Tag Archives: TBT

Good Morning, Beautiful!

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Throw Back Thursday! “Yoga pants again?”

I wrote this post a couple years ago, when Em was still an infant and I was still wearing a lot of sweats. OK, I still enjoy my comfy clothes, but we’ve gotten beyond the throes of infancy.

I remember this morning. I remember writing this post. And I remember thinking, wryly, that there would be a day I longed to be back there in that moment when my kids were so little and life was so draining and complex.

I was right.

And life is still draining and complex, just in different ways.  And I know there will come a time when I long for this day, so I am going to do my best to be here now, as the bumper sticker reads.

Have an amazing Thursday everyone! Big love and momaste! xo

momaste

Rays of dawn peeked through my window.  I smiled; it would be a great day.  I did my morning routine of stretching and cardio, thought how banging my bod looked.  I drank a big glass of water and gave thanks for the day.  Organic smoothie in hand, I read the entire paper.  After getting the children up and dressed, we shared a nourishing breakfast.  We smiled at each other around the breakfast table on this glorious day.  

 There was plenty of time for meditation before the longest and most refreshing shower of my life.  My husband complimented my outfit.  I dressed up a bit and I was glad he noticed.  He patted my ass and kissed me before he walked out the door to take Jack to school.  Jack hugged and kissed me, told me he loves me, and was off to a wonderful day.  My day off, I…

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“I Will Never Feed You Hotdogs” and Other Broken Vows

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Hi Everyone! I’ve decided I’m going to get on the TBT bandwagon and start reblogging a post from the Momaste archives on Thursdays. This one is one of my favorite that I’ve written, and every word still rings true, even two years later. Happy TBT to all of you! xoxo.

momaste

Not too long ago, before I had these little monkey-scamp-creatures that we call “children” biting at my ankles, I was a perfect mother.

Stroking my pregnant stomach, I made vows to my fetus:  I will exclusively breast feed you.  I will never give you a pacifier.  I will teach you how to sleep through the night when you are nine weeks old.  I will never let you co-sleep.  I will never raise my voice to you.  I will never let you eat McDonald’s.  I won’t let you watch TV until you are three, and then for only a half hour per day.  I will ensure you get an hour of exercise every day.  I will never swear in front of you.  I will never, ever feed you hotdogs or anything else that is not organic and home made.  

I occasionally think of these idyllic vows, retching a little…

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