The Time Has Come, The Time is Now. Mommy the Maid needs to Start Writing NOW.

I love to write.  I love to blog.  I constantly think about all the awesome things I could blog and even write rough drafts in my head...but that is where the process typically ends.  I try to tell myself that I am just too busy to keep up with all my ideas... but that is a bold-faced lie.  I only work 24 hours a week at the bar and I have been slacking on housework.  My kids are doing so well in school and the once daily meetings have been reduced to the typical mid-year parent/teacher conferences.  I have time to lounge in my bed watching the X-Files or Telenovela with my new Xfinity on Demand.

So why am I not following through?

I want to share my trips to the Denver Zoo, school projects, awesome recipes I have tried, my thoughts on family and love, and even how crazy my cats get when I give them catnip.  What about the time the lizard got loose from the cage?  Or when the baby learned to say "peacock" in the most accidental hilarious way?  I need to finish (or start actually) the letter to the little's step-mom.  All of it swims around in my head.  Why can't I get it to "paper"...okay...screen...

Maybe Facebook has something to do with it.  I can jump on my phone and write a quick sentence to share the cute tidbits of my day.  I can take an entire blog post that is circling in my head and cut it down to 140 characters and an emoji.

Maybe because we only have one computer (for 6 of us) and I am not nearly tech savvy enough to figure out how to use the voice feature on my phone to record some notes.  I can't get the Blogger app to download on my phone, and what if I wanted my own domain again?

I am not looking to blog for money, although I was once VERY successful at it, nor am I looking for any kind of blog fame -it exists- I just want to write and share.

So, what am I going to do about it?  I am not sure I have figured that out beyond the "I should just blog more" idea.  Do I give myself a challenge?  Maybe try to write a certain amount of words or posts and not burn myself out like I did with the Blog-a-Thon from many years ago.  Perhaps challenge myself to one or even *gasp* TWO posts a week.  Maybe I need some kind of accountability...although it saddens me that I need to be held accountable for something I like to do.  Perhaps I can join a few of those blog hops that I love so much.  I could even use writing prompts.

Whatever I decide, I will be writing more.  I won't allow myself to go an entire month between posts again.  I want to record my life and do it with a mixture of pictures and words.

New Year New Me - I Quit My Job!

1/1/16

I recently shared my New Years Resolution to make big changes in my life.  I want to spend more time with my family and friends, my home, and my hobbies.  I want to document my journey to keep me focused and so that I can look back and see how far I've come.  

I made my first  big decision on New Years Eve. 

 I quit my job.

When my ex-husband and I divorced, I reentered the work force.  I had a full schedule with college courses including online college classes and a full time job as a bartender and waitress.  It is what I had to do to keep my family clothed and fed.  I met my fiancee a few years ago and we both kept a full schedule.  We still had time for date night and family game nights.  My hobbies suffered a little, but I was still able to crochet blankets, hem my children's clothing, and keep my closets organized.  When we were surprised by a little bundle of joy, we went into overdrive.  We reorganized our house to make a nursery and homework areas for each of the older kids all while managing complications with the pregnancy.  Those complications led to a hospitalization the night my midterms for my online courses were due and I had to drop the classes.  Once our little bundle of joy arrived, life became even busier.  My two older children were attending a school that was no longer able to accommodate their special needs (even with 504 and IEP plans in place) any longer and my fiance and I were both working 40 or more hours a week.  I was breastfeeding on demand, pumping at work, and trying to gather enough sleep at night to not fall over at the almost daily parent-teacher meetings or phone calls.  Life became chaotic.  

Then something happened that neither my fiancee or I saw coming.  The restaurant where we both worked and were very successful at decided overnight to close it's doors forever.  We were both unemployed a mere 5 weeks before Christmas.  We were mostly caught up on bills after some unexpected medical bills, but our savings were depleted.  I found very part-time employment at my favorite local bar within a week.  The next week I found a second job at a swanky wine bar.  Then, my fiance found a job a week later.  We were still struggling.  The wine bar wasn't bringing in money and I found another job at an Irish Pub and the local bar offered me more hours.  I took both opportunities and during the holiday season I was working over 60 hours a week.  

