Lazy Memorial Day

Defrosting and marinating the chicken while the pie cooks in the oven.

The Husband is way smarter than I ever give him credit for.

I hope your Memorial Day was just as genius.

Around The House

I'm a Homie. True dat. I like being home. I like making a home. And all that goes with it. I could stay inside my house and just do "stuff" for days. Often times "stuff" is code word for reading.

I decorate and undecorate. Move and rehang. It's just what I do. A mantel usually lasts a good 3 weeks. Then I'm bored and I pull out my awesome Homie skills and move everything around. Not gonna lie, it takes a full day. If I feel the need to paint something along the way, 2 days.

I have got to find a way to take my Homie skills on the road. Can I come redecorate your house? I would love it. Seriously. You'll have to call me. Or talk to The Husband on Facebook because I'm allergic to social media.

Here's what's happening around here today. You can ooh and awe over my random iphone pics with terrible lighting.

I've mentioned it before, but I'm obsessed with all things book pages. Here's a disclaimer-- Don't look close. I never pay attention to the words. I'm fairly confident in saying that much of my decor is probably covered with inappropriate words. And Daughter #1 made the adorable blue plate for me for Mother's Day.

The suitcases were my dad's when he served his church mission. I love them! And of course my beloved puzzles are stored out in the open, in a place of honor. Actually, these are just the ones I got for my birthday. I'm keeping them here until I finish them all. There is one, way in the back, that is hysterically inappropriate. The Husband claims he "couldn't see it clearly from the tiny picture on Amazon". It's a cartoon drawing of people at the beach. That's all I'm gonna say. (Feel free to come over and look at it. Don't bring small children.)

I get a bit fascinated with certain trends. For a while, I made pinwheels non-stop. Lately I've become obsessed with these circle, fan thingies. What exactly are they called? I dream about making a hundred of them and covering an entire wall. But the thought makes me tired, so I sit on the couch and read. Child #3 made the watercolor.

One of the most fun things I've done in my house is paint a chalkboard wall. Every now and then, out of the blue, one of my kids will draw beauty. Plain and simple.

And last, but not least, I'm giving you a view of underneath my bed. The Favorite Baby Child sleeps on the floor next to me (oh, what a whole other conversation that is). While looking for wrapping paper the other day, which is stored in bins under the bed, I discovered her stock pile.

Why on earth does she need so many cups? Why? Do you like how she's neatly laid out a fruit snack and a stick of gum? Good grief. And before you even wonder, no I haven't asked her about it. Frankly, I don't want to know. Honestly.

Apparently, my Homie skills only apply to anything above bed level.

Find time to decorate this weekend.
Or, just call me and I'll come do it for you :)

Hair-Do's and To-Do Lists

There are few things I'm good at. I could list them on one hand. Seriously. And just so you know, parenting isn't one of them. This isn't a surprise, we've talked about this before. But here's what you might not know-- I am a master at little girl hair-do's. I'm for reals, a master.

I'm guessing I could do a super fine job on big girl hair as well, but my big girls won't let me touch it. Every now and then, on a leap year, they will let me have at it. As soon as it's done, they hate it and undo all my work. It's ridiculous.

So, imagine my surprise when The Favorite Baby Child let me braid her hair. I totally jumped up and down in the bathroom. I may have twirled too.

She was Laura Ingalls Wilder at school for the day. Hence, the braids. I begged for 2 days and she caved under the pressure.

When she stepped off the bus that afternoon, the braids were gone. Of course.


On a brighter note, Child #2 fell down the stairs at school. She thinks she broke her butt. I'm not really sure how to confirm that one. But she did break her phone.

Being the creative child she is, she took colored Sharpie markers and decorated all the cracks.


My, oh my, life feels exhausting today. In all it's ordinary craziness.

Y'all. The list is long. Sooooo long. The list that's on a continual loop in my brain. It repeats all I need to get done. Over and over. And today? I feel the need to ignore the list. I just can't bring myself to care enough about it. All morning I have wasted time. Wasted. It feels so delightfully refreshing.

So I'm giving us all permission to put the To Do's on hold. Just for today. Find a way to waste some time. Preferably on a puzzle. M'kay?

Porch Sitting

I've been sitting on my porch for most of my life. At least, it feels that way. This porch and just one other. Watching my kids board the school bus. It's hard to remember my life before my porch sitting. What was all that time before I became a mother? A warm up? Maybe a test run? The farther away I am from those non-porch days, makes it feel like a different life all together. It probably was.

This morning I'm sitting. Again. Forever and ever. My mother eyes, need, no demand, the final glimpse of my child before she bounds up the steps. Somehow my heart thinks this last look will keep her safe until she returns.

I look around me at 7:26 am and see all that is familiar this time of year. I also realize that I'm sitting in my pajamas. Years, maybe eons? ago, I was up early. Showered and ready for the day. I hit the morning ready to roll with a load of laundry already done before we stepped to the porch for the bus waiting.

Now I sit in my pajamas and wonder where, oh where, I'll find enough energy for the day. I lounge on the couch while The Favorite Baby Child makes her own lunch and gets ready. We walk together to the door. We wait at the porch. The older two were up and out before the sun. They drive away in their own car that's filled with trash and smells disturbingly like men's cologne. They're too old for the bus. No more porch sitting with them.

So much of what we do is silent and unseen. It's a culmination of all the little things, like porch sitting. Like knowing this girl of mine will stop right at the very edge of the bus doors to turn back and wave at me. It's right there, that brief moment that seems so ordinary. But my eyes catch it and my soul breathes it in.

