My 8 Week Review of my Stay-At-Home Skills or Lack There Of

Photo cred to Ellen Joy Photography

Let’s start with off with this nugget. Parenting is hard. Working and parenting is hard. Staying home and parenting is hard. It’s all hard. Over the last 8 weeks I have stayed home in every sense of the word. I have always worked or side hustled throughout my entire motherhood. I worked until the day before I had my daughter. Went back after 8 weeks. Had twins and went back after 12 weeks and then became a foster mama to an 8 week old while working a home business….and then went back to work when he was bigger. Throughout all of these years I have also benefited from having jobs that either allowed me to bring the kids along and pay for a sitter, had a daycare in my place of work, worked from home in the middle of my chaos or had amazing grandparents that helped so I could work.

For the last 8 weeks I have not side hustled, worked, pursued a job or in all honestly, left my house so much. Some observations on myself.

  1. I’m not the best at this. I have friends who absolutely slay the SAHM gig. They craft, sing, playdate, creative lunch and do all the things like a boss. I am not good at much of this. I hate the mess of crafting. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I would be happy to drink coffee for all the meals of the day so creative lunches are out of the question. With that said, I have playdoughed, colored, sticker booked and flashcarded over the last 8 weeks so A for effort, F for enthusiasm.
  2. I am finding myself swallowed whole with anxiety over my tiny humans. Full disclosure, prone to anxiety to begin with but the singular focus over the last couple of months is ramping it up in ways I never imagined. I have become the spelling word nazi and the reading time enforcer. There have also been lots of water works (theirs and mine) over trivial school stuff that wouldn’t matter that much or at least shouldn’t. In short, we are going to need to divide my anxiety/energy or I may be voted off of my own island.
  3. The SAHM gig can be very isolating without a magnitude of effort especially right after a relocation. We have signed up for the all the things. We are in mom’s group at church. We go to story time at the library. We are working the park circuit. And each of the places I go, I feel like a guy in my late 20’s walking my dog around the park trying to pick up women…..except I’m not. I’m something marginally sadder than that. I’m a late 30’s mom chasing her toddler around the park, trying not to spill her over priced coffee while attempting to make small talk with other exhausted, overly caffeinated SAHM’s like myself. Who knew I could be middle school girl awkward in my 30’s. Fun.
  4. In this transition, it has been a huge blessing. I can take and make calls for therapy services for our little guy in the middle of the day without having to worry about anything. I can also tell therapy places, “We are wide open. When is your first available?” All the boxes are unpacked and the curtains are officially up. I went to my first PTO meeting, so there is that. One of the big boys failed his vision screening at school and I will be able to take him to the eye doctor and get glasses without having to call off work at my new job.
  5. It has been amazing getting to know and enjoy Benton. We do all the things together. We read the stories, we take the naps, we do the shopping. He is joy packaged into a tiny busy body and I am lucky to have had a first row seat to that show.

It has been an 8 weeks of giving myself lots of grace and of talking through this with some amazing mama’s who are walking the same or similar walk. It has also been 8 weeks of preparing myself for what comes next. I am hoping to start volunteering at a local organization soon. Our littlest may be starting preschool in January and I know I will need to fill the time that will suddenly be less loud and busy.

So please raise your coffee mugs with me in memory of the years of tiny humans and awkward mom moments and in honor of the years of slightly less tiny humans and perhaps finding myself again that is coming. May we all figure it out as it comes and put a little less pressure on ourselves to already know the things that can’t be known yet.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 There is a time for for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.

Why this Mama Runs Marathons

It’s not just for toddler naps but it doesn’t hurt.

In January of 2018, I decided to take control of my health and had weight loss surgery. I had struggled with my weight my entire life and I didn’t love the example I was setting for my children. In preparation for surgery, I lost over 30 lbs and have since dropped 100 lbs from my heaviest weight (right after I had my twins). Determined to not waist the blessing, I started running about 8 weeks after surgery. I couldn’t believe how much easier it was to run a mile without the additional weight on me. I don’t think I realized how bad I felt until I felt so good.

