Inspired by True Events by Lindsey Whiting-Schnepper


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LW Heffer mommy blog writer

It wouldn’t be Mother’s Day if a mommy didn’t pick out her own gifts and cards… sometimes we know what we need more than anyone else does…

Yesterday I was at Target. 

As I inched 6 feet closer to my turn to pay for everything in my overflowing cart of nothing I actually needed but had to have, this young kid told me I should choose self check out or I could go to aisle 13. Thankfully for both of us we both wear masks, unfortunately for him, mine doesn’t cover my eyes. Now more than ever my eyes do all my talking. 

It’s always a constant battle if I want to have someone else bag my “unnecessaries” for me. You see the guilt of buying and bagging 3/4 of the things I absolutely don’t need causes me to feel like I’m on an episode of supermarket sweep. Somehow when my things are in someone else’s hands being swiped across a scanner, I’m too nervous to tell them I really don’t need any of this. I giggly justify all of it with that “I really only came in for seltzer and maybe toilet paper.” I will ultimately leave without those things, because I’m running late to double school pick up— but I will be back. That’s actually a promise and problem that I consistently keep making with no intention of stopping. 

Before my turn, I had this overwhelming flashback— I guess Target gives me all the feels sometimes. 

Almost 5 years ago, my “shopping” cart of all my “belongings” was so full it was borderline overflowing. My backseat quickly got crowded with another carseat, but it was empty and impatiently waiting for the next possible redheaded boy and the carseat next to it was filled with my pint sized redheaded love who mikvahed me “mommy” in all the ways your first or only child does. 

Most days my mind is an iPhone with every App open. Back then it was, too, coupled with my belly dancing with another busy baby boy I had yet to meet. As my belly grew I was most fearful if my heart would, too… Was it possible to expand large enough going from 1 to 2?

It would turn out to be the wildest science lesson to learn that when you become a wife, then a mommy and a mommy again multiple chambers of your heart grow until it explodes with overflowing love again and again —differently each time. 

It’s often said you should only fall in love with someone who ruins your lipgloss not your mascara— but marriage and mommying will do both. 

But it was last week, before that check out, at the same store, different location because I like to rotate my Targets so I don’t develop a “reputation”— I found what I needed

While waiting my turn, I saw them starting to put out Mother’s Day cards. I could only assume it wasn’t for the daddies who will never bring their children there to find the beautifully written sentiments— by someone else. These ghost writers, who eloquently put into other peoples words their love, appreciation and gratitude. It’s really for the mommies to find the cards they want their husbands and children to want to buy for them, so they debate whether or not to buy them for themselves instead. 

While I pined over these poetic words on pretty card-stock, I noticed these timely cards were placed next to another section— Care and Concern. That’s the fancy way of saying “get well”. I decided maybe instead of a Mother’s Day card for myself, I should buy my husband a get well card. No, no he’s not sick— but he could be better

  • Better at finding one of our two dishwashers. 
  • Better at finding one of our many garbage cans. 
  • Better at finding his dresser drawers to put his clean clothes away in. 
  • Better at finding the hamper to put his dirty laundry in. 
  • Better at finding the pot when he uses seasoning to make his famous “drunken onions”. 

In all seriousness, we are the best of friends and lovers and he adores his little mini-me redheads with masculine glistening eyes and a swollen heart. He absolutely and faithfully loves golf and me but depending on the weather, one of us frustrates him more. We met young, matured from teenage growing pains, but unconditionally, our love rests on a foundation of pure friendship. To me there’s nothing stronger than our brick and mortar. Our children are made from that love, science and magic. 

So when I stood there surrounded by all these sentiments of sentimental sayings I realized mommies don’t want to get a card or gift (ok maybe some of them do), but if they are like me they will tell you our gifts are our children. I’m beyond blessed, lightening struck me twice, and this holiday isn’t meant to be celebrated in one day. To quote a very special mommy friend of mine— we don’t do it for only one day we mommy so hard all day, every day. 

I personally run on caffeine, my redheads love and kisses and a wickedly good professional weekly blow out. I have amazingly loving and supportive parents, family, friends and these sweet and spicy pint-sized perfect people who I helped create. No! Not every day is good. Some days feel like a paper cut — that kind of pain that shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does but lasts longer than expected from something so innocent looking. 

I’m a sugar in the raw mommy and not a sweet-n-low mama… I learned early on I don’t have time for scrapbooking, but I have always kept a diary— it is filled with all our milestones inspired by completely unbelievably true events. I do not make lasagna from scratch, but, I do, however, cut off the crusts on my Michelin- rated grilled cheese. I have never cut the corners when it comes to this gig, especially if you have met my bosses. My home is filled with Pantone’s 50 shades of red-heads, but I’m the hidden spice in our family’s secret sauce. I have achieved many great things personally and professionally but the greatest accomplishments in my life are my children— they are my rèsumè, letters of recommendation, reflection, and my renaissance. 

Ultimately, it’s the days that are the genuinely good ones that speak volumes to me because forever my cup runneth over…

About Lindsey

Lindsey Whiting-Schnepper is a New York area mother living with two little red heads and her ginger-hued husband. Over a decade ago, Lindsey began writing her daily thoughts in the notes section of her phone whenever she had a moment to spare, but just recently she decided to jump into social media pool. She worried less about getting her professional blow dry wet— exposing her natural curls and more about sharing these memories and milestones with the world!

You can find Lindsey at:

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