These are the days. The porch sitting ones. In all their no-frills glory. There is no thanks and rarely any acknowledgement. There are days, even years, that suck the life right from us. But this, this, is what we do. It is what we were made to create. A life. One filled with magical, daily moments.

My days are numbered. I realized that this morning. Only a few more years of waving as the bus speeds by. And I am caught in an understanding of what it means to be a parent. To mother with your whole entire being. It is never perfect. Most often it's messy. But, it's offered with your heart and soul. And that makes everything just right. In an ordinary, extraordinary kind of way.

Whether it be the porch or standing at the window, or even sitting exhausted on the couch, this is where you're supposed to be. In this moment, surrounded by a To Do list that is not manageable. You are living the good life. The one saved just for you.

Today, let's savor that knowledge. That we are here, in the space and family all our own. That porch sitting, laundry folding, dish washing is all done because of the people we love. Somehow that offers beauty into what we do. And gives light at just the perfect angle.

May we sit on the porch and breathe in our goodness.
Find joy today.

A Day To Celebrate

Happy Birthday

To the bravest mother.

The most courageous spirit.

The loveliest sister.

The most wonderful friend.

My All-Star Motivational Skills

Within 5.4 seconds of your first child entering high school, you quickly learn that everything, ev-re-thing!, has a fee and fundraiser that's required. College funds (if you're the kind of good parents that actually have those) evaporate into the endless checks you write for your teenagers and their high school activities. Someone should have warned me that I would need a part-time job just to cover it all.

After Child #1 was welcomed (cheers, balloons, excitement!) into the National Honors Society, the students were told about the mandatory fundraiser and monetary fees. So clearly, if you're a smart and hard working student, you have to pay for that right. Am I reading that clearly? (I'm no where near NHS material, so maybe I'm looking at it all wrong. It's highly possible.)

And can we note, just for fun, that's it's the end of the school year. Asking a parent for money at this point in the game is a dangerous thing to do. Oh yes, yes it is.

Yesterday, #1 comes stomping in the door and exclaims:
"If NHS didn't look good on a college resume, I would quit!!!!!!"

She stands and stares at me, while I'm folding HER laundry, so I exclaim:
"If motherhood didn't look good on a heaven resume, I would quit!!!!"

{pause for effect....I open my eyes even wider and really stare her down....}

"Now suck it up and stop complaining."


Amen. End of story.
Feel free to take notes on my teenager mothering skills.

Oh, and my pantry is stocked with fruit snacks now. You know, the fundraiser fruit snacks she was supposed to sell to other people. I bought 24. Again, take notes on the awesomeness (which is sometimes interchangeable with stupidity).

My Belated Thoughts On Mothering

On Saturday night, they sang. Choir concert, of course. One even sang a solo with that powerhouse voice of hers. Listening to them offer up their talents is one of my favorite things to do. Even more than puzzling. Which is saying somethin'.

Whenever they sing in a group, I feel myself leaning in to pick out their voices. Certain notes, particular bends in the music tend to single out the voice that I know as well as my own heartbeat. I'm drawn to it. In a natural sort of way. My eyes follow them on stage and it feels as if they carry a piece of my soul wherever they go. Mothers and their hearts.

When I first started mothering, I read countless books. I picked apart magazine articles for anything to give me a hint at what I should be doing. Did you do the same? That endless kind of searching and asking? I still do it now. Not so much the reading, but the asking. Simply because I'm curious, insanely so, on what makes other families tick.

How irritating is the random head at the top of this picture?

In my early mothering years, I was fervent about finding the "right" way to parent. I would literally sit in the isle at Barnes and Noble hunting through books. I wanted some kind of answer for why I felt like I was doing it all wrong. There just had to be a book that would tell me why my 2 year old chewed on the wall during time out.

Guess what? The answers are never found in books. Sure, they offer great insight and lots of ideas. But not often the answers. The ones tailored just to you and the people you mother. Those answers are located in the same place they've always been.

Inside you.

I think the Lord probably placed them there around the same time each child was gifted to you. The answers wait for us at the ready. Sometimes they're easy to reach. And other times, the answers feel exquisitely painful to discover. That search and find is all part of the plan as well, I'm sure.

Child #3's homemade gift. My favorite kind.

The world is of His grand design. There is order. There is placement. There is a plan to it all. So, we must believe this: You are where you're supposed to be and so are the children you mother. They were given to you for a reason. Not so you could mother them the way your neighbor does. Not so you can follow book solutions. You are the mother they need. With all your flaws and shortcomings, they need you. With the answers you hold in your heart.

Not because your perfect. But simply because of who you are. You, today, as you are in this moment, are the mother they need. Not the mothers you glimpse in their Sunday best or the kinds featured in articles. Just you. Plain and simple.

For you are grand. As mothers we always, always feel we are lacking. Sometimes the truth of what we face is heavy to hold. But hold it, we do. In our own unique way, we do this mothering thing on a constant spin cycle. Day after day. With no applause. That right there makes you extraordinary.

So, let's stop searching outward and start looking inward. You are the gift your children need. Right there. Surrounded by laundry and whining toddlers. You are their gift.

Let us treat ourselves accordingly.

Happy day late Mother's Day.
Celebrate what makes us each extraordinary. (Just a tip: The celebrating is so much sweeter when you listen to your daughters sing.)