Confession is Good for the Soul

I have been too ashamed to admit it, but I am going to finally come clean, we are buying the house across the street from my sister and in the same neighborhood as my mother.  After searching high and low for a house and having several get a contract before we could make an offer, we decided to see the last house on the market that met our criteria.  The house, in my eyes is pretty perfect, there is enough to do to it that we can make it our own, but not too much where it is overwhelming and we will have workers at our house 24-7.  In fact, most of the projects the boy can do, which he is excited about.  It is yellow and has a front porch and wood floors; therefore, it had me at hello.

I Know...

I had some well intentioned acquaintances try to give me parenting advice the other day. I sat, I listened, but in the end I looked at the two of them and said, I know my daughter and your advice just wouldn’t work on her, but thanks. Now those were not my exact words, I was very nice about it (or at least I thought I was) but that was the gist of the end of the conversation.


I love that I do know my baby girl. I have spent countless hours playing with her on the floor, carrying her around, wiping her tears, changing her diapers, feeding her, and reading to her. I know what makes her tick, her likes and dislikes, how to make her smile even when she is in the worst mood, her fierce independence, and the way she loves to be snuggled, never sitting but always standing (apparently sitting and snuggling just doesn’t cut it). It is such a privilege to know her and to know what works and doesn’t work to know which advice to take and which to kindly dismiss.

There are days when we struggle, when she is extra fiesty and I choose the wrong battles to fight.  Days when she decides to fight sleep or when I put her to bed too late because we went out to dinner with friends and she is an overtired crying mess, but I am so glad she is mine.