It’s too easy to forget that good people still exist in this world, especially with all of the scary things we see, read and hear in real life and through news.

But they do. They’re everywhere. They’re as ubiquitous as everything that scares us.

I was reminded of this two days ago when I took my daughters to the zoo. My oldest wanted to go on the carousel. I didn’t think my struggling to keep both kids safe and happy was obvious, but I was—struggling.

It was the baby’s first time, and we chose to initially just try sitting on the peacock-shaped bench. My oldest thought the peacock was cool, but she was skeptical, especially as she saw the other kids swarm to their own wildly-colored animal seats, and not onto benches with their mom and baby sister.

The baby wouldn’t sit, and generally wasn’t having it at all, until the ride started, and her fine tousle of duckling hair blew gently in the carousel’s breeze.

After, the baby adamantly did not want to go back on, but my oldest—used to going on twice when we hit up this favorite treat at the zoo—wanted to go again. So I did a parent-override on the one child, and we bought two more wooden tokens at the little adjoining window.

It was during this second time—trying to figure out how to jostle the baby onto something to keep her still long enough for these few minutes we’d be on the ride, while jointly appeasing my oldest, and trying to decide whether to help my oldest onto an animal, or park us all once again on that peacock bench—that I was wrestling physically with the kids and also with what to do (before I started to sweat and my girls guessed that this was anything less than awesome, Mommy-and-me fun)—when this saint of a woman with pinkish-red spiked hair and a zoo uniform swooped in.

She’s a woman that we see basically every time we visit, which is often, even if she isn’t always there at the carousel. She asked me if my oldest would let her stand by her on her animal of choice. My social-butterfly, people-loving oldest child was ecstatic for our new friend—and, to me, this woman’s platinum blond highlights could not have made for a shinier halo.

I thanked her several times, as I stood in between my two girls, both on their own wildly-colored animals, for the very first time. I stood holding onto the baby, and our new friend was on the other side of my oldest. My oldest daughter had a smile that lit up my heart—one that I needed to see on her little-girl face after a difficult week.

The baby still didn’t like it. I had to snuggle right up next to her and repeatedly remind her that Mommy was right here, and I sang “up and down, up and down” to her to help her focus on my tightly-wrapped arms, and the simplicity of this brand-new sensation (of being on a carousel).

The woman whispered to me over my oldest’s head, “She’s beautiful,” and she had a smile of natural delight on her own face—one that nearly matched my daughter’s.

We got off, and I realized I couldn’t have done that—we could not possibly have had this same memory-created experience—without her help. I told her that it was the baby’s first time ever, and I thanked her from my heart. I told her that we had come that day pretty much to ride the carousel and then go home and that, because of her and her kindness, it had been magical.

I felt so filled with love—love for my girls, tenderness at seeing my bold, naturally aggressive baby frightened at something, and for my “big” girl’s little-girl excitement—and with love for this virtual stranger.

We went back to our stroller, stuffed with my diaper bag, and, apparently not enough snacks—which is why we were there for just this one special thing—because my oldest was hungry and wanted to go home to eat something familiar.

So we’re collecting our stuff, and beginning to walk away, and another little girl asked her mother, who then turned to me and asked, “Is it okay if we share our Goldfish crackers with your girls?”

I was inside of my own private mother-with-young-kids world—attempting to push my car-sized stroller, and watch my two daughters, as I also attempted to have them walk next to me (cue semi-insane laughter)—and I hadn’t been paying attention. I look up after this little girl’s mother has to repeat her question. Her daughter is holding a gigantic bag of Goldfish crackers, and with my gratitude and permission, her tiny fist held out two handfuls of yellow fish—one for my joyful oldest and one for the still-reluctantly happy baby.

We thanked them, and this got the baby to climb back into her stroller seat, and my oldest then sat down on the little bench on the back for bigger kids, and I pushed them as they munched on their crackers, and we headed out of the zoo.

These two—what felt like miraculous—acts of simple kindness made me feel like I was floating as we walked back through the parking lot to my silver Jetta.

I was reminded that there is kindness out there waiting for us, and we have only to gift it to one another.

The post In One Day Two Random Acts of Kindness Reminded Me That Good People Still Exist. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

In it, she was laughing hysterically at something my grandfather had said. I noticed the sparkle in her eyes, and her invisible giggle. I didn’t notice if it appropriately captured her beauty, or if it was a flattering shot of her. Her joy in that moment with someone she loved was all that needed to be witnessed.

