Parenting, despite anxiety.

I am a Mother. I also have an anxiety disorder. I could say that I am a Mother with anxiety. But I am not. I am a Mother DESPITE my anxiety. My anxiety and I are not friends. We do not work well together. In fact, they hate each other.

Anxious me and rational me are two very different people.  Rational me thinks that calling every hospital in a 50 mile radius because my husband was a half hour late is over kill. Anxious me is just doing what she has to do to get through. And let's face it, we are all just doing what we have to. So I'll call, until I see him pull into my drive way. I'll take my child to the ER because they are breathing just slightly funny and while it's probably just because they have a cold, they could have pneumonia and die in their sleep before I'm awake. And then I'll have to face something that I'll never live through. Something that no amount of anything can fix. I won't survive it. I know me, and I know what I'm capable of handling. Losing a child isn't one of them.

I could tell you that my anxiety makes me less of a Mother, or less of a Wife, but I don't believe that. I often think that it makes me a better Mother, a better Wife. I double check everything in our home for fear of my children getting injured, and not just like any normal parent would, but obsessively. I check doors, things that get hot, the temp in my girls rooms, the weather, and anything else that may injure them through out the night. It takes a toll on me. Sometimes I can't sleep because I worry I forgot something, so I get up and I do it all over again. I worry obsessively about my kids. It's exhausting, it's trying, but do I think it makes me less of a Mother? No. I worry about my Husband in the same way. I worry he is constantly going to run off into the sunset with an easier woman, again, rational me knows he loves me and he's not that kind of man. However, irrational me would rather we do things in order to prevent that from ever happening. So I do my best to put my issues aside and try to be good at it all, without fail. Because in my head, there's no room for failure, ever.

I'd be lying if I said it never interfered with my parenting. Ever had a panic attack in the middle of Walmart? Well, when that happens everything I was going to buy is suddenly unimportant. I leave the cart in the middle of the store, walk straight to the car, and we go home. I manage to disassociate from it when my kids are up, and they need me. I have this way of pulling out of whatever I have to pull out of to do what I have to do, for them. I do my best to stay busy, because if I'm busy with rational thoughts, I have no room for panic. I have no room for mistakes. I don't get to think about what it means that this person is texting me a few words at a time and they probably hate me now. I don't have time to think about how the rash on my childs arm could be some kind of flesh eating bacteria and I have to obsessively hover over it to ensure they are okay. I don't have time for anything but this ballet recital, teaching my twins how to count to ten, or making sure my husband has work clothes and food. I don't have time to worry.

However, my anxiety doesn't care. Because there it is, in the back of my mind, nagging, frustrating, controlling every single horrible thought. So I worry about the car, the kids, the house, the pets, money, the bills, my knee, the faucet, this event, that event, this friend, that family member, and it goes on...and on...and on. I get up, every day, and I be the best possible parent that I can be, despite my anxiety. I love them unconditionally and without fail every single second of every single day, and because of that, I'll stay up all night because one of them is coughing. I'll worry about the big things, and the little things, and the things that don't even matter, and I'll do it while being a Mother. I'll just continue to keep the faith that one day, this won't be so hard. One day, I will worry a healthy amount and nothing more, some day, but not today.

Shame in the check out

Why does needing assistance mean that we have to choose between our pride, our ability to stand up tall, and feeding our children?  It shouldn't.  As a whole, we should be less selfish.  We should be glad we are alleviating a heavy burden from struggling parents.  We should be grateful we live in a country that has a system to help them.  And I know that some abuse the system,  or don't try to help themselves out of the situation they are in, but that doesn't give us any right to throw them all into one category. 

I'm grateful my family is in a better place.  But a year ago our lives were very different,  and every time I had to swipe that card, I tried to do it as quick as I could. I didn't want anyone to see. I felt ashamed.  I felt judged.

Yesterday,  I watched a young Mother with her 3 kids.  She avoided eye contact with the cashier,  looked at the ground,  hoped no one would notice.  I saw the blue card swiped and quickly placed in her back pocket.  She watched the prompts nervously hoping it would go through. She was me a year ago.  She looked at her 3 small boys and then I smiled at her. I told her she had a beautiful family and she thanked me before pushing her boys and groceries out to the car.

These families on assistance are not horrible people. A lot of them are people who put their pride aside and risk being belittled so they can be sure their families eat. A lot of them are even our Veterans. So next time you see a well dressed Mom, a stressed out Mom, a single Dad or a large family on welfare, just smile and tell them they have a beautiful family.  You don't know everyone's story,  you don't know their burdens, but maybe you can help them feel a little less small.

