Sarah Anne I Am

  Recently someone on Facebook posted something that bothered me. I didn't fly into a rage and comment viciously- I've been working on not commenting right away- or at all- when something bugs me, because often firing off a comment in the moment isn't most gracious ( more on this here ). But I've been thinking about it, so here we go.   This post was about moms with messy houses, and how there is no excuse for one. People commented largely supporting this- asserting that messes are the result of laziness on the women's part, and that unless you are disabled in some way, you have no excuse. "Especially stay at home mom's," one woman, a stay-at-home mom herself, said, "I want to ask them what they do all day." Another comment agreed that the more time you have at home, the more time you have to clean, and therefore less possible reason why it should be messy. In general, it seemed agreed upon that a few books on your floor for a short amount

  You may have seen me at church this past Sunday, looking relatively put together, wearing a good necklace, with my cute Starbucks mug in hand. Well, just in case you ever see me and wonder how I manage to be so effortlessly gorgeous and confident all the time (ha...not), I'm going to give you a peek behind the scenes.   When all you see are other moms who somehow have their hair perfectly curled and their lipstick perfectly applied, it can start to feel like you're the only one who goes through a full-on battle just to get to the car on a Sunday morning. But you're not the only one. I promise.   So, here's a lighthearted and completely truthful look at a typical Sunday morning in my life.   The photo to the left is how Clara feels when she is greeted first thing in the morning by being speed-dressed, nursed for three minutes, and asked "Do you need to nurse more? Is that enough? Are you sure?!?!" all while Judah sits beside her crying continou

  Right now I am sitting at Starbucks. Alone. Just me, a pile of books, a laptop, and a glorious salted caramel mocha. I'm freshly showered and wearing make-up- the barista even complimented my eye shadow, and she's actually a legitimate judge of my usual appearance, as she's seen me three times in the past week.   How, you may ask, is this even possible? How are all of these things true, all at the same time? What magic is this?   Well, let me tell you.   Seven weeks after Clara was born I went to see my midwife for my postpartum appointment. I had make-up on that day, too. I had both kids in tow. Clara was compliant, as always, but Judah was in the middle of his screaming-at-everyone-everywhere-in-terror phase. And while on the outside I may have looked somewhat put together (sweaty brow aside), inside I was a wreck.   And my midwife knew it, because she knows me, and also because I owned up to it readily. I was depressed. I was overwhelmed. I was getting through

  I always feel a little weird posting selfies, especially the infamous bathroom mirror pics. But there's a reason that I do.    I post plenty of pictures of my kids. And Arthur is in those pictures frequently, because I'm usually the one taking the picture. But often I'm too busy taking the picture to be in the picture, or I don't want to be because I don't want records of how I look in this season. And that's ridiculous.    How vain and unfair of me to not be in a picture with my kids because I think I'm not the right size- when they look back at photos from this time in their life, I want them to see the fun I had with them. I want them to see the times I held them when they slept, split a frozen yogurt with them, and yes, all the times I just loved the way I looked with them in my arms so I snapped a picture in the mirror.   They will see other things, too- the things that too often keep me from taking those photos in the first place. They w

My daughter, my Clara, my sweet girl,   You can wear Batman outfits. You can also wear sparkly shoes. You can play with trucks and dinosaurs. You can also play with tea sets and princess dresses.   Yes, we will happily let you follow your brother on adventures, discovering trees, rocks, and mud, to return with dirty feet and scraped knees. We won't think much of it if you like bugs, or baseball, or the color blue. And likewise, we will be unconcerned if you prefer dolls, ballet, and all things pink and glittery.   God made you a girl. A beautiful, strong, gentle, capable, precious little girl. Being a girl is a good thing. It is no better and no worse than being a boy. But it is different. And that is a good thing, too. A God-designed thing.   All girls are not the same, and all boys are not the same. Yet your father and I are different; you and your brother are different.   One thing we all have in common is this: God made us, just the way we are, intentionally and for the pu