I was exhausted. 

My health suffered and my mental health began to plummet.  My house became an unfinished game of Jumanji and my family and friends never heard from me.  I couldn't find my keys, work clothes, the baby's shoes, or anything else because of the chaotic condition of my house.  I would load the dishwasher after getting home from work at 3 a.m. while counting how many hours of sleep I could get before going to my other job at 8 a.m.  I felt like a robot.  My relationship with my fiance suffered.  It seemed as though I was living in a surreal dream.  I was lost.

But, I kept going.  I continued to work both jobs and bring home the money.  It payed off as my kiddos had a wonderful Christmas full of giving and receiving.  The bills were still behind, but we were making headway.  We were on an upward slope to remove debt from our lives.  However, the light in my kitchen has been out for a week, the baby ran out of diapers which meant a trip to the grocery store with 3 children at 7 o'clock at night, and McDonalds or Pizza Hut became a nightly dinner decision.  I am convinced that this all happened because I was never home.  On the rare occasion that I didn't work a double shift or both jobs and I was home, my fiancee was at work and all moms know how hard it can be to get everything done with toddlers running around.  I needed more time at the house.  I needed to work less.

It became very clear to me what I needed in life when my boss sat me down one day to talk.  He wanted to know why I was late to work that day.  He wanted to know why I seemed "negative" and the only answer I had (other than his REALLY poor management skills) was that I was tired.  I went home that day and made a decision.  If I was going to make a New Years resolution for 2016 to be happier and spend more time with my family, house, health, and hobbies, I needed to quit my job.

So I did.  I quit.  New Years Day was my first day off in 5 weeks.  It was great.  A day full of optimism, laughter with my children, love with my fiance, and even productivity around the house.  I still work at the local bar and I really enjoy the 2 short days and 1 long day that I am there.  

My first big step.  Now what?   

To be continued...

Tuesday Coffee Chat: THE RIGHT WAY

Rorey Bore has asked a question for Tuesday Coffee Chat that hits home with every parent.

Are you worried about doing things right, or doing the right things?

So much anxiety punched into one question.  When you have kiddos, or other responsibilities, the worry of doing things rights AND doing the right things plague you all day long.  Or at least they plague me all day long.  

Should I give the baby a sippy cup yet?

How do I tell my daughter to go to her room and *that* and what if she asks why?

Should I move my rambunctious son into a different classroom?

And these questions were all just in ONE DAY.  

Everyone has the RIGHT answer.  You should do THIS but not THAT.  You should do it THIS WAY but not THAT WAY.  

I am kind of tired of hearing it actually.  Things change all the time.  

For instance, when Alexandria was born, her doctors and the American Pediatric Association told me she needed to sleep on her side.  Parents of the generation before me told me that their babies slept on their tummy, or their back, and that was the RIGHT way to do it.  

I think the worst of all it though, is the advice (well-intended or not) of the mom-shamers.  You know who they are.  The moms that troll through the internet (or play dates) and make other moms feel bad for their choices.  It can be about hot topic issues like vaccination - "you mean you want your child to be autistic?"  or it can be about everyday things - "your baby should sleep in her own crib or else she will never learn to sleep on her own and the crazy clowns will get her."  

It makes me want to scream!

ENOUGH ALREADY!

As a parent responsible for another life I am already worried about doing things right AND doing the right things.  I already wonder why she won't laugh and only screeches like a dinosaur.  I wonder if her ability to grasp objects is "ahead of schedule."  Is the detergent in her diapers building up? How much should that shot bruise? Is she getting enough milk?

And that is just the baby. 

They wanted to scan my children's palms at school to give them lunch and only gave me a day or two to research and consider my stance.  My son needs to be tested for ADHD and I need to deal with that.  Athena and her therapy for SPD and anxiety (wonder where she gets that from...) is going well, but what happens when it is over?  How will I continue to help her?

