Excuse my language

In a technology planning meeting today, and I’m the only female in attendance. I’m okay with this. I’m actually used to this. And it isn’t even a thing. Until we’re all shooting the shit, and someone drops the F-bomb. There is instant regret and apologies directed right at me for use of such a foul word. I just don’t get it. You’re okay with using that word in the first place at work around your peers, so fucking own it! Don’t say it and then give me an apology. You don’t mean it anyways because if you were really afraid I’d be offended, then you wouldn’t say it to begin with. Ugh.

Love the little moments…

My kids are growing quickly. I feel like it was just the other day that I struggled to conceive, and then began the intense IVF process. Now my babies are 4, 6, and almost 8. It goes too fast.

This weekend was spent cleaning our house, in preparation for our amazing cleaning team to visit us today and give us a much needed home cleaning. Sometime during the weekend, all three of my children were singing along to some random pop song, and their voices sounded so sweet. I don’t think I will ever forget the sound of their voices as young children – so sweet and filled with happiness and endless energy. Love the little moments because they go so fast…


Today we spent the better part of the morning sorting Pok√©mon cards and putting them in binders. At one point, it was just my husband and me doing the work, while the kids were watching SpongeBob. The kids came back in to help us, and I’m not entirely sure what happened but my older son, almost 8, went flying by like Flash Gordon, and the younger son, 6, fell to the ground. He quickly grabbed his eye and started crying in a tone where you know shit has actually hit the fan. I jumped out of my seat, and made him stand up. Blood. He had a gash on his eyebrow, and he was screaming as if his eyeball popped out. Luckily, that did not happen. My husband started to yell about why we don’t run in the house, and how we’re always telling them this and that. In the mean time, I’m examining his gash, staying calm, trying to figure out if this was ER worthy. It looked deep enough that it might be, but I was kind of on the fence. I’ll always take my kids if needed, but if I don’t need to go, I’m over being cautious like I was as a newer mom. No one wants to spend their Saturday afternoon in the ER only to be told it has to heal on its own time.

I decided to call my mom over, who is a retired nurse, to check him out, and broke out an ice pack in the interim. She just finished baking us some zucchini bread, and planned to bring it over so the timing was perfect. She was at our house in about 7 minutes (PRO of having your mom live around the corner), took one look, and said we should bring him in. I told my husband to get ready and go. There was no way he was staying home with the other two since he was agitated and already put them to work cleaning up all the toys. This would be best thing for everyone.

I packed snacks, drinks, a tablet, and a charger for their journey and off they went. Of course, without the backpack which was right next to the door. I got an update about 45 minutes later, and my husband said they were going to glue the gash shut. Younger son was brave, even though I was told it stung. Ordeal over, and he got ice cream on the way home.

This is life.

I’m 42. Wife. Mom of three amazing children. Manager at one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Right now life is like juggling a shit ton of balls. And some of those balls have razors, while some are fuzzy and soft like your favorite blanket. Sometimes I drop the balls. And sometimes I can juggle for days. Sometimes I only drop one ball, and sometimes I drop every fucking one. When they all drop, I’m on the verge of a breakdown that I somehow pull myself through, pick them all up, and get them going again. I surprise myself really.

This is life. My life.