Mamas, they won't need us like this always.

MOM! Mom! MOM! MAMA!

I peel my eyes open and check the clock. It’s 3:34 a.m. I take a deep inhale and slowly exhale. Some nights, in that space of time, she falls back to sleep and I do too. But I can tell by the calls that continue to come, not this time. So as sweetly as possible at 3:34 a.m., I call back to her.

Yes, Elsie? What do you need?

I knew the answer. It was always the same. It’s been the same every single time. The answer keeps me exhausted. The answer never changes.

You, mama. I need you.

Facing a battle between awake-me and still-sleeping me, not wanting awake-me to win at 3:34 a.m., I throw my legs out of bed, feet gripping the soft carpet beneath. I put one foot in front of the other, taking heavy, labored steps. I make my way around the dining room table to the entrance of her bedroom. The night-air is illuminated by the light of a pink and white unicorn nightlight. The blankets have fallen off her princess-pajamas and her eyes are bright with anticipation.

Mom, lay with me for just one minute, please?, she pleads.

And I do. Each time. I lay with her at 3:34 or at 2:41 or 1:57 in the morning for one minute or five minutes and at this point, awake-me has celebrated victory. I run my fingers through her soft blonde hair and I watch her drifting back to dreamland. She’s safe and she’s secure and she’s beautiful.

And I’m tired.

But another battle takes shape in my mind, this one between my mind right now in this moment and my heart of the future. My mind right now in this moment wants the warmth of my own bed and a three-year-old who consistently sleeps through the night. My mind right now in this moment wants equal work between me and her dad during nighttime, but during nighttime wake-ups, she only wants me. We’ve tried sharing the work, but it results in tears and bad feelings and is honestly, just a lot more work than my zombie-like walk to her bedroom some nights. Resentful, I am not. Tired, I am.

And my heart of the future longs for those words.

Mom, I need you.

Mom, lay with me for just one minute.

Because my heart of the future remembers just figments of the sweetness of her voice, and only somewhat how that hair felt exactly as my fingers made their way from front to back. I am no fortune teller, of course, but I know my heart and I have a pretty good guess that longing for those things and for those moments, it will.

To the moms and dads and aunts and uncles and grandmas and grandpas who share work in the village that it takes to raise our tiny children while they are tiny, I want you to remember this:

They won’t need us like this always.

So those moments for you, whatever they are - the games we play at the dinner table to encourage eating one piece of something, the fights over nap times or bath times or dinner times, too - they’re temporary. The meltdowns in the grocery store or the seasonal flu that we become the world’s best nurse during - they’re fleeting, actually. And the soft and sweet words when our babies and little ones honestly and genuinely tell us their truth - that they need us, even for just one sweet minute at 3:34 a.m., is just that - a minute, a moment. We live through it and then it’s gone.

Let’s find the joy there. Let us own the feelings of tiredness and let us figure out how to cherish those moments where we are the most exhausted. Because we’ve earned it. Joy exists and is so rich in those moments where we feel down and out, when we feel just done - when we have to rise up and reclaim our value, and let the heart of the future win, every time.

Because the heart of right now will thank us.

XOXO

Meagan

Baby, breakdown. It's all right.

Have you ever had one of those days? I mean, one of those days. Heck, it might not be a full-fledged day at all. It might just be a moment. A snapshot. A small little bit of time where everything feels heavy. And then you move forward and get past it and everything feels normal again. But that weight doesn't go unnoticed and it doesn't get lost. It stays with us, probably because the fact that they existed make all of the other days taste just a little bit sweeter.

Please be nodding your head right now so I don't feel crazy. Thanks.

My work had me on the road this year, a lot. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do and I love the chance to travel and I love the impact that I really do make. I love my team and I love the organization I work for. But this year, I was on the road a lot.

I was in a lot of hotel rooms and on a lot of airplanes and in a lot of Ubers and Lyfts and I ate alone in a lot of restaurants and was thankful for Facetime a lot, too. Because Facetime, friends, is how those of us who travel for work stay in touch with our families and blow nighttime kisses to our little ones and stay connected (and to help us be visually aware that the house hasn't caught fire in our absence).

