Crying Over Cake Fails

By Kate Kole

I made my parents a cake last month to celebrate their anniversary.

Everything was going well until the final step of transferring it to a rack to cool for 10 minutes and then removing it to finish cooling completely.

10 minutes somehow turned into an hour and a half as our baby had a blowout, requiring an outfit change and our weekly groceries were delivered, requiring what’s become a routine wipe down and put away process.

By the time I finally got around to cutting the cakes out of the pan, they weren’t cooperating. I started gently tapping the bottom of the 8-inch rounds before graduating to drumming on them as if I was forming my own kitchen band. Eventually, they began to crumble unevenly onto the plates I had set up on our counters.

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How Do I Teach My Daughter To Love Her Body When I’m Struggling To Do The Same?

By Kate Kole

I caught a glimpse of my tank top hugging my postpartum belly as I talked to my friend on FaceTime. Trying to ignore my dissatisfaction, I continued on with what I was saying.

It wasn’t until the next morning, with my stomach growling and my brain working to convince it that it wasn’t yet hungry, that I realized I was back to dealing with the same body image issues I’ve wrestled with since junior high. The ones I’ve believed on more than one occasion that I’ve beat.

They’re like a hair clogged drain. Each time I dump the Draino down, I’m confident that I’ve cleared it. But within a month, the water is pooling once again.

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Fill Up. Empty Out.

BY KATE KOLE

I became a fitness instructor and yoga teacher before I became a mom.

The trend towards self-care and inspirational Pinterest boards took off during my training tenure and I enthusiastically turned into a spokesperson for the popular social media proverb, “You can’t pour from an empty cup”.

I cringe a bit each time I recall the way I would readily offer that insight. After class, someone would share with me that it felt so nice to practice. That she knew she needed to do it more often. But between work, and family, and life, it was just hard to find the motivation, and space, and energy. I would nod. Understanding that of course, we all face obstacles. But she needed to take care of herself too, I’d say. Because how could she meaningfully show up for her work, and her people, and her life if she wasn’t tending to herself first? I posed the question rhetorically. Food for thought when she had the time to digest it.

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Only And Already

By Kate Kole

“She still needs you,” my husband said as I sat at the foot of our bed holding back tears.

We had just transitioned our 4-month-old daughter from her bassinet to her crib for the first time. I was completely caught off guard by the ugly cry threatening to escape me.

I had once again entered the land of only and already that has so often marked my journey through motherhood thus far.

He’s only crawling. He’s already crawling. He’s only two. He’s already two. She’s only sleeping in her own room. She’s already sleeping in her own room.

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The Art and Sadness of “Getting Through”

By De Elizabeth

In high school, I referred to them as “Dread Days.” They were, quite simply, days that provoked the feeling of dread, for reasons entirely appropriate in a 14-year-old’s world: science lab with the girl who bullied me in elementary school, a history class presentation where I was underprepared and my crush sat in the first row, having to complete my volunteer shift at the library instead of spending an afternoon with my friends.

Initially, I only used the phrase in my head silently, but eventually started labeling them in my planner with two D’s, written as tiny as possible and in purple ink. In the days leading up to a Dread Day, I’d have a pit in my stomach, knowing that whatever fun I was having in the moment would soon be overshadowed by the knowledge that something unpleasant would take its place. On the morning of a Dread Day, I’d repeat to myself: Just get through it; just get through. When the day was over, I’d cross off the “DD” in my planner, feeling a sense of overwhelming relief.

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Are You Better Now?

By De Elizabeth

CW: The following talks about eating disorders & restricting behaviors.

The first time I heard about National Eating Disorders Awareness Week was in college; I passed a sign in the dining hall that showed a picture of a girl probably around my age holding a piece of fruit. Across the poster, in big letters: “What does an eating disorder look like?” As I methodically put things on my plate, taking twice as long than everyone else because I was terrified to eat anything at this point, I remember thinking: This, it just looks like this. 

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The Day I Lost My Chill

By Kate Kole

36 weeks + 6 days pregnant. That’s when I officially lost my chill.

It wasn’t as if things started off in an Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day kind of way. In fact, if you’d seen me just an hour earlier you might have assumed that I had it all together.

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Making The Cheerleading Squad As A Mom

By Kate Kole

You know those things that just come naturally to some people? Like running or baking or hitting a tennis ball over a net? Well, cheerleading was not that thing for me. As an awkward 13-year-old navigating middle school, I really hoped it might be my undiscovered talent. And, after a week spent learning the routines, I discovered that linking movement and words and flexibility was not (and would not be) my hidden skill. Still, I went to tryouts and gave it my all. Clumsily flopping my arms and legs in the air, following the movement of the girls around me, and yelling to “Go! Fight! Win!”

On a cold spring morning, I stood alongside my aspiring peers, anxiously awaiting a glimpse of the roster for the upcoming year. To the surprise of no one, my name was not on the list. I suppose I felt the familiar kind of disappointment that comes with failure of any type. And maybe a little embarrassment too, because I had enough self awareness to know what my high kicks looked like. But more than that, I felt relief. I could put the pompoms down forever knowing that cheering wasn’t in my wheelhouse.

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Be Away From Me

By a 3OT Guest Writer

“Be away from me” my almost-three-year-old boy shouts at me, for likely the seventh time this week. To compliment his bold declaration, he throws one small arm out straight in front him and swings it from side to side, as if indicating the exact amount of space he needs in order for me to “be away”.

Though he is good with language for his age, he obviously lacks a command of the English language, which sometimes win us some great little phrases. When he doesn’t want to snuggle before bed at night, I am told to “be off his body”. Typically my husband and I giggle about these mistakes in wording. We try to document them because we know that one day he won’t make mistakes like these. Or he will…. But it won’t be funny so much as a reason for a concerning parent teacher conference.

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