Why I Am Anti- Peppa Pig

Our home has watched a fair share of cartoons. Some of them annoy me, some of them are okay, and some are great and I can actually sit and watch with my kids and halfway enjoy it. But, there is one show that is not allowed in our home.

Peppa Pig.

Caillou may whine. Max and Ruby may not have parents present. Paw Patrol may have the same annoying issue with the mayor. But, can Peppa Pig and her family STOP SHAMING the dad all the time?

If I hear that pig say, “Daddy’s Big Fat Belly” one more time I’m going to scream. At first, I thought it was just a little obnoxious. Obviously, they are pigs. Pigs are fat.  But, then my kids said it to my husband. We corrected them once that we don’t talk like that, but they watched the show again. They said it again. Then, they started making rude comments that Peppa and the mom say to the dad on the show, to my husband. Seriously!? We are teaching kids to speak like that to their fathers?!

What happened to children’s programming that teaches children respect? How to speak nicely to one another? Not talking about how dumb or fat someone is?!

Enough already, Peppa Pig. We are OVER IT!

Now, back to some Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. At least that show has some common sense lessons. 

Yes, I Will Spoil My Kids On Christmas

No, you won't make me feel guilty about it.

All year long, our family lives on an extremely tight budget. There isn't much wiggle room. Pay bills, buy groceries, and that is pretty much it. We rarely eat out, the majority of my kids clothes are from thrift stores, hand-me-downs, yard sales, or clearance items. We don't go on big vacations, we don't go on shopping trips to the mall, we rarely buy anything we don't NEED. However, we save money to have a big, huge Christmas day. My kids get brand new clothing, new shoes, brand new toys, items they have asked for throughout the year, plus more. Our tree is surrounded by presents. Our tiny house is overwhelmed with the Christmas spirit.

Our family gives all year. We donate, we volunteer, we live our lives to love and serve others before ourselves. But, this one day a year, I get to spoil my kids without having an ounce of guilt. We get to watch them open present and present, watching their eyes light up every time they unwrap something they have been asking for all year. Things we had to tell them "no" to, because it wasn't in the budget.

My husband and I raise our kids to serve others. Whenever we volunteer our time, or donate our possessions or money, our kids are right there with us, watching and involved. They see our example of giving.

They also get to pick out presents for their siblings. They are thrilled when their sibling opens the gift they wrapped them and are excited. It's a win-win.

We understand, as a family, the true meaning of Christmas. It's not about the gifts. It's about Jesus. It's about giving, not receiving. But, I shouldn't feel guilty for wanting to, once a year, spend extra money on my kids.

I won't feel guilty on Christmas. I will soak in the excitement. I will embrace the giggles. I will watch them jump for joy for a toy they have wanted for months... right there in their hands.

Yes, I'm going to spoil my kids on Christmas. No, you won't make me feel guilty about it.

My Struggle With Postpartum Depression

Postpartum Depression (PPD) is real. It's not the "Baby Blues" and it doesn't have to hit right after the baby is born. I have 3 children, struggled with PPD three times, and have hidden it for years.

When my first child was born, I couldn't have been happier. I had my baby boy in my arms, crying happy tears with my husband as we stared at the life we created together. However, as weeks went by, the crying wasn't from happiness and I didn't know what was wrong with me. The days seemed so long. My husband would be at work all day and I could barely hold it together most of the time. I would rock my newborn and have tears streaming down my face. 

I cried... A lot. 

My son had a high allergy to lactose so I was unable to breastfeed. He was on special formula and didn't sleep well at night. I associated my crying and depression with exhaustion. I was just tired. I just needed sleep. But, I knew in the back of my mind it was worse. Something else wasn't right. 

I remember one time, my son was just a few weeks... maybe a month old. He wouldn't stop crying. Just like a normal baby does. I laid him in his crib and sat in the living room and bawled. I didn't know WHY I was bawling. Just go pick up the baby and rock him, sing to him, smile at him... He will calm down. I couldn't handle it. I mentally, emotionally, physically could not handle being a mom. My sister walked in on her lunch break, just coming by to see us, and heard him crying. She told me to sit on the couch and she sat and rocked him her whole lunch break while I sat on the couch, feeling like a failure. 

This went on for almost 6 months. I would try to get out of the house quite a bit. I would put a smile on my face and tell everyone how much I loved motherhood. Because, I did. I loved my son. I loved being a mom. I HATED how I felt every day.

I felt like I was a prisoner in my own body. 

