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.  

Ring Around the Bathtub

It was 10 pm before I sat down to refold the laundry.  Yes, refold.  The three year old had decided we didn’t do it right the first time.  Or I wasn’t quick enough to get it put away.  Silly me.  I guess I should have learned the first (hundred) times it happened. It’s been hard to roll out of bed recently.  Not just because horizontal and pregnant don’t mix.  The tedium of another day refereeing uncooked-spaghetti fencing matches while reciting multiplication facts just doesn’t have great allure.  The discipleship of snotty nosed natives seems slow and unclear.  I know I am called to this.  But it doesn’t change the feeling I’m spiraling out of control.  Sometimes.  Every few minutes.  Like

Can’t Touch This

It was small.  Just a little piece of a cracker.  Pierced.  Broken.  He offered me a fragment; I held it gently as the music played around us.  The deacon shuffled along the line of chairs to share the familiar ritual with the rest of the congregation.  And then my husband leaned over, his deep husky whisper curious, “What will you do with that?” The music continued.  But time stopped for me.  Good question. I will admit it.  I’ve joined the ranks of anti-gluten-tites.  I eschew wheat, barley, millet, and rye products.  It’s such a trend.  A fad.  I fought it for a long time.  (Really now, if I followed fads, I wouldn’t have 6 children… or homeschool… or not watch t.v….  No one ever accuses


Teach a kid to write – and then wonder why you took the trouble… Someday, the coffee table might be for holding coffee rather than hiding diaper boxes. Someday, the toilet paper roll won’t be empty every single time.  And I won’t find it unrolled down the stairs. Someday, forks will be considered mindless utensils, not deadly weapons. Someday, I won’t find rocks and legos in the bottom of the washing machine.  Or underfoot in the middle of the night. Someday, I won’t be wiping footprints – off the walls. Someday, there won’t be crayons in the tupperware drawer. Someday, I’ll have a phone conversation, beginning to end, without being interrupted by a side discussion on the life cycle of octop


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