You never know the last.

One day you don’t get to pick the hair bows or the hair styles anymore. Not the coordinated outfits or the wardrobe.

Before you blink, the choice becomes theirs.

Eventually you’re folding laundry and the loads get heavier and the little clothes get less little. Just like that mental load gets heavier.

And like those long snuggles becomes short ones, and eventually – as they often do – become history.

Then everyone grows and leaves home. And soon enough, you’re rediscovering new, lighter loads of laundry.

You probably won’t even recognize your daughter through her ever-evolving hair colors and her not-trendy-to-you style.

Even when we know it’s coming, we don’t know for sure when the last time will be.

The last time you see their natural hair. The last time you’ll coordinate the perfect oufit or event. The last time they ask your permission. Or, that last load of laundry.

But one of those times, it will be.

One day, it gets less about you and what you can do for them. It will become more about them and what they can do without you. About who they can be on their own.

You’ll watch them fail and try again. You’ll watch them grow into the complex people they are becoming. You’ll see really bad outfit choices, trends and more that the kid probably won’t ever come back from.

But it won’t be your choice.

As mothers we lead them to their choices so that we can let them make it, even when we don’t want to.

All we can do is hope that through all the choices they’re bound to make – they always choose you.

So, take a lot of pictures, these outfit choices should be booked. Don’t sweat the bows, let them be who they’re going to be.

Don’t lose it in the laundry, it won’t be like this for long. Because even when you think you know it’s coming, you never really know when that last time will be.

-Wallflower Writing

Lonely Mom of Only Child

Dear Lonely Mom of One,

I see you working twice as hard to keep your child’s busy mind occupied and challenged. Your partner works full time, so you take the weight of it all, not having nearby family or another child to help with the teaching or playing.

I see you take long strolls down the aisle at Target to help pass the hours. Often, you find long ways there and leave early just to get out of the house. You would do anything to move the time along until you don’t have to do it alone anymore.

I see you, still new to this game. Some of the challenge is just the practical new mom difficulty like being inexperienced and young. It’s the internal chaos that you’re doing this with unsplit time. Some of the heartache is that you can’t or won’t have the chance to raise a baby a second time, so you’ll never really be experienced in any age of raising a child.

So, you feel immense pressure to do it perfectly this time.

I see your child struggle to reach a compromise or diffuse a situation. Their only regular practice is with you. Just you and baby every day, all day. You count their frustrations when they don’t know how to share their toys, their feelings, or, God forbid, their mama. The number is infinite.

I share your fear that our children won’t be prepared for the realness of emotions and the challenges of a social setting; they haven’t had much firsthand practice. For a lot of us, our first crash course in social dynamics comes from growing up with siblings. It also seems that some of our strongest and most reliable techniques as parents come from refereeing those experiences.

I see you when you’re leaving the park with your screaming toddler, who doesn’t want to go because there is “no one to play with at home.” You walk to the car anyway with a stiff-legged doppelganger in tow and dodge judging gazes of moms who can afford a minute to stare while their children play together.

You scroll through photos of your friends’ children running together in the backyard. They don’t even have to leave the house to play. I know you wish your child could laugh happily with a built-in best friend, too. You work double time, so you can give them that on top of being their mom.

I see your puzzled looks when your kid asks you about siblings, wondering, “Why don’t I have one, Mommy?” I watch you grow a little smaller, maybe wishing they could have that, too, whether in another season, or for some of you, maybe a different lifetime.

A three-hour round trip to your kid’s closest cousin’s birthday party gives you a lot of time to think about the people your kids are growing up without.

You shrink when people say, “They’re ready for a sibling” or “Just wait until there’s two of them! That’s when it gets hard.” They may not even consider what your timeline entails or what stands in your way. I get just a little smaller too, sister.

I see you slink down when hard working moms of multiple children receive your feelings as insignificant. You have “just” one child, and you “just” can’t hang. So, you begin to feel that way: like you’re not significant. It can feel like the magnitude of your child’s life and the magnitude of yours is lessened because there is “just” one.

But, how you feel matters. You are not less. Almost every mom started with just one.

Some day, your child may not be your only, but this season they are. In this season, there is less laundry and fewer dirty dishes. There is much more time to cut the grapes in half and more one-on-one cuddles.

More quality time together will be had, discovering the nuances of this perfect person you created. In this version of your story, your child gets 100% of you, 100% of the time. And you get all of them, too. As moms, we get to learn more about ourselves throughout motherhood, and the resilience that we come with. In this chapter, there is more physical time and space.