I think about the pictures of me that my own kids will fall in love with. They surely won’t care if I look thin enough in them, or if my nose looked big. They probably won’t be able to tell if I’m 5 or 10 pounds heavier in one.

Instead, they’ll look for my genuine smile—the mile-wide kind that initiates from crinkling eyes. They might look for pictures of me gazing adoringly at their dad. They likely won’t glance twice at my thighs.

Women are taught that we should generally look picturesque, especially in photographs that we share with others. (One of my absolute favorite memes is one with a commercial-worthy picture of a hamburger—fluffy bun and nice, thick, colorful layers—and a “real” hamburger—all smooshed and flat and ready to plow into—with the respective words: “A selfie you post” and “A picture someone tags you in.”Bwahahahaha!)

Yet, it’s true. I read an article recently about a celebrity that freely admits to using multiple filters and techniques to make her Instagram shots as “perfect” as they can be, and she doesn’t care if they represent her real life. And that’s fine, but, for younger girls—like mine—growing up only with these social-media training-wheels—where they’re on Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, Tumblr, etc—I can’t help but wonder if they’ll know how beautiful they are, without filters, or thigh gaps, or flawless complexions?

Sometimes I think back to my little group of best girlfriends that I loved and grew up with in high school. I imagine what we would have been like, had our group selfies not been taken on cameras that needed a week to develop the film.

There was always one of us with our eyes shut, or an almost grotesque expression captured at that awkward moment of shifting from talking into laughing. These types of pictures are special, and nearly dinosaur-like, because they are genuine candids.

My favorite pictures of my little girls are when I accidentally take one of them laughing together in between the “say cheese!” photographs I was trying for. My favorite ones of myself, however, are ones where I look my best. I’m terribly hypocritical.

Recently, I decided to share this picture of me with my two girls.

My baby had fallen asleep, which is rare—if she naps, it’s in her crib, and not in my arms. My oldest cuddled up next to me—another rarity, as she’s not much of a “sitter” in general, much less on the couch—neither am I really. But here I was with two of the most important people in the world snuggled around me, and my phone just happened to be right there on the edge of the couch.

I took a picture.

My daughter put her thumb up, and it was the silliest, cutest picture ever. It wasn’t the most wonderful portrait of me, but I thought about that picture of my grandparents on my dad’s plaid 70s-era sofa, laughing, and looking happy, and I made a firm decision not to care.

I’m not suggesting that we stop admiring well-thought-out beauty, or that we all ban filters on Instagram. I’m not even suggesting that this is a completely unique experience, since my husband recently pointed out that we’re almost regressing to paintings—the epitome of a properly developed visual portrayal.

I am offering that we remember what a truly great photograph captures—emotion.

Happiness.

Love.

A moment in time that was special enough to want to hold onto, and re-discover later.

My kids might not be going through old shoe boxes looking at Polaroids, but I hope that they take the time to appreciate all of these moments of their lives and mine that I try to freeze-frame for them. I hope, more than anything, that they notice what matters.

The post My Kids Won’t Notice My Thigh Gap in Photographs, but They’ll Notice This. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

In retrospect, I’ve definitely been a trendy exerciser.

I’ve done step, I’ve run, I love Pilates, hiking, weight lifting and various forms of cardio. I’m both a certified Spinning and yoga instructor.

One of the main reasons that I’ve tried these different forms of working out is that I sincerely love to exercise. I’m one of those people that just truly enjoys moving my body, sweating, and the glowing after-effects of endorphins.

But now I’m a mom. More, my kids are 5 and 1. In other words, exercise used to be something that I did nearly every day, and it was either planned around work, or securely fit into my schedule as that special time just for myself—something I loved doing, and something that relieved stress. As a mother, however, fitness is something I have to hold on to and work to make time for, rather than something that’s a relatively easy add-on to an already full day.

My husband and I—both avid exercise enthusiasts—can attest to the reality that parenting young kids means that workouts are basically always too short, and never quite as frequent as we would prefer. This said, it is a priority in my life, kids or no kids.

Following are my go-to tips that help ensure I exercise almost every day (even though I’m usually surrounded by two adorable tiny workout companions).

1. Let go of time limits.

It’s wonderful to have goals—such as working out for an hour—but some is always better than none.

