Sometimes you gotta roll with it.

I had a plan for today.

And if I'm being honest, it was a really, really good plan. It was a plan full of girlfriends and dirtbikes and road-tripping and before today's plan, I planned even more getting ready for today's plan. I premade lunch for the family to eat while I was gone. We made sure my bike was running, the oil was fresh, the air filter was clean and that my bag was packed and ready by the front door. I scheduled the coffee maker to start brewing my beautiful, thick, black wake-me-up-juice promptly at 6:30 on a SUNDAY morning, because today folks, I had a plan. It was about to get real. I had one foot out the door.

And then the night before, somewhere in-between coffee-maker programming and the wind chime alarm on my iPhone gently rattling me awake, something happened. And my dreams of a day in the dirt with some of the coolest girls I know was foiled.

It was right around midnight. I was woken by an unusual sounding cry coming out of our little girl's room.

"Mama. Mama. Help me. Mama."

Let me pause for moment, because this was preceded by the sweetest nighttime in the history of nighttimes. I know it won't convey well over words on a screen, so I won't even try. But as I closed her door after putting her down, my eyes welled up and I thought to myself, Please, never forget this moment, ever.  It stole the air from my breath for that one tiny second. I choked down a tear to find the air again.

Fast-forward back to midnight.

I called to her, to let her know I was making the short trek from our room to hers. I flipped on the light, and there it was. On her. In her hair. On her sheets. Everywhere. Dreaded vomit. I know. Gross. And my poor, scared, sick baby. Ugh. Her tummy bug from last week had returned, and we fought the nasty, evil beast for hours and hours, until she finally drifted off to dreamland. I stayed awake watching, waiting, hoping that the tummy-devil was gone for good.

My alarm went off. The coffee was brewing. I snuck out of bed and grabbed a quick shower. The hubs and I shared one of those thank the universe we have each other kind of hugs, and I started texting the girls. Today, I wasn't road-tripping, dirtbike riding, hanging out with girlfriends kind of days. Today, I was going to live that #momlife hard. Today, I was going to work and my job was the most important, best job on the planet - making sure our kiddo felt safe, comforted, and got back to being her healthy happy self soon. Today, like most days, the biggest lesson is to just roll with it.

I slipped on my most comfy jeans and oversized sweater and remembered these sweet Mom Socks that my friend Kellie had given me. If any of the days deserved a uniform like this, today would be the day.

Kellie has just started the Mom Socks line, and she was kind enough to send me a few to try on. You guys, I'm not going to tell you how cute and comfy they are (okay, they are), because what I love most about what Kellie is doing with Mom Socks is that she's supporting other moms, just like me. It's a product created for moms, by moms, and she's working create a meaningful, safe, empowering work environment for women. I am a big fan of the pay-it-forward kind of universe we can create together, and that's exactly what Kellie and her team are doing.  It's big stuff, and it's starting with cute socks.

Kellie told me that the reason she created this brand, and this line specifically, was for one reason only - to remind moms just how important they are, how important their jobs are, and how valued they really are. And if we can feel just a little bit spoiled, as moms, by having fancy, good feeling feet, then that's a big win. Gush. See, how cool is that?

I shuffled around all day in my Mom Life socks, grabbing juice, noodles, crackers, popsicles...lather, rinse, repeat.

Don't get me wrong. I'll forever be sad that I missed a fun spring ride day, but I'll never regret making a choice to be here, to be present, to be a mom to our little girl. I'm sure there was beauty at the track (I know there was because, hello, Instagram), but there was a whole lot of beauty here at home too. And the only reason I was able to experience the snuggles, the hugs and the I need you, Mama loves is because I made a choice, a choice to just roll with it.

You can find these socks online and at select (and growing) retailers.

XO

The Mathematics of Motherhood

I'm just going to put it out there. I'm a closet-math nerd. I thought I hated the subject in middle school. I rolled my eyes at the teacher and I wore out the eraser on my number two pencil pretty regularly. But then I got it. I am a problem solver. I like answers. And spreadsheets. And I actually really like number two pencils with fresh erasers. I am a math nerd.

Our lives are full of problems that need solving, and circumstances that demand answers. Friends, have I got a doozy for you.