Sure, we have to leave the house a lot more than if our children had built-in-buddies, but we get to go on adventures, enjoy live music, and have on-going momentum to leave or get outside…even when it’s easier to stay.

We can pull up to an event, and it only takes just one second to get out of the car and into the excitement. There’s just one car seat and that takes just one moment. There is nobody else to wait for, and we don’t have to slow down.

You don’t  spend as much money on yummy treats or spend twice as much at Christmas time. There’s more routine, and with that, more consistent family traditions and scheduling.  You only have to keep your eyes on one human in the chaos of life, and you can bet, it’s all eyes on them. All the time. 

When you’re caught in defense of raising “just” one child, just know that they won’t be a child for long. As you teach them and grow with them through these first short years, you’ll learn that these first short years are “just” a season.

To the lonely mother of an only child, I’m in your corner. I know it’s just as hard for you as it is, and was, for every mom. Some day, this unsplit time becomes divided with independence, other children, and life’s experiences, and as parents, we’ll wish we could get it back. It won’t be like this for long.

I can hear you, and I promise, I can definitely see you.

Love, a Happy Mom of One

Thoughts That Manifest.

Thoughts are only a small part of this experience. But lets face it, they’re the most in our face and so sometimes they feel most personal and precedent. Mine even speak in my voice.

“I am bad.”

“I am weak.”

And they’re our thoughts, our most vulnerable truths only known to us, and so we trust that their vision is somehow adequate.

“You’re not good enough”.

“You don’t deserve this.”

But we can’t even trust ourselves to bypass a cookie when we start a new diet. 

Let me tell you this: We are not just simply *what* we think about who we are. You’re not fat just because you ate a cookie.

Why is it easier to indulge in self defeat than it is to bask in our success or glory?

You can feel bad without being bad. You can feel angry without being angry, feel sad without being sad. And the truth of it all is really this- it doesn’t have to get ugly, if you don’t want it to get ugly.

You have the power to change your version of your truth, to put your mind to work.

Be molded by the experiences we inherit and prevail from, not merely defined by them. 

The truth is life is all about becoming.

Even if you don’t understand what it is *exactly* that you’re becoming.

It’s going up against your most inner thoughts alone and fighting that good fight.

And the funny thing is that most of us will never even arrive to our becoming in full tact because most of us will listen to those inner thoughts. A lot of us will quit. 

But not me. I put those thoughts to bed. I’m one of those people embracing my becoming.

“You can do this”.

“You are strong.”

Im quieting the thoughts that talk down to me, not becoming the thoughts that I think.

“You are good”. 

“You are valued”.

You are not all of the thoughts you think about yourself.

You can do this.

You are more than this moment. More than the next. You only become what you make the choice to manifest. Think kind thoughts to yourself, after all, you’re the only one who can hear them.

Motherhood Surprised Me.

If there’s one thing I have learned about motherhood, it’s that it always surprises me.

Sometimes the surprise surfaces in tears when my daughter doesn’t want milk in her fruit loops, or when I make her say goodbye to her super relevant best friend at the PlayPlace whom she met just five minutes prior.

Other times it’s my tears when I’m stumped, wondering how I’m even qualified for this caliber of a job, even though I grew a human inside of me and brought her here.

Or when it’s quarter after four in the afternoon and nap time is a tale told long ago, I’m always shocked that I can make it that next 30 minutes until her dad is through the door without literally blowing the roof off the joint.

I’ve heard that kids say crazy things, but at times it’s more surprising the things that come out of my mouth.

Too often I’ve had to convince my kid the whole world shuts down promptly at 8 pm just so she agrees to get in bed, and I can regain enough energy to do it again tomorrow.

Many preached, “It goes so fast, take it in!” and somehow my jaw still drops that these first years are flying right by.

We all look forward to and adapt to the endless surprises of motherhood no matter what form they arrive in.

No matter how exhausted, lonely, or downright surprising it can feel, a mother somehow always finds the grace and the patience needed to raise her children.

Warrior Women and Motherhood

My grandfather’s second wife, Kathy, stayed in our life way longer than she had to.

My grandfather died and she just kept coming.

When my dad and his siblings all bottomed out before me and my cousins were even born, my Gram insisted they stay on track.

When they called from jail, rarely, if ever, did she bail them out.

And when my dad and his wife divorced because of drugs and alcohol and his wife took the kids and ran, she insisted then too.

Motherhood is about more than being biologically connected and literally maternal.