As time went on, I felt better and better. The sunshine was a little brighter each day. My laughter was less forced and more genuine. I still had no idea what had happened with me. 

A few months later, we found out we were pregnant with our second child. I feared that I would have the same response this time around. 

My second son was born 19 months after my first and was exclusively breastfed. 

No PPD.

HUH!?

He was born in August, so I figured I was getting more sunlight and I was getting out more, so that was why I wasn't having any struggles. 

When he hit 10 months, we were about to move 10 hours away from our home to a new state for my husband's new job. I decided to wean my son before moving so I didn't have to worry about nursing and moving.

Big Mistake.

Postpartum Depression swept in FAST and HARD! Not only did I have the emotions of moving, I also was dealing with imbalanced hormones and postpartum depression, causing anxiety attacks, outbursts toward my husband and children, non-stop crying for hours, dark dark dark days that never seemed to end. I had just moved away from family, I had no one to support me outside my home and here I was again, completely miserable. I didn't know when it would end.

A few months went by.... Let's be serious... about 9 months went by and I started to feel somewhat better. 

We now have a beautiful daughter in our family. She is 10 months old and still breastfeeding. I fear weaning her. She is slowly weaning herself and not as much interested in momma as she is with food. 

I noticed myself getting short with my husband. I was offended by the jokes I used to laugh at. I would start crying for no reason at all. I started cooping myself up in the house not wanting to leave or see people. 

I am now at the point I'm not sleeping at night. Most of the time it's because one of the kids has us up, but if they are all sleeping I am waking up in the night with anxiety. I'm not happy. I fake happy. Not happy on the inside. I'm overwhelmed by the smallest things. I get so frustrated about little things and take them out on my husband. I'm not laughing like I used to. There are days I dread talking on the phone. I have times I don't want to go to the grocery store because I don't want to run into someone and have to small talk. Some days are dark days. I don't even want to get out of bed. Some mornings I stand in the shower and cry... for no reason, really.  Many days I have that lump in my throat that won't go away, just on the verge of tears and one small hiccup and the tears stream down. I'm struggling every day. 

It's a silent struggle and this is something we don't talk about enough. 

I know it is something I will get through. I have before. 

I sat my husband down this morning before work and told him everything. All my struggles. I admitted to him and myself that I am struggling with postpartum depression, again. I need open and honest communication with him. I need less jokes and poking fun at me for a while. I need support. I need time. 

He agreed.

Postpartum depression is real. It's dark. It's painful. It's lonely. It's a tremendous struggle.

I will get through this. I have before.

 It is just one day at a time. One hour at a time. One minute at a time. One breath at a time.

One day I will be better.

The End of an Era & I'm a Little Sad

My son has this stuffed dinosaur. I'm not exactly where it came from or who gave it to us. From a young, young age he became attached to this dinosaur. When he was about 2, he named it "Rexie". Rexie came everywhere with us. Rexie has been to the doctor, has had band-aids, has gotten 'shots' with my son, he has been on many vacations, he has been through the wash countless times, he has been slept with and cuddled almost every night since I can remember.

Rexie is pretty much a part of the family.

My son just entered kindergarten. He is 5. Rexie isn't the center of his attention anymore. For years, wherever my son was, Rexie was in tow. Not much any more.

Rexie still sits on my sons bed. He is on his bed while he sleeps. Not cuddled up tight like he used to be.

Recently, Rexie needed to be washed. I tossed him in with the load of bedding and when he came out he was fluffy and soft and warm. I yelled for my son to come to the laundry room and as he came running in, I handed him Rexie.

"Thanks!" He said smiling, "He needed a good washing."

"I thought you would like that." I replied.

"Yeah. He smells good again. Can you put him on my bed?" He asked. And, he handed him back to me and ran off to play with his brother.

I went into his bedroom and set him nicely on his bed. As I stood there staring at this stuffed animal, I got a little choked up. My baby is no longer a baby. He's growing up. He is outgrowing his 'lovey's'. He no longer needs a security in tow. He is becoming more confident, smarter, stronger, older, more mature. Rexie will always be a part of our lives and a part of the family. But, slowly, Rexie isn't needed.

There were nights when my husband and I would tear apart the house searching for Rexie, frustrated that our child needed this darn dinosaur to fall asleep at night. I miss that. There were road trips where we would have to wash Rexie wherever we could because he had been dropped, stepped on, kicked, spilled on, sat on, snuggled and drooled on. I was always complaining that I had to keep an eye on just another thing in life. I miss that.