And every one of these questions has a very simple answer.  I am the mother and their father and I, with the help of our trusted healthcare professional, will research and decide what is best for my child.  The RIGHT THING done the RIGHT WAY.

And that should be enough.  I mean, isn't that what you mom-shamers have done?  You researched and made a decision.  You put into place what you thought was best and it worked. It was the RIGHT THING for you.  

So why can't I do the same?

Everyday I put thought into doing the RIGHT THINGS the RIGHT WAY for my family.  

And that alone is comforting to me and causes me to stop and remember that I am doing my job.  Who cares what those mom-shamers say?  Besides, if we stop listening to them maybe they will go away.

5 Myths About Living With a Chef

The day I announced to family and friends that I was dating a chef, I began to hear all of the common myths.  I believed most of them at the time.  But, as time went on, I began to realize that I was wrong.  Living with a chef has it's perks (especially when you love and genuinely care for them) but don't let people fool you.

The top 5 myths I heard about living with a chef:

You will eat so good!

And some nights I do.  We have nights where we plan out an amazing menu and cook together and enjoy our awesome creation.  But, that is when he is home.  Chefs are hired to cook other people dinner, not their adoring and quite beautiful girlfriend.  When he is busting his ass on the line during dinner rush, I tend to have sandwiches or reheated soup.  Unless the kids are here.  Then we have something kid-friendly like tacos or brinner.  

You won't have to do ALL the cooking.  

Don' get me wrong.  My chef  helps out in the kitchen.  But, I do the majority of the cooking.  Again, those dinner rushes keep him at work while the kids and I fend for ourselves.  And when he is home to help with dinner, we are usually tired and come up with the extravagant meal of "Pasta and Sauce".  Occasionally we throw a salad in there if it doesn't require too much chopping.

I bet you will eat a lot less junk food...

Excuse me....BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.......HA!

Okay.  Less junk food?  You are kidding right?  He gets home after a long day of fixing meals for other people and he heads straight for the pizza rolls.  "Frozen waffles can be dinner right?"   I actually consume far more junk food now than I did before he moved in.  He often doesn't have a chance to eat at dinner time, sustaining himself on Red Bull through his shift, and after the rush he just wants to pack up and go home.  

Your kitchen will always be so clean.

This is NOT my house...but I feel like it some times.  And it makes me twitch.

At work, the kitchen is always clean.  There are strict standards and rules that are followed to keep food safety and a maximum.  While we do keep many of these rules at home (storing raw meat on the bottom, keeping the fridge at certain temps, etc.,) the dishes often pile up and are left for the next day.  At work, he can't get away with that.  He can't leave the next shift crew with a dish pit full of dirty dishes and pans.  That just wouldn't fly.  But at home he leaves a sink full of dirty dishes for the next day almost every day.  I have always been bad about being too tired after dinner and leaving the mess.  But now we have added to that.  Let's not even discuss my kitchen floor...

You will save so much money not eating out so much.

A chef in a grocery store is like a kid in a candy store.  The mentality of "let's try ALL the foods" can sometimes to lead to a jaw dropping total at the checkout.  If we do not plan out our meals for the week and stick to that list, we end up spending a lot.  I am so vigilant about it, that I sometimes don't purchase enough food for the week.  Then one of those crazy hectic days filled with school, work, therapy, and errands comes around and the kids and I are parked in the fast food parking lot.  Or a Kids Eat Free night so mommy can have a beer with dinner.  

So, there is a little truth to these statements, but I am not living like the rich and famous with a personal chef.  I do get to eat a lot of awesome food made from scratch (in part because I love to cook as well) but most nights we are throwing together noodles and leftover sloppy joe meat while praying that the kids will eat it without complaint (and hopefully eat a few carrots with it) Or grabbing a plate full of pizza rolls for lunch as I type a blog post about my chef boyfriend.....

