I see you.


I see you.  Mom in Target who was buying her kids ICEES at 11 am.  I saw how that sauce exploded when your kid dropped the breadsticks on the floor.

I noticed the sticky blue trail you left from the diapers all the way to the shoe section because one of your cups was leaking.

I saw you run into that display when you were trying to push that giant two-seater cart - hey, isn't that for mom's with like 3 kids?  Okay, I know it's the only kind your kid can't escape from because of the shoulder harness seatbelts, but wait -

your kid is escaping.  Ahhh, yep.  He's completely out of the harness and standing on the seat while you're busy putting your groceries on the conveyor belt.  Things aren't looking good for you. I can see it.

I see you try to apologize to the cashier for your distractedness while she's making small talk.  I understand that you have to keep an eye on that toddler - who's making his way to the cooler with the character juices (didn't he already have an ICEE??).

I hear you apologize again - this time because he already opened the toy gun (??!!??) you're buying him before she'd even been able to scan it.

I see you try pay for your groceries, be attentive to the needs of the sauce exploder, keep the escaped toddler from darting right out of the store, collect your receipt, and make sure you still have your card and your keys, and it looks like you're fighting back tears. 
I see you.

I see you because I am you.

This was my morning.  All this before noon - and this doesn't cover the adventures we had before we left the house.

So when you see a haggard looking mom, with crying kids, please realize that she's probably doing the best she can, and she's probably more irritated by the chaos that envelops her than you are.

And if you see a perfect looking mom, with impeccably behaved children, they were probably picking their noses when you weren't looking.

Kimono:  @firebrand_lifestyle

Crystal Neckalce: @seaweedsouls
Bracelet: @black_sheep_jewelry

Tee and Moccs: @thewildfolkco

The Boxhoppers

Everywhere I look, I see boxes.  Little squares on social media, like stickers, trying to provide proof of the contents of each box. 

There are boxes for
matching
having it "all together"
apathy
being trendy
being political
"Momming"
homesteading
homeschooling
home decor
exercising
food snobbing

the list goes on.

Everyone seems to hop in their chosen box and stay there, proudly proclaiming how wonderful it is and showing us how they'd never dream of leaving it.


What happens when you don't fit in a box?
When you're a "box hopper?"

What if you really love this box you're in right now, but tomorrow you find yourself inside another box, while eyeing yet another?

This is me.
My life is messy. It's wonderful, but messy.

And I will never fit into a box. I just won't.  Come to think of it, I never have.


I run a clothing company, but if you look at my kids' feet - they're probably black from playing outside barefoot. 

We love backyard chickens and homesteading and nature, but we also love all things Disney. 
We listen to the Christian station, but also to the satellite radio on the 40's station, and rock (but, um...never top 40 - Give it to me, I'm worth it? um...no).

There's not enough "white space" in my feed. I don't use the same filters for every picture. 
I don't live in leggings and a mom bun and drink Starbucks every day.
It takes me 30 tries just to get my whole self in a "selfie," and I'm usually only posting one to support another mama-maker. 

Maybe this makes me a terrible business woman.  Maybe this is why artists are always struggling. Because they ride the wind, letting it carry them to their next burst of inspiration.
And there is no wind inside a box.

But, who cares?  Why are we so concerned with fitting into our boxes anyway?

Today, Bent (my oldest) told me to guess what his 2 favorite cars were.
"I don't know. What?" I asked.

"My 1st favorite is a Corvette Stingray, and my 2nd favorite is a Subaru."

It's official.  We are a family of Boxhoppers.



Bracelets: Sea Weed Souls

A Little Bit of Crazy


I have this theory:  Everyone has a little bit of crazy in them.  Maybe your little bit of crazy is that you freak out over things that aren't important or that haven't even happened yet. 
Maybe you love to eat Ketchup packets.
Maybe you absolutely have to follow up the scratch of an itch on your left cheek with the scratch of a non-existent itch on your right cheek (to keep things even, of course). 
Maybe you need your blanket smoothed and pillows placed at a 47 degree angle or your mojo is thrown off for the entire day.
Maybe you have to eat the best bite first.
Or last.

Whatever your little bit of crazy may happen to be, the point it - it's there.  You can't deny it. 

Confession time.

My little bit of crazy is that I love repetition.  Freaking love it.

One of the biggest things I love about making moccasins is the repetition of sewing shoe after shoe on the machine.  There's something almost meditative about it.  I could probably lock myself in my office all day and sew my life away.  I must have been a factory worker in my past life. 

Here's the problem with that:  I have a family.  Who needs me.  Like, needs me - I'm totally working on helping them with the whole "self-sufficiency" thing, but other than just that, they need my presence.

They actually miss me after dinner when they're playing outside together and I'm in my office sewing away in my trance, 

But I love this little business of creating things and the connections to all of the wonderful people I've met while on this journey.

So, I've come up with an amazing solution.  One that allows me to be more physically present with the people who need me most, but still allows me to create. 

Best of all - this solution is ME.  It is my family.  It is probably you.  And your family too.  It is something that speaks to me the way Mocc Life never has.  It is not just a little change in direction.  It is a movement.  A movement for everyone who's longing for the things my family dreamed of before I was caught up in the whirlwind of this (not so) little mocc shop. 
And I think I love it already.

Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine going through the entire day without checking your phone?

Your email? Your facebook?  Your instagram?

Can you imagine a question entering your mind and taking the time to really ponder the thought without immediately reaching out to Siri or Google?

Can you imagine an entire day of ignoring deadlines? Of not replying to texts? Of not picking up your phone once?

Can you imagine an entire day of staying in your usual environment, but actually being there?  Of being present in every moment?

Of lying on the grass, looking at the clouds for an hour like we did when we were kids?

An entire day of laughing as the children cover themselves in mud.  Jump in all the leaf piles. Catching beetles and lizards?

Can you imagine an entire day of reading stories to your children, picking flowers, and examining cicada skins?

For a while now, I've been walking in a fog of busy.

I like to think of it like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown - but what's been swirling around me is a storm of preoccupation, stress, and "to-do's."

I've been working so hard to try to give my children a good life that I didn't realize that what I've actually been doing is taking their good life away.

The seldom spend time - real, quality downtime with both parents any more.  We've become sort of a tag-team operation, Jon and I.  I multitask while half-heatedly entertaining them while he's at work, and after dinner, we slap hands as I pass the evening entertainment duties on to him so that I can work.

My heart is always there, but I'm ashamed to say - my head hasn't been for a while.
I haven't been able to imagine leaving my phone behind, or really logging out for fear of missing an email or customer for quite some time, but you know what?

I can imagine now.

I really can.
 
And it excites me.  

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