The capris are Nine West. I’ve been wanting a pair like them for ages, even though I’ve seen memes about how no one should decorate their bum. I don’t care. I love them.
Halle Printed Flare Skirt
Sam Hi-Lo Short Sleeve Tee
I am starting to feel like I can do this thing, this mothering six souls thing. I am not crying every day any more and I am laughing. It feels wonderful to laugh again.
One thing that really helped is the Handsome Husband and I went on a short impromptu vacation to Las Vegas of all places. We went with another couple which just made it even better. The laughter! The being a person, not just a mom! The space in my brain!
|Finnella and me waiting to go up in the High Roller|
|The Farmer, Finnella and Me at Hoover Dam|
|Just some farmers checkin’ out the big city.|
I’ve also been having a hard time because I am still wearing maternity jeans and leggings all the time. I realize I’m 40 now and this is baby #6. I know that appearance isn’t everything. I know my heart and love and compassion matter more. I know all that, and yet it still bothers me that I went from my high school size pre-pregnancy to not even being able to fit into my “fat clothes” now, six months later.
I heard about Stitch Fix and thought it might help my self view a little bit to have some nicer things to put on this amazingly capable, mama strong body. I decided to join Stitch Fix because I never have time to shop for myself. I’m only just now leaving the baby with her dada for any length of time. Stitch Fix is an on line stylist/personal shopper. You fill out a detailed profile for yourself, noting what styles you like and any details you think would be pertinent, such as needing access to be able to breast feed, or a preference for no holey pants.
I also like that it’s completely free to join and there is no commitment. I signed up to just try one fix, although you can do it monthly if you want to. There is a $20 styling fee that you only have to pay if you don’t keep anything from your order. If you keep all five of the items they send, you get a 25% discount. Since I’m almost exclusively a Goodwill shopper, the prices are definitely high for me. I hardly have anything in my closet I bought new.
I got my first Fix on Tuesday, unfortunately when I was sick in bed and couldn’t even bring myself to open the box. I tried on the items yesterday and decided to keep all five because the discount was equivalent to getting one of the shirts free. One interesting thing about my Fix was that I wouldn’t have even tried on most of these items if I were in the store and saw them on the rack.
This is a navy asymmetrical cardigan and infinity scarf. The cardigan makes me appear to have a waist 🙂 and the pop of pink in the scarf matches almost everything in my closet and keeps me warm.
This is a grey crochet inset shirt. The fabric is “nicer” than what I usually wear (nearly always tee shirt fabric). The cut isn’t super flattering but I really like the details and the fancy feel of the fabric.
This is a charcoal extraordinarily soft tee shirt. Business up front, party in the back! It’s perfect for accessorizing with something, perhaps a bold necklace or a scarf.
I wasn’t too keen on a tank top in my December Fix, but I thought maybe I could wear it under a jacket or cardigan and I would be warm enough. My sister-in-law does this all the time, so maybe it will work for me too. Nevertheless, I can wear it in the summer because I love the scalloped hem, the gathering at the yoke, and the button detail in the back.
If Stitch Fix is something you would like to try, I’d love it if you used my referral link!
I’ve been a mama now for 10 1/2 years…expecting our sixth little Farm Fresh Blessing. I should be used it by now…and yet sometimes I’m afraid.
I’m afraid I’ll never have a house clean for longer than twenty minutes.
I’m afraid things will always move around seemingly of their own accord. I’ll forever be finding hairbrushes on the floor and never knowing what happened to my orange handled scissors and my flour sifters will always be taken out to the sandbox.
I’ll always wake up to the sound of people fighting.
I’ll never go a day without someone crying.
Mopping will only happen because someone spilled something.
Someone will always be touching/pushing on/grabbing at/pulling on/poking at/sitting on/kicking (from the inside) me.
I’ll forever have to listen to petty squabbles–because how else should one handle it when someone is reading the book someone else checked out from the library?
I’ll never again have an uninterrupted thought.
I will be repeating myself ad nauseum for the rest of my life. I will be repeating myself ad nauseum for the rest of my life. ISAID, I will be repeating myself ad nauseum for the rest of my life.
I will constantly have to think about what we need when we leave the house; will this outing coincide with a hunger time, do I need snacks, do I have extra bundies/diapers/outfits/wipes, does everyone have shoes, does everyone have a coat, do we need waters? Et cetera, et cetera.
Someone will always be peeking in on me in the shower.
Someone will always be bluntly commenting about my body.
I will forever feel crowded.
I’ll have to listen to other people screaming for the rest of my life.
I will always be stepping over small socks strewn in a swath of other disembodied and discarded clothing, toys and sundry other household items.
I will never be able to do just ONE load of laundry.
People will be making their birthday wish lists nine months in advance and talking about them in great detail every single day… forever.
No one will ever again say to me “I wuv you so mutz, Mama.”
I will never ever be woken up at the crack of dawn by someone asking permission to open my curtains, “betuz I just wanted to share the sunrise wif you, Mama.”
No one will ever again fold their long limbs into my lap saying, “I just need a snuggle.”
I won’t have anyone to rock and breathe.
No one will ever again come banging into the house leaving the door ajar smelling of fresh air and little boy.
bodies to clothe in handmade
tedious and so challenging and then one day, these days will be gone.
7:20 a.m. Hear someone crying. Get up.