My biggest piece of practical advice is to completely let go of idealistic time frames, and simply aim to move—in some way, every day, whether it’s dancing in the kitchen while making dinner, or to an online Pilates podcast found YouTube (hint, hint).

2. “Do it for 10 minutes” philosophy.

This extraordinarily basic philosophy works well. When I don’t want to work out, but I know that I’ll feel better if I do, I subscribe to this concept I made up years ago—I tell myself I’ll exercise for only 10 minutes, and then I can stop if I’m still not in the mood.

In probably 20 years of doing this, I think I’ve stopped twice. Because once I surpass that initial hurdle of just doing it, I’ve wanted to continue for at least another 10 or 20 minutes, or more.

3. Try new things.

This seems like common sense, but it’s easy to get into a routine. It’s ideal, really, to fall into a space in life where exercise is regular and predictable. But sometimes routine can mean rut.

Trying a new form of exercise can get us out of ruts, both mentally and physically. It’s good to change it up, at least every now and then.

4. Buy home equipment.

I have been a gym rat and a yoga studio regular, but my absolute preference is to exercise at home. There is no excuse for missing a workout that happens in my living room.

Purchase a yoga mat, or a set of dumbbells—anything!—and then leave them out in the middle of the living room. Make sure you have to trip over them to turn on the lamp.

This has worked doubly well for me, because I, for example, leave three yoga mats next to my couch—one for me and one for each of my kids. Often, it’s my girls that get out the mats—and how do I not move a little bit when that happens?

5. Never give up.

I’ve had two periods of my life when I’ve been unable to workout due to illness, and my husband, when I felt frustrated, would ask me the same question: “You’re in it for the long haul, aren’t you?”

Yes—yes, I am.

I move my body because it feels good. I take care of myself so that I can enjoy my life and health in other ways. I exercise for the sheer pleasure of it, and, equally, because I want to be well for as long as I’m able.

Life brings many variables—ones which we are not in charge of; ones that can leave us feeling helpless. (The best laid plans.) We are in charge of how we treat our bodies, though, and this reality has been empowering to me when I felt out of control in other areas of my life.

What’s one way that you stay motivated to exercise? Share below in comments!

The post 5 Mom-Backed Tips on How to Squeeze Exercise into Every Single Day first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

“In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”

People do have the ability to affect our feelings, but as much as I sometimes don’t want to admit it, only we are in charge of our reactions.

One of the hardest things for me as a person, for a long time, has been not getting stuck on how I felt in an uncomfortable moment of interaction with another. I have a great memory and a sensitive heart, and I occasionally have to actively move forward from not repeating words that hurt me or pissed me off. I have to actively move forward from these emotions, reverberated through my body.

Interactions with others are a requirement of being a human being. We cannot live on Earth and be surrounded only by people that we easily get along with.  This said, there is merit in having to spend time with difficult people—within reason, of course—it’s true we can learn more about ourselves, and sometimes we might find compassion where we originally couldn’t hope for it.

Still, there are a few things I do to move past such stale emotions; helpful rituals I find myself coming back to in order to process something difficult, and then go on.

1. Yoga.

I practiced yoga the other day after feeling hung up on a conversation. This combination of deep, steady, rhythmic breathing, with moving and stretching and yawning my body open—while also strengthening—reminds me that I’m supple and pliable. It’s reinvigorating to be reminded of how capable I am of bending, and how strong I am when I was initially feeling weak.

While I might not leave my yoga mat a perfectly different human being than I was when I hopped on, I am absolutely better equipped to deal with life, and to move forward one breath at a time.

2. I workout.

Yoga practice is great, but I’m not only a yoga practitioner. Nope, I’m a weight lifter, a HIIT cardio lover, and, actually, I’m certified as a Spinning instructor, too. I digress. My point is that, for me, working the shit out of my body—sweating profusely, exercising my muscles, and getting so immersed inside of my body that my brain has no time to churn unnecessarily—is one of my favorite go-to’s for getting past old crap.

3. I talk about it.

There’s a difference between talking a wound into the ground and dwelling on it—and treating our spouse like an unpaid therapist—and talking about a feeling in order to get in touch with it and then leave it in the past. (And, by all means, do see a licensed therapist if need be.)

4. Writing.

This is actually not related to blogging or publishing at all. Often a difficult relationship is the last thing we should write about and then publish on—or, at least, we need to get some space so that we’re making sure it’s helpful and not just emotional vomit purged out into the world without purpose. Regardless, journaling and writing about an event we’re having trouble letting go of has definitely helped me figure out why exactly I’m so hurt and crippled—and then I’m more able to care for my emotions without that aforementioned wallowing.