And this means that I was tired, a lot. Often times, I will take the earliest flight out so I'm not having to leave the day before, and I take the latest flight home, sneaking in so I'm at the table for breakfast. You guys, tired. Really, really tired. Because when I am home, I feel the need to cram all I can into those days. Family dinners, birthdays, adventures, snuggles. All of it. So, tired at work and tired at home and I finally had my moment where it caught up with me.

I broke down.

I had just boarded an airplane in Dallas. I was coming from somewhere and headed somewhere else. I hadn't had a chance to use said Facetime in a few days, because of the level of busy and time differences and all of those other excuses we give ourselves. I was boarding the plane, and my phone rang. It was home. And the connection failed. And then it failed again. And I wanted it to connect so badly, that my eyes welled up with tears and I tried calling back. My hands were shaking. My breath heavy as I kept hitting the little camera button on my iPhone. Over and over again.

I took my window seat in row 6, feet up against those in first class. My phone rang again. This time it worked. It was hubs and daughter and they were laughing and rolling around on the floor of her bedroom. She was telling me stories of the day before and their adventures and the air was sprinkled with I love you mamas and a few I get to see you soon mamas and quickly I found my voice cracking and the need to hang up the phone overcame me.

I texted Joey, "Sorry, I can't right now."

The weight, you guys. I meant those two words. I really felt, I believed, that I couldn't. I couldn't be on another airplane and I couldn't stand one more night away and I couldn't miss another dinner and I couldn't look into her sweet and beautiful eyes via that stupid Facetime app one more time.  I. Just. Couldn't.

The tears were falling at this point and I was in full-fledged ugly but secret cry mode. I will admit that I was wiping my nose on my sweatshirt sleeve, equally embarrassed and disgusted in myself. Row six. Just behind first class. Two men sat to my left. One offered to stow my bag. One asked me if I had kids at home.

For the reader - if you see a woman on an airplane and she's just hung up the phone and she's crying, DO NOT ask her if she has a family. I have it on good authority that this will encourage the tears to fall harder and faster.

A little while passed. The first man looked at me, straight in the eyes with the warmest smile I'd think I'd ever seen. He said to me, "I don't know what it is. But it's life."

That.

Thank you, stranger. For the reassurance that we all have these kinds of moments. Whatever our jobs are or if we have the job of raising our kiddos full time - everyone has those days, those moments and those little bits of time where everything feels so heavy. And he was so right, it's life.

I later learned that this stranger was also a pilot traveling home to his family. During the in-flight service, the flight attendant handed me two mini bottles of Titos with my orange juice, and sweetly and quietly said: "Honey, it's on us."

I arrived home a couple days later, and that weight was gone, but not forgotten. I was welcomed by bear hugs and I brought gifts so that probably helped. We had so much to talk about and the lump in my throat came back a little. I want to live in these kinds of moments forever. With my people. On the couch. Snuggled up, my soul thick with love.

There's always going to be something. Something that challenges us, something that demands our attention in a new or different way. Something that takes us away from home longer than we want or something that forces us to act differently than we may have wanted. There's always something. And I guess that's the lesson - take that something and find a way to make that push you forward. Propel you. The hard times can be the good times. In fact, when you look back, its what we learn in the hard times that make us better in the good.

Cheers, friends. It's life.

XOXOXO

Meagan

When not to be there.

Calling all type-a personalities, the overachievers, the mom-guilt feelers when you can't get it all done, and all of the overworked, overtired and just over-it-sometimes parents.

This is for you.

Actually, this is for me too.

I learned something recently that you might find helpful too. Maybe it will make you a better parent, or a less guilty feeling mom when you take a little time for yourself. Maybe it's what you need to read today, when all of the must-dos are fiercely competing with the need-to-dos and the should-dos, while your list of can'ts, and won'ts and maybe-laters start getting longer by the minute. (Wait, you don't have that second list?)

Here's the lesson: It's okay to not be there all of the time for your kiddos and it's okay to take a backseat when you need to.

I know. That's a hard one. Do you feel the control slipping away? Me too.

