• the one about bringing back the Christmas card

    When my husband and I got married over six years ago, I wanted to send out the perfect Christmas card. It was the first one that we would be sending out together, and I wanted it to make the right impression. I wanted people to hang them on their fridges or smile and say, “How cute!” 

    I mounted a black and white wedding photo on two pieces of red and green card stock. I wrote a poem. It rhymed in perfect couplets. Oh yes, a thing of beauty.
    They also cost me about $100 to make and mail. Ouch.
    And despite their cuteness, I am sure they ended up in the bottom of about 40 trashcans of our family and friends. 
    Each year following, I have continued the tradition. I have done different things each year– more poems, expensive photo cards on heavy-weight card stock, handmade touches for that little something extra. 
    What is it about Christmas cards? 
    Most of us go nearly the entire year without sending one piece of mail otherwise, but when Christmas rolls around, we feel the need to wipe out our bank accounts for the perfect outfits for the perfect photo session with the perfect photographer to get the perfect photo of our perfect family and then put it on the perfect Christmas card and mail them out before the rush of the holidays…perfectly. 
    I have seen it firsthand as a photographer, and I have experienced it firsthand as mom. Each Fall, when we get our family photos taken, I always critically eye each image and find the one. I have to make sure I look beautiful, my girls look angelic, my husband looks macho, and we all look like the most blissfully happy family you have ever seen. 
    This year, we didn’t get family photos taken (not sure why?), and I have been struggling with whether or not I should mail Christmas cards this year. I have read up on alternatives, such as donating money to a charity in place of mailing the cards, posting a photo on Facebook and just tagging all your friends and family, or simply just moving on with life and forgetting about it all together. We could really save the money and do something more practical with it, I’m sure. 
    But a conversation with my husband changed my opinion about it. Usually the practical, sensical one in  the marriage, I predicted him to give me a high five when I said I was thinking about scrapping the Christmas card idea this year, but his face turned soft and he said that we should still send them. 
    “It’s not about us. It’s about showing love to our friends and family. And I love seeing everyone else’s cards that they send us!”
    It’s not about us.
    So true. 
    Christmas cards are not about us or for us. They are for our loved ones.
    The people we mail our cards to already know us. They know we don’t always ever dress in coordinated clothes or frolic lovingly in a grassy meadow with the most perfect golden sunset fading in the background. 
    They know that 6 out of the 7 days a week, my hair is in a pony tail and not meticulously curled. They know that I usually am rewearing the same jeans for the third day without washing them, and that my daughter’s socks never, ever match (she does that on purpose). 
    They know that wrangling toddlers is somewhat like bathing cats, so they know that the perfectly posed and still children in the photograph are being bribed, heavily, with trips to Disney World and ponies and Starbucks hot chocolate. 
    If they already know us, why am I spending so much energy trying to show them “who we are?”
    I am also so guilty of writing lengthy poems or cutesy stories to highlight all of our accomplishments, vacations, big news, and “ta-das!” of the year. I have turned what should be the opportunity to wish someone else a Merry Christmas into a showcase of everything cool I have done over the past 12 months. 
    Again, our loved ones know us already. They know about our accomplishments and have already shared their congratulations. They know about our big news because they were there when we announced it. They have witnessed our “ta-das!” and seen the photos of our vacations. 
    Facebook does enough to make us feel like we aren’t doing anything with our lives compared to our News Feed. We don’t really need to be sending that kind of stuff through the mail under the disguise of a Christmas card, do we?
    So let’s bring back the Christmas card. 
    Let’s spread love, joy, cheer, and well wishes to our loved ones by way of imperfectly perfect photos, personalized messages, and heartfelt greetings. 
    Let’s remind ourselves that receiving a piece of snail mail (that is not a bill) is one of life’s simple pleasures, and a sweet Christmas card can go a long way to brighten someone’s spirits. 
    Let’s make it less about us and more about them.
    And if you do happen to write a poem or narrative about your year, make sure you keep it real. Mine would probably go like this:
    Dear Family and Friends,

    Wow! 2013 was one for the record books! We experienced so many great joys this year. 

