I knew it was a bad idea from the start. I mean, I felt it. Sometimes you feel these things. My Uh-Oh-Don’t-Do-It meter screamed Tilt, Tilt, Tilt. But I shushed it when I should have listened. I should have told my parents, No. No! I should have said, Thanks Mom and Dad, but no thank you. The offer is sweet, really. But no, we can’t join you. I didn’t though. And off we marched to our doom.

On Saturday my parents invited my little family along for lunch. We’d just stopped over at their house from a soccer game and they wanted to try out a new-ish authentic Mexican restaurant. I knew my kids were hungry; a little cranky. Not the time to try out a new restaurant. Nope, stick with what you know, you know? Go with the crowd favorite. Because if it didn’t pan out, shit was gonna go real south real quick. Like make way for an out and out derailment–the kind of derailment that inevitably has a messy end. That ultimately leads to a massive family of seven restaurant train wreck where onlooking fellow diners and grandparents alike feel helpless, but cannot look away. The horror.

Long story short, we Reinharts all derailed. We wrecked. Hard.

My kids did not like what was served. They were so hungry, but they are picky. They wouldn’t touch their food. Worse they were whiny and complain-y and LOUD. They fought with each other. At one point Oscar threw a tortilla chip and it hit a lady to the side of us. We walked over and said sorry. I took him out for a walk. But when we returned things were not better. Not better at all. No matter what Mitchell and I did or said there was just no finding the RESET BUTTON much less pressing it and starting fresh. Eventually we just gave up, tidied up what we could, and left my parents there to finish without us.

There in the minivan we held an immediate family meeting. I was going to find that RESET button, dammit, if I had to sift through all the broken pieces and wreckage from that meal. Mitchell and I took turns telling/yelling/expressing our frustration and disappointment and yes, anger, about each person’s choices at lunch. I empathized with them, because I know they’re young and they were hungry and tired. But rude is rude. And when it came down to it, that’s what their collective behavior was. It was rude. Later, after pb&j’s at home the bigger three wrote apology letters to Mimi and Grandaddy. As a family we talked about what is acceptable behavior and what isn’t. We all sat down and said what we’d do differently in the future. Listen. Follow directions. Be polite. Use manners. Do better.

Be better. Please don’t think I’m calling out just the kids. Mitchell and I had been at each other’s throats. Stress cycles through our home too. I’ve been known to fire off hateful texts. To stretch a bad mood to the breaking point. To be just as entrenched in the problem unable to lift my head up from the muck and see a solution. Eventually I crave resetting as my children do.

We finally found a way to decompress that afternoon. We calmed down. Finally, finally we found that freaking reset button. There under a mound of crappy emotions cleared away, there it was. We leaned on it together and flipped the switch. Team effort. Go Reinharts. RESET THIS FAMILY.

I’m not saying the rest of our weekend was perfect. Pffff perfect. Go away, perfect. We don’t do perfect. There were flare ups, but they weren’t as heated. The air didn’t feel as thick in our house (or the minivan for that matter.) We weren’t blowing up at each other over the teeniest of things.

Felt like the seven of us had each other’s backs again and that always feels good.

Until next time…..

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Yesterday after school my kids ran two doors down to play with our neighbors’ grandkids who come to visit a few times a week. At a point I went to check on them and chatted with the Grandmother. Are you sure you don’t mind if they all play down here? I know they’re a lot, I said.

Oh no, she assured me. Your kids are always so well-behaved. We love having them over.  

Seriously? I had to smile at that. And laugh? I laughed. Thanks, I told her. I’m glad you see them that way.

And I was! I was so glad she knew them like I mostly do. So glad for fresh starts after stale ends. For lifts after slumps. For flows after ebbs. For calms after storms. For grins after grimaces.

For repairing after the derailing and learning from that work.

Because we all need to reboot after so long–babies, kids, adults–all of us. Again and again and again.

When’s the last time you hit reset?

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I make no bones about it. For as much as I am able I’d like my family’s life together to be a happy one. Less anguish? Less agony? Less moaning and whining and wretchedness? Sign me and this crew up! Certainly there are things out of my control that cause some unhappiness. Certainly. I know that. You know that. And it seems the more I force things into my control, generally the more shit falls apart around here. Trying to control everything often results in me controlling little to nothing. If someone wants to lose it over lumpy sock seams when we’re already running late for school? I mean, sometimes you have to say screw it. We’re gonna be late. Let’s twist this sock seam into place until it’s tolerable for you to walk, m’kay? Good thing I wasn’t being all controlling and shoving you out the door where you’d ramp it up and completely break down on the sidewalk thus prolonging time and energy and mental space spent on a sock seam. Yes, sometimes monster mountains of unhappiness can be squashed while they’re yet sad, wee little molehills. I’ve learned.