The math problem for today is this: You have 24 hours in the day. You have one toddler, one husband, one house, one dog, two sets of in-laws, one set of parents, a daycare schedule to figure out and a whole lot of random things will pop up that need your attention. You must work your full time job, ensure everyone in the house gets a decent meal for dinner, plan the details of the next day, find some time to unwind, connect with a friend or two, and visit dreamland for a solid amount of time. Is this probable?

The answer is yes. But wait, there's something that needs a little more definition.

You have a toddler. So that one hour of grocery shopping becomes two. That thirty minutes of getting ready in the morning becomes sixty. The quick trip to the coffee shop requires double the time because you have to pack up half of your house just to get out of the house, along with a kiddo who doesn't want to leave. Your full 24 hour day doubles with need and you get zero extra hours in the day. What do you do?

You subtract. You subtract the time with your husband, you remove your unwinding time altogether, you opt for sweatpants and wine instead of happy hour with your friends, and your full time in dreamland becomes negotiable depending on what the day decided to dump on you. That's the Mathematics of Motherhood.

My 24 hours looked different when I was just me, before I was a person someone called mom. Those hours included an ample amount of sleep, gym classes, happy hours, date nights, late days at the office, early morning yoga classes, long vacations, quick getaways and spontaneous romantic times with the hubs. Yup, times have changed. I was spoiled, but I'd argue that I'm a different kind of spoiled now.

Our weekend trips aren't quick getaways. We don't just throw a bag in the car and drive. We don't lazily go for brunch and spend afternoons reading. (Let's be honest, we didn't do that anyway). But instead, a weekend trip includes planning. Hours and hours and days and days of planning. Before we leave, we grocery shop for snacks and meals because our toddler doesn't do so well lazily brunching. We pack a bag for ourselves, a bag for the kid, a bag of activities and supplies and a bag of diapers. We pack and over pack because that one thing we desperately need in the middle of the night can't be something we forgot. We cannot be spontaneous anymore. That is not part of our equation. Spontaneity is not part of the Mathematics of Motherhood.

We have spent some time down the road of weekend trips with the toddler, and I have three important things for you to remember in this season of life.

1. It's just a season. There will come a day where we are saddened by the scarce amount of planning, the lightweight reality of our bags, the empty sounds in the air.  This time is just a season, and we need to love the heck out of it and take albums full of mental pictures of the sweet, the hard, the good, the bad and the beautiful. We are doing it all, and with only 24 hours in the day.

2. Slow down. This is important for me. Let us not rush our kids to be faster, to move more quickly, to keep up with us. Let's walk at their pace. Let's learn alongside them and appreciate right next to them. Let's be children in our hearts forever.

3. Plan. A lot. Because taking care of details for a weekend outing on a Wednesday afternoon will make you feel better about leaving for a weekend outing. And with each set of plans, things will go wrong, and that's when we learn and get better. It's in the hard times that we get stronger, smarter, and it's when we step outside of our comfort zone that we can grow. So plan. A lot. But be flexible and find the lessons when things go wrong.

There's no easy answers. I write a lot about how motherhood changes our identity, and challenges us to remember our past-selves. But with how much we might miss our abilities to do absolutely everything in a packed 24 hours, we are lucky. We are lucky. And our kids, husbands, families, jobs, homes, pets and all - they are lucky too.

What does your 24 hours look like? What do you subtract to make it all work?

XO

Meagan

Ladies, our flaws are fabulous.

The line to the bathroom at the brewpub was long. It was a Saturday night. I patiently waited my turn, my eyes staring through and past the tile floor. The doors of the two bathroom stalls rotated, opening, closing as women young and old cycled through. It was my turn. I closed and locked the door behind me. I heard two of the younger women talking as they washed their hands.

"I love your jeans."

"Ugh. Seriously? I hate how my ass looks in these. I hate my ass. I can't even look at myself in the mirror."

They left the bathroom, and I took their place at the sink, feeling the hot water wash over my hands. I stared at myself in the mirror. I felt sick and furious and wasn't sure even why. But I was outraged and the intensity was growing.

That girl hates herself because she hates her body, I thought.

I didn't know who she was, and I didn't notice what she looked like when our paths crossed in the bathroom. I only heard her voice and the words she spoke were stuck with me.

I walked out of the ladies room and took my seat at the table. There was this feeling that I couldn't shake. Those girls in the bathroom? They were wrong and I hated how much they thought they were right.

