I Do Stand-Up Comedy!

2016 is my year. It's my year to do whuteverthehell I want. Whuteverthehell! So, I chose stand-up comedy. Whuuuuut???

That's me!

Why I'm Quitting Stay-At-Home-Mom

Standing near the produce at the Food Lion grocery store when I was eight, my mom promised me, "If you go to college, I'll pay for every cent." Deal.

And now, I'm standing in front of my life choices, watching them play out in slow motion. What the hell have I done?

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I Quit Homeschooling

"My oldest is really advanced." The elementary principle rolled his eyes at me. "Every parent thinks that," he said. "I know, but, just test her," I replied.

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Dissolved dreams afflict moms.

I'm not the only one! Remembering my last post, here's a fantastic follow-up on moms pursuing dreams, written by Nicole Carpenter, a KSL Contributor:

"I believe there is a silent epidemic of dissolved dreams afflicting women who have put many dreams on hold to be a wife and mother...Those dreams don’t truly go away because they are a part of who we are, a part of who we are meant to be. They will weigh heavy on your mind, or offer a burning sensation in your heart, and you should believe because all dreams are real."

Continue reading this moving article.

My dream fulfilled: circus acrobat!

Mom, where's your fun self?

The fun, daring part of me was lost and buried when my new identity became "Mom."

As a young, naïve mom, I expected myself to find complete satisfaction in life by cooking, cleaning and tending to my sweet babies 24/7, all between the walls of my little home. Like so many other moms, I thought it was selfish to do things by myself and for myself. Have you ever felt this way?

After 4 years of full-time, serious motherhood, I wasn't vibrant or vivacious anymore. I wasn't excited or interesting.

Painting ceramics without kids at Color Me Mine with my sis-in-law.

I mean, I used to be fun! What happened to that girl?!

Dear husband

Dear husband,

Remember the other night when we had a little fight?

You said, "You should get the wok really hot before you add the vegetables so they fry quickly instead of steaming." And what I heard was, "Please don't screw up my dinner again because I really think you're a crappy cook." And so I snapped, "If you don't like the way I cook, you can do it yourself!" And then you coaxed, "Sweetie, I didn't mean..." And I retorted, "Yeah, well that's what it sounded like." And then you turned around and walked out of the room.

Yeah. Sorry for that.

I wasn't trying to be offended. But, I guess I also wasn't trying not to be offended.

And when I apologized, you gave me a hug, kissed the top of my head and said, "Don't worry about it, sweetie. I forgive you."

And women think they're superior.

When good ideas punch me in the face.

The kids get in the pantry. They scale the walls, stuffing their fat cheeks with crackers, raisins and nuts while I slave over dinner at the hot stove. And then they don't eat their dinner. And it drives me crazy. And it has to stop.

Enter: Shower-curtain rod.

What if we moved?

I kinda hate the name of my blog. I really, really don't like Disney Princesses. I didn't mean to name it after a princess. It just kinda happened.

So, what would you think about moving?

I have a new blog I've been working on. I'll still write about this domestic stuff, but I want to add tutorials and talk about fashion and art and life, not that I'm particularly awesome at those things. I'm just interested. And I want to write about more interests.

This blog, Cinderella Duty, would be re-directed to the new one.

So, what do you think? Would you still be my friend and visit from time-to-time?

Zoloft Withdrawals: Update

If my doctor had told me when I was in her office, slumped in a chair holding my 3-month-old boy, that Zoloft HAD withdrawal symptoms, I wouldn't have taken it.

And I would have only survived the following year by breathing, eating and sleeping. I mean, the fact was, my hormones caused me to have intense Post-Partum Depression. There's no denying that.

So, do I regret taking Zoloft? Absolutely not. It gave my brain a boost and helped override the post-partum & nursing hormones that left me mentally & emotionally dead.

Around the time the boy turned 2, I felt my mind fighting for control, whispering, pleading to come back to life. Zoloft at this point just made me ridiculously drowsy. So, I talked with my doctor and we decided it was time to be done with it, thank goodness. I HATE taking medicine in general anyway.

Since my last post on weaning off Zoloft, I lowered my dose to 25mg for about a week, until I felt stabilized and healthy. Last Saturday, I stopped taking Zoloft completely.

I've been off Zoloft for 5 days now. There are definite pros & cons.

Crock Pot love.

Crock Pots were, no doubt, invented by members of the Heavenly Host. They require only 5 minutes to prep and allow 0 minutes to worry about dinner at 5:43 pm. So, why on earth don't I use this thing more?!

Because I don't want to worry about it at 12:26 pm either.

Weaning off Zoloft sucks.

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Brain zaps. Migraines. Vertigo. Memory loss. Sudden anger. Digestive issues (ahem). If you've ever had withdrawal symptoms from going off Zoloft (Sertraline), you know what I'm talking about.