Let's be kind to one another, life is already hard enough.

Why I shouldn't buy stamps.

I bought stamps the other day. Not just a couple, but a whole freaking book. When I have stamps in my house I for some reason feel the need to send things out, or write letters. While writing letters can be fun, when you have as many estranged family members as I do, it's like gambling.


I haven't spoken to my Grandmother in over 3 years. And we were barely talking then. My Father has been dead for almost 10 years, and when he died, most of our family did with him. No, not literally, but might as well have. You would think that they would have wanted to be there for us during our difficult time, instead, they all decided that we were guilty of things that didn't happen, or weren't in our control. I was 13 when my Father died, and my Brother was only 19. We were children. We were sad and broken. We needed them.


There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of them. Think of the kind of Great Grandparents they would be to my children, think of the Great Uncles they could have had. I always wonder about the kind of stories they would tell my children about my Dad. I'm a sentimental idiot. I constantly want to try to make amends and bring our broken family back together. It kills me to see what has happened to it. So, when I bought stamps, I decided to write my Nana. I decided to tell her how I feel, and try to repair what has broken. I did what I always do, and I put my heart on the line.


It could go well, and we could start talking again, we could be the family we really are. I'll do my best to pretend I didn't hold it against her for years, and she will try to put everything in the past and love me anyway. It could end up good, or even great. However, there's also a good possibility that it could end badly. So badly that things are never repairable. I can be rejected again and feel that horrible pain. I could have my heart ripped from chest again. It could feel like losing my Dad all over again.


I want my children to know them. I want my children to know who my Father was, in ways that I can't describe to them. I want them to have a complete family unlike my very broken one. I don't want them to know even a little bit of what this abandonment feels like. I want them to know all the love in the world and never have to deal with the pain and the hand that my brother and I have been dealt. I want things to be perfect for them.


So here I am, staring at a letter with a stamp, ready to send. I have a lighter on one side, and my coat on the other. I put my coat on and curse myself the entire walk to the mailbox. I rolled the dice.


I shouldn't have bought stamps.

Shake it off!

Sometimes it takes everything in your power to keep a smile throughout the entire day. Especially on those days when you are doing your best to stay in a good mood and your child seems determined to tear you down. So in the words of Taylor Swift, just shake it off!


Pulled my toddler out from underneath her bed during "nap time" for the hundredth time.


Shake it off.


Laid her back down during "nap time." Discovered a poopy diaper on the floor, and poo every where.


I'm gonna shake it off, literally.


Toddler throws tantrum and throws lunch on the floor that I spent an hour working on....okay, a few minutes.


I still need to shake it off.


The fun activity I spent lots of money on and looked forward to all week was interrupted by crying and screaming.


Shake it off.


Brought the kids to the zoo, both toddlers slept the entire time.


Shake it off.


Spend lots of money on meals for the children. They take 2 bites.


Shake it off.


That Christmas that you bought lots of presents and they only played with the boxes and wrapping paper.


Take pictures, and shake it off.


Your $400 cell phone just went in the toilet.


Check your account promptly for device insurance....and then shake it off.


You go to give your 4 year old a hug and kiss, and she shakes you off.


Shake it off.


It's been a rough day for everyone, turn some music up, grab your kids hands and shake it off.


Life's too short to let the little stuff ruin your day. Put a smile on, laugh a lot and do your best to enjoy it all anyway. It only lasts for a short while.

I didn't choose to not believe in God, it just happened.

I grew up in a small town, a God-fearing, farming community. My parents never brought me to church, it just wasn't in their day planner. So I found ways to "fit in" and go with anyone who invited me. I had to know what all the fuss was about.


I attended Vacation Bible Study with one of my childhood friends, on multiple occasions. I even went to Sunday services with them when allowed. When I became a teenager I started attending a youth group during the week, and I regularly went to church, and youth on Sundays as well. I willingly went to Church. I wasn't drug there by my parents. I called myself a Christian, and I smiled politely and talked to the members of the church, and I prayed for them outside of it. During this period of time, I probably read the bible from cover to back at least twice. I even sang the "I am a Christian" song at least a hundred times on the band bus with my friends. My Pastor even came to my home the day my Dad died to be there for me and my family. He cried with me, and he held my hands and he prayed for me during my time of need. He was one of the best men that I knew.  I wanted to believe so badly. I wanted to be that happy, God-reliant, giving my many worries to God type of person. The only problem was, I just wasn't.


