Life...check!

I need to be honest here. It's a new year, right? Time for a better self and all that jazz? (I may have just vomited a little in my mouth as I said that.) I have had several people ask when I'd be writing again. More specifically, I've been asked when I'd be adding on to my "Sisterhood of Dirty Yoga Pants" series. Ha...series. There were TWO. So here's the thing...I collected many funny parenting stories that were of the pee-your-dirty-yoga-pants caliber . I was fired up and ready to share those stories with the world. (...Or the five of you out there who read this blog. Hi, Mom!) It was going to be epic. All five of you would totally be able to relate and I would bring peace to the mommy wars with the help of just a few funny stories. That's where my mind was going with all of this anyway. 

Fast forward a few days after my last blog post and Tiny Redhead gets a stomach bug. Never to do anything small, Tiny goes all out for this one. We're talking vomit down my shirt (more than once), sleeping on the floor to avoid any more massacred bed-sheets, the actual throwing away of pants, and some particular pups who were very well-fed that week. (If you don't know where I'm going with that, it's probably for the best.) As a mom, you know how it is. The stomach bug waits for no man. Anything I had planned went straight out the window as our house hunkered down in sheer survival mode. 

Fast forward a few weeks and we hit our annual fall trip out to DC to visit the grandparents. Then Halloween. Then ThanksgivingthenChristmasthenNewYears. What...the...heck. And here I sit. In my pajamas at noon, feeling a little like I've been hit by a truck. I didn't ever forget to write. It was on my mind almost every day. I did have a staggering amount of plans and activities on my schedule. That's what I blamed for my writing hiatus. But in reality, my big hang-up was that the longer I went without adding on to to this fabulous series that I was concocting, the more embarrassed I became that I could not finish the project. And as soon as I openly admitted this to myself, I realized this to be a big-picture kind of issue in my mothering world. 

If you know me at all, you know that I love a good planner. I get REAL excited about "New Planner Day". This sad little holiday I've made up is all about purchasing a fresh new planner for the year and sifting through the unmarked pages. (Fist-bump to the SIL for my adorable Kate Spade planner this Christmas. It was love at first sight, I tell ya.) I begin by jotting down everyone's birthday and then begin to fill in other important dates and to-do's. I get such a sense of purpose and calm over this ritual. (I can almost feel my readers unfollowing me and friends lined up on Facebook to unfriend me. I get it.) As the year gets going, I've got this beautiful new sidekick who tells me everything I need to know, where I need to be, and what I should be doing. I live and die by the planner. But here's the rub. My obsession over my planner and the delicious feeling of a to-do being checked off the list DOES NOT COMPUTE WITH CHILDREN. I repeat, THIS DOES NOT COMPUTE. As much as I love to make lists of things that need to be completed, over half of them don't actually get finished. And at this very minute, the light bulb above my head has been flipped on as I realize those projects, like my precious little series, often don't get finished because LIFE is happening. LIFE! 

So...while my check marks become fewer, I'm giving extra hugs and cuddles to a sick little girl who won't be little forever. While my to-do list grows, so does the number of road-trips I've taken with my kids where we actually enjoy ourselves. While the stack of baby books I have made is pitifully low, the memories of climbing trees and dance-parties is at an all-time high. I am a big fan of finished projects, but I'm a far bigger fan of living this one life with my kids.