5. Spending time with those I love.

And, at the end of the day, we deal with people in our lives outside of the people that we are able to choose, and who we enjoy spending time with. Taking one sincere look at my children, and smiling into their eyes, and holding them, and cuddling my husband, and laughing with him over a silly movie after the kids have gone to bed—these types of simple, positive experiences are always reminders of who and what matter in my life.

The post 5 Ways to Let Go Gracefully. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

There are moments when I want to run away from home.

Not really and truly—I mean, I would never actually leave—but there are moments of motherhood that make me want to just flee and escape.

There is no escaping motherhood—but I’m thankful for this. Once a woman becomes a mom, her children are cocooned and nestled into even the deepest nooks of her heart, making a real “day off” impossible. Yet staying present through every single second of being a mom would drive me insane.

I practice yoga and genuinely work hard to stay right here, even during these difficult spaces that I want to walk away from, not breathe into.

It’s easy to tell a mom to appreciate every single second, or this too shall pass, or it’s only a phase, or you’ll look back one day and miss it, or anything else pretty and bow-tied-up neat. It’s easy to say such things from the vantage point of years, older children, no children, grandchildren and any other place where people live besides Mommyland with small kids.

One of the hardest parts of motherhood for me is that I can’t spend a day lounging around when I randomly crave it, and that laziness in general no longer exists the way that it used to before having children. While I sincerely wouldn’t want my life—or my active kids—to be any other way, the constant motion of it all can be depleting and taxing for my body, and for my emotions as well, to not have enough down time.

In order to escape without actually walking away from my young children who need me—and who I need in a different, less tangible way—I do these things.

1. Write.

Writing, for me, is my best and safest escape. I can be anyone, go anywhere, and do anything through my words and ideas. Writing doesn’t have to be published to be worthwhile either. Journaling and creative writing for the sheer pleasure of it are something anyone and everyone should try.

2. Read.

To be fair, I can’t sit down and consume novels the way that I once did, when I wasn’t constantly ready to catch a child about to run towards an electrical chord, or I didn’t have tiny people constantly hovering around me saying, “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy” the instant I try to do “simple” things, like make a phone call or go to the bathroom.

However, taking a few minutes to read an article or a page from a book, that might take me weeks—or, ahem, months—to finish, makes me feel more ready to get back into the game of my daily life.

3. Exercise.

This is a personal favorite. Breaking out a 10-minute ab workout or HIIT routine works nearly every time. Afterward, I’m rejuvenated physically, mentally and emotionally—and quickly. Additionally, my kids are growing to enjoy doing this with me. I seriously stop, drop and workout at a random time of the day when I’m about to lose my temper, and I’m always, always grateful I did.

4. Text a friend.

Sometimes just letting someone who loves me, but can’t physically share my space with me, know that I’m having a rough day helps. A return message of love or support can be enough to make me feel heard—and it’s enough to help me revamp my attitude.

5. Get out of the house.

With little kids, leaving the house is a grand ordeal. Gone are those times when I just dashed to the store with my wallet. Nope, now I need diapers, for the poop the baby will probably take the second that we’ve left our driveway, or water in case they have samples at the grocery store and start coughing when a cracker piece gets stuck in their throats—these are honestly the kinds of things that moms need to be prepared for.

Regardless, a change of scenery—even just a quick drive down a pretty road near my house—can be enough for me to regroup.

Because it’s not fair to ask mothers to always be present—to meditate and appreciate every instant of parenthood—it’s not fair because it’s not good advice.

Instead, healthy forms of escape are useful so that we can authentically appreciate our lives most of the time. More, by becoming attuned to when we need a break, and finding an enriching way to take one, we become less likely to escape in ways that can be damaging to ourselves and to our valued relationships, like those we share with our children.

What’s one, positive way that you take a mental vacation or mini break? I’d love to start a conversation in comments.

The post There Are No Days off from Motherhood, but There Are These 5 Ways to Escape. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I’m most assuredly not a perfect mom, but I don’t pretend to be either. 

So then why am I so upset when I mess up?

I shared this on Facebook yesterday:

I’m only sharing this today to make any other mama out there feel like she’s doing well, in comparison to my huge mom-fail today.