I started taking Zoloft about 4 months after I had my boy because of severe post-partum depression and post-partum anxiety. My body was chemically thrown into the stratosphere after his birth. Nursing him until he was 1yo just sustained the issues.

Kids say it how it is.

As I am snoozin' in bed this morning, the toddler yells from his crib, "Mommy! Mommy, no more sleepin'! Mommy! Get up!" And I yell back, "I'm NOT sleeping!" Why do I feel like I have to defend myself to a 2 year old? Because he's right and I hate it.

So, I peel myself from my warm blankets, stumble into the hall, bracing myself on the doorway into his room, and heave him from his crib. I rush back to the hall and, just as I'm diving midair toward my bed, he cries, "Mommy, no! Eat!" "Oh, but we have to cuddle first," I coax as I nestle into the blankets.

Mom Exhibit: I bought a house!

My hiatus has an excuse. But, that's all it is. In reality, I was starting to feel owned by blogging.

But for real, I bought a house. I saw my dream house on the internet and put an offer on it the next day. I wasn't looking to buy because renting really is the safest bet 100% of the time.

So here I am in my new home. It's pretty and pretty awesome. When I moved in, I thought, "I'll always keep this kitchen clean! It's so big!"

I'll let you guess how long that lasted.

Thinking Clean

So, remember that breakthrough I had a month ago? The one here when I realized I didn't like having a trashed house? Well, I want to show you what I've come up with.

In the past year, I've had many eye-opening experiences in my search for balance in my life. There are two lessons I learned that have stuck with me and have been key in helping me be a more relaxed, happier homemaker. 

1. Maintain the mess (read about that breakthrough here).
2. Want to clean (read about that breakthrough here).

I started rethinking my definition of "clean" in the kitchen and dining room, since they are the heart of the house. 'Cause if they're out of order, mom's out of order.

So, let's start with "Maintain the mess." Stuff piling up on the kitchen counter is inevitable. Dirtying dishes is inevitable. Crumbs on the table are inevitable. So, what absolutely is the bare minimum that must be done in order for the kitchen and dining room to function?

The dishes must be done as they get dirty because we all know they just accumulate into a rotting, ceramic pile of Mt. Fuji eruption. The table must be 98% clear of stuff so we can sit down to eat as soon as food is ready. Otherwise, I'm overwhelmed by the extra work of cleaning the table AND making the meals. I really think that's the bare minimum for me. That way I can cook and serve meals quickly and easily. The dishwasher must be run when it's full or mostly full and emptied as soon as it's ready and I have time. This way, I always have the clean dishes I need and don't have to stop to wash the strainer. It also gives me a place to put those dirty dishes.

So, what are the extra things that need to be done? Wiping the counters & table, sweeping and mopping the floor, clearing all the miscellaneous junk off the counter, vacuuming the carpet in the dining room (who seriously puts carpet there?!). These things don't have to be done for the kitchen to function, even though I may want them done. These are the messes I can maintain. They are inevitable and I should expect them. I'll do them when I can, but shouldn't expect myself to do them on a daily basis while I have little ones at home.

The second way of thinking, wanting to clean, has still been working for me. I used to loathe walking in the kitchen, standing in front of the sink, letting out a huge exhale as I wipe my forehead and start sorting the "fragrant" dishes. That's what I'd think about when I thought, "Ugh, I haaaave to do the dishes."

But now, I'm training myself to think "No, I want to do the dishes." And then, I give myself reasons why I want to. I remember how doing the dishes means I can enjoy a mostly-empty sink every morning. I remember that it means I always have the utensils I need to make quick meals. I think of how I feel so proud of myself when I do them.

These two changes in thought are becoming more and more natural as I keep them in mind throughout the day. I only expect myself to do the bare minimums each day in the kitchen and dining room. And if I have time for some of those extra things, I do a few, thus maintaining the mess so it doesn't swallow me whole.

I'm proud of myself for keeping my home running and not giving up. And, I'm proud of you for always wanting to be a better person. This world is still full to the brim with beautiful people. That's a happy thought.

Does your husband clean? (Revised)

Dear Cinderella,
        Let's discuss gender rules. Why is it that my husband spouts how he isn't one of those 1960's husbands who feels its soley the wife's duty to clean, and yet there's only about once a month it occurs to him that he, too, is responsible for the task of keeping our home clean?
        Pointing out this fact is dangerous and usually ignites a fight which will generally end in one extra day of effort from Prince Charming to place his pants somewhere other than the back of my dining room chair.
        I have a good man. He is hard-working. He is honest, kind and a great father to my children. However, there are times I wonder if I'm alone in my desire for him to help me clean. Many nights, I'll wait for him to sleep before I begin, because cleaning while he merely sits on the couch reading or watching TV generally makes me just more bitter. Am I alone? Am I having a wave of crazy irrationality and need to step back?

