It’s time for an updated “About Us” blog to help fill people in on our ever changing circus!
Brett is the second in command ringleader. Mainly because this mama is the one that’s home 99% of the time and has to be the one to put her foot down.
He’s the bread winner. The one that works hard and puts in the hours to make ends meet, to be sure our kids don’t go without and have everything they need.
He’s the protector, the hero, the “fun” parent. And, I’m okay with that. (Most days.) One of us has to be, and he’s lucky enough to have it be him. He’s gentle, kind, loving, stubborn and thick headed as they come, but he’s mine and he can mostly handle me on my rough days, which is more than I could ever ask for.
We aren’t perfect and we have our struggles, but we’re also always working to build a bigger, better, stronger relationship. We drive each other bonkers, don’t always listen to the other, and neither of us know how to be wrong. He’s a lot better at giving in and brushing things off than I am, and the appreciation I have for that is endless.
Then, there’s yours truly. The ringmaster of the shit show. The master mind behind all the crazy. The pregnant, hormonal, brain turning to mush mama that’s in charge.
I’m not perfect. I won’t ever claim perfection. I aim for gentle parenting, but some days that’s not how our evenings, or heck, even our afternoons end. You can only ask in a gentle, kind, polite voice so many times before you lose your shit. Or that‘s how I am anyway. Maybe there are moms who can hold it together, but I just can’t. My patience runs out.
I love my babies more than the moon and all the stores, and I struggle when we have tough days because I’m not yet at the level of mama and patience I want to be. I’m learning to grant myself some leniency, because as humans, we are not perfect.
I have a psychiatrist and a therapist, and I an the furthest thing from ashamed. Everyone could benefit from at least having a therapist, and more people need to speak up and advocate for it.
Mental health is at an all time low and I can’t wrap my head around why professional help means we’re not average humans who struggle, just like everyone else, but we accept we need help. Some of us? Some of us, a therapist is who keeps us getting up everyday and putting one for in front of the other.
Next up, we have the lovely Gypsy we call Averi. We’re nearing the big 11, and the teenage years are creeping in fast. She is not mine by blood, but by choice. She is brilliant, talented, kind, loving, and just a bit strange just like the rest of us. She has her dads humor amd as innocent as a child who hasn’t been introduced to the world.
Averi was four when her dad and I got together and being only 20, I had no idea what I was doing. I had little sisters the same age, but being a sister and trying to learn how to be a step in mom. It’s been a rough road but ever so slowly, we’re getting there.
Luci, my little acrobat, is the first one to grow in my belly, enter the world, and open up the mother that was inside me. The one I prayed existed, that would know that immediate love and that nothing in the world could be greater than the feelings in those first moments they lay your baby on your chest. I can’t imagine who I would be today without these little versions of myself. I might be a littler more sane, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Luc is kind, sweet, loving, an empath through and through. She is the most Tom boy princess I’ve ever seen. We’re talking big tulle spinning dress covered in all the bows, jewels, and sparkles while she wears converse and jumps in muddy puddles. She’s five and can bait a hook, reel in her fish, and even though she can’t unhook it yet, she always throws them back herself.
She is ready to spread her wings and hit kindergarten leaving them not knowing what hit them. I nearly expect daily phone calls and/or emails, but I’m hopeful our feisty, ornery side hangs low for a little while.
Jax. Jax is my boy, my own little clown. He’s leaning to his dad some lately, but that’s alright. He’s the one that was born into this world to be my very best friend, the one who loves his mama more than a bomb pop. I think.
He is overly sweet, kind, soft hearted, has a phobia of blood (literally), and can smell goulash from a mile away. At 15 months younger than Luci, he’s four and ready to start preschool this year. It was a tough call, but my mama brain needs a small reprieve and he could really benefit from some socialization.
In between Jax and Alvi, we suffered a loss at just six weeks. We don’t talk about it much, but I will never not acknowledge that baby. I don’t know why God chose to take that baby home, but He did. It took a hot, hot minute to work through it, but we made it to the other side.
There’s an empty frame that sits out in our home. No one has ever questioned it, and I’ve never spoken it out loud except to Brett. It’s a place holder, for the baby we didn’t get to keep, but we never had our first ultrasound. We didn’t make it far enough, but I need something to help me accept it, and this is what works for me.
She used to be last, but definitely not least, my little Alvi, who was supposed to be the last, but God had a different plan for our family. She is our tiger tamer, the one who fears nothing.
Alvi is loving, knows how to be sweet, and gives me a run for my money everyday. We haven’t slept in almost two years, from the very day she was born. She is stubborn, feisty, fearless, and entirely feral. I love her and wouldn’t know what to do in this world without her, but we have so many days that are such a struggle.
More than not she has me in tears, wondering what I did wrong. I’ve tried every level of parenting and nothing has helped. We have a referral in to a specialist, but they’re yet to be ready to schedule us. It was a hard call to make, but this mama needs some help, and I’m not afraid to admit it anymore. My baby needs a different level of parenting, and I need direction on which way to go. There is no shame in needing and accepting help.
I don’t know who this next baby will be. We won’t be finding out the gender, but I will refer to peanut as a girl. My mama heart can feel it, but I’ve been wrong before. I won’t be the least bit sad if it’s a boy, just to be clear. What part she’ll play in our circus, I can’t begin to imagine. Maybe a contortionist, but whoever she will be, God knew we needed her.
No matter how difficult this journey has been as I continue to pray to come to terms with, has slowly started getting g easier recently. We’re closing in on 12 weeks, so we’ve known for 9.
Regardless of what a shock and how difficult accepting this has been, this baby is more loved than anyone will ever know. She is the candles on our cake, and we anxiously await getting to meet her.
Welcome to our circus, we’re glad you’re here.