G [my 5-year-old] and I were standing out at the bus stop (end of our driveway) and I’m realizing how much time is going by. I try the transportation line and leave a message. I try back when it’s five minutes left until school starts. I get an operator who tells me school for our district is closed. I tell T [my husband], who’s now been planted in front of the front door with G, so we don’t miss the bus while I’m finding my phone and calling. I start crying and ask him to take the kids to a different room, as I cry and search the calendar, and clearly see marked “teacher in-service.” Total. Mom. Fail.

Sometimes we need to remind ourselves—and each other—we’re doing our best, and that our best is good enough.

We are good enough.

The post A Reminder to Moms: We’re Doing a Great Job. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Perhaps, especially if you know me and my affinity for moving my body, you might have expected a different sort of list than what follows.

Instead, what follows are a few of my go-to practices for instant strength—just maybe a different kind of strength than was anticipated.

1. Soften.

I had an internal revelation recently, after a day of dealing with a scoliosis flare up.

My not-perfectly-straight spine has been a consistent teaching tool for me in my life, that a tight muscle is not a strong muscle, and that we can only be our strongest when we let go and find ease and suppleness to match.

A muscle can not work to its capacity if it’s stuck in a state of contraction, like my back was this past week. Only after the muscle lets down, rests, and releases can we work and exercise it for its maximum ability for strength. My heart feels like this too.

On a parallel level of analogy, I had this “aha” moment, that I am most able to love both myself and others if I remember to not harden and contract inwardly, even when life hurts. Finding this range of motion within myself, to continue extending kindness, warmth and generosity, especially when it feels like the world isn’t ubiquitously giving it back, takes practice, but it’s worth it.

2. Ask for help.

When my back continued to become problematic, I knew that I would need some help with my children so that I could schedule with my massage therapist. I asked my husband, the guy with the seriously full work schedule, to help me. He did. It wasn’t easy for him, and I’ll admit to feeling guilty for having to ask him to take time away from work in the middle of a Monday, that I know he really didn’t have—but I needed help, and I needed him.

I felt so much better, on so many levels, after asking for—and receiving—help.

3. Give.

Time and time again, when I feel depleted emotionally and physically, I do what often seems counter-intuitive: I give.

This is not the same as over-extending ourselves. However, gifting to those around me, without expectations of getting something in return, repeatedly reminds me of how much I really do have to offer.

Additionally, giving to others provides me, the giver, with energy that I didn’t even know I had—I show myself, through offering my love and capabilities, that I have so much more to give than I was acknowledging.

Because, ultimately, I’m strongest when I’m resilient, when I tap into my endurance, and when I remain open and ready for more tests to both.

The post 3 Exercises for Instant Strength. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

My two children getting sick was actually good for me.

I mean, no one wants their kids to not feel well. Still, I had been in a mental and emotional rut in the weeks prior, and it took a week of being stuck at home in a sick house for me to fall back in love with my life.

Sometimes, we need to fall back in love with ourselves, and with our life as it is, right now.

While there is merit to looking ahead, to planning, and to dog-earing goals, hopes and possibilities, it’s equally important to pause and appreciate this ground that we stand on, right here and now.

Life isn’t always wonderful—I had some genuine stressors and reasons that I had been irritable and cranky this previous month. That said, this week was a solid reminder to me that our mood is often a choice—not always, but often. (And honoring unwelcome emotions and thoughts is also honoring being genuine and authentic, but wallowing is rarely positive.)

These following tips might not pay my bills, or babysit my kids for a night out with my husband, or bring world peace, but these habits, put into daily practice, will help me find more joy in today.

1. Stop overthinking.

I overthink a lot. (A lot, a lot.) That said, I believe in doing.

In other words, sometimes we need to stop thinking and take action. Nothing is more of a reminder of this than cleaning up puke or nursing sick children back to health.

So when my sister texted me yesterday that she hadn’t slept well and was also sick and just feeling not so wonderful, I texted back something along the lines of, “Stop overthinking and put on sexy boots. It’s hard to feel like shit in sexy boots.”

Boom. Moving on.

2. Give.

The main reason I finally got my head out of my own rear this past week was because, in giving to my husband and daughters as they didn’t feel their best, I was reminded of how much I, frankly, have to give.

I am a well of love and of capability. I needed to give, and be of service, to my family in order for me to reconnect with my energy that had been lacking and the happiness that is already right here in my living room.

