HOT MESS / BAD ASS MAMA

Why am I throwing a delightful blog about motherhood into the mix of my nonprofit executive page, you ask? Well, strap in, because this journey is as wild as a rollercoaster ride at a theme park! Picture this: for 17 glorious years, I steered the ship of nonprofit leadership solo, minus the pitter-patter of little feet. Colleagues often marveled at my seemingly endless productivity, and my secret weapon? A simple shrug and the truth: 'No partner, no kids.' But hold onto your hats, because in 2019, the plot twisted faster than a summer blockbuster! My husband and I joyfully welcomed our first tiny tornado, Maxwell, into our lives, bid farewell to the organization I nurtured for nearly two decades, and then—cue dramatic music—marched straight into the jaws of the COVID-19 pandemic, all in less than a year!

So, why this blog? Because, my friends, life's adventures don't come with a neat instruction manual, but sharing our tales of navigating parenthood amidst the chaos might just be the map someone out there desperately needs. maybe, just maybe, a loving husband scrolling through one of my heartfelt posts will pause, struck by an epiphany: 'How can I be the superhero of our household?'

So buckle up, because this journey of juggling family, motherhood, career, and self is like riding a unicycle on a tightrope over a pit of metaphorical alligators—it's never a perfect performance! Some days, I'll confess, I'm a walking, talking chaos machine, desperately trying to keep all the plates spinning; other days, though, oh boy, I'm strutting through life like a warrior queen, owning every moment with the fierceness of a lioness protecting her cubs! So, join me on this journey, because this blog isn't just about showcasing the glossy highlights; it's about embracing the glorious messiness of real life and finding the courage to keep marching forward, tiara slightly bent, cape billowing heroically behind us!

Bentgo Boxes, Work Trips, & the Guilt that Won’t Quit!
Annemarie Amefia Annemarie Amefia

Bentgo Boxes, Work Trips, & the Guilt that Won’t Quit!

Mom guilt is that unshakable feeling that whatever you do, it’s never quite enough. It’s the voice in my head questioning every decision, asking if I’m doing right by my children, or missing critical moments I can’t get back. As I write this, I realize that when I am overwhelmed with the boys and they are asking for one more thing, I can often catch myself saying, “doesn’t mommy do enough already” or “how much do you need mommy to do – I am very tired.”  It’s the voice in your head that questions every decision, wondering if you’re doing right by your child, balancing work and family, or missing a critical moment you can’t get back. It shows up in the quiet moments, like when I am leaving for a work trip and my little one is standing at the trunk of my car with tears in his eyes begging me not to go or when I take a rare night for myself and feel a wave of guilt for not being at home, and often don’t enjoy myself.

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The Unseen Battles of Motherhood: A Journey of Imperfection & Forgiveness
Annemarie Amefia Annemarie Amefia

The Unseen Battles of Motherhood: A Journey of Imperfection & Forgiveness

Four days after giving birth to my first child, I had a moment that would forever alter my understanding of myself. There I was, in the kitchen, my newborn swaddled to my chest, bouncing gently despite the 8-inch incision that now marked my body as a "mommy tattoo." As I stared blankly at the wall, a profound sense of disorientation washed over me.

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Preschool Pandemonium: Finding My Mom Tribe Amidst Snacks, Sippy Cups, and Social Skills
Annemarie Amefia Annemarie Amefia

Preschool Pandemonium: Finding My Mom Tribe Amidst Snacks, Sippy Cups, and Social Skills

Back in the ancient times of the early 1980s (well, before smartphones ruled the Earth), preschool wasn’t exactly trending in my neck of the woods. We had something vaguely similar called nursery school, but by then, I was already dodging dodgeballs in first grade, living vicariously through my little brothers' nursery-time tales. Fast forward 35 years, and I found myself thrust into the bewildering world of preschool with my own little tornado named Maxwell, who was barely three.

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