My dad ran a marathon while I was in high school and since then, it has always been on my bucket list. Why not now? I started researching “flattest marathons in the country.” Because I like to run but I’m not totally crazy at this point. Turns out, one of them was the Marine Corps Marathon in D.C. Upon doing more research, I discovered that this marathon is HUGE. They have a lottery system to get in and only take 30,000 runners. I talked to Andrew (not sure he realized all the child raising he was signing up for at the time) and he agreed that it was worth throwing my name in the hat if it would keep me motivated. I signed up that night. At this point I was only running 3 miles at a time. I thought, gosh, if I get in I need to be a stronger runner and I took a screen shot of a marathon plan for beginners on Pinterest (super scientific approach) and started running more. Turned out all that training was perfect because I got in! In October of 2018, just 9 months after having weight loss surgery, I crossed the finish line in D.C. and completed 26.2 miles to the cheers of my amazing marathon finishing father.

I will do it again in Columbus, OH this October to the same cheers of my dad and joined by my 3 big kids, mom and husband and right next to one of my very best friends. I am so excited for this one, because there is something super cool about your children getting to see you work really hard and accomplish something huge. Makes you more life a person for a moment and not just a mom and hopefully inspires them that they can work hard and do hard things too.

In the beginning I ran because I was afraid of gaining the weight back. That is still a motivation but more than that, it has become a part of my mental health. Today, my littlest and I were just getting on each others nerves. It was not all him. I was annoying too. After lunch, I tucked him into the stroller and took off for 5 miles in the heat of the day because I needed a break and so did he. We both feel better for different reasons. About a mile in, he fell asleep and I cranked up the music on my phone (hello early 2000s hip hop music) and just sweated out all the stress of the day. At this point, I run because it makes me a better mom, and a better person. Running may not be it for you, but find something that resets you, contributes to your health and breathes a little bit of gratitude into your spirit. Now if only I could smoothly transition this sleeping stud from stroller to bed. Maybe in my next mom life.

When Pastries Aren’t Enough

Today we took pastries to our son’s former caseworker. She not only placed him in our home but she also walked us to the finish line to finalize his adoption. It was her birthday and we wanted to see her before we move. I will never forget the first time I talked to Alison on the phone. She called to let me know she was picking up Benton from the hospital and would be at our house later that day. I could tell in her voice she was worried about him. We were new foster parents, unknowns to her and she cared about this little baby so much already. When she arrived at our house with him tucked into his car seat, she came in my door and put his seat on the table. I couldn’t believe how tiny he was and I just burst into tears over the weight of what we had signed up for. That night, his first night in our home, I accidentally butt dialed her in the middle the night as I was waking him up to feed him.

At 3am she called me back. “Is he okay?”

“He is. I’m so sorry. I’m just getting him up to feed him. We are good. I promise.”

Over the coming months we would see her at least once a month and talked more often than that. She would update us and let us know when visits were on and when they were cancelled. She made us feel like we were a part of the process but more than any of that, she never gave up on his birth mom. She had tough love conversations with her. She got her resources to begin her journey to wellness. She didn’t quit on her. Because of this, I have stories to tell my son about how hard his first mom tried to be with him. He had several months of regular visits. Because Alison never gave up, I have a notebook of letters that his first mom and I wrote back and forth to each other over those months that I will one day give him. Those are precious gifts to me and to our little boy.

I would imagine that being a caseworker is an exhausting job. I would also imagine that it would be very easy to let that exhaustion compromise the important work you do or become callus to the despair of others. But I will tell you this, when we came in to see her today. She cried as my son played and laughed and counted and chatted with people in the waiting area. She has not been made hard by this work. She may be tired but she isn’t running from the hurt of the job she does. She is brave.

As we left children’s services today, I looked at Benton and said, “Miss Alison got to hold you before Mommy. She is an important part of your journey to get to us. She kept you safe until you got to me. Do you understand?” And just like he responds to almost everything right now, he said, “I doooooo.” But one day he really will. There needs to be a word bigger than gratitude because that word, that is what we feel.

Alison with our family on adoption day!