Last weekend, I suffered a clumsy, mild, twist-of-the ankle injury where I was rushed to an urgent care and provided orders to sit still, elevate and ice the leg, and most of all, stay off of it.  Yeah, right. I wondered if the doctor knew that I had a full-time job, acres of property to tend to,  a nearly three-year-old daughter, chickens, cats, a dog, and although the idea of being sedentary sounded nice, it was never going to happen.

I woke the next morning, with no alarm set to a different set of sounds that I've become used to. Most mornings, our daughter's calls for me bring me out of bed to her room, to welcome the day together. We schlep her favorite pillow and her stuffed animal of the moment into the living room, where we snuggle and start our day. At some point, my husband wakes up and joins us. I treasure those early mornings, just our daughter and me.

But the morning after my klutz-induced injury, I woke to our daughter and my husband, their voices warming the winter morning from the kitchen. There's no way I could ever encompass all of the feels I got from their conversation, so I won't try. 

Elsie, what do you want for breakfast?

Waffles.

Let's make waffles then. First, the flour!

Daddy?

Yes, we're going to make them from scratch just like Mommy does.

See. ALL. THE. FEELS. I stayed in bed a little longer than I would have. I wanted to carve out space in my memory for this conversation to live. I wanted to give them a little bit more of this special daddy-daughter time. I wanted to stay absent, giving our daughter time to create a special memory with her dad. The early Sunday morning kitchen conversations about breakfast and about the day and about everything and nothing should be cemented in all of us.

I thought, had I forced myself out of bed to take my regular place on the sofa with her, I'd have stolen this sweet moment away from the two of them. I'd also perhaps never known that my husband and daughter noticed how I take the time to do the special things sometimes, like making waffles from scratch.

Whether it be traveling for work, or needing a night out with the girls once in awhile, let's take a backseat sometimes so our husbands (or wives or whoever is our partner in this crazy adventure called parenting), so they can take a ride in the front seat.

Thankfully, it's not forever. The next morning I was back to the morning-snuggles with our little girl . I was back in the place that felt comfortable and normal, but had a renewed appreciation for allowing the memories to be created while I ride in the passenger seat once in awhile.

XO

Meagan

P.S. How sweet is that picture? The accidental candid photos are always my absolute sweetest favorites <3

Celebrating the victories.

The day was long.

I mean, it was one of those long days. And we were in the middle of it. There was so much to do, so much I'd already done, and the time was slipping away faster than the early spring daylight.

Over the last few months, we've tasked ourselves with more than a handful of special projects, focusing on their completion, sometimes wearily after the completion of our day jobs. After we put the little one to bed and when most people would be sinking into their sofas with a good book or the most recent binge-worthy show, we were in front of our laptops, desk lamps illuminating whatever it was we were working on at the time. The clock would tick, our eyelids would feel the gravity of the day pulling them closed, and we worked until we weren't doing these projects justice. 

The alarm clock would cheerily sing in the morning, and we'd do it all again the next day. Projects have deadlines, people.

The Climb.

It was feeling like we were climbing a mountain that we couldn't see the top of. We didn't know if there was a top, if the effort would be worth the climb. But we were climbing that mountain, damn it, because opportunities to be your creative selves (with your husband, doing stuff you both love) don't come every day. But that mountain, it was steep. Who am I kidding....it still is. And we had to climb the mountain after Elsie was in bed because if we didn't, if we prioritized time to work over time with her, well...we might miss out on a beautiful moment, or in this case, learn something about ourselves that we really needed to know.

So on this early spring day, between the breakfast battles and the bathtime bubbles, the sun made a rare appearance. "Outside, Mama, outside." For you moms-of-toddlers out there, you will feel me when I say I blame that phrase on the Bubble Guppies and now it will be stuck in your heads, too. Anyway, we put on our boots and jackets and headed outside.

"Line up, line up. Everybody line up. It's time to go outside." See, there it is.

In our particular outside, we are lucky to have a few acres of land, which my husband has manicured into a motocross track, mini bike track, and go-kart track. These activities and experiences are part of why our land is deemed Lancaster Land. Elsie and I walk the ups and downs of the track, splashing in mud puddles and weaving in and out of the tall pine trees. 

We come to one of the jumps. We walk up, slowly, hand-in-hand. She looks at me, throws her hands in the air and exclaims, "Mama, I DID IT! I DID IT, Mama."

