A Gift for Mom! 🤍

This might be the most divisive article I’ve ever set out to write. I’ve written about breastfeeding. Formula. Being a boy-mom vs a girl-mom. I’ve written about co-sleeping. I’ve written about giving my kids full-sugar snacks. And I’ve even mounted the big topic of letting my kids wear drifit ensembles to church. I mean, in terms of the big mama topics, I think I’ve been there.

But this. This just needs to be said. This needs to be written for the underrepresented blogger husbands of the world. Because while I fully understand that some dads are not “helpers” or “doers” in the parenting scenario… some are. And I believe they deserve a blog post.

For the dads who are doing it all — bringing home the bacon and cooking it up in the pan. For the dads who don’t babysit… they parent. And for the dads who aren’t those dads who society knocks on constantly acting like they don’t have a clue how to change a diaper or buy tampons. This is an article for all of those dads.

My husband is a dad of 2017. He is a father who, as I write this, is folding a load of laundry while we all watch Game Day on Saturday morn. He is a dad who sang the ABCs this morn with our 3-year-old whilst doing a train puzzle with him on the floor as I sat on the couch, scrolling through my phone, drinking coffee, and recovering from a recent surgery. He is a dad who loves to make dinner; one who is supportive of his wife’s dreams. He is the type of father who I happen to know exists in most of my friends’ houses. He is all-in, all-hands-on-deck, and while our responsibilities change up daily, we both parent our children. 

Because the neanderthal dads of social media and tv commercial history… the dad who doesn’t know how to put on a diaper without duct tape… who doesn’t get up to help a crying baby in the middle of the night… the guy who is not designed to nurture; those dads aren’t bad. I just think those dads are more and more a part of the past.

And so, today I must write this to tell my husband… I need you to go golfing.

I need you, sweet father of my children and love of my life, to have some of your own time. Time that isn’t at your desk, on your commute home, or on the toilet at home, that is for you. I want for you to go out on Monday night and watch a game with the guys while you grab a brew. I want you to take a guys’ trip for a weekend. Or tell me you just want to go for a run to get your own time.

I know that some mamas are gonna say, “NO, WOMAN!! My husband is never home. And golf season almost divorced us.” But that guy is not my husband. 

And part of that is my fault.

When I had our babies, they were tiny. Three babies whose combined birthweights equal around 13 pounds. And when the boys were tiny, I needed my husband. Between the milk maintenance with my boobs and the non-sleeping of the children, I was definitely about as far from Super Mama as one could get. I was often crabby. And I did feel like when it came to the children, I did the bulk of the work. And honestly, I was pretty bitter about it. And I shared those thoughts with him on the regular.

But then… we had three under 5… and I had cancer… and my hubs, he did it all. All. ALL. And not just because of cancer. Because that’s just the type of dad he is. Guess what? He never complained.

I got better. And all I want to do every day, is live. Like really live. I want to experience all the things. I want to travel as a family. I want it all… and a bag of salty chips. And he just steps up to the plate. He takes care of all of us, all the time.

I fear he doesn’t have time for him. Partially because for the first few years of our parenthood life, I demanded 50/50 effort (and then some) every day. Now, I feel like I take time to water my own plant and I fear he doesn’t get enough of his own identity. Anyone else feel this way? I go out for a girls’ evening, or I get to have a couple hours in the middle of the day to work on my dreams… but my huz, he’s always on the clock. And I want him to take a break.

I am happy to spend the day with our children. I love them, after all. I am their mother and they are my faves. I am at the point now where spending 8 hours with them on a Saturday alone is one of my happy places. And so, I am happy for the huz to go out and drink beer and eat pizza and watch the sports. But I know he also loves to spend time with us when he’s not at work. I know he has a lot on his plate and doesn’t always know how to fit it all in. I know he got used to me demanding so much of him when our children were tiny and that maybe, I just haven’t communicated with him as they’ve grown… as our “staffing needs” have changed (hee hee.). 

I know what some of you are thinking, “This broad is from 1950.” No. I’m actually more on the feminist side. But I do believe that life is about give and take. And sometimes, it’s our turn to remind those around us that they can take a little breather because we got this.

So to my sweet, awesome, husband—I love you. I need you to get to do all the things you love. I need you to feel like you aren’t Mr. Mom every day. And I need you to know that I so appreciate the dad you are. 

And dear, I need you to go golfing. You are so wonderful at making sure I have time with my girls. You are awesome when I say, “Remember, girls’ night. On the calendar for the last 4 weeks.” You are all about making sure that I get to live and thrive… and I need you to know, I hope you feel the very same. 

I know we’ve been parenting together for some time now, but I also know that of all the things that seem consistent in parenting and in life is that change is the main thing we can expect to always occur. And we are in a sort of sweet spot of parenting, I think. We are in a place where our children need different things than they did in the past. And so, I need you to know that you deserve a break. Or at least a breather every once in awhile before our next big wave hits.

Please, go golfing for a Saturday. Or make plans to go watch the game. Find a man-date where you don’t feel you need to take a kid in tow. Go for a long run. Spend time locked in bathroom. Take an extra course on something that interests you. Or play Xbox. Just do something for you. Without having to think about your “us.” 

And maybe your “break” is different than mine. Maybe you don’t need time away from the house as much as you just need down time. I’m cool with that. Just let me know what you need and I want to make it happen for you. Because you, my dear, are one badass dad and husband.

I love you. I love our children. And I love when we are all together. It’s one of my favorite things. But I also love when we each get to be our own people. When we get to water our own garden. I want you to feel like you are your own type of person. And every so often, just get a breath.

So go golfing. Watch games for the day. Tell me to figure out how to load a dishwasher. We each deserve to be separate people, together. And if you want to hit the links or play ball or run for miles and miles, just do it, love.

Just not every day, of course…

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Ashli Brehm

Ashli Brehm = Thirtysomething. Nebraska gal. Life blogger. Husker fan. Creative writer. Phi Mu sister. Breast cancer survivor. Boymom. Premie carrier. Happy wife. Gilmore Girls fanatic. Amos Lee listener. Coffee & La Croix drinker. Sarcasm user. Jesus follower. Slipper wearer. Funlover. Candle smeller. Yoga doer. Pinterest failer. Anne Lamott reader. Tribe member. Goodness believer. Life enthusiast. Follow me at http://babyonthebrehm.com/

The Invisible Pain after IVF Stops

In: Motherhood
Woman holding pregnancy test with head in hands

There is nothing “basic” about stopping IVF and returning to the so-called natural route. There is no guidebook for what comes next. The protocols and procedures that once dictated every step suddenly disappear. The appointments, alarms, and instructions are gone—but the emotions and unknowns remain. There is no protocol for going back to the basics. When we decided to stop IVF and try naturally, I wasn’t prepared for how difficult this next part of our journey would be. During IVF, everything had structure. There were calendars to follow, medications to take at exact times, appointments that filled the weeks. There...

Keep Reading

The Final Out

In: Motherhood
Baseball game as seen through the fence behind home plate

Tonight I watched him step up to the plate for the last time. Play-offs. Single elimination. Down by one. Last inning. Two outs. And the batting lineup just happened to fall to him. Nothing prepares you for that. He took a breath. The weight of an entire lifetime spent in red dirt hinging on this moment. He set his face like flint to that pitcher. The ball left the glove, and he swung. Strike one. He stepped away. Reset. Tapped the base. Then set himself once more. He swung, hit a line drive, and sprinted headlong towards the base, setting...

Keep Reading

These Holy Small Things

In: Faith, Motherhood
Children sewing at machine

My 8-year-old-daughter has recently taken up sewing, to my simultaneous delight and chagrin. My delight because I too love sewing; my chagrin because her enthusiasm often outpaces my own abilities, namely, in the undertaking of tedious projects with no pattern. Take, for example, the cloth doll diaper we designed and stitched up together. Granted, the design was fairly basic to draw up and scale. But the minuscule nature of the work, both for my hands and head, was enough to throw me into existential questioning. It was one of those moments when you wonder how the sum of your life...