I teach my children it’s good to relax. Eventually sock seams won’t matter as much. And that for the most part (not always, but often enough) we choose our own happiness. Or we don’t. Occasionally Mitchell and I wonder aloud, How are we? Are we happy? Are we doing this family life thing well?

So when I read a piece in Time recently, 6 Things the Happiest Families All Have In Common, I found myself nodding yes yes we do do that!  Maybe we’re on track after all. High five. Fist bump. Excessive touchdown celebration. Or whatever the hell the kids are doing these days.

Share family history, check.

Hold family meetings, heck yeah.

Do family dinner, well duh.

Actively try? For sure.

Negotiate? Lawd, all five of my kids could pass the Bar now. Even the baby. Put them in a court room! Objection. Over ruled. They win.

WE GOT THIS IN THE BAG, REINHARTS. Happy family indeed.

Except for one bulleted item. One we hadn’t done. One we’d never talked about. This one: Create a family mission statement. And that made me think, let’s do it. Because that’s smart. Businesses have mission statements. Businesses know companies need direction. Plus, it’s a great opportunity to remind us of why we as a family exist. What’s our purpose? You know? What is our purpose?

That night I brought a notebook to the dinner table. I explained “Mission Statement” as something that tells what are family is about. Like a rule? No, more like a goal. It’s something that describes us and what tells we aim to do. Beforehand I’d broken the task down into 4 questions I felt confident my kids and husband could answer. I jotted down as they spoke. Then I strung their responses together to make the full mission. Ours went something like this:

1. What does our family do together?

They said, “We go places. We go on road trips. We do art projects. We laugh. We play electronics. We play games like Hide and Seek and soccer and basketball. We have dance parties. We watch movies. We love each other.”

2. How do we want to feel when we’re together?

They said, “Good. Happy. Loved. Comfortable. Annoyed. (Annoyed was suggested by Leo, my oldest, who at that point was ready to get up from the table and go back to playing outside. I said annoyed might not make the final cut, but I’d still write it down. Boom. There it is. The follow through.)

3. What’s most important to us?

They said, “Each other. Sticking together.” (Nice and concise! Bravo, kids.)

4. In what do we believe?

They said, “God. Love. Kindness.” (Have to admit I was impressed with the rapid fire of those three. Then again, I know at that point they all just wanted to get up and go play, not just Leo. I even got a, “Mom, enough of this inspirational stuff.” Sigh, and fine. Go and go. Peace out all of you.)

Off the big ones went to enjoy daylight savings time in the driveway and I arranged our/their thoughts together like so:

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The Reinhart Family

In this family we PLAY. We LAUGH. We DANCE. We CREATE.

We BELIEVE in GOD and KINDNESS and GOODNESS. 

We FEEL HAPPY when we’re together. 

We LOVE ourselves. We LOVE each other. In this family we do LOVE. 

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Later I read it back to them and it was unanimously approved. Now to print it out big and display it near the table where we sat when it was forged. After all, it’s why we’re here.

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Do you have a family mission statement? Tell me about it. Or use the prompts above and generate one of your very own!

Enough of this inspirational stuff?

Never enough of this inspirational stuff.

My family is settled. We’re all here. Together as seven. We’re in our home now where we do nightly sit-down dinners. We talk gratitude. We do sports practices. We do kitchen dance parties. We do hide-and-seek. Games! Games! Games! And playing with the neighbor kids a few doors down. We do homework and homework and geezohpete more homework. We do fighting. God, do we ever do fighting. We do crying. (Of course we do!) We do yelling. I wish we did less yelling, but maybe we’ll always be loud. Mostly though we do love. Over and over again we do I love yous. I love you. And my mama heart is full up.

I am in my own self-professed Golden Age of mothering. I’ve got my 2nd and 1st graders. It’s fun to do the big-kid things with them. My Kindergartener, she’s a hoot. Full of innocence and says the wisest things as only Kindergarteners can. Then there’s my toddler/preschooler who lives in his imagination and ferrets through our drawers. Makes us pull out our hair with his glorious, ridiculous shenanigans we feign hating though we really love. And lastly I have my baby. My darling baby who puts her dimpled baby hand on my neck. My baby who nurses to sleep and squeals when she’s really delighted. I get to squish on her all day. She loves me squishing on her too. The range of ages and stages has put me squarely into a very sweet spot.

Golden ages are characterized by stability, harmony, prosperity. Is it any surprise I don’t want this time to end? Who would?! Let’s be golden forever! Can’t all of life be golden? I don’t want to say goodbye to this! All this goodness. I dreamed it to be like this for so long.

