Viva La Crianza

To love someone …
♥️

This!!!!!! 👇 👇

Empatía.

With Acceptance comes
Unconditional L♥️VE

Marry the man who buys you bananas.

I know that sounds weird.

Why bananas? Why not a man who buys you flowers? Or jewelry?

I will tell you why.

Because when you’ve been married for a while, you go through a lot of stuff together. And sometimes that stuff can make or break you. Circumstances that test your patience and things that test your love. Not things that test how much you love, but how you give your love. Your time. Yourself.

Marriage is a partnership. It’s a see-saw. If both people aren’t moving together, it doesn’t work. There are sacrifices you must make. There is understanding and patience and acceptance. A lot it acceptance.

Accepting the differences between you, accepting that you will do the same thing in different ways, accepting of one another’s habits and quirks and little nuances that can sometimes drive you crazy and accepting that you are each unique individuals with your own strengths and weaknesses, talents and gifts. And with acceptance, comes unconditional love. And that is the love upon which families are built.

Like many families, we are in the thick of it right now. Three kids under the age of eight with a decent gap between the oldest and youngest. Between school, sports, therapy for our middle child on the spectrum and everything else in between, my husband and I are spread thin.

We are both running on empty. We haven’t had a date night in months and our evenings usually consist of a quick kitchen clean up and early turn in for bed.

I sent my husband a grocery list for his ride home because the day was tough and I didn’t get a chance to go. About forty minutes later I realized we were out of bananas. I called him to ask if he could grab them.

“Are you sure we don’t have any?” his voice sounded tired.
“No,” I snapped back feeling upset he would even ask that. “Please don’t forget them before you check out.”

By the time he got home it was later than I anticipated. The kids were wild and I was mentally spent and frustrated by his delay. He came in with the groceries but the bananas were in a different store bag.

“Why are there two different bags?” I asked him.
“I was already checked out when you called. I wanted to get home early because I know you had a tough day. So I had to make another stop because I know we needed them.”

And that’s when my anger subsided and my guilt set in for getting frustrated with him. I gave him a hug and with a kiss on the forehead, we didn’t need to speak the words . . . he knew I was sorry and I knew he had forgiven me.

You see, every night my son on the spectrum has a banana. It’s just part of his routine. So to be out of bananas causes utter meltdowns. My husband knows this. So he made the extra stop.

He made the extra stop because he loves and he cares. And our ways of loving and caring may be different at times, but that’s what makes us a team. And over the years, we’ve learned to accept this in one another.

Marriage isn’t just about flowers and grand gestures. Marriage is so much more than that. Marriage is weathering storms together, big storms. It’s being a shoulder to cry on when a parent dies. It’s hand holding in silence on the couch after a long day. It’s about finding a way to connect, even if that connection is a simple smile from across the room.

And sometimes, marriage is about buying the bananas.

So marry the man who goes out of his way for you. The one that still opens your car door and acts like a gentleman. The one that shows you in his own way how much he loves you. The one that tries to surprise you by coming home from work early because you’ve had a tough day, even though his was equally tough.

Marry the man who buys you bananas. I promise you that you won’t be disappointed.

Shared with permission from New Adventures in Motherhood

The true description of a Beautiful Human Being 👨

People see you change the nappies,

“He’s such a good Dad”, they say.

They see you holding the baby when we’re out with friends,

“He’s such a good Dad”, they say.

They hear you get up to them in the night sometimes,

“He’s such a good Dad”, they say.

And you are.
But it’s more than these everyday things,
you’re so much more than that.

They didn’t see your hand in mine as I squeezed yours back, during the birth, our first night at home, when you had to return to work and I didn’t want to let go.

They didn’t see when you walked in the door after a long day. How you noticed the heaviness in my eyes, how you eased the load straight away, even when your eyes were heavy too.

They didn’t see you at night, when one of them calls out, “Mummy”, sometimes you go anyway, even when you know you might not get the best reception.

They didn’t see the house swell and burst at the door at the sound of your keys. The bright faces and wagging tails, even if I’m still hunched over the kitchen sink.

They didn’t see all those photos you took, yes sometimes I have to remind you to take them. But you capture the beauty on those less than perfect days, the ones I’ll look fondly at
later and see everything we dreamed of.