There could be a list like this for all professions.  Doctors, brew masters, and accountants all have things that outsiders would think transfer from their profession into their home lives.  The point is that we love our partner and encourage them in their chosen field.  Even if that means taking dish duty again.

Tuesday Coffee Chat: Beauty and the Past

ETA:  I'm a nidiot hopped up on cold meds.  This week is about gratitude...I'm a moron and will write up my thoughts on that.

For a woman who swipes on some eyeliner and the occasional spritz of body spray, I sure do post a lot about BEAUTY on my blog.  It seems to be a topic popping up everywhere this month...and with Halloween around the corner, perhaps we should be talking about it a lot.  We should be focusing on how beautiful a person's spirit is, not how her rack looks in her "Sexy _______ Costume".  I mean, is there really such thing as a sexy lobster?  And Snow white was not made with garter belts and thongs in mind.  Fight me if you want, but she wasn't.  Just No.

Beauty is the word of the day with Rory Bore's Tuesday Coffee Chat


So what do I have to say about beauty today?  I have a story of my past.

I have naturally dark black hair and light skin.  A little like Snow White.  My mom used to tell me that my hair made me look like her and strangers in the store would tell my mom how beautiful my hair was.

Then I went to school and the kids realized it was different.  Very few kids in my school had darker hair and if they did, they had darker skin.  I was not the little blond suburban white girl.  I was the "freak" with dark hair.  Kids at my school picked on me for a lot of reasons, my hair just happened to  be one of them.

As I started the 5th grade, I bore a striking resemblance to Wynona Ryder.  This was also about the time the kids at school were allowed to watch BeetleJuice.  The mean kids used to yell "BeetlJuice" three times in hopes that I would go away.

That is some mean shit huh?

Anyway, all those years of being told I was ugly and different really wore on me.  I tried to change my appearance, my attitude, and anything else I could to simply fit in.

Needless to say, it never worked.

And not only am I okay with that now, I LOVE it.

After a few decades, I embraced who I was (outside and inside) and realized just how beautiful I am.  My dark hair and light skin is unique and even my butt chin that I used to hate is beautiful.

Tipping the Server

I feel that the custom of tipping your waiter or waitress (or server, whatever you call us that bring you refills of soda and plates of pancakes) is a well known one in our society.  In fact, most people know that a common tip is between 10% and 20% depending on how well the waiter did his job.  

And by his job, I mean HIS job.  His job is not to cook the food,  So if you ordered no tomatoes, don't expect him to dig around in your breakfast skillet to search for tomatoes.  Trust me, you don't want him to stick his hands in your food.  It is his job, however, to bring it back to the kitchen, have it fixed, and notify a manager of the mix-up.  Please don't decide to not tip him because of a kitchen mistake.  You want to save a buck?  Ask the manager about a discount although there are many who won't give it to you.

And if the kitchen is taking FOREVER to get your food (this sucks for all of us), don't blame the server.  Perhaps there was an accident in the kitchen, or maybe the host sat too many tables, or any number of other reasons that your well-done steak is taking more than 3.4 minutes (ok, that's a little snarky).  The point is, did your waitress refill your drinks?  Stop by the table to apologize and give you an update?  If she did, she did her job.  

If you get served crappy food, that is also not the servers fault.  If they fixed the situation for you, they did their job.  Tip them.

I also expected that people who tip knew what a tip was.  It is monetary.  Cash money.  Or credit card tips that turn into cash money.  Thanks for the pen with your business logo on it, but that doesn't pay the mortgage.  Thank you for your awesome note about how fabulous I am.  That doesn't put food in my kid's mouth.  The stickers promoting marijuana are cute, but they don't put gas in my car.  

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the pen.  And I appreciate the note, but...

CASH MONEY!!  It pays the bills.

This is not a tip:

However, this is. 

This adorable little elephant was given to me as a tip on top of a few more dollars.  And it MADE MY DAY.  Cash money and a cute little elephant that danced on the counters and my co- workers shoulders all day.  Awesome sauce.

The tip that was left for me was a nice tip.  The cash money equaled about 18% and the elephant was something to make me smile.  