I don't believe in God. I can say with complete certainty that I never really did. I was a square trying to fit into a circle. I put on the clothes and I stood in the crowd and I hoped that no one noticed that underneath my church clothes was a bright red dress. A dress I couldn't wear proudly for fear of being judged, a dress I felt uncomfortable in, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get off.


 Every time I tell someone how I really feel, I can see the judgment on their faces, the disappointment in their voice. You can tell they think less of me. It's like the type of person I am isn't as important as my religious category society has placed on me. Believe me when I say, I wish I could change the way I feel. It's like how you can't help who you love, I can't help how I feel. I'm not speaking for everyone, but for me, I tried to change my own views. I sang louder, I prayed harder, but no matter what I did, it just wasn't in my heart. It simply wasn't there. How long do you go to Church and walk out feeling like a fraud before you finally are honest with yourself? For me, years.


I'm not a horrible person. I'm a Mother to my 3 amazing little girls. I don't implant words of demons or tell them not to believe in God themselves. They can make their own decisions when they are old enough to understand. I donate my time and money to my community and my friends whenever I can. I think churches are amazing. They do great things for their members and our communities. Between the passion, the manners and their all around friendly attitudes, I feel at home there. I don't judge you for your belief in God, please don't judge me for my lack there of. I didn't choose to be a mean person when I chose not to go to church, I chose to be a good person without fear of Hell as retribution. I chose to be honest with myself.


Some day I may try again. I know if my kids ever want to go to church I will without a doubt put back on those church clothes over my pretty red dress, and I will open a hymn book and sing as loud as I can, but until such time, I'll do my best to be comfortable in my own skin.

I am a Mom, but it is not all that I am.

When you become a Mother you dedicate your entire life to being there for your children, and no, not just until they are 18, you are a Mom, forever. You somehow forget that woman who has her own wants and needs. You forget about you.

It's not just our own fault either, just about everyone around us is more worried about our children than they are us. We get lost in all the cute faces. When your family calls you they often don't ask how YOU are doing, they ask how the kids are. It's great to have family that cares about your kids, but come on, you are a person too! It's time that we learn to take care of ourselves as well as we take care of our kids.

I've given so much to my family lately that I've been slacking on my own health. I've stopped going to counseling because I don't want to miss out on that family time or spend that extra money. I stopped doing things I enjoyed doing because I didn't want to slack on house work. I've been suffering through my panic attacks because I'm planning on housing a tiny human despite my doctors saying my anxiety medication would be fine during pregnancy. Everything that I've been doing lately has been all about my kids, and while it's honorable, and it's how I like things to be, it certainly isn't healthy.

It's okay to think about ourselves sometimes ladies. I put myself on the back burner too. I forget it's okay to put off the laundry until morning because I'm so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. It's okay to cry because I'm so overwhelmed. It's okay to do something for ourselves. Join the gym only because YOU feel like it. Eat some chocolate and don't share. Have that glass of wine and read your book. Go to sleep early because you're tired and you need rest. Do something for you.

And if you know a Mom who has lost her identity in the consumption of Motherhood, make her a priority sometimes. Ask how SHE is doing once in a while. Odds are we will tell you we are fine either way, but you may catch us on a day when we really need that moment to talk about ourselves. We had an identity before we became Mothers, and that doesn't completely go away just because we procreated.

Spend some time with yourself, Mom's. It's okay. We all know you are just doing the best that you can.

Things My Daughter Never Let's Me Forget

So my daughter is 4. If you've ever had a 4 year old you know that they are great at remembering that you promised them ice cream 2 weeks ago, but seem to forget that 5 minutes ago you told them to pick up their toys. My daughter's memory works out very similar.  She tends to remind me of all those (Mom)ents of my life that I would rather forget.

So here is my list of things my Daughter just won't let me forget:

That time I let her out of the car last and her Sisters got to see a toad and she didn't. 

"Remember that time Dad let our car float away in the river?" Oh believe me dear, I could never forget that. 

"Last week you said we could get ice cream after school, but you forgot."

Every time I fall or trip over something and she laughs at me for hours.

When I promised to read two bedtime stories but when bedtime comes I'm so tired I only feel like reading one.

That time I left my wallet at home and we had to put all our groceries back.

