Word of warning, this isn’t meant to diminish the importance of parental caretakers as a whole, but to shed light on the roll of the primary caretaker, who, in the U.S. is still predominantly the mother.

There I was, sitting in a room full of moms and kids all clanking old kitchen apparatuses. It had been a particularly difficult week – the moon and its impending fullness and Mercury and its retrograde-ness did nothing to help. As I clinked my red plastic plates together, I was thinking about how overwhelmed, overworked, frustrated, exhausted (sure in a sense of little sleep, but more so in an energy-deficient sort of way), and maxed out I’ve been feeling lately. Finally, here at music class, surrounded by a bunch of toddlers, there was a moment of respite – not in a complete silence way, but in the “thank goodness there’s a chance for me to just sit and rest for a minute and not have to engage in conversation of any kind, not have to keep my small kid from falling into a sink full of dirty dishes while slipping off a step stool, not have to harp on my big kid to finish a five minute bit of school work which she somehow transforms into a draining forty-five minute task, not have to give my opinion on anything, and not have to keep people from yelling excitedly while jumping from bed to bed or rolling off the couch” sort of way. While this 3 minute kitchen music play-along break was nice, I was in a negative mood this particular morning and was dwelling on my own issues rather than actually savoring the moment.

As I was thinking of an onslaught of responsibilities, my focus returned to the class. I looked around the room and noticed that most of the moms seemed to be lost in a bit of a daze while banging their spoons against ice cube trays. I don’t think it’s farfetched to think that I was not the only one in the room feeling maxed out – from the mom who works six days a week while managing to homeschool her children to the new moms adjusting to their completely altered lives as parents to the moms who are steadily (dare I say courageously) keeping their shit together while bringing a second, third, or fourth kid into the family units – here we sit, quietly and collectively exhausted.

Continue…

Insanity. Absolute insanity. Every day. I can’t fathom how we lived before with every toy housed in the open family room space. Sure, there were bins for organization. The musical instruments here, the blocks there, stuffed animals over here. Everything was in reach. Everything was on the floor. It took about 30 minutes every night to put all this stuff in order. At the end of the day, every single toy in the house was strewn about the room. Yes, yes, we tried to abide by the “put this away first before you get a new toy out.” Lets just say that it wasn’t hugely successful. It was maddening.

We decided to minimize. Instead of keeping 8 bins of toys in accessible cabinets, we would only leave 2 bins out containing assorted objects. It was definitely a step in the right direction, but how was it that at the end of the day, there were toys still all over the floor despite the fact that they had only been played with for a grand total of 5 minutes collectively? It was still too much. Somehow, even this reduction wasn’t enough.

Continue…

There was really no precipice. All of a sudden, the contents of our house just went from being desirable to being an absolute nuisance. Up until a couple of years ago, our familial mentality was basically, “Yes, we’ll take these bizilbigs, blumtoopas, and wums. We might need them someday.” We stored these random objects in an assortment of boxes, which until very recently were filled to capacity. It may have been the arrival of our second child a year and a half ago that spawned this need to purge our possessions. Adding one little person to our living space may have been the breaking point in not being able to functionally fit in our space.

I liken humans to an organic substance that grows to fit into absolutely any volume. No matter what size your space is, you will grow into it. If you take a family of four living comfortably in a 1,000 sq. foot house and transplant the same people into a 2,500 sq. foot house, there is little doubt that those same four people will magically inhabit the entirety of the larger house to the same capacity as they had their smaller dwelling. We do have friends and family that are able to maintain an amazing amount of order in their homes regardless of square footage. Their beautiful living rooms are always immaculate and airy. I have an aunt whose house has not changed in literally decades. Every tea cup can be found in the exact spot in which it was housed circa 1976. Bless your pristine organization techniques and being able to maintain such structure. We, on the other hand, are the people that return from vacation and walk around a still-packed suitcase for a month before realizing that we’re missing a shoe. Even if we are getting a bit better about this, maintaining our 1,000 sq. feet of living space is really the maximum of our capabilities.

