For the month of January, O has been in San Antonio while the babes and I are home in Dallas. Let me just place a disclaimer here to say before this month, the longest O has ever been out of town is one week. Thats right-seven days
, friends. To all the single moms, military wives, NFL wives and the like shaking their heads at me-stick around! I crowd-sourced tips for systems and routines to be as productive as possible when you’re doing all.the.things.
Just like that, my fist born is four years old. He is curious and brave and bright and strong. It blows my mind that four years ago today, I was sitting there 23 hours into labor and begging this child of mine to leave my body and here we are. Four.
It’s Friday! I’ve gotta say, this week was a long one. O started coaching last weekend which means for the first time since becoming parents, O has a true 8-5 job outside of the house. We’re used to having breakfast as a family every day followed by family worship time and bible study. Aside from the days he’d have site visits or trips, the normal routine was that our morning family time lingered however long it needed to and he finished work around 4. I knew I could often pop into his office or our room to see him midday and no matter what, that the second daddy got home, the kids would be able to play like crazy until dinnertime. For the next few months, this won’t be the case and the transition period has been quite the shift.
I’m sure you’re seeing gift guide after gift guide right now. The thing is, I’ve wanted to have my own magazine ever since I can remember. Flipping through the pages of my mom’s magazines as a little girl I was amazed by each layout, color choice and font decision. I started making my own mood boards armed with scissors and glue and have kept pin boards of inspiration in elementary school and still pull one together every chance I get! These gift guides are always a way for me to express a passion of mine- curating and collecting in hopes of inspiring.
“You are a great mom.”
Initially, in those newborn days with Oshiolema, I took the compliment as necessary fuel. If my life was a pie chart, breastfeeding, up with a crying baby instead of sleeping and chores were even; me-time, time in the Word were those little slivers that are too small to see or title. In photos, Oshiolema was clothed, sometimes smiling and alive. I’d tidy up the scene I was about to snap a photo in, moving a stack of diapers and stained burp cloth aside to make way for a fresh pretty swaddle blanket. I’d write a caption about being up all night with him but it not mattering anymore because he’s so perfect.
But here’s the thing.