Welcome, Mommies!

Updated: Mar 5, 2021


Without warning, I plummet face first into wet, chilly pavement, scraping the side of my face that is always chosen first for aesthetic selfies. My good side is no longer picture perfect, leaving me with flawed photos and a bruised ego.

This unfortunate event has the worst timing.


Just yesterday, bystanders would have sworn I was an international runway model the way I silently strutted past with my airbrush makeup finish, my expertly executed messy bun and freshly pressed button down jacket. My iced Starbucks mango dragon fruit refresher sealed the deal. I’m sure spectators assumed the best about me.


I had to be wealthy, I mean only the stable splurged on venti sized drinks. Envious souls watched as I modestly requested that the young college barista add 3 pumps of raspberry to my already expensive drink. This drink was royal, as was I. Yesterday I was worthy of this attention. I didn’t loathe admiration, I welcomed it. I was deserving. Yet, here I am today, laying flat against the concrete.


I am too embarrassed to get up. I am too embarrassed to stay put. I need help but I refuse to ask! I choose to simply lay here and hope the reality of my current humiliation will somehow magically melt away like ice cream in the summer sun. I am vulnerable.


This.

IS.

Motherhood.


The fall from glamorous to tragic is swift. The humble sword is mighty.


On this motherhood journey I have somehow mastered the art of being both wounded and warrior. I am both victim and victorious. I created this blog because somewhere buried in my loins I hope I am not alone. I find a small sense of pacification in my selfish belief that somewhere in this massive world, other women share my experiences.


One day we are invincible. Next we are fragile.


We get our household chores completed and dinner before dusk. Our children are ready for the week ahead of them with freshly washed uniforms and packed lunches...sweet post-it notes signed, “mommy loves you” for added effect.


We have set our intentions for the workweek with a tightly outlined scheduled to-do list while simultaneously checking off the task that calls for us to give our spouse their daily motivational talk. Our email inbox and voicemails have been cleared.


The only thing left to do is retreat for a scalding hot shower, a slight iced glass of wine and climb into our freshly made bed while our 3 wick essential oil candle soothes us to sleep!


A Queen if I don’t say so myself.


Other days we are weighed down by the funk of our own body odor and ragged sweatpants. The day has been so obnoxious, we forgot to shower. Our hair is untamed. The house is a mess. The children have escaped from our militant schedule and opted to join the circus instead.

At this point, the day is gone and dinner is bound to come from the microwave or a drive thru window. We are sick of these human animals ravaging our refrigerators and bodies for nourishment anyway. Make them go away!


Full bellies and dirty dishes is all they leave us with. We sleep wherever we fall, if we’re lucky we are able to drag ourselves to the couch, but let's be honest, there have been many nights that the kitchen table has felt like a plush down comforter on a king size pillow top mattress. Sleep attacks before we can make our way to the bed which is probably covered in unfolded laundry. Kitchen table it is.


Goodnight and good riddance!


I secretly hope that in my heightened chaos there is a woman somewhere equally burnt out and worn as me. Not that I wish exhaustion and ache on any woman, I just secretly hope there is community in these feelings I have. Forgive me for not wanting to be alone!


This is why this blog exists. It is for my personal sanity. It’s like my high school diary, except I am 33. I want to be publicly triumphant and openly defeated. I want to experience, survive, thrive and celebrate with women who look and feel just me.


Here is what I’ve learned, Raising a Champion is as much about the well being of the mother as it is about the children. I would even argue that the heart posture of the caregiver is the most vital component of raising upstanding and prosperous children. If we are not well, we become poison. Whether we are blissful or bitter, we are contagious. We will either leave everything ill and in ruins or we will be the reason our family flowers blossoms beautifully. Together let's strive for the latter.


I am in no way an expert at this parenting thing. I fail regularly. However, I am willing to do that openly. Here I will share my personal successes and my bottomless pitfalls on this emotional journey we call motherhood!


Oh yeah! The beautiful people to the right are my family.

My incredibly handsome husband, Lyle, a brilliant real estate investor.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he will soon be assuming a second role as Chief Editor for my blog. . The tall child is my bonus daughter, Jasmine (yes, we have the same name) who is an inspiring writer and pushes me to sit at this computer more than anyone else. The smallest, yet loudest family member is my soon to be middle child, Hanadie. She is an aspiring actress who turns our home into her own personal stage. We are currently expecting our newest arrival, princess Harlem in July 2020.




They are my reason!






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