3. Find gratitude.

While cleaning up vomit and worrying about a high fever certainly isn’t fun, cuddling two beautiful girls and watching the just-released Inside Out is pretty spectacular. Additionally, I felt thankful for our general health that makes these types of passing illnesses something kind of awful.

In short, there is nearly always something to be grateful for, and finding it, and giving a brief, silent moment of thanks for it, can be hugely beneficial.

4. Stop giving fucks away.

My two kids getting sick reminded me powerfully of what matters in life. It’s unfortunately easy to forget what matters.

What matters is not social media popularity. It’s not the size we wear. It’s not a new pair of jeans. What matters is, for me, simple: the two tiny bodies I was snuggling on the sofa and the larger one I kissed goodnight.

What matters, too, is my own self-care.

Unplugging almost completely from social media and my phone this week to be with my family made me internally ponder this question more than once: “If Facebook, social media and the internet in general suddenly ceased to exist, how would this impact my life?”

If no one was looking at a picture of the food we ate, or keeping in touch via comments on a picture of my kid, who would I, for example, still talk to, in “real” time?

We spent a lot of the early part of our week outside. The weather was unseasonably beautiful and warm, and I, in general, rarely take my phone with me when I’m playing with my kids, because the sky is always more beautiful when I look at it without a phone in the way. More, when I do stop to take pictures of my girls, the images never capture their beauty or the overall specialness of the moment as it happened. So I stopped trying.

Most of us give away far too many brain cells—and opportunities for happiness—wondering what other people think, or how we can be “better,” or focusing on what we’re lacking rather than what we already have. Checking back in with what—and who—is truly important in my life, I find again and again, makes all the difference in the world; in my world.

So, no, spending a week with sick kids didn’t make money grow on the tree in my backyard. It didn’t babysit my kids so I could write or call my best friend. It didn’t give my husband another day off so he could be home with us. But it did remind me where my life is already wonderful. I hope that next week, when my little world is healthier, that I use these tiny life practices to infuse more joy into my every, ordinary day.

The post 4 Tiny Habits That Lead to Big Happiness. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Life with two children under the age of five has both its unbelievable rewards and, frankly, its insanity.

Last night, I watched my two girls play in their Halloween costumes and I had a few realizations that struck me as profound yet simple. Often, I find it’s these little types of “aha” moments that help me enjoy my life most—if I only embrace them as larger lessons.

1. Stop creating unnecessary pressure with ideals.

I was at my 5-year-old’s fall party and I was talking to another parent about my 1-year-old’s Velcro shoes. He said that they never bought the lace-up kind, even though they are the preferred standard, because it was so much easier for them as parents. In our conversation, I happened to mention that what saves our sanity ultimately is good for our kids too.

Another example of this came to me via my daughter’s Halloween costume.

She told me adamantly that she wanted to be a dinosaur way back in September. After perusing the costume selection and deeming most ugly, hot and uncomfortable, we chose to special order a dinosaur hoodie. Here we are a week before the costume fun begins, and I’m afraid it won’t arrive on time. I buy her another costume and hide it, even from my husband (which is big, since I invented the play-by-play). The hoodie did arrive, and she enthusiastically wore it to all of her special activities, but I gave her this second dinosaur outfit while we’re sitting around the dining table eating candy on Halloween night.

Guess which costume she wanted to put on today? Not the hoodie.

2. Stop caring what other people think.

To be fair, this is a lesson we all “know” we should be doing, but actually putting it into practice is not easy. (And one of my least favorite things is writers telling people what we “should” be doing, without actually helping to put this sage wisdom into something accessible in real life.)

However, I actually thank my yoga practice for helping me with this.

Anyone who’s ever been to a yoga class knows that it can be intimidating, regardless of skill level. That said, everyone who has ever really paid attention to what’s going on has come to the conclusion that worrying about what other people think of us on our mats is a total waste of brain space, because we are all concentrating on ourselves, on our own mats, and not on the other people present.

Taking this back over to my daughter’s fall party at school last week.

The kids were doing a silly dance, and the teacher said she was happy to see some of the other parents joining in. I looked around and realized most parents were standing there, while the mom next to me and myself were the only ones sticking our tongues out, and our butts in the air, and our knees together, and singing like this, like the song hilariously dictated. We shrugged at each other and she whispered, “We have this CD.”

The thing is, I hadn’t even realized I was singing and dancing along. Instead, I was just having fun at my daughter’s party. And that’s the key: when we stop thinking about what we look like, or thinking we have to be cool, we become more available to enjoy our lives.