Find sweatshirt and sweatpants and robe. Come downstairs barefoot. It’s one degree outside and the floor in the bathroom feels about the same. Feel annoyed with Elivette for pulling on my sweat pant strings and untying them while I’m trying to pee. Feel guilty that I’m annoyed, especially since I did get to stay in bed past seven.
Denton gets hit in the face with a light saber while I’m trying to navigate the whole coffee and creamer and right side up cup ordeal with half open eyes and I feel guilty about looking in the refrigerator for the creamer while halfheartedly comforting him.
Sit in my comfy chair by the corn stove with toddler on the left and preschooler on the right arms of my chair. Elivette snuggles into my chest and asks to nurse. This child who hasn’t nursed since November still asks me nearly every single day. Shot of guilt for weaning her when *I* was ready and not when she was ready.
Read several books to Elivette while I ignore the boys upstairs bothering their older sisters who are still in bed. She and I have lots of giggles about the pictures and faces in her book. Wonder if I should interfere with the situation upstairs. Wonder if I were a “better mom” if they would still torment and tease. Wonder if my kids are normal or if there is too much yelling in this home and that is why they yell. Feel guilty.
She starts pulling on my hoodie strings and kind of choking me. I put her on the floor where she cries. I let her climb back up when she starts “smooshing baby” and pushing uncomfortably on my belly. I put her down again and she cries again and I feel like a heartless mom who doesn’t just sacrifice herself for her toddler but I must maintain boundaries and take care of myself too which feels like an impossible task.
The kids want to listen to a CD only we can’t find the cord to the CD player. After looking in several places, I pirate the cord from my camera charger which miraculously fits. Wonder if we would still have all the lost things if I were better at organizing and teaching the kids how to put away their things. Feel guilty. Denton starts screaming and slamming doors because Cadrian is the one who gets to hold the CD and put it in the player.
Cadrian finally goes to begin unloading the dishwasher after having been asked roughly thirty times. Denton comes out of the keeping room and begins pulling on the CD player and making the CD skip and yanking on the camera cord, which makes me feel angry and anxious that my camera cord will get ruined and the library CD will get ruined. After asking him to stop several times and gently pushing his hands away and moving his whole little body away, he will not be altered in his destructive course. I not so gently push him away and bodily pick him up and plop him on the couch in the keeping room and shut the door. Feel on the verge of tears that I’ve already had a temper fit and it’s not even an hour into my day.
Loudly remind Cadrian to finish his job for the umpteenth time. Loudly remind Elivette to take her sippy cup to the kitchen for the umpteenth time. Try to read a couple articles in my Holistic Parenting magazine which are about the importance of real food which I then translate into my being a ‘bad mom’ because all I’ve fed Fizzy Baby is a couple cups of coffee and a cookie and we’re going to have frozen breakfast pizza for breakfast.
Change Elivette’s stinky pants the smell of which makes me internally puke a bit. Feel guilty that I didn’t take her diaper off earlier so she would have gone in the potty and that the wipes are so cold and that taking care of her basic needs makes me want to retch.
Now Elivette and Denton are fighting over pulling up the antenna on the CD player. Cadrian is playing with the BopIt in the other room. The girls are chatty and overwhelming me with questions and comments and anecdotes.
Brielle is writing a story she intends to submit to PBSKids about a little girl whose parents are so mean they don’t let her watch X or R rated movies or drink alcoholic beverages, not even margaritas. Wonder if the PBS people will think WE watch X movies and wonder how she even knows what that is, and if I should make her change it or just ignore it and wonder why I even care what these strangers think when I know we don’t do anything “wrong” but then again it’s appearances that seem to matter and…what if?
Until I wrote this out, I didn’t even realize how much of my day is punctured with guilt. I don’t know where this comes from–other than the Enemy who wants to steal my joy.
I check out books of poetry
I was just tired of it. My hair is VERY heavy and I feel so much freer now. I was finding myself getting annoyed with my sweet baby for grabbing and pulling it all the time, not to mention it huuuurrt!
So, I just started whacking at it. And it turned out pretty ok.
I have been wanting to be a midwife for a long time. I even seriously thought about changing my major in college a couple of semesters before student teaching to nursing!
I’ve never gotten very far with this, what with getting a job in my field to get out of debt, then getting married and having babies of my own…
But it’s always been there. My sister tells me the first thing I said to her when she came to visit after having Brielle was, “I had to have an epidural! How am I ever going to be a midwife when I can’t even birth naturally?!”
An opportunity arose to take a midwife’s assistant class with an acquaintance of mine. As a super special bonus, a couple of my favorite people were already signed up. It took a while to get Kevin to see the wisdom of attending this class. He initially was adamant that it was not the right time in our lives and I needed to make our family our priority. It was hard for him to be at peace with my making this commitment and buying the books but he came around a couple days before the deadline to sign up.
All systems go.
And every time I thought, as I would go about my day, “Oh! I need to sign up for the class!” My Holy Spirit would whisper, “Be still and know that I am God.” or ” Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”
So I waited. The next day. And the day of the deadline. Talking things over with my sweet Father, knowing He would come around to see things my way.
And now, here it is three days past the deadline. I’m not signed up for the class. I feel so dejected. I feel like it’s a chance I won’t have again. I feel like I’ll never be anything else than what I am right now.
I’ve been complaining about it too. And I hear my sweet Father say, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
And so I wait.