I plan on passing this along to a server, bartender, or other tipped employee that I want to make smile.  

Tuesday Coffee Chat : Salty or Sweet?

Rorey Bore and Tuesday Coffee Chat  is at it again.  This week we are chatting about the all important question of:

Salty or Sweet?  

The answer is YES PLEASE.  

I love pretzels with chocolate.  Or a salted caramel sauce on a grilled peach.  Ever had Mole sauce?  Oh ya.  Now I am hungry.  *excuse me, I need to grab some Preztel Crisps and a sweet spinach and artichoke hummus to finish this post*

Over the years I have endured teasing as I sat in study group alternating between a bag of skittles and a bag of pretzels. Or as I added a little sugar to my potato chips in the cafeteria in middle school.  But I never endured being teased about my love of salty and sweet (or food in general, really) more in my life than I have during pregnancy.  

During all four of my pregnancies, I was teased about the old wive's tale about pregnant women craving pickles and ice cream.  I  never really understood where it came from as I watched my aunt drink pickle juice from the jar.  Or as I dug a spoon into the pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food.  I am not a fan of ice cream.  Ever.  Yet, I ate my weight in ice cream over the course of my last pregnancy.

I also craved pickles.  Kosher Dill or those spicy pickles.  I ate them by the jar.  I even considered pickling my own for a while...and I still might.  

In the beginning of my pregnancy-before we had really made a large announcement-I sent a text to Steven from the grocery store.  It said "did I really just do this?" with a picture of the shopping cart.  A jar of pickles sat next to a tub of ice cream.  I wanted to post something so ironic and funny on Faccebook, but we weren't sharing our good (and surprising) news with anyone just yet.  

This had me wondering.  What was in the pickles that my body craved?

It was explained to me by a midwife that pregnant women crave sodium and the pickles satisfy that. Or at least that is how the wives tale has stuck around for so long.  

Totally made sense to me.  I was probably craving ice cream because of the need for the vitamins that are prevalent in dairy...and the sugar.  I have a sugar addiction.  

But I still can't stand the idea of eating those things together.  

However, in the 4th or 5th month of this last pregnancy, I had Steven go to the store and buy pregnancy-approved sushi, cupcakes, and chocolate milk.  

So maybe that was my salty and sweet....

Tuesday Coffee Chat: Immortality for One Day

I am back for another week of Tuesday Coffee Chat.  Granted, it is almost 11 p.m. on Tuesday, but I really wanted to participate.

Tuesday, October 7th/14 

If you could be immortal for one day; what would you do? 

Immortality for one day.  That would be one hell of a day.  I would use my temporary ability to not die to conquer all my fears.  I mean, how great would it be to no longer fear snakes, airplanes, or underwater caves?  My fear with many things is that I have a chance to die.  I have almost died a few times and you would think that would help me, but as I get older and have more children, the fear multiplies.

When I was 19, my ex-father-in-law took his entire law firm and their spouses to Puerto Vallarta.  It was an amazing trip and I have many memories of the crazy nights and delicious food.  However, what I remember the most is the flight back...and how thankful I am that it landed.  Another flight leaving the same airport did not.  That was supposed to be our flight but we changed the flight to avoid a layover.

Hence, my fear of airplanes started.

I refuse to set foot on one.  The idea of flying makes my palm sweat and neck break out in small hives.  Thinking about my mother  holding my 18-month old daughter and watching news coverage of what she thought was my flight causes my heart to drop into my stomach.

No airplanes.  No thanks.  I will drive with three fighting children across county.  I don't mind.

Never mind that the likely hood of my plane crashing is FAR less than my car crashing...

So if I had an entire day to avoid dying.  I would get on a plane.  I would allow myself to have anxiety and panic attacks.  I would peer out the window and force myself to see how high in the air I am.  What's the harm?  If the plane goes down, I won't die.  I might have a lot of explaining to do, but I won't leave my children motherless.

What would YOU do if you were immortal for one day?