    We went to South Carolina in June and Charlotte experienced the most epic diaper blow-out ever. It was so bad that we had to throw away the entire onesie. We also lost Noelle’s beloved stuffed animal for the entire week and I lost more sleep about that than I care to admit.

    We took the girls to Disney World in July, and it was truly a wonderful trip. I won Mother of the Year when the lady at the airline counter needed to see Charlotte’s birth certificate in order to let her on the plane and I informed her that I hadn’t picked it up from the Health Department yet (she was 9 months old). I redeemed myself when I remembered to bring a scented diaper trash bag on the plane to keep everyone from smelling Noelle’s rancid Pull-Up the entire way to Orlando. 

    I am enjoying my days as a stay at home mom. I do a great job of washing the laundry, yet never folding it or putting away. I make great meals, but I rarely do the dishes in a timely manner. I still manage to fit in time for exercise, though! I think I have worked out about 9 times this entire year. 

    We have filled our days with fun family events, birthday parties, baptisms, and celebrations. I learned recently while at a birthday party for a friend that if you put a fork in Noelle’s cupcake, she will come unglued and scream as if you severed one of her limbs. Trust me…just don’t.

    Luke went on a 10-day medical mission trip to Kenya. It was truly the highlight of his year. He did heroic acts like delivering a baby, helping a man who was nearly crushed by a van, and administering medication. While he was gone, I ate out for nearly every meal, never took the trash out, and killed our microwave. 

    Despite all of our ups and downs, our greatest joy is spending the holidays with our family and friends. We wish you all a very Merry Christmas and pray that you will be blessed in 2014.

    Sincerely,
    The Ernstbergers
  • the one about when i was busy being busy

    When I resigned from my full-time teaching position last May, I had many fears. One of my biggest fears was that I would be bored staying at home. I was worried I wouldn’t be busy and would loaf around the house in my PJs all day, appearing lost, lonely, and worthless. Strong words, I know, but honest feelings. Being a stay at home mom, homemaker, domestic goddess, whatever fancy term you like to use, was a very foreign concept to me as my mom has worked as a teacher my entire life.

    “What the heck will I do all day?” I wondered many times.

    You know where this is headed.

    I was wrong. Very wrong.

    My biggest surprise? Just how busy I have been.

    Shamefully busy.

    I say “shamefully” because I feel it has been the wrong kind of busy.

    My fear of the b-word (boredom) pushed me into planning over-drive. From day one, I made sure I had something on my calendar everyday. A play date. An errand. An appointment. An entertainment of some sort. A responsibility. A duty. (29 years old and I still giggle at that word)

    I wanted people to see me and say, “Look at Ashley! She stays at home with her girls, but she is always out and about and still active and getting things done. She’s so cool. And beautiful.” (Ok…reeling it back in…)

    Before long, my monthly calendars were looking like some crazy, confusing maze…time consuming and really leading nowhere.

    Of course, as adults (not just stay at home moms), we have lots of things to do in order to keep our lives up and running. We have places we have to go, people we have to see, and things we have to do.

    However, I had to have a reality check with myself because didn’t I quit my job so that I could be more available to my girls? 

    So that I could do puzzles with her at the table instead of merely supervising from my post at the kitchen sink?

    So that I could build block towers with her on the floor instead of simply hearing them tumble from my office while I edit photos?

    So that I could enjoy slower mornings with sleepy-eyed, fuzzy-headed girls instead of pushing them to get out the door on time for fillintheblank appointment/errand/obligation?

    I have declined invitations to color with her so that I could return an email.

    I have passed on opportunities to teach her something new so that I could plan preschool lessons for my class.

    I have denied them the simple joy of lounging in PJs for half the day because we had someplace important we had to be.

    Even though my 3 year old enjoys a good trip to the store, I’d have to think that she’d rather build an obstacle course with pillows (with me) or read one of her zillion books (with me) or play with her Barbies (with me) than ride in the shopping cart while I tell her “no, you can’t have that,” or “no, we don’t need that today,” or “no, you can’t get out of the cart” over and over and over again.

