It’s funny, being a blogger. I get to share pieces of my life with an almost anonymous audience, set somewhere out in the world wide web. And yet here you are… praying for me… encouraging me… challenging me. You know that Stuart hates beans. And you know that I have two uteri. I mean, come
It’s a rare moment on the farm. The hobbit is tucked into bed after an intense showering session in which the mud (ah, who am I kidding, it was mostly poop) he’d decided to play in while I was milking was washed away, along with the sins of the day. G-love is pretending she’s a
Dear mother at the grocery store, I’m sorry for judging you when your child broke down at the register because you wouldn’t let him have a candy bar. I’ve now been there, tears and all. Screw those dang racks of crap they line the checkout lines with. Dear mother with the messy house, I’m sorry
I was running the vacuum through our bedroom for the umpteenth time last week when I accidentally sucked up the tail of one of Stuart’s ties. Don’t tell him that. And don’t tell my Mom that I was using her vacuum that I borrowed, oh, I don’t know… eight months ago. (Neither of those is
Sometimes, I’ve just got to take a step back and admit “I’m not that woman.” As much as I’d like to be, I’m just not. This time of year, I’m aware of it all the more. While other Mom’s are setting up tablescapes and decorating sugar cookies like turkeys, I’m just keepin’ my head above
Oh life. Crazy, mad, life. It’s days like this that I feel like a giant oxymoron. In my attempt at a calm, simple, and organized life, I’ve found myself once again in the beautiful tornado that is…well, my life. My Life Is… Life as a mother is awesome. Love those rascals – especially the super
I use a lot of essential oils. Like. A lot of them. And I love them. Let’s just all remember that as we continue on in this post, shall we? As many of you know, I sell and promote essential oils and am happy to do so. I love the company. I love the product.
When Daddy’s away, Mama takes a 20 minutes car ride into town for overpriced lattes all too often. And when Daddy’s away, the eggs don’t get collected for days on end because it’s never the most pressing task at hand. When Daddy’s away, Mama texts him “S.O.S.” too many times in a 24 hour span.