Last week when I spilled coffee down my shirt and said a really bad word. Okay, lots of bad words.

"Mommy, are you going to put my shirt on backwards again!?"

When I looked away for just a second during ballet and missed her big spin.

That time I dropped her cookie on the ground...in the rain....

Apparently I do a lot of horrible unforgettable things.

Everyone's Got an Opinion

The moment you become a parent you automatically open yourself up to everyone else's opinions and advice about how you should raise your children. You will probably even begin to get it from the moment they find out you are pregnant. While it's natural for your friends and your family to give you input, after all, it takes a village, there is a line you have to draw for yourself, and for your kids.


I often hear about how "strict" I am, or how set in my ways I am about things my kids should or shouldn't do, or things that are acceptable for myself as a Mother and things that my kids other parental figures should or should not be doing. I am their Mother after all. I'll admit it, I do not make it easy to co-parent with, or for you to watch my children. It is my personal opinion, not opinion, but my knowledge that no one can parent my children better than me. It's just the cold hard truth. Parenting is something I take quite seriously, and I think it is only natural for parents to feel like they are the best possible parent for their child, because if you don't feel that way, then you should be doing better by your own standards.


So I will go ahead and openly admit, I KNOW I AM A STRICT PARENT! You don't have to tell me thinking it will change my parenting, or make me realize I'm doing something horribly wrong. My Mother often tells me to lighten up, and while I love her dearly, I am not her, and these are not her kids. I will continue to be a strict parent because it's the best way I know how to parent my children. While she may not be willing to admit it, she and my Father were also strict, and imagine that, my Brother and I have morals, and manners. I would also consider my Husband's upbringing strict and he also has morals, and manners. 2 of the most important qualities I believe are worth having and teaching to your children. A lot of people I know who did not grow up in strict environments are severely lacking in those 2 things.


So yes, we make our kids sit at the table until they are done eating, say their "Yes Ma'am's and No Sir's," when visiting someone else's house we make sure they follow the house rules and treat someone else's home with respect, we require things be asked for politely or you will not get them at all, if you aren't going to play nice you don't get to play at all, and you can listen to your Mom and Dad or go spend some time in time out. We also raise our voices when deemed necessary as we don't negotiate with tiny terrorists. ;)  However, in our home we also have dance parties, tickle fights, LOTS of park days, bed time stories, cuddle time, pile ups on the floor, rough housing, family movie nights, board games, family meals and lots of learning. We also make sure we consistently tell them how much we love them, hug and kiss on them constantly, and we always let them know how beautiful they are and how proud we are of them. I don't go a single day without telling Abby or the girls how beautiful they are, how much I love them, and how proud I am of them. They are such amazing kids and we are so fortunate. My most unconventional views on parenting are probably my stance on religion and sexual orientation, because I don't have a preference for my children in those departments. I want them to be who they want to be, as long as they are loving, honorable, polite individuals, the rest is just details. My hope is for my children to make the world a little less dark, because for me, they've made it a whole lot brighter.


Not all parents should parent the same, because not all parents are the same, and their children are not the same. I know Mom's who are wonderful and have completely different rules or opinions than mine. The point is, you need to be the parent you want to be. You know what works best for your home and what doesn't, and what works for you doesn't work for everyone else, and that's okay. I am not ashamed of the kind of parent I am, and I won't be. My children are happy in their structured home.  We laugh a lot, learn a lot, and love a lot. I couldn't ask for anything more.

The World is Good

Today was ...for lack of a better word, crazy. I brought all 3 kids to Wal-mart, all by myself. It started out how any bad trip to the store does, the kids start fighting. All of the arguing sends Analise into a full on arching her back, flailing screaming tantrum. I go through 3 isles this way before I go to the produce section, grab a bag of grapes and starting giving each child a hand full. This calms them immediately while an older lady smiles at me and says, "I use to do the same thing! You have beautiful daughters." I smiled politely and thanked her.

We continue on now that we have grapes in our mouths. We make it through one isle before all of the grapes are gone, and dispite the fact that my oldest was suppose to be sharing and distributing the grapes to her sisters, she was eating them all to herself. Well, naturally this irritated me. I had to seperate out more grapes while Adison threw them on the floor and started screaming, followed by smashing the bread. And then it stops. She likes how the bread feels being squished...so every time I turn around I have to remove her hand from the bread and try to find somewhere else that she can not reach it, which also triggers crying. I have many people who feel sorry for me and smile at me, or try to offer tips to calm my screaming children, like I haven't already tried it all.

