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.  

Midwife Crisis (A Birth Story)

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. That’s childbirth in a nutshell. I had a baby recently.  Five days ago, in fact.  So the memory’s fresh.  It all went down like this… I’m one of those lucky folks who can either say they’re in labor for six weeks – or six hours.  Pressure builds and Braxton Hicks contractions are regular company in the weeks leading up to my due date.  I waddle.  Nothing fits.  I have to choose between breathing and bending over.  I crave chocolate.  (Actually, that’s nothing new…) My last hippo selfie The local hospital (where all my children have been born) frowns on natural birth after a mom has had a cesarean birth.  They’ll do it, but grudgingly – onl

To Kill a Mockingbird

I’m nesting. Baby clothes are washed.  Everyone’s fingernails have been clipped.  Those cobwebs in the corner were finally vacuumed.  Groceries are stocked.  Grandma is standing by the phone. This pregnancy has nearly reached its magnum opus.  Soon I’ll get to hold the baby in my arms rather than waddling like a hippo-sized penguin with it balanced under my belly button.  The anticipation is growing, and I want everything to be ready. Unfortunately, I am not one of those who make neat, tightly woven nests. I’m flighty, as bird-brained as they come – and that’s when I’m not even pregnant.  Add homeschooling, five little boys, and general homemaking in a little house, and life gets messy.  Rea

Letter to My Unborn Son

This was the first post I ever wrote on this blog, one and a half years ago.  But as I prepare for the impending birth of my next son, I still mean every word. Dear Child, I haven’t met you.  I don’t know you (though your roundhouse kicks to my ribs hint at strength and stubbornness ahead).  But I love you already and can’t wait to meet you next month. I want the best for you.  Unfortunately, I am completely inadequate to be your mother.  Even if I pour my life into parenting you, I will fall short.  Already I do.  (Sorry about those doughnuts.  They gave us both a sugar crash later.)  Just ask your brothers in a few years, when they’re teenagers and you learn how to talk, they’ll tell you.


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