say.

I still like to go out and I’m tied to the community that forces me to get out of the house. Yet, I have to say cuddles, a movie and popcorn beats a lot of the nights out.

Oh, my career. Well, that’s just plainly in the backseat now. I have this (aprilnoelle.com) and ModernishMommas.com and that’s my career for now. This year, my business is expanding, but only around my children.

What’s your kryptonite?

Finish the Sentence Friday is a link-up where writers and bloggers come together to share their themselves with a particular sentence. If you’d like to stay ahead of future sentences and participate, join our Facebook group.  Link up your finishes here!

The mirror sits idly in the bathroom taunting me, mocking me. I want to look, I want to see myself, my whole self, but often I can’t bare to look.

What I should see is the woman who graduated near the top of her high school class, to attend an awesome first tier school, to attend a great first tier law school.

What I should see is the woman who found out she was pregnant before her third year of law school, finished law school anyway, then lost my second son a couple years later and didn’t die completely inside.

What I should see is the woman who managed to work multiple jobs throughout most of this time, while managing to stay in school, never skipping a beat.

What I should see is the woman who married her love, gave birth to two more children, both beautiful daughters, and have three happy and healthy children.

What I should see is the woman who has almost made it a decade under her belt as a wife when people are getting married and divorced every day, and has a husband who cares enough about the relationship that he wants to work on it.

What I should see is the beautiful, intelligent woman that people always tell me that I am, and stand in my strengths and positivity.

Instead, when I look in the mirror…

I see a woman who could’ve gone to better schools, worked harder and achieved more by this point in her life.

I see a woman who didn’t pass the bar, thus barely has an income to pay back the mounting debt.

I see a woman who wasn’t smart enough to save or invest appropriately, so all of that extra work meant nothing.

I see a woman who’s body was stretched and deflated, leaving scars, streaks and loose skin, which can only be repaired by intensive surgery and treatments.

I see a woman who’s not good enough for her husband, one who’s undeserving of his love, no matter what she does.

I see a woman who’s inadequate, who goes through bouts of depression and struggles with feeling overwhelmed.

So I don’t look in the mirror…

I avoid it like the plague.

Catching a glimpse is hard, because it doesn’t reflect the picture of myself that I’ve been holding on to in my head. It’s a hard look of who I am today.

The look of all that I have been through and all that I know I can be.

The look of the shortfalls and the possibilities.

The look of the good and the bad.

The look of unfulfilled potential.

But I know it’s there…

Every day, I take steps because I know there’s more.

I know I’m a writer.

I know I’m an author.

I know that I’m a mother.

I know that I’m a wife.

The mirror is always there…

Showing the truth.

The truth is that I’m an ever-evolving, growing woman, who is learning to be a better me every day.

What do you see in the mirror?

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s sentence is “When I look in a mirror…” Your hosts: Kristi (FindingNinee.com) and me, this week’s sentence thinker-upper, April Noelle.

Nineteen seems like a lifetime ago, not just because it’s been almost two decades, that I still fit single digit sized clothing or that I was single without a husband or children in my future. The life I envisioned then was one of passion and a hard day at work, an apartment was only a necessity to lay my head. Early mornings consisted of a well balanced breakfast following a rigorous workout. Now, my day is full of sacrifice, working around the clock and I mostly leave my house to drop off my son at school.

I was studious, but only enough to get a B average. My priority was not on partying like many of my classmates, but on working. I worked all of the time. I found part-time jobs and full-time ones, any job that didn’t cut into class time was sufficient. I also thought about working smarter rather than harder, jumping on positions that paid twice the minimum wage, and covered odd hours. My roommates often remarked how they only saw me in passing between sleep and work.

I was a sleeper, no less than eight hours for me. A sleepy April was a cranky, ineffective April. I took sleep at the utmost priority, so all nighters were not in my calendar.

What suffered was my social life. I dated quite a bit, mainly due to the fact that dates tend to occur after most businesses closed. I took this time to cultivate who I liked and what I loved. First dates were a plenty… third dates were rare.

Yet, friendships, those suffered greatly. I had friends, but as others were fraternizing in the platonic sense, I was working. They joined clubs, I worked. They joined sororities and fraternities, I worked more.

I was tired, drained and under appreciated.

My efforts weren’t going back into my pocket, I was sending anything above my living expenses back home to my family. It would be years later when I finally decided that I needed to put myself first.

Looking back, it was all a waste of time. The work, the effort, and the money… I felt like it was thrown down the drain. Not to say that I think my family wasted it, they didn’t. They used it how I anticipated it to be used.

I’m not sure how to explain it. The best I can say is that after all of these years, they are in similar situations as they were all that time ago. I’m no longer working for them, but they are no better off, not excelling, not thriving, just living.

I wish I had spent more time doing things for me, more time investing in my interests, my loves, my passions. I wish I would have used the time to experience college, my youth and my time.

In short, if I were to write a letter to my 19 year old self, I’d say:

As I watch my children grow, I try to teach them the lessons of life, but make sure they knows that they are the first in their lives.

My son is extremely empathetic and compassionate, mirroring my feeling of obligation trying to fix everything and make others’ problems my own. I don’t want him to look back on his life and think that he felt like time was wasted or unfulfilled.

Don’t get me wrong, 19 was filled with experiences that I didn’t mention here, but for some reason, this was what was on my heart and on my mind. I’m sure that I’ll share some of the fun at a later date. 🙂

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post with “When I was 19…”
This week:
Host: Kristi from Finding Ninee at http://findingninee.com, Mimi from Mimi Time at http://mimisager.com/ and Vidya from Coffee with Me at http://mi.vidyasury.com/