Continue…

We are nestled on the couch in the dark, my girl and I. The curtains are drawn as we sit down to read in the evening, our book illuminated by a little black book light. I have just come out from cozily putting our wee one to sleep after reading with him. Evening reading time has been consistently my favorite part of the day for the past six years. This is my happy place. There is a sense of other-worldliness in this gentle moment; we are transported not only in story but also in heart. No matter what kind of a day we have had, we are at this tranquil moment, completely at peace. I treasure this time every single night as I snuggle with my babies. This reading rhythm of ours is more than six years in the making. It has grown and evolved along with the kids.

Continue…

There are two creatures that live in this house who possess an element of magic. Their luminous energies are brighter than the sun. Their essence belongs somewhere in the land of unicorns and griffins, not in the human world. They are much too fascinating to be mere mortals.

One comes from distant lands. She is a sorcerer, a wanderer, an enchanted being akin to a chameleon who transforms herself as quickly as a light flickers. Just as quickly, new worlds appear and new languages are created in her presence. She is a warrior, constantly battling for the good of mankind. She is inquisitive, tenacious, and passionate. Her zeal in all the endeavors which she creates for herself could fuel the world.

He is light. He holds in his hands an unadulterated spirit. He is but a wee explorer in our scope, but his spirit says that he has existed for infinitely longer than we realize, for when he sees photographs of his ancestors, there is a clear familiarity in his eyes. He carries a mystical power to erase all your woes with a single all-encompassing embrace. His embrace is the strongest, most accurate portrayal of the boundless love and kindness which live in his heart.

They have but one vulnerability; they are growing amongst us humans. In order for their enchanted magic to survive as long as possible, their imaginations must not be stifled. They must not be tarnished by the complexities of the pedestrian human world. Their spirits should not be dimmed by accounts of modern calamities. These magical creatures must not be overwhelmed by the excess of superfluous material objects which has come to be a human habit. They simply need less of our world to preserve more of theirs. And their world is not material.

Every time I see someone publish an account of their life as a co-sleeping family, the comment threads are plastered with one concern. Over and over and over again. Sex. People are very concerned about sex and where it’s happening. So, let me just assure you from the beginning, that as a co-sleeping family, all the sex that is being had by the exhausted parents of young children is not in the bedroom. Okay? Now you can focus.

When you picture a family bedroom which might include children that are older than about 2, what is your vision? Are you picturing a commune of some kind? Or maybe Charlie’s poverty-stricken family from Willy Wonka all huddled up in bed together? (That Wonka bed looks really cozy to me, by the way, but that’s beside the point). Those are really the most popular options, right? The family is probably either completely impoverished or living in a commune somewhere. But here’s another option: some of us just like co-sleeping.

Continue…

Q: How do you like sharing a room?
A: Good. I like it.

Q: What are the benefits for you for in sharing a room with the family?
A: What’s a benefit? … Oh, okay. I have had zero bad dreams in the room now that we are all together. In the old room, there was almost one bad dream per night. Now I don’t have bad dreams. And I like waking up in the morning when it’s 2% light outside and asking, “Papa, what time is it?” so I can see if it’s okay to get up yet. I like knowing when I’m first to wake up. I love being with my parents the whole night and not having to run across the house to tell you that I’m scared.

Q: Is there anything you don’t like about sharing a bedroom?
A: No.

Continue…

I sat in a conference room in the Philosophy building of my university with four esteemed professors who were all there to hear me present an oral dissertation which would be the conclusion of my bachelor’s degree. They could finally check my name off their obligatory thesis advisory committee lists. I was one week shy of nine months pregnant, more than an hour away from home, and covered in that attractive panic-induced splotch pattern that one can only understand if s/he is the proud recipient of this magical genetic trait. To say that I was nervous would be a gross understatement.

After presenting my thesis and nervously answering numerous questions from the professors gathered, my committee took out their pens and inked their names on my fancy thesis paper copies (if you haven’t had the chance to follow rigorous instructions as to exactly how many cotton fibers must be inlaid in the expensive paper that you then spend tens of hours printing, compiling, and desperately attempting not to smudge, you’re missing out). It was over. I did it. I was done with my degree. I sat at the conference table, which could barely contain myself and my baby, feeling very much relieved. Not only was I finished with this defence process that I had been dreading since the day I decided to embark on this thesis mission, but also, my baby was kind enough not to make her appearance during my defense.

Continue…