I can't believe how much my perspective has changed in the last five years. Between moving to (super expensive) California, having FIVE kids (in eight years), being totally anxious and depressed, racking up (and paying off) tons of debt, and dealing with other family problems... I've had a lot on my plate.

But I feel like the good news is... I've gone from being completely stressed out (and trying to keep up with the Jones's) to being pretty chill (despite the crazy three ringed circus around me.)  I used to stress and obsess about everything from perfectly coordinating home décor to living my religion perfectly.

I used to try to be perfect.

But I can't do that anymore.

So I don't.

I still have to fight perfectionism every. single. day. But I try to give myself a break (sometimes.)

And life is much better.

THIS ISN'T IT

Hi! I'm back! 

So, here's the BIG NEWS:

LAST WEEK I TURNED 35.

Okay, okay, I know you're like, "Big deal! Chillax, girl. Thirty-five isn't THAT OLD!"

But LISTEN, my friend... Even though my HEAD knows thirty five isn't "that old", my heart feels ANCIENT... and my body just ACHES.

I'M. SO. TIRED!

Maybe thirty five isn't "that old" but... well... I kinda had a (mini) midlife crisis leading up to it. 

I mean, is it just me, or does every day in your mid-thirties feel like Groundhog Day? Every morning (and all through the night) I wake up to some little person demanding something. The kids are CONSTANTLY fighting. I'm ALWAYS nagging. Someone is ALWAYS making a mess. Someone is ALWAYS hungry (or thirsty). Someone peed their pants (again)... And I haven't had a good night's sleep in TEN FRIKIN' YEARS!!!

There's always more laundry and a huge pile of dishes. There are toys to pick up. There's pee (and occasionally poo) on the toilet seat. There's always something broken that demands fixing. 

Oh yeah, and then there's the homework... and practice... and cub scouts... and football games... and church assignments...

I try to stretch, scrimp, and save and I keep an eagle eye on my bank account.. BUT at the end of the month I'm not much closer to a new car or a new house or a trip to Hawaii. 

My body is trashed with stretch marks EVERYWHERE. EVERY calorie counts. My teeth are still crooked... My butt is still fat... And... I'm getting WRINKLES! 

So... for the past few months, as I reflected on my current situation, I couldn't help but ask myself, "IS THIS REALLY IT?"

"IS THIS REALLY THE LIFE I CHOSE?"

"ARE THESE SERIOUSLY THE PEOPLE I HAVE TO LIVE WITH FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE?"

"If it's all downhill from here, then what the heck is the rest of my life going to be like?"

It all seemed pretty bleak. Certainly nothing worth celebrating.

But, as I tried to plan my exit strategy (a one way plane ticket to Canada? Or Australia perhaps?) I had this little flicker of hope. One week Will slept through the night. Then, the next week, I got to leave the house during the day by myself (and not just to buy groceries.)  

I started to wonder, MAYBE this doesn't have to be IT. Maybe things will get (a tiny bit) easier.

I'm not going to lie, I don't want to face the next couple of years. The next two or three years will probably suck (at least some of the time). 

But I'm OVER HALF WAY done with sleepless nights, with potty training, and with kids at home all day every day. I'm almost done with Cailou, carrying a baby on my hip, kids wiping their snotty noses and sticky hands on my shirt, and with cleaning up spilled juice every. single. day.

And just the thought of OVER HALF WAY DONE is SO liberating. 

Now, when the kids are screaming at each other in the back seat and the baby is crying I tell myself over and over, "This ISN'T IT!" 

I picture us going on vacation without a baby crying the whole time and I think, "THIS ISN'T IT!" I picture us going to Disneyland without a double stroller and diaper bag and I think, "THIS ISN'T IT!" And I picture me leaving the kids with Drew for two hours so I can take a break and I think, "THIS ISN'T IT!"

 

Maybe it is all downhill from here... but maybe downhill is good. (Like... coasting.)

I think I can manage 35.

Thanks for listening.

Hey, 

I miss you.

Sometimes I want to talk to you. I wish I had a day to sit with you and tell you all my stories. It would be such a relief  to tell SOMEONE  the whole truth. Not just the messy, tired, life-with-five-kids stuff, but also the really heartbreaking stuff... The heavy, dark, secret journey I've traveled for the past five years. You'd have a hard time believing it. It's all been so ironic and bitter and strange. On the outside I've been tight-lipped and poker-faced... but there were nights when I wondered if my heart would literally stop.

I think the hardest battles we face in life are the ones we can't talk about... EVER. The most tragic stories of our lives are the ones we  keep locked in our hearts and take to the grave.

The good news is last year things started to get better, and they are getting better still. And I can't believe how much I've grown. And how much perspective and empathy I've gained through it all. I hope I never forget the life lessons I've learned. You literally NEVER know what hell a person is going through from the outside. Not even your closest family. I used to judge people with messy lives, but now I remind myself that you really never know. I used to judge people who made bad  decisions... but now I know sometimes it's just a few steps in the wrong direction and suddenly you're way off course. It can be a roller coaster trying to get your life  back on track. 