They didn’t see when you held me, through the tears of exhaustion, through the trials of feeding, how you hold them. How you hold us, always.

They didn’t see the way you looked at me, when I felt completely undone, when I hardly recognised myself. You made me feel beautiful through it all.

They didn’t see the bedtime books you read, how you tie her hair up, how you cuddle them to sleep and show them a softness that a child needs from a father.

They don’t see how you show up every second of every day for us.

They see the nappy changes and how you hold the baby.

They say you’re a good Dad,

but I know,
You’re an incredible one.

Words on sale and available to print here:
https://www.etsy.com/nz/listing/1070398151/

Jess Urlichs
Art: Art to Remember

Just LOVE ❤️

Today I saw an old friend
from my past
She barely stopped,
she was moving so fast.

Hurrying and shushing
and looking quite flushed
The frazzled kind,
not contoured with blush.

I had to double take
her brows in a frown
Her clothes mis-matched,
her hair in a crown.

She carried herself differently
tired and raw
A beauty that shined
more visibly than before.

She swayed side to side
a baby on her hip
as she stared in the distance
chewing her lip.

I decided to approach
and reconnect with this girl
To remind her that she
was conquering the world.

She told me her life
had completely changed
That the pieces of her
had been rearranged.

Pieces left for months
on the floor
so it took her a while
to feel whole once more.

Then she said, “I get it now,
this is who I’m meant to be”,
and I actually believed her
as she stared back at me.

She was tired yet knowing.
A world of content
In a place so new,
for where she was meant.

I took a deep breath
as I left our embrace,
from the girl in the mirror,
with a smile on my face.

Words: Jess Urlichs, Writer
‘from one mom to a mother’ poetry book www.jessicaurlichs.com
Art: angelica.ch.r

“Because the tenderness of my motherhood doesn’t diminish when the sun goes down”

Why I’ll Lie With My Son To Fall Asleep For As Long As He Needs Me To - Raised Good Have you been told not to lay with your children as they fall asleep? Me too! Here's why I ignore the advice and continue to lay by my son's side.

Absolutely Spot on 🙌🏼

I think I was too exhausted to really soak in the newborn stage.
It almost seems unfair doesn’t it.
I’ll get flashes of smiles or fragments of conversations in the evenings, it still feels a bit wispy, I wonder if it will always be that way.
The feeling of only being half alive.
But I’m so alive, I’m right here, but I’m somewhere else too.
Somewhere with the mental load in the motherhood maze.

I think back to those days often, a toddler learning to walk & a newborn baby. The overwhelm and juggle of it. My eyes that could leak at any moment.
The sheer state of me, a shadow in my mind, but wow did she shine.
As do all mothers, but newborn mothers have a soft strength to them, a loud stillness, a shy confidence.

I think back to the many moments I thought were for them, where I held them close and rocked in our chair, I see they were mine too.
That I needed them, my aching body pleaded for them.

I think back to the birth, the feeding, the little hands grabbing for me, someone always on me, my husband wanting a kiss when he got home and me not wanting anyone to touch me for a second, I smile because I get it, and yet my heart twists at the thought of them needing me less.

I think back to the purees, the bottles, the mess, the many things I mastered in the kitchen with one hand. How sometimes just getting out the door was the biggest achievement & how I had to make peace with that.

I think back to trying to explain to my husband how exhausted I was after a hard day, but never doing it justice, the words not quite fitting in my mouth, then smiling like it didn’t hurt.

I think back to the days that felt like remakes, but now I see they were all originals, especially to them. Their world expanding at a rapid rate, the most beautiful magic unfolding, did I see that? Did I miss it through the fog?

And I think back to the days I would say,
“I just can’t do this” when I was drowning.
But I was doing it.
Coming up for air, rebuilding and rising.
Maybe you’ll think back like me one day,
or maybe I can remind you now.
You’re doing this too.
No matter what that looks like.
You’re doing it.
Because that’s what mothers do.

Shared with permission from Jess Urlichs, Writer

What happens when a device´s bright screen becomes more alluring than a child´s bright face 👼🏻

Communications time bomb: Parents’ smartphone use could be the new secondhand smoke Adults’ digital habits could be hazardous to children’s speech and language development. It's time to act.