Welcome to the place of overflowing grace in the midst of messy motherhood.
There are a lot of kids up in here, a lot of noise, and a lot of life. It's raw and real, and often sticky.
But I wouldn't trade it. (Except maybe the sticky part.)
Join me for the journey.  

He didn’t bring her roses

He sat down at the table where she was eating lunch.  She assumed he knew one of her friends sitting with them.  He didn’t.  But it was the beginning. They were married in a quiet ceremony in a little church.  It was the cold afternoon after Valentine’s Day; the break from college classes was their honeymoon.  Her dress was homemade.  His tux was blue. That was forty years ago.  Today. It’s a beautiful love story, but not the kind that ends up in books.  She wasn’t a damsel in distress.  He didn’t pretend to be a knight in shining armor.  He just went to work, every day, and came home when he was done.  She kept the home and bore his children.  I am one of them, so I know their happily ever


I didn’t really plan either.  The birthday kind of sneaked up on me this year.  The hair cut was simply because it was my husband’s day off and he kicked me out of the house without children as a birthday present and I didn’t know what to do with myself. “I haven’t had a cut since I had the baby,” I admitted as the stylist drew her comb through the strands.  “Oh,” she chatted amicably, “Your first?”  “No.” I smiled slightly. “My fifth… My fifth boy.”  The dozen eyes in the cozy salon glanced up.  “No way!” the man who seemed to own the place enunciated his surprise.  “You look about 12!” “I’m nearly three times that.”  I returned, feeling the math equation might be a bit much for such a plac

Chicken Little

Home.  We are home.  Keep your pancake away from your brother’s surgical head incisions.  Maple syrup is not an appropriate dressing!  I said it.  Oh yes I did. Welcome back to life. Here, when breakfast falls on the floor (or gets thrown), there are no housekeepers waiting in the halls to heroically swoop in with a mop at the press of a call button.  But at least the breakfast doesn’t taste like cardboard. Here, we don’t get tested for fatigue or hair loss because it’s clearly the result of indefatigable offspring who cause the hair to be pulled.  But at least we know the cause. Here, there is no waiting for doctors or tests or procedures.  Here is breathless.  Busy.  But at least we don’t


©2020 by My Sink Runneth Over.