    So today, I’m committing to under-committing. We may not make it to every play date, lunch date, function, or meeting. We may have a week where we don’t leave the house except for emergencies (Starbucks counts, right?). It may take us a little longer to get out of the house in the mornings. We may be late. I may actually let them nap in their beds and not in their car seats. Emails, texts, and Facebook messages might get returned the next day. The house might will be a disaster. (OK…not much of a change there)

    Because my girls are going to grow…they are going to learn…they are going to play. They are going to experience life. They are going to giggle, and they are going to cry. They are going to learn to walk and learn to read and learn to ride a bike without training wheels. They are going to outgrow diapers and outgrow toddler clothes and outgrow beloved blankie and Baby Bella.

    All of that will happen…ready or not.

    Busy or not.

  • the one about when I don’t know what to say

    It doesn’t happen a lot, but it happens enough for it to bother me.

    I’ll be at a store or at a school or just somewhere (because rarely am I ever home), and I will get stopped by someone I know…typically an acquaintance whom I don’t see very often, but know just well enough to exit my tunnel vision for a second and make small-talk.

    I’ll have the girls with me, and the conversation will shift over to them. Typically, the first thing someone will say is, “Wow, look at their hair!”

    Then, every so often, I will get a “How old is she?” in reference to my three year old.

    And then something like this happens.

    Oh, she’s a big girl!”

    “She’s so much bigger than my girls!”

    “She’s gonna be big!”

    Just like that, my funny, clever, happy, intelligent, special little girl who has never been “off the growth charts” is reduced to a size.

    A comparison.

    A superlative.

    And it’s like nails to a chalkboard every time.

    I find myself quickly trying to shift the conversation, or sometimes I will say, “Well, she’s 3 and a half…” but usually I will say nothing at all.

    I have struggled with my weight all of my life. When I was in elementary and middle school, I was chubby. I have always had a round face. I am short, so five pounds on me can look like fifteen on someone else.

    I “thinned out” a little in high school, put on the obligatory college pounds thanks to 3 a.m. pizza and $1.25 drink specials (damn you, Dill Street), lost weight for my wedding, gained the newlywed happy weight, lost weight before babies, gained weight during pregnancies, and now carry about thirty extra pounds that I would rather see gone.

    But my point is that I knew I was chubby in elementary school. And being a 4th grade teacher for six years, those girls knew when they were chubby, too.

    My girls will learn soon enough how they “measure up” against their peers. Maybe they will be bigger, maybe they will be smaller, maybe they will be taller, maybe they will be shorter. Maybe their hair will be curlier. Maybe they will have more freckles. Maybe they will have straighter teeth or maybe the opposite.

    Soon enough, they will be worrying about being “thin enough,” “pretty enough,” “popular enough.”

    It happens very early…the comparing. They catch on quickly.

    In fact, after preschool one day, Noelle came to me and cried because a little boy said she looked like Princess Sofia.

    “What was wrong with that?” I asked her.

    “Princess Sofia is not a beautiful princess like Rapunzel,” she cried.

    My three year old was already wishing she looked like someone else.

    And it broke my heart because I have been there.

    I still go there.

    But I try my hardest not to “go there” in front of my girls. Each morning, they see me stand in front of the mirror and pick out clothes for the day. And as much as I would love to throw my clothes in a pile and say, “None of these fit because mommy is too fat right now,” I don’t. I hold back. I censor myself. I do not want my children, my girls, to see what poor body image looks like. I don’t want them to hear me insult myself. I’m very protective of that.

    Noelle watches me apply make-up, too, and when she asks why I am doing it, I try to say something like, “Girls don’t have to put on make-up, but sometimes it is fun to play dress up.” She doesn’t need to know that if I don’t put on my mascara, blush, and lip gloss, I may be confused for a naked mole rat and/or a walking corpse.

    So let’s go back to the unintentionally offensive comments at the beginning. I say unintentionally because I do feel they are not trying to hurt my feelings or my daughter’s feelings.