Rexie will eventually leave his spot on my son's bed. He will be put in a box or closet somewhere. He will be pulled out occasionally and talked about and put back.

My son is growing. Too fast. The moments of frustration with Rexie have become such fond memories. They make me slow down.

I can't wait to see what my son will do in life. I love watching him grow, change, mature, and learn. But, I will miss Rexie and the babyhood he represents. Slow down, sweet boy. Snuggle him just one more night.

The 4 Dollar Fire Truck

There is a fire truck in my kids toy box that I can't seem to ever get rid of. Whenever I am cleaning up their room, I come across this toy fire truck and it makes me smile, but also makes me a little emotional. I could get rid of it. I could put it in a yard sale, I could donate it. The buttons don't work as well as they used to and the lights don't light up very bright. The noises it makes sound pretty sad and my boys don't really play with it. They used to. They have moved on to different toys now. But, every day, while picking up their bedroom and making beds I see this little fire truck and it reminds me of where we came from.

Our oldest child's first Christmas was an interesting one. Thank goodness he won't remember it. He was almost one, since his birthday is at the beginning of January. We lived in a very old house, with poor insulation, not a very good furnace, in the cold Idaho winter. My husband was working two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. The heat was turned down low and we wore sweaters and sat with blankets on our laps to save as much money as we could.

As Christmas was approaching, I realized we had very little money to buy any sort of Christmas gifts. We had just found out we were expecting our second child, and things were tighter than ever. I saved and saved, finding money here and there to help our little Christmas fund. There were few presents under our tree that year. I couldn't buy a tree skirt, so I used a fleece blanket with candy canes on it to improvise. Our son had 4 presents under the tree that year. A sleeper fleece pajama that I had saved from a baby shower, so it still had tags on it. A Christmas book from the dollar store. A little set of blocks from the dollar store, and this 4 dollar fire truck. I was shocked at the clearance price at a discount store in town, so I snatched it up and wrapped it.

My husband and I didn't have much that year for Christmas. I put some of his soap in his stocking to make it look full, and I added a few pieces of candy. We had a couple small gifts from each other.

My son loved that fire truck the minute he opened it. He pushed the buttons on it continuously and drove it around all day. He didn't know we were poor. He didn't know we were struggling. He was happy and content knowing that he had a brand new toy to play with.

Now, 5 years later. I still have this little 4 dollar fire truck. And, it reminds me where I came from. We were struggling. We were poor. We had close to nothing. But, we had each other. And, there was a lot of love in our home. When I am feeling pretty down or feel like life is beating me up, I think of that little fire truck and remember that winter. When pride has taken over and I'm a little over confident in myself, I think of that little fire truck.

I surely could get rid of that little fire truck. It's rarely played with. The buttons don't work. But, the memories and feelings that flood through my heart when I see that 4 dollar truck is worth more than anything.

Remember your past. Remember where you came from. Keep growing. Keep going. But, never forget your struggles and how you grew and what you learned from them.

My Struggle Becomes My Blessing

Story Submitted By Beka Armstrong

This is a picture of my husband feeding our son. My son is now 7 months old. I battled with myself for the first couple months of his life because he wouldn't breastfeed. I did EVERYTHING I could to get him to latch but he just wouldn't have it. I pumped every day to give him breast milk.

After the two months, I decided that if he wanted the bottle then that was fine with me. I'm proud to say after 7 months I'm still pumping every day so he still gets breast milk.

This little boy took me almost 4 years, multiple surgeries, fertility drugs, and artificial insemination just to get him!

 I would say my message here is when you see a mother and child don't judge based off of breast fed or bottle fed. You don't know their story and the struggles they've endured. When you look at a mother and child look for the love in that child's eyes when he looks at his mother. Your baby is healthy, fed, and happy that's what matters.