But, like I said, it's been over a year and I can feel myself getting stronger now, my life getting more balanced. It feels so good. I remembered a bunch of things I used to love and I'm actually doing them! I'm walking and running outside in the sunshine (and sometimes in the rain), dancing, singing, listening to music, and even playing music again. I'm sleeping more, reading more, riding my bike more, getting outside my comfort zone more. 

I know this isn't the end of the bad stories,, but I'm grateful for a little sunlight peeking through the clouds. I'm going to try to bask in the sun while it's here.

Anyway, thanks for listening. You're such a good listener. Miss you.

XOXO,

Leah

Someone recently told me that I should be a more positive mother. 

Sigh.

I know I should be more patient and positive with the kids. I know I should but, HOLY CRAP, when I'm going on 4 or 5 hours of sleep, and they're all crying and SCREAMING and yelling at me, and fighting with each other, and then Owen pours syrup on the couch and Lil unrolls an ENTIRE roll of toilet paper into the toilet and Lucy head-butts my lip and pulls out a chunk of my hair, and then Owen breaks a pen and wipes his inky-hands on my 32 year-old herloom baby blanket (yes, this all just happened in the last half hour) sometimes I yell (or cry, or over-react, or tell them they're driving me crazy). Yes, half the time I'm not a positive mom and honestly half the time I HATE being a mom.

It's a really hard job. Especially when they're all so little.

Is there a pill I can take (a happy mommy pill)? Why isn't there a free service for burned-out moms where we can just drop our kids off somewhere safe and take a 20 minute power nap?

The funny thing is, apparently I've had enough melt downs to scare my oldest, Drew into occasionally behaving and being thoughtful.

After the above-mentioned frustrating nap-less afternoon, Drew brought me a glass of water with a straw, made my bed and then knelt down and said a prayer that I "wouldn't have a nervous breakdown."

I may be damaging these children (or maybe I'm just preparing them all to be therapists... They'll have a lot of experience with crazy once they leave this house) but I just don't know how ANYONE can be patient and positive in such a hostile environment. 

Anyway, I'm trying. Trying to be positive. Trying not to go nuts. Trying to stay sane. Trying to make their childhoods as fun and happy and organic and wholesome and creative as possible. 

And maybe it's okay that I'm not perfect. 

The Truth

Hey there, Blog.

It's been a while. I haven't been writing. Sorry. Life is chaotic and more difficult than ever. 

I wish I could tell you life is great and we're all happy. I wish I could post pictures of our happy family at the beach frolicking in the waves and tell you how much we love living in California. 

But the truth is, I'm still having a hard time here. Things are getting better, for sure. I don't dream of killing myself every night like I did the first few months here. 

We've had some really happy days and every day the kids make me smile or laugh at least once. We're (veeeeerrry sllloowwllyy) making friends and the kids seem to be doing great in school and at  church.

When I'm at home with the kids, locked safely in our little house, I usually feel secure and happy. Despite the messes and the fights and the crying, I usually enjoy being home with my little ones. But I have so much anxiety when I leave the house. I hate taking the kids anywhere because I'm so afraid of what people will think and say and do to the children and me. Even dropping Drew off at school stresses me out.

And every time I think about our future in California, I feel so hopeless and dark. I've never felt lost for so long, unsure of what to do or where to live or where to be. I feel like I've been walking in the dark for 10 months. 

I miss feeling like my life will improve. I miss feeling like something good is just around the corner. I miss feeling like I am doing the right thing. I miss feeling like God is with me and on my side. I miss faith and I miss hope.

I'm not writing all this to make you worry; so please don't worry. It will all work out someday, somehow. But right now it's not that great. 

Sorry, but that's the truth.

To be continued.

Is This the Little Girl I Carried?

And then sometimes I look at my little girl, and Sunrise, Sunset plays over and over and over in my head...

She's growing up too fast.

Is it Bed Time Yet?

Today at two o'clock Lily peed her pants in the driveway and then cried. Then at three, she unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper in the toilet and then cried. Then at four she smeared peanut butter all over her legs and feet and the carpet and when I tried to wash it off she cried. Then at five Drew wouldn't let her in his fort so she hit him and then she cried...

I wonder what she'll do at six o'clock?

When Drew was four I thought four-year-old boys were THE WORST!

I was wrong. It's four-year-old girls. Because they do everything four year-old boys do but then THEY CRY ABOUT IT!

Oh yeah, and two (almost three) year-old boys are pretty bad too.

Owen's new favorite past time is filling the bathroom sink with water and then squirting/pouring in all my make-up, hair products, toothpaste, and soap. 

He and Lily have been working together today, "decorating" the walls with crayon, emptying the apple juice and ketchup bottles onto the kitchen floor, and scattering the clean laundry from the baskets around the house. 

While I was typing this, they dumped half a box of Cheerios onto the carpet. 

Bedtime cannot come soon enough.