We finally survived the shopping portion of the store, and are in the check out, when I realize I forgot my debit card in the car....and our cart is already full of groceries. This means I have to take all the kids off of the cart, and carry them while running to get my card. Well, we survive that as well. Unfortunately our cashier is like in his 80's, and moves at less than a mile per hour....cue the screaming. After getting my $200 dollar total...for the "real quick" trip that I was suppose to make. Everything starts to fall of the top of the heaving cart and I'm about to cry. I get half way to the door and notice the lady who had spoken to me earlier walking up to me.

She put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Honey, we have all been there." She told me that she and her husband would like to help me out to the car. He grabs the cart and starts pushing, not really giving me much of a choice. I didn't worry too much since he was wearing a Veterans hat. He wouldn't let me grab any of the groceries myself and his wife helped me get the kids in the car. She gave me a hug before leaving and told me to be careful, they wished the twins a happy birthday and took my cart back.

This wasn't something she and her husband had to do, but they most definitely went out of their way to do it. I have no idea how long they were standing near the check out waiting for me to walk by, but it couldn't have been a short amount of time. I don't think I could have conveyed to them how much I appreciated their help in that moment. But they helped a stressed out Mom on the verge of tears to her car, and they didn't ask for anything in return. I don't know if they could see the break down that was coming, or the crazy in my eyes, but I'm so glad they were there not just to show me that there is still good left in this world, but to show my kids. Who knew there are still good people in Muncie, Indiana, the town with a climbing crime rate and dropping employment. I do not not know your names, but thank you for your act of kindness, and Sir, thank you for your service to our country!

I can't make your team, so I'll make my own

I've never been a person who is confident in my abilities. I loved volleyball in high school. It was my favorite sport. I wasn't great at serving, but I was good at being in the back row and hitting that ball hard enough to get it where it needed to be. I loved it. But when it came up that I would need to try out to get on the teams in high school, I quit. I never gave it a second thought because I was too embarrassed, too afraid to try out. That pretty much sums up my life. I joined the clubs and organizations I could be in that didn't require trying out. I didn't apply to any colleges that could turn me down because I was too afraid to get that "I'm sorry" letter. I loved band. I loved being good at it, I loved learning new music, and I loved when I finally got to be section leader. However, we lost 2 band instructors, and he required me being on the spot in front of everyone when I played, and I quit. My entire life I've never been confident to stand up in front of everyone and say I'm good at something, or give it my all to do something I love. That has never been who I am. My confidence was so poor that in high school I started dating anyone and everyone who told me I was pretty or showed me attention. I was broken.

At 17 I peed on a stick, and then I cried while standing over that stick realizing I wouldn't go to college and have fun with my friends. I walked across the stage at my high school 2 months pregnant. 9 months later I cried when I woke up in labor, scared, terrified and engaged to a man I didn't love but had to be with. Less than 24 hours later I cried again when I held a beautiful little girl in my arms. I knew that nothing else ever mattered and nothing could ever matter more than she does.

I didn't realize it then, but that first year of her life was a try out. I was proving I could be a Mother, that I could be a good Mother. I may not have been the best volleyball player, the prettiest cheerleader, the most creative writer on the newspaper and I definitely wasn't accepted into Harvard or any other highly respected schools, but I survived my most important try out ever. Not only did I survive it, but I excelled at it. I didn't read the 15 baby books I bought or buy all organic food and breastfeed until she was 3, but every single night and day, I was home with my daughter. I taught her everything she needed to know, I nurtured her, I protected her and I played with her. I did all the things I had to do to be the best Mother I could be to the best of my abilities at 18.

So here I am at 23, having passed my tryouts to be a Mom at 18, and passed my tryouts to be a twin Mom 3 years later. And I hope I pass my next one. We are trying for baby #4 :) And yes, I'm aware how insane that sounds, but being a Mom is all I ever wanted without knowing I wanted it. I want my babies close enough in age that they can all be close, because it's important to be surrounded by those who love you, by those who can build confidence in you. I want to raise my girls to know their worth, to know they are strong enough, smart enough, and capable enough to accomplish everything they want to accomplish in life. Yes, I will go back to school at some point, but that's not the most important work I will do. The most important moments of my life will take place within the four walls of our home, with my husband who happens to be an amazing father, and our four children who happen to be the center of our universe.

