Why my children matter

I've debated this in my head for weeks, I've gone back and forth, I've outlined it, started writing it and stopped several times, but today I was sent over the edge and I need to say my piece (or peace)!!! I started the day reading a ridiculous article about this topic and ended it reading the personal story of my sister's coworker, that faced blatant racism in my very own town. I've been told I'm too outspoken on this topic and that I should give people "the benefit of the doubt", but I'm done. I'm done sitting on the sidelines allowing people to think they're being loving when actually they're spreading nothing but hurt and frustration.

Almost 10 years ago I married a black man. I am white. This makes me no expert on racial matters and I don't claim to be. I don't think I understand the struggles black people face in today's society. I can't understand the struggles black people face in today's society. And that breaks my heart, because 7 years ago I gave birth to a very tiny half black baby boy and my life was changed forever. 18 months after that day, I gave birth to another half black baby boy and 16 months later, their beautiful half black baby sister came along. And so here we are, black man, white woman and three of the most precious, gorgeous half back half white children you'll ever see, living happily ever after.

We've endured people peering into our car at a stop light. We've put up with stares at restaurants. I've had people ask to touch my children's hair, or just loudly comment on how crazy it looks. My husband and I have hardly ever NOT been asked if we're on the same check when it comes to paying for our food at a restaurant. I've been asked if they're all "mine" or if I'm the nanny. I've been treated poorly when using WIC checks to get formula and treated REALLY poorly when using WIC checks to get formula with my child in the cart. We were casually told people left our church when our pastor allowed us to get married there. I've been asked if all of my children had the same last name and then if their name was my last name while registering them for a church function. And the list goes on...

You might say these are all coincidence, and maybe some of them are, but I ask you to rack your brain and come up with a list of incidences like the above and see how many you can come up with. I can almost guarantee, if you consist of an all white family, it will be considerably less. And if you're an all black family, my list might pale in comparison to yours.

Hey listen, I get it. ALL LIVES MATTER. I agree, they do. I get it, you're poor and have no privilege in life. I understand! I get it, you've been pulled over for seemingly no reason, too. I GET IT. But listen, that doesn't change anything!!! It doesn't change the FACT that racism exists and it rears its ugly head all too often. It doesn't change the reality that the police get called because a dark skinned man is sitting in a car outside his friends house waiting for them to come home. It doesn't change the truth that in rural Missouri, a black satellite installation technician is consistently scored low on customer satisfaction surveys when he is consistently scored high while working in urban markets.

Maybe you just don't understand, and that is okay, because you can't understand! Because whether you like it or not, you're white and therefore automatically "privileged" to never have to encounter certain situations. It's not your fault that you were born white, no one is blaming you for your circumstance of birth. It's not even your fault you were born with this privilege. What IS your fault is your failure to even try to understand this current situation. It is your fault if you cannot admit there is a problem that needs to be fixed. It is your fault if your response to this type of conversation is anger and/or defensiveness.

Now back to my babies. Something HAS to change. Because I don't want them to grow up in this!!!!! I can't handle thinking about them ever being hurt by ignorant words because of the skin color they didn't choose to be born with. I don't want to have to tell them to be extra careful or more respectful to people in charge, just because they might be harder on them, or see them as a threat (I will teach them to be respectful, but I mean EXTRA respectful). They shouldn't have to deal with prejudice and hatred. Just like your kids shouldn't, neither should mine!

Listen, my babies lives MATTER!!!!! Be the change in the world so that one day, when they're older, these conversations aren't needed. Don't trivialize their lives with memes and hatred. Don't turn your head and say everything is fine and I'm imagining things. Don't put your dukes up ready for a fight. Realize that you don't have all the answers. Educate yourself. Ask others to educate you.

Because these lives matter!!!!

Why can't I love this moment?!

From the moment you heard that cry or saw that face and melted inside, to the moment 5 minutes ago when you wanted to run screaming, A LOT has changed. You've change. They've changed. Your marriage has changed. Your bank account has dwindled, I mean, changed. Your tired level has gone so far off the charts "changed" isn't even an appropriate word to describe the evolution that has taken place. Everything has changed!

You brought the baby to your house. You held her. You cried tears of joy. And then she cried. So you hushed her gently while ever so slightly bouncing her up and down. The wails became louder. You got up, started walking around. You sang a song. You offered her some milk. You sat back down. She refused the food and screamed louder. You rubbed her back, you rubbed her tummy, you started praying. You offered her your fortune in life. You promised her you'd never refuse her anything in life if she would JUST STOP CRYING!!!!

"You'll miss it when she's grown". "Enjoy the moment, good and bad, because one day the bad won't seem so bad and the good will seem better!". "You should be thankful for every moment".

We've all heard these and more and at first we shook our heads and thought, "you know, I really SHOULD be enjoying these crying moments, she won't always be this small and cry without telling me why or what she needs. I should be a better mom and be more in tune with my baby so I can know her every need before she even indicates she's uncomfortable!". We're so gung-ho about this mommyhood life that we put these crazy expectations on ourselves. And we're bound to fail. But, you know, we have to enjoy every moment. That other lady told me so!

Except, you don't. You don't enjoy the panic that creeps up inside you when you can't get your baby to stop crying. You don't enjoy being awake 22 out of the 24 hours in the day. You don't enjoy the dirty house. You don't enjoy never having a moment to shower. You don't enjoy the poop up the back, the poop out the side, the poop down the leg. The poop!