When I look at this photo of my husband and son, I don't feel ashamed of the bottle, I feel blessed that my husband gets to share this experience with me

Spend Time With The Lord

Today I was taught a huge lesson in life from my 3 year old. Dinner time is always a busy part of my day. Getting the table set, getting kids hands' washed beforehand, finishing up the meal and getting it on the table, filling plates, getting the baby in her high chair, making sure everyone has drinks, up and down and up and down. Say a prayer and eat together. Tonight was busier than most. My husband was outside doing some yard work, the kids were rowdy, the baby didn't want to wait in her high chair before dinner, it was a little chaotic. We all sat down and started eating. When we finished we cleared the table and did our normal evening chores.
 About 20 minutes later, while my hands were soapy with dish water, my 3 year old runs in panicked.
 "Mommy!! We forgot to pray before dinner." He said.
 "It's okay. Sometimes we forget. We will pray next time." I replied.
 "No mommy. We didn't thank God for our meal, or our family, or our church or school! He said. " I didn't get to talk to God."
"Well, what do you think is the right thing to do?"
 "Let's pray, mommy." He said.
 And in the middle of the kitchen, with soapy hands and a damp shirt from washing dishes, I bent down and embraced my 3 year old and we prayed on the floor. He said his sweet childlike prayer, thanking God for everything he holds dear to his heart and I finished the prayer. After the prayer we looked and each other and grinned. Then, off he ran with a smile on his face. Sometimes I am too caught up with the busyness of life, my to-do list, chasing around kids, that I forget to stop, connect with God, take a deep breath, enjoy what the Lord has given me, and thank Him for what I hold dear to my heart. My child taught me a huge lesson tonight. Always have time to spend with the Lord. 
"And he said, 'Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 18:3

The Volunteer Firefighter Wife

There are nights when he is here after work for a few short minutes and the tones drop and out he runs. There are days when I hear the sirens and know he won't be home for dinner until late. Some days I eat with the kids, bathe them, brush teeth, and tuck them into bed alone. They ask where daddy is and I tell them he is on a fire, and we pray for his safety. Some nights I hear the keys in the lock at 3 am after a big call and a sleepy, exhausted husband climbs into bed next to me. I've celebrated holidays without my husband, we have celebrated birthdays without daddy, I've been left at restaurants and parties because of fire calls getting a ride home with friends. He has missed performances and sporting events, milestones in his kids lives. All to serve his community as a volunteer firefighter. My husband made an oath to serve his community. Volunteering his time to save lives and help others. I made an oath to serve also. To keep my home running and to support him after the calls. To keep this home a sanctuary and a place of peace for him to return to. Volunteer firefighters give their time to serve the community. They miss time with family to serve. There are nights where the dinner table is set and my husband does not sit to eat with us, he isn't home. He is on a fire call. There are nights where I pick up that plate and put it back in the cupboard and pray for him while doing so. Pray for our volunteer firefighters. But also remember the ones at home who love that firefighter.

My Parenting Style

My oldest boys are 5 and 3. Majority of their lives people have given their opinion about the way my husband and I parent them. If it's that we cosleep with them and have an "open door policy" with them, allowing them to come in to our bed any time of any night. If it's our "gentle parenting" style, with no physical punishment, no yelling or screaming, and only a rare occasion of putting our child in the corner, alone. We lead by example. We make mistakes and ask for forgiveness. One of our big rules in our house is, "if you tell the truth, you won't be in trouble". That doesn't mean their aren't consequences. If you break a window, you will do chores to pay for it, if you hit your brother you will stand with him until he feels better asking for his forgiveness. Children are children. They learn more from example than anything else. My parenting and discipline style is just that. I don't want to be yelled at or put down for every mistake I make, why would I think my children would? Long story short, we have had comments made to us throughout the years and it made me question if we were being to easy on our children. Then, this morning I was shown that I was doing it right, for my family. After a long day of my family volunteering until late into the night Saturday, I woke them early to head to church. No one whined or complained it was too early, or they were tired. We arrived at the church, and tables needed to be set up in the fellowship hall. No questions asked, my 3 and 5 year old started setting up chairs around the tables, with the other men of the church. The same morning, we were also greeters. The boys asked to be in charge of greeting and I agreed. They stood at the door and shook hands with adults and handing them church bulletins. After church, we treated them to lunch at their favorite diner and then headed home for a much needed nap. I'm not trying to tell this to pat myself on the back. I wanted to share it for 2 reasons: 1. Don't question your parenting. Everyone has their opinion. If you aren't abusing your child or hurting them and you are doing your best to parent them in the style you think is best, keep it up. Don't let anyone discourage you. 2. Children learn by example. If you yell, your children will yell. If you are constantly positive, they will most likely be positive, if your are judgmental of others, so will they. I take my parenting job seriously. Teaching by example. Showing my children to take care of others before themselves and today proved that I was doing something right. And all those negative comments can be thrown out the window. You are the best parent for your child. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Lead them. Be their example. They watch your every move and learn from it. Lead them in the right direction and watch them move mountains. You are amazing! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.