  In my first post about the adventurous life of raising a toddler, we learned about Judah's devotion to his baby sister Clara. We will now take a look at Judah's many food-related antics. Or rather, his food-related antics during the past week- to relate all of the hilarious things he's done while eating/trying to eat/wanting to eat/thinking about eating would fill the equivalent of a Russian novel.   Act Two: Judah, misadventures involving hunger, food, and eating things.    Sometimes Judah gets hungry. By "sometimes" I mean "90% of his waking hours". Consequently he has learned to open the fridge, and often helps himself to it's contents.   For example, if he's thirsty, he might accidentally dump the entire pitcher of water on the floor. He will then realize his mistake and try to clean it up by applying pressure to blot it up. Or, in toddler terms, stomping on it. But as he is not even two years old yet, he may forget to lay a

  Some people talk about having kids as though it sucks all of the excitement out of life. To those people I say, go ahead, take my two kids under the age of two to Costco by yourself. You'll see. My life is anything but dull.   Sure, I may not be hiking to breathtaking views, exploring foriegn countries, or cliff diving. But I wasn't really doing those things before kids, anyways. I'm more of a paint-breathtaking-views/explore-nearby-parks/scared-of-the-diving-board sort of girl.   Anyways. Back to the adventure of raising children.   Have you heard of toddlers? It's not an exact age, but more of a developmental range during which a child is no longer a baby, but not exactly old enough to paint breathtaking views with you. The toddler life is a crazy life. There should be a reality TV show about it. Not about beauty pageants at that age, that show already exists, but just a camera crew following a toddler around in it's natural habitat.   Seriously. I

 Once upon a time I saw an email in my inbox titled "Before Baby- Life List." Assuming it was from one of the pregnancy websites I'd wandered onto and that I was about to view a checklist of things to get done before your baby is born- set up the crib, buy diapers, etc.- I clicked the link.  Ironically, however, it was from a newlyweds site and the link took me to a checklist of things my new husband and I "should have" done before getting pregnant. I discovered this while sitting in the waiting room of our birth center waiting for our appointment with our midwife, but was curious to see what the list said.  When I first read this list we had been married for seven months and I was six months pregnant with Judah. We have now been married for two-and-a-half years and Judah is 20 months old while Clara is nearly two months old.  So, here it is! The list, and my thoughts on the list.  (Please note: I tried so, so hard not be painfully cynical and

  A lot can change in eighteen months.   One day in the spring of 2011 I walked into a room and shook hands with the people I didn't know, and then went upstairs to unpack my bags. Eighteen months later one of those hands that I shook that day took my hand and put a wedding band on my finger as we said "I do" and tried not to cry.   One late night late in the month of September 2013 my midwife handed me my son for the first time, and I pulled him close to me, waiting for that first breath and that first cry. It came. Color flooded his skin as he began crying, breathing in air for the first time. In that moment everything was exactly what it needed to be, because my baby was breathing. Eighteen months later I am 40 weeks and 2 days pregnant with our daughter, and I am waiting- longingly- to watch her take her first breath, to hear her first cry.   A lot can change in eighteen months.   EVERYTHING can change in eighteen months.   Becoming a wife and a mother we

  It wasn't even ten days into the month of January in 2013 when I began to wonder. It was this little thought, this whisper of hope that said "Maybe, maybe..." that I barely dared to listen to.   A few weeks later my wondering, my hoping, my praying all received the answer I wanted more than anything else: Yes.   Yes. I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby.   Over the months that followed we found out more about that baby. We found that it was healthy, we found that it was a boy, we found that the name that truly felt like a perfect fit was Judah. But there were other things, too, that I found. Things I didn't expect to be a part of this process of pregnancy the way I had expected the check-up's, ultrasound, and baby name books.   I knew him.   I felt like I knew who he was, this tiny, unborn human being. I knew things about his personality. The way he behaved in utero told me things about him. It would have seemed like a ridiculous leap for me