My Crying Room

 It's a risk I'm willing to take. 


Being followed to the bathroom, everytime, is just understood in motherhood. But, sneaking away to that special place in order to sob and throw tantrums in peace, that's tough. 



But, it's the only place where my mind thinks to retreat to when mothering demands reach their peek. 


Sure, I guess I could lock myself in my closet, but, then I wouldn't have access to a window,  or even a mirror for those times when that non-waterproof mascara that I'm allergic to starts to slowly gouge my eyeballs out from the overflowing tears. 



I could run out to a favorite tree or rock on this semi-vast property and just leave them all to duke it out indoors. But they'd look out that big bay window in the living room, eventually, and all come out to wonder what I'm doing. 


So, I default to the bathroom.


I default to the bathroom to have secret snacky time. I go there to practice deep breathing, and I go there to cry. I just sit on the toilet and cry. 


Or I look out the window and play twenty questions with Jesus...oh, and I cry.


Why do they always follow me? And why do I consider it my "safe zone"? 


Heck, I don't even like my bathroom. That picture I shared is of my sister's perfect  Texas-sized master bathroom. {Mine is currently not for your viewing pleasure. It has toddler nail-polish painted linoleum from 1983. From my toddler. It survived 34 years of being perfectly good representation of 1983 home design until one of my greatest creations used it as her canvas.} 


Like a chapel on a hill, I go there to pray, question life, recite verses, and yes, cry. A lot of crying. 


And there's always those monthly times where the crying makes zero sense and yet, 100% sense all at once. And it doesn't matter how many times your husband inquires as to why, I'll never know how to answer. It's just time to cry, that's all. And cry, I shall. 


So, today, if you need me, I'll probably be in the bathroom. Not actually for the purpose of using the toilet. But, for crying. 


Anyone else? 


Love, Alicia 

With a smile and a kiss: meeting your husband at the door.


I fail at many things. But one thing I'm consistently bad at is greeting my husband at the door with a smile and a kiss. In my defense, I could cling to the fact that I never know when my husband is coming home any given day. And I could also cling to the fact that I'm usually run ragged by the time he walks in...and maybe could be looking for a sympathetic look and hug. Maybe even a "tag-me-out" gesture or a handing off of the car keys,etc. And I suppose I could also cling to any and every "I'm a SAHM to many small children" excuse in the book and therefore I get a free pass to appear completely spent and disheveled at my husbands arrival.

Truth is, I have a whole bag worth of excuses I can and regularly do employ. But....it doesn't make it right. It doesn't make my excuses excuseable. It doesn't make my husband feel welcomed back into the kingdom he works so hard for.

I really want to challenge all of the moms that so graciously read the words on this blog: make it a point, for one week straight, to greet your husband at the door with a smile and a kiss.

Even if the kids are screaming. Even if you are in the middle of a diaper change/making a meal/separating feuding brother/sister duos. Even if you are too tired. Even if you have zero desire to stop and step away from what you've just suddenly squeezed in time for.

If your husband is anything like mine, he gives his all at work. He works with his family at the forefront of his mind. He may miss another family dinner that he would've rather been there for, he may have been stretched super thin that day, or has been discouraged by the way others words beat him up.

We have to make, as much as is possible, our homes a welcome retreat for our husbands. They deserve to come home to a relaxing, welcoming atmosphere. They deserve to see home as a haven, not somewhere they want to avoid. And what makes a better haven than to see their wife smiling having happily anticipated their return.

It won't be easy to succeed in this challenge, but we must make it a healthy habit to be the leader of the welcome committee when daddy comes home. Here's to overcoming this challenge and making our husbands excited to come home.

Love, Alicia