Parents, you’ve got questions, we’ve got answers.

Or just as likely, we’ve got questions and you’ve got answers.

Challenge: Rise!


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(pick me, pick me please…I have earned it)

I hereby nominate myself, Cassie Hammett, to receive this prestigious award. Hold your applause please as I present to you my qualifications to carry the weight of this title.

When I first became a mama, through adoption, in the middle of Africa, away from all the world and all the convenience of parenting, this mama was dealing with a baby who had the smelliest, most deadly-awful-worst-thing-you’ve-ever-smelt-in-your-entire-life poops. So, naturally, I drug her outside on a towel, with a shirt tied around my face and changed her on the ground, because dear God how could we live with that smell in our room. We could not survive it. No warm fuzzy moments were had in that process. Liv stared up at me as I gagged and looked away, masked. How terrifying. Sorry about it.

While we are on the topic of the poops… this mama left 5 poop covered onesies behind, one in each seat back of each plane that transported us home from Africa. Like I mean POOP COVERED….soaked. Just left them. Straight up stuffed em and left. My little one decided the best time to EXPLODE was in the ascent and descent of each plane ride…when you can’t go anywhere and you’re securely belted in being pooped all over in massive amounts. What else was I supposed to do? Oh the shame. No eye contact with stewardesses because I knew what I had left them. Just a swift exit. “Thank you for flying American,” … ” no ma’am. Don’t thank me.”

Speaking of poops. Here is a list of locations where I have left poop covered items: counter-culture, a local restaurant’s parking lot, the side of the road, a ditch, my church’s parking lot. Yes ok. I’m sorry. I’m a cut and run kind of girl when it comes to runny poop. We gotta get out of that as quick as possible. Remember, this is for YOUR freedom…soak it in (not the poop)…the truth that you are not alone in the failing.

My child once said a cuss word in the most amazing and appropriate way… I mean like perfectly timed and used exactly how it means…and with the tone of a seasoned sailor. I directly stood up from the couch, walked out of my front door and closed it behind me as I sat on my porch and laughed until I almost peed my pants….leaving the hubs to deal with the conversation. Do you know what her justification was??? “Well mama said it Tuesday.” Good God almighty. What happened to not keeping a record of wrongs.

Once in a public place, my husband approached me and asked me to hold Liv. I held out my arms and, because he thought I had grabbed her, he let go, and so did I, and she fell ALL THE WAY TO THE GROUND. Like we just straight up dropped her.

I’ve sent my daughter out the front door in only shoes and socks and underwear because her school uniform was at her grandmas. So a quick trip to grandma’s house and on to school. She didn’t question this as I placed her backpack on her bare back, kissed her head and said, HAVE A GREAT DAY HONEY. “Ok mom!”….and she went out the front door in only her undergarments and a hair bow. So technically this is a two tiered situation…one: that my kid’s clothes weren’t where they needed to be, and so I sent her to school nude….but also TWO … that my darling didn’t question it. Like full on acceptance. WHAT DOES THAT SAY?? I ask you?

My daughter has a pet rock, that lives in the fridge, that she has named “Fridge Rock”… naturally. Cute right? Well we’ve taken it past cute. Fridge Rock has been with us for a year. Liv goes in the morning and pats her in the fridge, just giving her a quick check. We’ve had family members add eyes to Fridge Rock while Liv sleeps…so now she has eyes (and why am I calling a rock “she”), and Liv has taken Fridge Rock to show-and-tell, where her explanation was, “This is Fridge Rock. She’s a rock that lives in our fridge.” End of Story. So perfectly normal in her sweet little mind. But now how could we part with ole Fridge. She’s in.

Fridge Rock
Here she is in all her glory. Isn’t she the cutest??

Once when my daughter said loudly in a restaurant that she loved the devil, I simply looked at her and told her to just eat her chicken. Nothing else.

Her teacher at school always brings a back up whatever-the-assigned-item was to bring or costume they were supposed to wear…or crazy socks…or whatever unbelievably hard to remember obligation was presented because she’s pretty sure I will forget. Feels real good. And also, when asked once if she went to school that day she said, “Nope.” and when asked why she said, “because Papa was out of town.” Hush child. Don’t put our business out like that in the street.



I wanna FREE. YOU. UP, mamas.

Let’s face it, when it comes to being a mama, a lot of us have a lot of feels about it that are not all pretty; some pretty gross beliefs in our heart, some feelings of being overlooked and exhausted and pushed to our limits, of being frazzled and less than.

But the sneakiest-ugly of them all is the constant, driving fear of not measuring up. That somehow becoming a mom means we can no longer fail, no longer be human, no longer have our own thoughts and feelings. And so we fight. We fight to look the most put together. To get our kids in all the right social circles. To have the most presentable family. To look like the best, super hero mom in all the land.

I do not believe this is where WE as mama’s are designed to live, to hang out, to dwell.

I am convinced that the best mama we can be to our littles…is actually one that fails, that doesn’t measure up. A mama bird that doesn’t have what it takes at the end of the day to do this whole raising an entire human being thing.

Falling short leaves space for us to show our littles that we are, in fact, real, flesh and blood, and that mistakes don't define us, they make us stronger. When they see that in us, they will be freed up in their own lives to miss the mark. They will se a mama not measuring herself with the measuring stick of perfectionism. This, by far, will set our littles up for success in life more than anything else we can do.

So… take a deep breath. Shake your shoulders around, do a little are doing an amazing job. You too are worthy of Mom of the Year!

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