—The Scullery Maid

Dear Sculley,

Please excuse me, but I am revising my previous* answer to your question. My husband and I talked this evening and I realized my initial response didn't account for his view of our situation.

So, I think the only way to truly describe how we resolved it, is to bring him in on this one.

Let me first say that from my perspective, I'd beaten this topic into the ground. I had come at my man from every angle, begging for help around the house. I tried being kind and sweet. I cried. I got angry. I tried to ignore it. Nothing had any lasting change. I would always end up sucking it up and cleaning by myself, feeling alone, forgotten and resentful.

Are you on the BAGwagon?

So, yesterday on Pinterest, I stumbled upon a tutorial for reusable grocery bags. And then I rolled my eyes and thought, "Hey, hipsters, where do you put your trash?"

Here's the deal. I don't use reusable grocery bags for two reasons.

Mom on strike goes to therapy

I went on strike two months ago. I was on strike against the Homemaking Union. We have no rights, no freedoms, no pay, no one standing up for us making sure our work isn’t ruined.

I, like many of you, was so exhausted from constantly redoing housework that I tried so hard to do that was constantly being undone. It’s seriously like chasing your tail. And since I’m an intelligent woman, I finally admitted I wasn’t ever going to catch it. So I said, “Screw it.”

Kids should be raised by wolves

Do your little ones play outside every day? Were you raised by wolves like me?

According to an article I read this morning on ABC News, only 49% of preschool kids play outside with parents at least once each day.

I'm the homely child on the left.

When I was a kid, all I had to play with was a 2'x4' and a rake.

No, but for real.

I grew up on the wooded East Coast in a quiet, secluded neighborhood. My Dad really wanted us to grow all of our food and have plenty of land to protect us from the neighbors. You think I'm joking, but he was paranoid.

All year round, Mom would say, "Go outside and play." We'd rake pathways through the dense trees, clearing walkways and large openings. These were our houses with hallways and plenty of room for imagination. It was soooooo fun. Even to this day, I want to go play house in the woods.

We made a "gymnastics center" from a hammock, 2'x4' and some logs in one of those clearings. Our neighbor had a small man-made pond where we'd "fish," trying our luck at catching "Bubba," the giant bass none of us had ever seen but knew was real. I was secretly thankful no one ever caught him because I was terrified of wet, slimy creatures. And all summer long, we'd go shoe-less so we could have tough feet like Pocahontas.

We'd play until dusk when Mom would holler at the top of her lungs for us to come home. What would my neighbors say if I did that today? Haha. They'd probably call the cops. I guess I'd just have to text my kid instead.

All of my best childhood memories are set in the woods. I want that for my kids. But, things are so different now.

I am one of the lucky few with a back yard. But, it's sparse. The kids get bored in about 5 seconds and sunburnt in 4, whining to come back inside. There's nothing to explore except dead grass, weeds, a few rose bushes and one of those metal play-sets with only three legs on the ground at any one given time. First world problems, eh?

But, despite all that, the question still remains: Am I encouraging my kids to be active outdoors?

I'm scared the answer is no. Of course, this could be a new, awesome part of my momming life. Imagine resting outside under an umbrella reading my favorite book while the kids are forced to play together...Mmmmm...

I am setting a goal for my family: at least 30 minutes of outdoor play per day. I'm not big on giving myself additional tasks to complete each day, but this one is so important for the kiddos. Bring on the wolves.

So, what do you think? How often do your kids get outdoors? How do you keep them entertained in the wild?

Bubba!

Image source: Giant Sea Bass, 

Buried alive

Today, the walls around me are caving in. I want to cry. My chest is tight.

I try so hard to be kind, thoughtful, forgiving, compassionate and mostly, nonjudgmental. I really am a good person with a very open heart.

It crushes me, though, when someone sees my messy, chaotic home. It feels like my home is seen as a direct reflection of my character; that when it's filthy, it must mean I'm a slob; that when it's in shambles, it means I'm not caring for my kids.

The evening rush

Evenings are intense. Working moms are exhausted but want time with their kids. Stay-at-home moms are worn out and want silence.

My sisters are the perfect examples. My little sister is a single, working mom. My older sister is a stay-at-home mom for her two kids and our little sister's two kids. They are both busy and over-worked 24/7. And on top that, they LIVE together.

So, obviously their time is precious. Both need breaks in the evening and have been struggling to make it work. Making dinner is a tiring chore and cleaning up is even worse. The working sister wants to spend time with her kids but is dragging by then. The SAH sister wants time to herself and a quiet house.

We all want those things! So, here's a re-make of our evening schedules to maximize quality time with the kids and free time with ourselves: