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.  

Beautiful Feet

I love my kids.  A lot.  But (sometimes) I am fonder of them in hindsight.  So I count the hours till bedtime. Then the minutes. I sigh with relief as I close their door and feel the stillness of the day for the first time since 6:59 that morning. Now, dishes await me in the sink.  There is still mushy banana and cold rice under the table to sweep, wipe, and pick up with grudging fingers.  I have lessons to prep for tomorrow. The bag of hundreds of plastic army men exploded in my room, but I wanted the boys in bed so desperately, I didn’t make them clean it up.  So I do. But later, much too late later, after finding the floor and the bottom of the sink and pulling every last plastic sniper

Boom Baby

I had an ultrasound today.  The tech moved over my round belly, 20 weeks full of baby and decreasing muscle tone, and found what she was looking for.  I blinked.  Yup.  I’ve seen that before. I had panicked, silently, at the thought of having a girl.  Would I have to invest in nail polish? I don’t have any.  Or a hairbrush.  Is there a video I could watch on how to fit a toddler into tights? I’d have to learn how to apply makeup! I’d have to actually watch Frozen! Could we still go frog catching for fun? Would mud pies be off the menu? Could I still get nerf guns for everyone for Christmas? I’d have to change our “Act like a man” mantra… But no. I’ve got baby boy number six growing inside me


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