It’s voluntary closeness.

To me, it’s about warrior women who persist.

There are other mothers beyond the ones you see with children.

She could be the woman whose unknowingly guided you in roles you never saw a mother in at all.

The ones you thought really just couldn’t get “it” because they didn’t birth a child.

She could be the mother whose never had her own children but rose to the challenge of raising another woman’s.

Or my Gram – the woman who helped raised 4 children she didn’t birth at all – and whom today is burying her last.

That’s the woman warrior love of motherhood.

It’s not a one size fits all skill. Just like no mother has a one size fits all kind of love.

It’s any woman who persists in pursuit of a good life for children no matter whom they belong to, no matter what age they become.

It’s understanding that well after they are gone, a mother’s love lives and lingers on.

My grandfather’s second wife Kathy will always be in my life.

In fact, I’m sure and I hope that my Gram will outlive me, too.

Motherhood is not about where you came from, it’s about how you rise to the occassion.

To be a Daddy…

I try to imagine how it feels to be him.

Burying his daughter’s gerbil in the field- knowing her heart will be as broken as his.

He let us sleep through the night and get through our busy day before he even told us about the gerbil.

I try to imagine what it feels like to be the one to convince your kid to do brave things like ride on a boat.

How it feels to catch every spider and how it feels to tell his kid that we really should put every spider back outside, even when I personally suggested the death penalty.

To understand how he operates with tact.

I wonder how it feels to leave your family and head to work with logic and reason, when all you want to do is stay.

And how it feels to do that every day.

I wonder how it feels to take care of a woman and a girl whose growing into one.

I wonder how he holds it together – on the days I imagine we are both falling apart.

I wonder what my girl will learn from her dad and all the brave memos he unknowingly instills in us both.

I try to imagine what it’s like to be a daddy and how it feels to have to act rock solid – when sometimes life’s fleeting moments leave men just as hollow.

-Wallflower Writing

For more writing like this follow

To my little girl…

If I had all the cupcakes and treats in the word and you asked, I would give them all to you.

If I could give you all the answers in the world, I would.

If I could catch every spider and defeat every bad guy hitting main street, I would do that.

If I could get your father to stop annoying you on the regular, I would.

If I could give you dessert for dinner and double down dessert for seconds after that, I’d eat with you!

If I could make broccoli taste like chocolate covered candy–just call me “on board.”

If I could be your unlimited ‘yes man’, I’d be that for you every single day.

If I could ponies fly, I’d take you to the moon.

If I could go down in a battle royale with the boogies under your bed, you bet I would go down in a blaze of glory.

If I could let you wear your pants on your head in public without judgemental glares, I would let you.

If I could let you lick the juice up off the table instead of cleaning it myself, for the 12th time today – I would.

If I could send you to Grammys, 365 days a year, I totally would.

But my little firecracker, I cannot.

So please stop asking me.😂


I’m a stay at home mom who didn’t get the job.

I imagined a steak with a double side of crispy crowns for dinner when I did.

I imagined my husband coming home from work with flowers. I imagined him saying- “Congratulations baby, you did it!”

I imagined paying off my student loans instead of paying expanding interest on the principal.

I imagined having access to health insurance and a 401k to match my skill set.

I imagined paying a mortgage on my own home – not rent on someone else’s.

I imagined stability for my kids after retreating from the workforce for four years, on one slim income to raise them.

I imagined more for my family by now, imagined my kid watching me soar.

I imagined social blooming for me, life-long friends for my kid.

A normal schedule, sunlight at the end of a very dark and trying tunnel.

I imagined being among the living again, crawling out of the cave called stay at home motherhood.

I imagined adult interactions and a brand new enthusiasm for human contact.

I imagined all the situations, education, and time leading up to this moment and how they all led to this one.

Full time mom and powerhouse, I imagined.

A first interview, a second, a third with a facility tour! It felt like it was finally in my reach.

But I couldn’t have it all.
“I’m calling with bad news.” they said.

I imagined being defined by my career – then just as quickly – I imagined being defined by a lack of one.

I imagined a complicated and lonely truth about stay at home motherhood that I hadn’t been told before.

I imagined the feeling of being 10 years old and being told that a career woman and motherhood would be mutually exclusive.

I imagined a world where going to work was a luxury for women, and staying at home was a full time, paying job.

I imagined that if, comprehensively, all the things I mastered as a stay at home mom could be listed as experience – I’d be overqualified.

“It was a difficult decision.” they said.
I imagined that it was.