And then they grow and new hard days come. The attitudes. The hands on the hip, "I don't think so mommy" look in the eyes, "NO!". The fingers under the bathroom door and the wails, if heaven forbid, you LOCK it. You know, to poop! The eye rolls. The screaming. The crying. The tattling. And that strange obsession your 7 year old has with pursing his lips and talking....oh maybe that's just me.

Moving on...

You're just not enjoying it. But why?! You're supposed to be! One day you're going to wake up at 5:30am in tears because you aren't being awakened by littles. Right? Right?! RIGHT?!!!!!!

I don't know about you, but I know I will NEVER be awake at 5:30 crying about not being woken up. Because 5:30 is the middle of the night, and I'm normal. And normal people sleep in the middle of the night. I'm also never going to miss my son tattling on his little sister 80 times a day.

Yes, I'm going to miss the snuggles and the kisses. The "I love you, mommy" moments. The "will you hold me?" times. I'm going to miss holding that sleeping baby and seeing that smile (or gas, as they say) spread across his face (who am I kidding, I already miss that!). I'll miss the pictures they draw for me, I'll miss the look in their eye when they figure something out that they've been curious about for a while. The silly stories, the laughter, the tickling.

There will be plenty I will miss. But listen momma....don't pressure yourself to love the hard moments. They're hard. And if any mom tries to tell you they didn't want to run away and leave their crying baby behind, because it was 4am and you've been awakened every 30 minutes since 10pm, they're big fat liars! If anyone tells you they never cried and wanted to give up because their nipples were actually literally cracked and bleeding but they still had to have the life sucked out of them for 25 minutes, they are not telling the truth. And if ANYONE tells you they didn't want to give their children away to the lowest bidder whenever they rolled their eyes at them, THEY. ARE. LYING!

Enjoy the good moments and survive the bad ones with as much dignity and love that you can muster.

And the next time someone says a cliché, catch-all saying to you...just smile and nod and know that they are liars.

A letter to my workaholic husband

Dear workaholic husband,

No, it's not what you think, this isn't a letter that makes me look amazing and you look like a jerk. This is a thank you note, a love letter, a full on "brag about my husband" moment. And I'm taking that moment and running!

9 years ago when we got married, I would have never imagined our life as it is today. You couldn't work and I worked at a dead end job, bringing home what we thought was measly money to our 1 bedroom apartment with the fighting couple below us that threw each other's belongings off the balcony every weekend. Fast forward to life now in our 3 bedroom rented house with three kids only 18 and 16 months apart. I'm a stay at home mom and you are the sole provider. No, not at your dream job. Not even at a job you love! But everyday you get up and go. You glisten with sweat in the hot summer and freeze your fingers off in the long winter. You work until you you're told to go home, which is sometimes in time for dinner with your family and sometimes just in time for bed.   You climb on roofs and dig deep holes in the Missouri ground a.k.a. rocks. You speak with people that judge you based on your skin color. You are constantly evaluated, not on the quality of your work, but on the accent that comes out of your mouth.

And on your days off, when you could be sleeping, you do what needs to be done. Like donate your plasma so we can have a date night. Or mow the lawn. Or build the headboard from pallets that I really wanted. Or sometimes you do the dishes that I just don't want to do. Or homeschool our son so I can go to the zoo with my friend during a school day. Or listen to me complain that you're playing your video game too much, when really it's the first time you've sat down to relax all week.

Yet everyday, you get up, before the sun sometimes. And you never complain. You just go, and do your work and come home to me.

Let's talk about me. The stay at home mom that pretty much wants to give her kids away on the daily. The one that calls you and says "I just can't" and cries and asks to put you on speakerphone so you can talk our son down and tell him to obey his mother. The one that is *done* as soon as you walk in the door. The housewife that is constantly behind on the pile of laundry in the corner of our room. The one that mops the kitchen floor *about* twice a month. The one that forgets all too often to get meat out of the freezer, so dinner is either delayed or left overs, like 50% of the time!

You work your butt off and some days I don't even get off mine. And you never complain. As long as you get a hot shower, whatever food I scrounge up (or you scrounge up, sorry!) and me standing by your side, you are happy and fulfilled.

I don't deserve you. You are my gift from God.

So, I'm here to say...you are my dream come true. I couldn't have imagined this life 9 years ago, because I didn't know life and love like this even existed. I am so proud of you. I am so in love with you. And it's not the love I ever saw in the movies or read in the books. It's the hard-working, hard-fighting, bare it all, hash it out, you know all my secrets, you've helped me go to the bathroom, you've seen me at my darkest, you get up in the middle of the night to console our daughter with night terrors, you never yell back, you let me sleep in on your day off kind of love.

It doesn't matter that we don't have the biggest and best. It doesn't matter that we rent when we could have bought (maybe, back when we both worked with no kids and thought we had no money!). It doesn't matter that others might think we aren't successful. What matters is that we love, each other and our kids. It matters that we prioritize what is important to our family in this moment. It matters that we walk this path holding hands though hard times instead of yelling at each other in the lap of luxury.

You're a workaholic, because you're a family-aholic. And your family thanks you!

Love,
your lazy-aholic, thankful wife