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.

Lonely

My mom (and brother and sister-in-law) watched my kids all day today so I could rest up and get over my flu bug. It was nice to take (not one but) TWO naps... And it was nice to have a little peace and quiet for a few hours... But after a few hours of peace and quiet I felt something I haven't felt in years... 

I FELT LONELY! 

LONELY IS AN AWFUL FEELING!

So I went and picked up the kids. 

And I am no longer lonely. 

Though my life is chaotic and loud and messy and smelly and stressful and busy and CRAZY with my four little hoodlums... 

At least I'm not lonely.

Being lonely stinks.