I have a daughter. She's sixteen months old. I watch her toddle around our house, so proud of everything she does, so proud of her body and so proud of the way her toes wiggle and the sound her little hands make when they drum on her bare tummy. She's generous and kind, and even as we stumble into the terrible twos, she loves. It's a real kind of love. She doesn't know the harsh world that surrounds her and the pressures outside of our home. She knows confidence and reassurance and a part of my heart aches for the time when she feels forced to evaluate her worth by the shape of her body.

I know the day will come where she'll change from being a self-confident little girl. One day, she'll ask me about something she overheard the boys say at school, or a commercial she saw while watching her favorite show. She'll wonder why her own shirt was fitting too tight and she'll start spending more time in front of the mirror and comparing herself to other girls, real and fake.

The next day, I was having lunch with some girlfriends. During that lunch, one of my own pointed at her own tummy, and commented on how much she hated her body. I realized that this mentality isn't just reserved for drunk bathroom conversations, but it happens in my own circle on a random afternoon. I'm proud to be part of a strong circle of girlfriends, but even we are not immune to these pressures and these feelings. Curiously and already knowing the answer, I asked her if she would point out my physical flaws to me. I wanted to know if she would be as mean and unapologetic to her best girlfriends as she was to herself. She was appalled, and of course, the answer was no.

As women, why are we so cruel to ourselves? Why does our physical appearance hold so much value? Why can't we be proud of our bodies, not because what they look like, but for what they do for us? How do we raise daughters to respect their bodies? I'm serious, and I think it's overdue for a serious conversation. It's for us, for our daughters, our sisters, our best friends and the young women in bar bathrooms.

Our flaws are fabulous.

Really, they are. Those arms that you wish were smaller? I bet they're really good at comforting your baby in the middle of the night, or carrying in heavy bags of groceries from the car. Your legs that you wish were thinner? They probably do a fine job carrying you from Point A to Point B, and if you've ever ran a race or cycled through a spin class or hiked a trail, I bet they did pretty well at that too. Our tummies and our tushies may not be of supermodel ilk, but they are part of our bodies and they help us live our lives. They allow us to make the best memories and get us through the hardest times in our lives and we do more than take that for granted. We fall into a cycle where we loathe our very own selves.

So you wish you had bigger/smaller (fill in the blank) because that's what we "should" have? Those are the things that attract a sexual partner, so that's what drives our desires to look a certain way? Well, here's something fabulous, too. Our bodies aren't designed solely for sex. So, ladies, let's start congratulating our bodies for all of those great things that we can do with them, regardless of size or shape. And let's not just do it for ourselves. We can and should self-talk ourselves up, but let's also get body-positive with our best friends. Let's not tolerate the kind of conversational assault that has been happening around brunch tables and behind bathroom doors.

Maybe you don't live in this camp - the camp where we focus on what we wish we looked like instead of being thankful for what we have. Most days, I don't live in this camp. But there are days I do. And like me, I bet you have a friend or two who have taken a permanent residency and it's time for us to serve an eviction notice. From now on, this camp is closed.

Let's not allow our daughters hear the way we've been talking about ourselves before today, and let's stop talking that way. Wouldn't we be embarrassed if they did? Let's show them that our bodies were built to run and jump and hike and mountain bike and let's go do those things and brag about how much fun we had after we do them. After all, our hands were made to protectively hold their hands, our legs to go on long walks together, our arms to envelop them in warm hugs. Bodies were made to accomplish, not to be judged, especially by our own selves.

I know this is something that weighed heavily on my own mom's mind when she watched her two daughters grow , and as the world changes and the pressures intensify, it's only getting more important.

I know I'm not perfect. I can recall moments where I turned to my husband and wished my post-baby body bounced back a little sooner. I've gotten frustrated at those jeans that suddenly became overly snug in all the wrong places and watching both my feet and my bra size fluctuate with the seasons of life. But it's in those moments where we need to be reminded just how incredible our bodies are. We have to remind ourselves.

Let's compliment our little girls on their abilities. Let's praise them for working really hard at acquiring a new skill or demonstrating an act of kindness all on their own. Let's start associating self-worth with adding value to our communities. Because that's the kind of world I want to live in, and the kind of world I want my daughter to get to know.

XO

Meagan