Tuesday Coffee Chat: Showing Off My Ponies

Today is the first Coffee Chat over at Time Out for Mom since summer break.  I am happy to have stumbled upon it as this week we are chatting about COLLECTIONS.   Just the other day I was bragging about my collection to a friend.  I told her that her kids HAD to see my obsession  collection.  As silly as it is, these little guys are my collection and they make me terribly happy.
1st Generation My Little Ponies

Unfortunately, these are not from my childhood.  My ponies were probably thrown into a bag for Goodwill or *gasp* a trashcan when I didn't clean up my room and mom did it for me.  I started acquiring my preciouses when I was 21.  I was randomly farting around on Ebay (through a dial up connection...) when I found a listing for ponies.  Lots of ponies.  HUNDREDS of ponies.  I wanted it.  BAD.  
But I didn't have that kind of money.  
So I started searching and was engrossed for days...maybe weeks.  I found a few I liked and started bidding.  Of course my cheap little heart was being outbid on every damn auction.  I upped my game and was diligent.  A week or so later and this beauty showed up on my door step.  

Her name is Cherries Jubilee.  And she was my first.  I was hooked. It didn't take too long for me to amass over 100 ponies including a full collection of Sparkle Ponies.

And a few ponies from international lines such as Seashell from Italy.

Only two ponies sit and I had both.  Unfortunately, some of my ponies were stolen and Bubbles was included.  I have yet to find him again.  But I won't get into that mess.
I stopped my huge spending spree and over the next decade or so, only had a few of these beauties delivered to my door...but I still checked the Ebay auctions and collector's forums frequently. 
A little over a year ago, five years after moving into the new house, I FINALLY put these ponies on display.  I was thrilled to reunite with old friends and grieved again over those who were lost along the way.  And I had a new fire to look at auctions.  
I found one I couldn't turn away from.  FLUTTER PONIES!!  I found an auction that let me finish my flutter pony collection as well as replace one that came to me with a haircut.  I was more overjoyed than a woman in her 30's should be.

But then I saw the icing on the cake.  CHIEF.

Yes.  He is missing his scarf, but this beautiful Clydesdale Big Brother Pony with his fetching hat eluded me for years!!  I saw the auction and laid low for a while.  At the end of the auction I stormed in, placed a bid for higher than I wanted to pay, yet less than what I had been bidding a decade before, and snatched him up.  It was an awesome day when he arrived.  
I've collected a few more since then and also traded out some of the So Soft Ponies for more "display worthy" versions.  The more played with ponies went to a very loving home with Steven's sister.  
They aren't worth much, but they are worth a fortune to me.  I doubt I will be able to pass them down to my girls, but they will have memories and stories to share about their "mother's ponies."  I am 34 years old and collect toys.  BoYAH!

Knee Injuries Suck

Knee injuries suck.

Knee injuries flairing up suck.

Knee injuries flairing up and work and messing with my income really sucks.

14 years ago I was a pedestrian in a hit-and-run accident.  I sustained many injuries,  but I walked away from the accident.  Well, I needed help to walk, but I came away from the ordeal alive and fairly unscathed. 

Over the years I have had problems with my foot, knee, back, hips, and shoulder. It usually twinges, needs some ice and rest, and it feels fine a day later.  So when I felt that twinge in my knee at work, I didn't think much of it.

I call it the "rubber band" feeling. My knee feels like rubber and as if it is bending backwards,  or the wrong way. It hurts,  makes me trip, and feels better after a few minutes.

Then it did it the next day.

Then twice the next.

When my knee twinged a third time that day, I felt a pop and took a knee to the floor. At work. In front of people. Red-cheeked, I limped away to rub away the pain and embarrassment.

My knee swelled and I could see fluid at the bottom of my knee cap and I knew this required a trip to the hospital as even urgent care facilities were closed.

They drained my knee - Gross! - and gave me a referral to an orthopedic doctor.