Mission Victoriously Unaccomplished

It was 1:25pm when we pulled out the driveway. Benton is in the fun stage where he refuses to nap but is a grumpy turkey during the time when he should be napping. Put him down for a nap anyway you say, no thanks. Last time I did that he stayed awake and emptied an entire tube of Butt Paste into his hair. Let me tell you how easy it is to get something that is designed to be water resistant out of a thick head of hair. Sigh. So in lieu of napping, we sometimes just try to get out of the house to avoid the grumps. Today’s mission was to drop donations off at Goodwill and go to Kroger to pick up some odds and ends for the rest of the week. We got to Goodwill and as I put the car into park in the drop off area, I looked in the back seat and there he was, sound asleep.

Should I risk waking the bear to get the things I need at the grocery store? I sat in the parking lot for a moment and decided that I wasn’t going to pick that battle today. Benjamin will not die from not having an apple in his lunch tomorrow but I may actually die if I have to push a screaming, irrational toddler through an entire Kroger.

So you know what I did? I did this.

Dairy Queen I didn’t have to share!

I took myself to Dairy Queen, whispered my order through the drive thru intercom and pulled into a parking spot and ate an entire ice cream sundae by myself while listening to NPR (like the good elderly millennial I am). And you know what I don’t have? Mom guilt. Do I do this every day? No. Do I even think this is self care? Nope. But sometimes a tired Mama of four wants to sit and eat ice cream and not share and I say that’s okay. Better than okay. I say it’s awesome. So guess what? There aren’t any apples in the house and I just made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on hot dog buns for tomorrows lunch but I ate Dairy Queen today in a quiet car. Bahahahaha! I win!

When your frustration level is at it’s height sometimes you have to look for a little win. Maybe your win is silent Dairy Queen. For me, most times it’s a long run with my music loud. It may look like a cup of hot coffee for you or just a quick moment with the windows down in the car. Whatever it is, seize it. We are better moms when we take a deep breath and steal a quick win. May your Wednesday include a win!

Build A Bear- A Cautionary Tale

If you are ever wanting a chaotic and expensive environment in which to question all your abilities to raise reasonable, gracious and well rounded children, take them to Build A Bear. While away at a wedding during our daughter’s birthday weekend, we gave her the option between going to “build” a bear and going to a trampoline park. As the words escaped my mouth, I thought, “Please Sweet Baby Jesus! Let her choose trampoline park. We have wiggles and we need them to exit our bodies!” Apparently, God knew I needed fuel for my blogging comeback so into the work shop we went. After, clarifying multiple times that we were just there for bears and that the birthday girl could get one outfit for her bear we selected our “on sale” skins. Can we just pause for a moment and let that sink it. Skins. Just wow.

We then waited in line to stuff our skins and kiss a small stuffed heart and place in our bears back before it got stitched closed. This was the beginning of our disappointment because this mama and daddy where not paying extra for the heart to actually beat. Serious, that is an upgrade option. The entire time in line, they asked about accessories for their new friends. “But Mama! My bear needs a light saber.” At one point my Benjamin said, “But Mama, they are naked. We can’t have naked bears. It’s inappropriate.” Vocabulary in 7 year olds is fun. We were firm. No accessories just bears. After the bear technicians finished stitching up the new stuffed animals, we headed to wash our bears, name them, create birth certificates and pay. All the while, we were hammered by requests for extra stuff, followed by whining, followed by more requests, followed by how unfair it was that Abigail got an outfit. How this was the worst day ever. How their lives were over.

As we checked out and paid an obscene amount of money for our children to have stuffed animals they were now totally disappointed by, I couldn’t help but think three things. One. We could have been at a trampoline park. Two. My least irritating child right now is the speech delayed 2 year old because he can’t properly formulate his possible disappointment. Three. We are so intentional in making them aware of how fortunate they are for things like safe housing, food on the table, healthy and safe parents. We are foster parents for goodness sake. They know they have it pretty good. And yet, here we are leaving Build A Bear crying because our bear doesn’t have a Bat Mobile. I just can’t.