She sure did.

I looked down at her blonde curls, her grin stretching across her two-year-old face, and the pride beaming from her body. She did it. She was proud and I was proud of her. What seems like such a usual feat, a small hurdle to me, was worth celebrating to her. She felt a victory, and together we celebrated. 

And then I started thinking as we continued on our trek up and down and around, and back again. I was reflecting on all of my work lately, my accomplishments, and the work that the hubs and I had completed. I thought about the big goals and the small wins and even the losses that stung so hard.

I thought to myself, I want to be more like my two-year-old.

I want to celebrate the small victories. I want to climb a small hill on the path to climb the big mountain and I want to feel that win. Even though the summit might be so far away that I can't even see it, I want to celebrate the victory and take a moment to just feel good about where I'm at, not focusing on where I'm going. Although the next steps and the action plans and the to-do-lists will always be charging fast at you, the immediate feel-good, pat-on-the-back celebrations need to be slowed down for.

Every day, there's a reason to stand up, throw our hands in the air, and say (even if it's just to ourselves), I did it.

XOXO

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 Uniform

There is likely a more creative title for this post. But I don't have it. I am not thinking. My creative juices have all but dried up. I'm barely just doing. Today, I'm checking boxes and doing my best but I know it's not my best. My eyes are red, tired and itchy. My focus and attention are not strong. My body is sinking, slowly, into my chair, becoming a physical replica of whatever it is that holds me upright. Because that's the kind of support I need today. Physical keep-me-awake-and-upright support. The limited focus I have is directed to my own parental hierarchy of needs: cuddles, coffee, shower, food.

I am a zombie. Because, toddlers.

I am also a crazy person today with no recollect. I think I put the coffee pot in the refrigerator and I might have run the dishwasher twice with clean dishes. I'm wearing yesterday's' t-shirt because I slept in it and it's clean enough. I know I've asked the same questions of people more than once and I'll probably ask them tomorrow too. 

They say this is a season of life - the teething, the colds, the sleep regression, the sleepless nights. I disagree. This is one long day that has lasted approximately 73 wide-eyed hours this time around.

If you're reading this, and you have earned yourself a mom or dad badge, I know you get it. I know you've been there or you are here or you'll be here soon. We wear camouflage to get us through our interactions with the outside world during the day, but our real uniform is noticeable in the dark circles under our eyes and the foggy in our brain and that's just it. I get it. You get it. We get it.

I see you in the aisle at the grocery store, staring at the infant medicine, and I just know. I don't know you, but I want to give you a big hug because I've stood there too, worried and wondering and searching for something. We are wearing the same uniform. We are wearing the tired on our bodies, in our postures while our furrowed brows and deep concentration show only the love and the I'll do anything for my little person values that we live every single day. We may not sleep, so we watch them sleep. We worry so they don't have to. We wish to take the hurt away when they are sick and we rationalize and try to find reasons for why they might not be acting their regular selves. We internet-search until we are crazy. We are sacrificing our own (or our old) selves because we are so diligently and proudly wearing this uniform. I'm never,  ever taking it off because wearing this uniform is the best (hardest) part of my life.

One of the best parts of parenthood is the community we build with each other. It's the unspoken support from family and friends, the literal brain-sharing of coworkers, the text messages that say "Up at 2?!" and the list of emojis that follow in return, importantly including a wine glass and lots of multicolored hearts. This community we're cultivating will get us through not only our zombie days (lasting 73 hours each day) but this is the community that will share birthdays and milestones and celebrations and school pick ups and also the tough times, the illnesses, the surgeries, the scary moments, the first dates, the graduations, and all-in-all, this beautiful life.

And then at some point, it hits you. You are surviving. And you're doing your everyday activities and sure, sometimes it's hard and sometimes you pour your coffee from a pot that was placed in the refrigerator and you're too tired to care because at the end of the day, it's still coffee and sometimes you're not entirely on-point but most of the time, you're totally on point and yes, you're crushing it. You're living a double life as a regular human and an exhausted parent and most days, nobody knows because you're mastering it all.

So with that, I want you to know - moms and dads, I see you. And I like what you're wearing.

XO

Meagan