After that,  my knee felt better and I went to work with an ace bandage and brace.  I hobbled through the day as an expediter, which required very little running around or lifting, but still practically immobilized me by the end of the short shift.

I called in the next two shifts (and am awaiting the wrath of that) and was able to see the specialist.  I was not impressed.  He took x-rays, which was necessary, but I knew that none of my old injuries would show up on it.

It also concerned me that he confused my breastfeeding status with being pregnant...twice.  He also asked how far along I was immediately after I told him about getting my tubes tied in April...

Uh...

So we scheduled the MRI for next Monday.  That leaves me at least two full days of serving that I need to get through...without pain medication. This is going to be a long weekend, but hopefully Monday will shed enough light that we can make a plan and get me up and moving again.  

A Little Time for Mommy

This weekend I was selfish.  I had Sunday off work (which never happens and at first I wasn't pleased about it) and I wanted to take full advantage of that.  My beautiful friend Nina (who makes the most amazing cakes at Rockabilly Bakery) was celebrating her birthday and I was excited that I would get to go out and cut loose with her and some of our amazing friends.  I rarely get to go out because waking up at 6 am to feed the baby with a hangover sucks.  Plus, I breastfeed and pumping and dumping is actually a very heart breaking thing to do.  Also, I like to be "on my game" for those weekend morning serving shifts - as much as I can be waking up with a small child sporadically throughout the night- so that I can make my money.

So this was a rare event for me.

The day started out normal.  I went to work and served people pancakes and bacon for a few hours while storing my tips in my apron.  After work we rushed straight over to a roller skating party for Nina's youngest little man.  I was still in my syrup stained work shirt that permanently smells of bacon.  Even the brand new shirts my manager just gave me reek of bacon straight out of the bag.  Not sure why this happens, but it is not nearly as cool as it could sound.  

But I digress.  Roller skating fun was had.

That cake was made by Rockabilly Bakery LLC 

We then rushed to the store so that Steven could purchase a new microphone headset for the World of Warcraft raid he had scheduled after the kiddo's bedtime.  We grabbed a few things for dinner and a small birthday gift for my friend.  As soon as we reached home, I had to start getting ready.  Usually if I go anywhere, I brush my hair back and throw on a bit of eyeliner and mascara.  Not tonight.  Tonight I was going all out.  Hair, makeup, adorable retro shirt...the whole nine yards.

I did my hair in a suicide roll and had Steven drop me at Nina's house.  We chatted for a bit and put on our makeup. Then it was time for selfies.

I borrowed a shirt from her that matched my polka dot wedges and we were off the the club.  We had to battle a lot of traffic from Taste of Colorado and deal with lane closures, but we made and met up with our good friend Kelly and a bunch of other people.  There was cake, cocktails, 80's music, industrial music, and lots of dancing to be had.  I danced long and hard until my butt fell off and my heels gave me blisters.

Kelly and I (in Nina's ridiculously cute shirt)

Now, I am not 21 anymore and the next day was not pretty.  I pumped and dumped (crying as I watched all that milk hit the drain), dealt with cramps, and had a wicked headache for a few hours when I first woke up. But it was worth it.  I spent time with friends, saw people I had not seen in a long time, and got to celebrate the birthday of a very beautiful soul.


And I had time for me.

As a mom, I forget how important that is.  I rarely do anything without a baby on my hip, a 6 year old using my shirt as a napkin, or a 9 year old asking if she can use some sort of electronic device.  I get so caught up in making sure the diapers are washed and the dishes are clean that I forget to just stop and be me for a moment.  We mothers need to have time for ourselves.  Maybe that is a night of drinking and dancing.  Maybe it is a date night with your partner.  Or even a stolen Snickers Ice Cream bar in the closet while the kids are engrossed in a video game.  The other night, grandma took the kiddos for a walk and Steven and I just relaxed.  We actually fell asleep on the bed.  Sometimes we parents need that.  It is good to recharge and know that a piece of ourselves does exist outside of parent-teacher conferences and endless laundry.

It may not sound logical, but it makes me a better parent.