When we got back to our hotel, we had a long talk about gratitude for the things we have the things we get to do. We talked about how the way they respond when they are given things and experiences affected those that were being generous to them. We had a come to Jesus meeting on the 6th floor of the Embassy Suites. Will it sink in? Who knows. Will we have the same conversation over and over. Definitely. Parenting is hard friends. Parenting kids who will grow up to not be jerks means having the come to Jesus meetings over and over again until it sinks in. We don’t have this lesson down yet but we aren’t quitters. It’s too important. There is a thin line between entitled and confident. Sometimes it is as thin as a thread that closes the back of a bear skin.

A Moment of Silence for Foster Care

It’s been a minute or 957,600.  I have started numerous blog posts and published none of them because we were swimming in the trauma, exhaustion, blessing, joy and grief that is foster care.  To say that it has been a roller coaster doesn’t do it justice.  The highs along the last couple of years have been so high and the lows have been devastatingly low.  We have experienced the unbelievable blessing of adoption and the unusual grief that accompanies that.  We have dealt with the post adoptive blues which I was totally unprepared for and will talk more about in another post.  I have experienced the heaviness of working in child welfare while doing child welfare in my home.  Our compassion has grown immeasurably.  Our family has grown by two little and very busy feet.

Each year that passes, I look back and think, that was a little insane.  Next year will be calmer but that isn’t true.  In the last 12 or so months, I started a new job, lost 70 lbs, ran a literal marathon, finalized the adoption of our son, supported my husband in a job search and we are now finalizing the sale of our home and the purchase of a new one as we move out of state.  Needless to say, not much has happened since we last spoke (insert eye roll).  As I think back over the last several years they are all full of change and excitement and craziness and I’m certain it will continue like this.  Moving forward means facing change and we Gabbards are moving forward.

I hope you will join me again I share about our family, our adventures and the lessons we learn along the way. 

Adoption Day (and completely reflective of the energy level of the newest Gabbard)

Bedtime: When Everyone Cries and Nobody Wins

Bedtime is absolute craziness at our house.  The preparation required for 3 kids to get to bed is intense.  There are baths to take, teeth to brush, diapers to change, jammies to put on and books to read.  After everyone has been washed, brushed, clothes and tucked into bed without fail one loses their mind.

It starts the same way everytime. 

“One more hug Mommy.”

“Me too Mommy.”

“Now I want to give you a kiss.”

Now I’m going to kick my covers off as you watch me and then ask you to cover me up again. 

Now I’m going to drop my sippy cup amd pretend that I don’t have use of my limbs to pick it up myself.

Now I’m dissatisfied with my book selection. 

Now I remembered I left my other blankie downstairs, you know, the one I have never slept with before.

Repeat.  Times 3 Crazies.

This master manipulation added to my exhaustion is an explosive combination.  It usually ends with me giving in to the first 10 demands and then losing my mind after number 11.  Then there is crying, mine and theirs and then we hug 3 more times and go to sleep. 

I think I would be more assertive if they were only requesting items but it’s just so hard to say no to a hug.  I know one day the tables will turn and I’ll be begging for hugs from them.  Tonight I hugged 3 times each, tucked twice and told them I loved them and they were on their own.  25 minutes of absolute mayhem and they are quietish.

There has to be a balance right?  I want them to be reassured that they are safe and loved before they go to sleep but I also don’t want to teach them that they can manipulate me with their fit throwing.  As I sit in my now quietish house I can’t help but think they will bring this up to their therapist one day.

“Why do you think you feel that way Christopher?”

“Probably because Mom amd Dad didn’t hug us enough before we went bed.”

Ugh!  This parenting stuff is intense.  What’s bedtime like at your house?

Little Boys are gross….and other Pro-Motherhood Propaganda


My twins boys are a little over two and a half.  This week Christopher laid on the floor and tooted (our special word for gas) and laughed.  He then did it again announcing, “Momma, I tooted!” and giggled more.  Seriously, what happened to my sweet little boys.  They are covered in mud every time we go outside.  They spit to entertain each other.  They make burping and throwing up sounds.  They are remarkably destructive for people so small.  Their toddlerhood is so different from what I remember from my daughter this age.