Keep Reading

The Pressure to Do Everything “Right” Is Crushing Us

In: Motherhood
Tired and stressed mother sits in hallway with toddler across from her, black and white image

I don’t remember when motherhood started to feel like a test I didn’t study for—but somehow, I’m always convinced I’m failing it. It’s in the quiet moments. Standing in the grocery store aisle, overthinking every label—organic, non-GMO, dye-free, free-range, grass-fed—like I’m one bad decision away from ruining their future…while also trying not to take out a second mortgage just to afford my ever-rising grocery bill. Sitting on the couch, wondering if the show they’re watching or game they’re playing is rotting their brain. Lying in bed at night, replaying the way I handled a meltdown, picking apart every word I...

Keep Reading

Letting You Go Is Still So Hard

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Walkway toward water at sunset

Nothing really prepares you for the day your child leaves the house. Last September, my husband and I moved our 18-year-old son into his dorm room. Right after that, he was swept away into all things orientation, and we began our 1,000-mile journey back home. Leaving this beautiful human I raised and spent all those years with felt foreign. During our final hug goodbye, despite trying to hold in my pain, I broke out in huge, ugly, guttural tears. Our drive home was a long two days. It took every fiber of my being not to turn around. Returning to...

Keep Reading

Behind Every Smiling Graduate Is a Mother Letting Go

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Mom and grown son smiling

Every year, millions of American families send their children off to their freshman year of college. Their pictures dot our social media feeds. Images of excited students holding collegiate pennants, maybe wearing a hat or holding up their school’s hand sign with beaming smiles. Their parents post excited words about futures and hopes and dreams. One chapter closing. Another opening. A new beginning. So why am I struggling so much? Why does this feel more like a loss than a gain? Why are my tears always on edge, threatening to spill over each time I think about August and what...

Keep Reading

Life Lessons from My Grown Children

In: Faith, Motherhood
Two women's hands on teacups

“Don’t limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.” – Rabindranath Tagore Quietly communing with a loved one in the early morning hours is such an intimate and precious time. Visiting with one’s grown child when all is dark and still is one of life’s purest pleasures. I remember the conversation clearly. My daughter’s husband, small children, and father were all asleep as we whispered and chatted. She and I are both fidgeters by nature, unable to be still for long. This inner restlessness must be remedied, and we are compelled by biology to...

Keep Reading

As a Medical Mom, I Measure Growth Differently

In: Kids, Motherhood
Little girl climbing outside

In most homes, the marks on the wall are a simple celebration of time passing. They are pencil lines that track how many inches a child has gained since their last birthday. But in our home, those marks represent a much deeper, more complex story. When your child lives with multiple hormone deficiencies, growth is never just “natural”—it is a carefully managed medical achievement. However, as any medical mom knows, the story doesn’t end at the top of the head. It begins deep inside, with a tiny gland that isn’t sending the right signals. Having multiple hormone deficiencies is often...

Keep Reading

Hannah Harper Is Every Mom with Babies in Her Arms and a Dream In Her Heart

In: Living, Motherhood
Hannah Harper American Idol winner sings with her young son on her lap

By now, you’ve probably seen the posts flooding your feed: A young mom. Three little boys. A guitar strap embroidered with her children’s drawings. And a crown. When Hannah Harper won American Idol this week, moms everywhere erupted. And honestly? Same. There is something collective about watching a stay-at-home mom win on such a large stage. The celebrations have been pouring in. Moms, we can do it. She didn’t abandon her dreams. She went for it. And all of that is true, and all of that is worth celebrating. But I want to add something to the celebration. Not to...

Keep Reading

Watching Your Children Build the Life You Prayed For Is Beautiful

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Mother dancing with son at wedding

“I love you, Mom.” “Hmmm?” (A little louder) “I love you.” “I love you too…so very much.” I’d been deep in thought, listening to the lyrics we were slowly dancing to. I knew this moment of ours was supposed to be the time to say all the things, but this boy and I had already said all the things, so the song the deejay played—written by Lori McKenna and sung by Tim McGraw—enchanted our ears: When the dreams you’re dreamin’ come to you When the work you put in is realized Let yourself feel the pride but Always stay humble...

Keep Reading