3. There is always more love.

Every day as a stay-at-home mom, I feel challenged to fulfill my needs, my children’s needs and the needs of my relationship with my husband.

There are only so many hours in a day, and I only have so many arms, but one thing I’ve definitely been shown, again and again, is that there is always enough love.

I personally was never concerned with loving a second child as much as my first because, growing up an identical twin, I knew that both my sister and I were loved. Also, I’ve been with my partner for over 21 years. I love him so much, and I love our kids, and I love my twin, etc. In other words, there is always enough love to go around.

And my kids have taught me so many ways to enjoy life, not just these three. I could write forever on the joys of my children, even if I could also thank them for reminding me that it’ll be a long, long time until I sleep in again with the “fall back” time change.

What are the most rewarding lessons your kids have taught you? Leave them below in the comments.

The post 3 Ways My Kids Remind Me to Enjoy Life. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I’ll admit that sometimes I feel frustrated at trying so hard at a job that seemingly has very little thanks returned.

Yesterday my baby turned one and there are no pictures of me from that day. Literally none. Because I was the one taking the many beautiful photographs of my daughters and husband having birthday cake for breakfast (our tradition), or picking apples at the orchard, or opening the gifts I’d lovingly bought for her.

The thought crossed my mind as we prepared for bed that there were no images of me, the woman who had given birth to this tiny-but-loud miracle of a girl, from the day we celebrated her arrival. I felt annoyed.

This morning, we woke up and I put on the pajama shirt that my family had given me yesterday as a gift. It appropriately says “prime coffee time” and was a physical token of thanks from my family to me in honor of our child’s first birthday.

So I put on my new nightshirt and, not ironically, make myself a coffee, and I uncover that my thoughts—as I roll through this morning routine—again catch on my irritation at having no pictures with me in them. (As I’ve shared previously, this is why I started taking selfies with my kids.)

And this morning begins another special day. In these foggy morning after-effects of a first birthday, we are cozy and preparing for a new day of wonderful “firsts”—later this evening we are going to the girls’ first wedding.

I’m gearing up for another day that might be challenging for me as “mom,” but is worth it because of my daughters’ childish excitement and experiences. More, I’m noticing how my own attitude—of either gratitude or frustration—colors and shapes everything we do.

The tone of my voice and the way I treat my husband, in particular, are directly connected to the mood I choose to wear.

Personally, I find it important for both myself, and for what I teach my children, to be honest in honoring my emotions, even these uglier ones. Regardless, owning a feeling and then choosing either to unnecessarily wallow in it or move forward from it is a personal choice.

I sit writing this in a Minnie Mouse party hat.

As “mom,” I, clearly, wear many hats.

I wear a “wife” hat, a “yoga teacher” hat, a “writer” hat and, most importantly, a “mother” one. I chose to wear all of these hats and a variety of others, and this knowledge is important, but it doesn’t make some days easier.

Being a mother is difficult and not made simpler by the reality that I am a woman and an individual outside of and underneath this one, favorite role.

So I choose to expose my disappointment at something as simple and profound as not having a single photograph of me and my baby on her first birthday—but then I choose to expose, too, that I didn’t ask for one to be taken of us with the voice that I easily could have used.

I didn’t ask for a picture and happily took the gorgeous collection we have because I was enjoying myself, and I was appreciating watching my girls with their dad. It wasn’t until later that I really noticed how I wasn’t in any of them. Pictures are important, but children, even more than lasting imprints on paper, need parents to be present; imprinting memories on hearts.

I sit here in this party hat, drinking coffee and wearing my new “prime coffee time” shirt. While this gift is meaningful beyond easy measure, I don’t typically expect “thank you’s” for my mother hat-wearing job. Apart from kisses and cuddles and healthy, happy children, expecting regular, verbal, actual “thank you’s” is a bit outside of reality and slightly self-centered. Instead, I look for the thanks where and how it’s offered, naturally.

I find it in how my husband plays with the girls so I can write in a party hat.

I find it, also, in how my oldest daughter wants to wear jewelry and clothing that are the same as mine.

I see it obviously in the way the baby grabs my cheeks in her small, strong hands, kissing me directly on the lips with her own.

I am grateful. I’m grateful to discover that these coveted “thank you’s” have been there all along, and I have only to reach out and meet them with my own indebted heart.

The post Finding Gratitude in a Thankless Job. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.