Perfectly Imperfect...Together

I'm not a perfect person. I take bubble baths and drink wine when I'm unraveled. I bite my nails down to the tip of my fingers when I'm thinking nervously. Sometimes I judge others for the same things that I do. I cry more than the average person. I'm a constant wreck, like can't ever find my keys, had to order a new debit card THREE times in one month kind of wreck. I can't even count the amount of times I lose my cell phone in a single day. I have no idea how I keep it together...really.

So when you ask me, "How do you do it?" I truly don't know. I wish I could tell you that it's because I have some kind of super power, but I don't. In fact, I spend most of the day figuring it out as I go. I can plan and plan, but the reality is, my kids don't care what my plans are. They don't care that they all have to be in the car and on the road by a certain time, they are still going to poop in their pants, run around trying to find their socks and shoes after being told not to take them off, and spill my pop all down the front of themselves, at the very moment we are meant to be out the door. So I guess I can add this to my list of things that make me an imperfect person, I am ALWAYS late. And if by some miracle I am ever on time, know that it took all of my energy and effort in order to achieve that.

Today was one of those days. No, we didn't have to be anywhere today, but even on those days, my patience seems to be spread thin. Every night I tell myself, "Tomorrow, I won't raise my voice as much. Tomorrow, I'll clean less and spend more time teaching the kids. Tomorrow, I will be a better Mother. Tomorrow." But when tomorrow comes. Analise has climbed the entertainment center, then the book shelves, sits on the back of the couch, climbs behind the entertainment center and any other thing she can climb. Adison smacks Analise, smacks the dog, carries the cat around the house, and has spilled everything on the coffee table. Abby is singing at the top of her lungs, taking every toy from the twins away resulting in fits from all parties, asks for everything she knows she's not allowed to have...repeatedly. And so begins the yelling, the cleaning, the deep breaths and the chaos.

But then, there's this moment, when the pieces just fall together and the magic sets in. The "I love you, Mommy"s, tickle fights, and the laughter begins. Those moments when you look over and see the girls hugging and kissing each other, or you take a trip to the park and your entire family is laughing and having fun. Those magical moments make you realize how wonderful it all is. And maybe, just maybe, I'm not screwing it all up as bad as I think I am. Maybe somehow, my imperfections pull it all together. They love me despite my imperfections, just as I love them. I think as long as we are perfectly imperfect together, we'll all be just fine.

5 Reasons My Life is Not Brady Bunch Perfect

Motherhood is nothing like I thought it would be. Seriously though. I imagined board games every night, singing kids songs in the car and having the perfect schedule for kids who always stayed on my schedule. As you can imagine, the reality of being a Mother is very different from my deranged illusion. I think I thought we would be like The Brady Family. Darn you, Nick @ Nite, for giving me a false hope of what having a family is like.

The first five reasons I can think of that make my family different from The Brady's:

1. Instead of one of my Davy Jones obsessed daughters getting smoked in the face with a football accidentally, my kids would rather hold each other down and beat their sisters with their own shoes, while laughing like evil minions.

2. Although Carol Brady didn't have twins (the first hole in my Brady Family fantasy), I can imagine she would have handled bed time perfectly without having even a single glass of wine. Unfortunately for me, one 2 year old is climbing the curtains, the other is playing underneath the bed and my 4 year old is watching a movie pretending she is anywhere but here, which is precisely what I am doing.

3.  My kids are not made for show business. When we listen to the Frozen sound track for the thousandth time, the two year olds are singing words in their own babbling language and my 4 year old is singing the words at the top of her lungs.... a whole 10 seconds after they are said.

4. The Brady's Family dinners are all about talking to each other nicely and eating whatever Mrs. Brady decides to cook. Our dinner time consists of yelling at the dog not to eat off the table, the oldest whining because she doesn't like this food she's had a hundred times because it looks different, the twins grabbing each others food which results in a smack down across booster seats that eventually results in being separated from one another and Mommy losing her mind.

5. They have a maid. If I didn't have to make the beds, do the dishes or sweep my floors I'd probably be a ball of sunshine too. Instead, I'm the one who gets to clean up the poop my toddler decided to smear all over her bed, the carpet and her sisters. Yep, MY reason for a poopy attitude is because I'm the one cleaning up all the poopy. All day, every day.

While I truly do enjoy mother hood, down to the very last poopy door knob I grabbed and then ate a chip without realizing I forgot to clean my hands first; it's absolutely nothing like being Carol Brady.