It reminds me of the final days of a pregnancy. You want it to be over. You don’t. You’re unsure what the future holds. You hold onto your belly a little bit longer……

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On the early May morning my labor with Mabel began, the house was dark and quiet. The house stayed dark and quiet for some time. We kept the kids home from school. They slept in. I looked out the big picture window in the living room. Our street was quiet too. I felt like the World itself put a hush on things and for a moment cupped my cheek in its palm. It felt tender. Like love. It was love.

When a contraction came I put my forehead against the cold leather couch. In that coolness I lost touch with that dark morning, the light, the house, the street, the world. Even the quiet was gone. Every few minutes a swell would wash over me–a contraction–and I slipped into that lovely calm space between all the things. Just me, the baby, my breath, and the rhythm.

Oh, that rhythm. Expand contract expand contract expand out in out in out in out in out out out out out OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT and in in in. And again. Letting the rhythm take me is what I like about labor. I don’t shy away from the work. I love the purpose in the pain.

There came a point that day when I found myself in our half bath, alone. The stronger morning light flooded the tiny room. I’d gone from the couch to laboring in my bed, and now here I was in this little bathroom. The force of my baby coming out kept me on my knees. It sounds strange and perhaps wrong to say I wanted to stay right there on my knees. But I did. That’s what I wanted. Just to stay there and stretch time.

Because I knew.

I knew the next time I got up, I’d be helped to the birth pool. I knew. I knew I’d have my baby soon after leaving that bathroom.

I knew.

I knew that was my moment to say goodbye to pregnancy.

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Our bodies have limitations. Time has limitations. Having it all, all the time is an illusion. When the choice to stay locked in a moment, a period, an age–no matter how golden–no longer serves your greater good, it is better to move. Be free. Move on. Say goodbye and move on because other golden people, things, places, opportunities–they await.

I may have said goodbye to pregnancy, but that day I also said hello to one Mabel Clementine.

I may eventually say goodbye to this particular busy golden age of mothering, bringing up my kids and babies, but I’ll be saying OH HI THERE! HELLO! to…the next beautiful part of my life.

I know it.

Maybe all of life can be golden. 

2014 was quite the year.

I had a baby. That brought our family count up to three boys and TWO girls. Holy mutha. Three boys and two girls. I have three sons and two daughters. Almost eight months it’s been and I still say these numbers under my breath. Dang. THREE and TWO. FIVE. That’s five. Three and two equal five.

My friend Shannon (owner of Mama’s Hip) and I received a grant from the Kentucky Foundation for Women for a photography project we named Motherhood Illuminated. It’s portraits. It’s interviews. It’s a platform for women to story share. It’s a work very near and dear to my heart and if you haven’t please check it out here. I can’t wait to see how this project unfolds over the course of this next year.

I wrote a post about Why I Won’t Stop Sharing Happy Pictures, which went a little viral. (Over 51.1K Facebook shares. Say wha? Shush up!) It’s a simple little post about sharing the good and feeling good and promoting good and doing good. And I still stand by all of that. Take pictures! Share them! Shit happens, but let’s celebrate anyways.

After a bit of maternity leave, my Little White Whale Photography business picked up again. Doing family portraiture is a real joy. I love connecting with people through this medium.

And hey, we also moved into our forever home. Sure it’s continual–a work in progress, but isn’t just about everything under the sun? I’m still learning to like what I see. To see what is instead of what isn’t. That is hard, hard, hard sometimes. Especially when omgomgomg I justwantonefinishedspacewithfurniture. Please and thank you.

Out of all of these goings on in 2014, I am most thankful for the people who were a part of it. And if you read this itty bitty corner of the blogosphere, well then, of course that includes you too. Mwuah. I’m serious. I know there are so very many ways to spend your time. Thanks for clicking over to read what’s here and I always hope it’s worth your while.

Now, let’s talk about 2015. 

It’s been a long stretch since I began a new year with such zip, such assurance. I feel rooted for the first time in long spell and I’d like to keep that up. So here are fifteen things I’m making it a point to do this year to stay centered. No frills, no teased up, hair-sprayed language. No fuss. I don’t want to complicate anything anymore.

1. Say (and think) nice, meaningful things to (and about) myself.

2. Say (and think) nice, meaningful things to (and about) other people.

3. Give those I love my attention.

6. Give those I love their space.

7. Yoga more, yell less.

8. Notice good.

9. Expect good.

10. Really listen.

11. Be kind.

12. Feel feelings.

13. Stand still.

14. Connect the dots.

15. Move on (dance even!) when it’s time.

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Cheers to 2015 and all the happiness that awaits you.