I recently saw a post that said, When you are raising boys you always know where you stand….in the middle of a hurricane.

Most days, this is exactly how it feels.  I feel like they are my lesson in releasing control.  I like to know what’s going to happen, when it will happen and most of the time I like to be the cause of a surprise not the victim of it.  When you have boys you have to release this.  When the sweet old lady at church comes up and reaches out to shake your little guys hand and he gives her enthusiastic “knuckles” instead, when your son releases gas in a quiet coffee shop, when he pees on the floor in front of your neighbors, when he rummages around in the bathroom and comes out with tampons for your guests like they are party favors you have to laugh or you will cry.

A friend recently sent me this quote, You can have faith or you can have control but you can’t have both.  I’d say if you have boys you need a lot of faith.

So a Ballerina, a Fire Fighter and a Bicycle Walk into a Bar…

Recently, while asking my children what they wanted to be when they grew up I got the following responses.  Abigail twirled and then replied, “A ballerina!”  Christopher put his hands on his hips and shouted, “A firefighter!” and Benjamin raised a finger to his mouth in deep thought and said “Hmmmm, a bicycle.”

When do we stop believing we can do or be anything?

I love that nothing limits them at this point.  That same freedom makes them complete hazards to themselves but it also makes them absolutely beautiful.  Their responses to common questions are the purest example.  What do you want for your birthday?  A paddy cake.  What do you say when you ask for something (hoping to hear please)?  I want something!  What would you like for dinner?  Ice cream and Nutrigrain Bars.  No worries about judgement or consequences.  No concern for societal convention.

We tell our children two very different things as they grow up.  When they are little we tell them, “You can be anything you want to be if you put your mind to it” and then when they are getting ready to go to college we tell them, “That’s sweet that you want to be a Philosophy major but how exactly do you expect to pay your rent.”

We can’t live this pure unadulterated freedom as adults but what if we all dreamed a little more and worried a little less?  Like so many other things in life, I think it’s probably a balance…..but for what it’s worth I think he would make the best bicycyle ever.

Maybe when I’m a grown up Mommy

While indulging in some Godiva chocolates I got for Christmas today, my four year old Abigail asked if she could have one.  I offered her the most “normal” chocolate in the box.  She nibbled on one edge and said, “Nope, mommy I don’t like it, maybe when I’m a grown up.”  It made me laugh.  She has her father’s palette for cheap chocolate.  You’re welcome future husband of Abigail.

It got me thinking about the whole concept of them growing up though.  I was at a conference a little over a year ago and heard Andy Stanley speak and he said something that continues to blow my mind to this day.  “Your greatest contribution to the kingdom of God may not be something you do but someone you raise.”

Who will these little crazies be?  Will they be mommies and daddies, doctors, teachers, ministers, painters, coaches?  In these early years, I strain by neck trying to peak over the endless laundry pile into the futures of these sweet crazies.  I find myself so busy in the daily chores of motherhood that sometimes I forget that these amazingly needy, beautiful creatures will one day be able to get their own milk, play without constant supervision, shower, read, drive a car, get their heart broken, graduate from high school, go to college, move away, get married, have children of their own.  In some ways this thrills me to think that there is a day coming soon when I will be able to take a 15 minute shower with the door shut, but this simultaneously makes me have a panic attack.  It makes the time seem way to short. What will I pour into them in these short years I have with them (even shorter if you take out the teenage years, when I assume they won’t hear a single thing that comes out of my mouth).

Howard Thurman said, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”  Instead of my panic attack I think I’m going to make this my mantra when thinking about their futures and what my part is in helping them get there.  I want to help them find their passions and talents.  I want to encourage them in that passion with everything that I am.  When the world tells them it’s not possible I’m going to argue with the world.

As I sit here contemplating their potential it’s fun to dream big dreams for them.  What will make my crazies come alive?  What amazing work will they do?  What will be the mark they leave on the world?  How will they, in their own unique way, breath Christ’s love on this world?  How do I go about raising them to seek out their talents and passions and chase after their dream?

That’s the scary part for me, because I think it’s probably through leading by example.