A Memorial: Kim Walter

Kimmy McMahon Walter surely was no saint, but if you were lucky to be loved by her, it oftentimes felt like you were loved by one. Her sass matched her experience and she always let you know what she was thinking. She was blunt and honest no matter what you threw her way. And throughout her short life, quite a bit was thrown her way.

As time went on Kimmy morphed into someone who was humbled – not hardened – by life’s untraditional challenges. She was positively changed by time. In the end of her life she became closer to people she loved. She reached out more. She asked for help. She recognized the totality of life.

She became comprehensively “Real”.

I couldn’t say it better than the  classical story of the Velveteen Rabit by Margery Williams and I can’t think of a more perfect person to represent its profound story than Kimmy McMahon Walter:

“Real isn’t how you are made” said the Skin Horse to the rabbit.

“It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it Hurt?” asked the rabit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse.

“When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once,” he asked…. or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse.

“You become.” He said.

“That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Kim was very Real. Because she was very well loved and not easily kept. Her absence will make us all become a little more Real, too.

We as people who love her can never be hopeless in loss, because we can not be irreparably broken. We become what we are becoming. We only become more Real by loving and living. Just like Kimmy.

Today we say see you later to the wild spirit who lives on inside the hearts of her children and the people who love her. Today with these life lessons and throughout the ebbs and flows of this grief- we will all become just a little more Real.

Curly Hair, Don’t Care!

People with curly hair live by different standards. Having curly hair comes with more than just super consistent upkeep and products; it comes with a certain shame. It comes with prep, planning, and praying the weather doesn’t go rogue. It comes with feeling like you’re not beautiful because you were born with hair that cannot adhere to social norms and trends.

Many of us were not taught how to use or how to love our curly hair, but rather to hide it. We straighten it, we tame it, we try to do everything we can aside from embracing it. Now that I am a mother, I think differently about the concept of “beauty” and how I want my daughter and future women of the world to respond to what that even means. I want girls (and women) to know it’s okay to embrace their curls.

We all see the videos of the cute dad and the vacuum cleaner making the perfect ponytail for his daughter on the first day of school. But have we ever seen that same scene shot with a curly kid?

Getting Back to “My Roots”

My daughter is not a curly girl, so it never crossed my mind to make extra effort when embracing mine. One day, at a playdate, I met a perky little girl whose hair spiraled perfectly. Her mom, a brunette wavy haired woman, proudly mentioned that she was helping her child learn how to train her curls and how to love them. Research lent her methods, patience lent her success.

I remember trying to think back to a time when I embraced my curls. There was a *very* hot moment in college, but that was it. The thoughts continued: What if I had a curly girl or boy? What if my daughter has a curly friend? What if ever there was a curly girl who never ever saw a curly mom, because curly moms were too unwilling to literally let their hair down? And worst of all…what if my willingness to throw it in a messy bun all those times, created an inevitable unwillingness for a curly girl to embrace who she is?

Goodbye Tamed Shame!

When sending curly girls and boys out into the world it’s imperative we do so with support and resources. On my quest to return to my roots, to be an example and begin to love my curls, I learned many tips, tricks, and methods. With these three tips, we can try to work together to encourage girls (and women) to be confident and fully cultivate their curls.

1. Encourage experimentation and be a role model. Give them tools to experiment. Bad hair days happen to everyone, not just curly girls. Don’t give up on embracing the curly life. Trial and error is a part of figuring out what works best for your curls. Be an example. Little eyes are always watching. Go on mama, let your hair down!

2. Eventually, embrace a method. While there are many out there, I’m going to give it to you straight – so many of us are personally LOVING the Curly Girl Method. It has a few basic rules, tools and groups, which bring together a wealth of knowledge from the web to flawlessly train our curls.

3. Let children decide their own idea of beauty. The concept of loving what you look like is hard for most adults. It’s not any different for children. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. Help them redefine their own idea of beauty by helping them understand that beauty is not what we look like, but rather who we are inside. With that, they can always be confident about who they are.

Let your hair down, mama!

Confidently Curly

It’s important for children to start developing their personal autonomy at a young age. It helps build confidence and allows them to think and act for themselves. It’s our job as parents to help locate the tools for our children to do that! For some of our children, it starts right at the top of their head – with the very curl of their hair – take it from a curly girl.

Learning to care for your curly kids hair is a part of putting essential tools in their “toolbox”. Caring for your children’s hair and caring for your own is important, but teaching them to take care of it is equally important.