    But can we work on how to “comment” on children*?

    Like, can we “comment” less on children and speak more to children?

    *By children, I don’t mean babies. With babies, really the only acceptable response upon first gaze is “Awwww isn’t she just the cuuuuutest wittle thing in the whooooole wide world?!”

    How about this. You’re at the store and you run into someone you went to high school with who has a small child. A girl. She looks about 3 years old. After you greet your long lost friend, how about instead of making a comment about the child’s appearance, especially the child’s size, you bend down, speak to the child, ask her her name, ask her how old she is, ask her about her favorite color, TV show, animal, song, food, anything.

    Could we try more of that? Because even if you just say a little girl is beautiful, which is a lovely compliment to give, there are so many others we could say. Girls are more than beautiful…at least mine are. Of course I believe my daughters are the most beautiful humans on the planet, and they should be reminded of that–definitely, but their beauty goes far deeper than the surface.

    Girls are smart. They are inventive. They are creative. Girls are funny and clever. Girls are curious, happy, and free-spirited. Girls are delicate. Girls are strong. Girls are sweet. They are sassy. They are giving. Girls are kind. They are colorful. They are imaginative. Girls are charismatic.

    Girls are important.

    They are more than a size, than a weight, than a face.

    Any of those things…you could say…instead of

    “She’s a big girl!” and looking at her like she’s the biggest sasquatch of a three year old you have ever seen.

    Because next time I get a comment like that, I’m going to know what to say, and it might not be very nice.

  • the one about Starbucks

    I tend to love a lot of things.

    No really, a lot of things.
    I have kind of an addictive personality where when I find something that I like, I attach myself to it and can’t stay away. 
    Example #1: Diet Coke. I have tried to quit it about 10 times, but the fact of the matter is that I don’t want to. My proudest addiction moment to date was last winter when it snowed a foot and my car was trapped in the garage. I actually got out the shovel for the first time ever, plowed two tire track lines out of the snow on my driveway so my car could get out, and I drove my proud self (and my two little girls) to McDonald’s to get a Diet Coke. 
    Example #2: Target. Quit Target? Aw Hell naw
    And now for the completion of my addiction trifecta. 
    Starbucks.
    I don’t even really like coffee.
    I don’t make coffee at home. 
    However, I love coffee if it comes in a little cup of happiness from Starbucks. 
    And if the cup is red?
    Forget it. 
    In fact, the red cups were rolled out on November 1st, and at 8 a.m. that morning, I drove myself to Starbucks to get my hands on one.
    And then I started singing a little tune to myself.
    Red Starbucks cup. I fill you up. Let’s have a party.
    And then I realized I had a problem.
    Actually, I realized I had a problem a few months ago when my sister-in-law introduced me to the Starbucks app. Dear God. Why?
    So you’re telling me that if I go to Starbucks, spend $4 on a cup of coffee, you will give me a little gold star. And if I collect 25 of those little gold stars, I will earn something magical? 
    (Still not sure what that something magical is, but I have 9 stars to go until I find out!)
    Sometimes I like to just look at the app and watch the little gold stars float and flutter around. If you have the app, you know what I’m talking about.
    Oh, Starbucks. You and your ridiculously happy people who work there. And how they tell me I look pretty even when I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet or thrown any makeup on my face. 
    Life is better with you in it, SB. It truly is. 
    You’re a gateway drug to things like yoga pants and Sara Bareilles Radio on Pandora. 
    I mean, by now I could own my espresso machine and make my own mochas for a fraction of the cost.
    But I don’t even really like coffee.
  • the one about becoming facebook official

    In case you haven’t heard the good word, Heart of the Mama is now on Facebook. Right now, there’s not a whole lot on there, but I will post my blog updates there so you never have to worry about missing the a-mazing things I write about. 😉

    Thanks so much for everyone’s support of this blog. I also love hearing from you and reading your comments. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you think!

    All you have to do is click right here, and you can visit the Facebook page and give it a big ol’ thumbs up.