There are piles of unfolded laundry in my living room and unwashed dishes in the sink.  The floor needs sweeping again and one of these days I’m going to put all the junk in my room in the storage shed.  I’m exhausted, the kids are tired and cranky by this time of day, but daddy just came home.

Did I mention it’s VBS week?

That’s what I’m thankful for.  That despite the fatigue that comes with a full week of fun and games, Annabelle is talking more than she ever has about Jesus.  Madelynne has started saying “yes m’am” unprompted and her teachers keep telling me how smart she is.  Amelia and Gus?  They’re being taken care of by a swarm of tireless nursery workers who are the unsung heroes of God’s Amazing Wonders.

So that’s where we’ve been this week.  Too busy to take pictures and too tired to post the ones still on the camera.

But it’s worth it for them to discover that church can be fun and God can do amazing things if we open our eyes to see.

Today is my 300th post.  I always knew I had that many words (and so many more) but I never dreamed anyone (except my mom) would care.

Thank you for reading here, commenting here, coming here and reminding me I’m not alone in this journey of motherhood and self and salvation.

Last night we gathered in a living room and perched on couch arms and kitchen stools and drank wine out of tea glasses and sipped coffee from porcelain mugs and talked and laughed and learned.

At least I did.

Me, the one who always compares, who always finds some reason why I don’t measure up, who is certain that no one would really care to really know me, the mom who would rather write about life than live it.


But if I’m not really opening myself up to the challenge of living, what’s left to write?


I’ve discovered when you open yourself up and listen to the said and unsaid, it can be amazing what you hear.

No one has it together.

For some of us, we collapse under the weight of the unexpected, for others it’s the weight of expected perfection, the challenge of always putting forth the face we think others want to see.

Sometimes we just need to hear that we’re not alone.  We’re not crazy.

We’re covered in grace, that belief that though I deserve nothing, I have everything.

And my everything doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s.

Today we had just what we needed.  Just one day.  One day where nothing worked out according to plan, but everything just worked out.  One day where the fussing and the fighting and the freak outs were a under control.

Or at least not driving me too crazy.

The worst part was when Annabelle threw up in the parking lot of state park shelter #6 after I had driven us around for forty-five minutes in search of a waterfall hike with directions that were fifteen years old and thus, incorrect.

She get carsick, no big deal.

So we had our picnic by the creek and I nursed Gus and they played on the playground and swam their cheddar cheese goldfish cracker knockoffs around the picnic table.  Why is eating outside always more fun?

I think it’s because mommy isn’t saying sit down or don’t swim your crackers around the table!


Then we did a really brave thing mostly motivated by my desire to exhaust them all for an early bedtime since daddy is working late and my need to move this baby pudge.

My baby pudge, not Gus’s.  His is adorable.

We hiked halfway around the lake to the Visitor’s Center for a wildlife program.

Have you ever trekked a mile in the woods with a two year old?

It’s the reason child leashes were invented.

I was sure at any moment she was tumbling down the steep bank into the water.  She was sure every moment was for picking up sticks, eating pebbles, and climbing barrier fences.

She had a blast.  Her big sisters were appeased by the bigger playground at the end and ice cream.

When we finally made it back to the shelter, I did a crazy thing.  I let them take off their shoes and wade in the creek while I nursed again.  And I didn’t even yell when Amelia got her shorts all wet and Madelynne used all the rest of the wipes to clean her feet before she put her shoes back on.

Then we piled in the minivan and took the backroads home.  They all fell asleep and for just a moment, there was complete contentment and peace.

Linking up with Julia and others for Thankful Thursday.

Dear Gus,

Today you are one month old.  Somehow we’ve survived the first four weeks of sleep deprivation, shrieks that mean your tummy hurts, sissy monster torture, mommy’s baby blues, more diapers than I even want to count, dozens of loads of laundry, and the end of our fabulous MealTrain.

You’re crying in your bouncy seat as I write this because I’m not holding you and spending endless hours watching old movies and episodes of Glee.

You like music.  Must have been the jazzercise.

You hate loud noises and people in your face.  Must be the Amelia.

She loves you a lot.  Enough to come running everytime you cry to ask, “Gush-Gush need his paci?”

You never want it. She can’t understand because she’s completely addicted to hers.  Will you help me break her of it before she starts kindergarten?

Your other sissies love you lots too.  Annabelle keeps track of how many times she’s held you and challenges others to see if they’ve beat her record.  Guess what?  Mommy wins.

Madelynne may seem a bit indifferent, but she’s still trying to adjust to being the biggest most responsible sister. She’ll get there.

For only one month, you’ve already experienced a lot.  We took you to church before you were a week old so you could hear Madelynne’s solo, and you’ve been to MOPS, the grocery store, the doctor’s office, the Tinsleys, Aunt Katy’s soon-to-be old house, E-town, and Chic-Fil-A more times than any other baby in the county.

You have started waking up more and looking around with big, round eyes that aren’t losing their baby blue. Your brown seems to be coming in slowly and not intensely like your sisters.  Maybe you’re the only one destined for something else.

You haven’t lost any hair, and you’ve gained over two pounds.  I love your fat little cheeks and the creases in your legs and arms.

You’re perfect.

Except you’re not a great night-time sleeper.  I understand.  It’s too quiet and you figure it’s the only time you get mommy and daddy all to yourself without interference.

I love you.  I can’t believe how fast this month has gone.  I thought you would never get here…and now, I just want to savor these sweet moments.

And get some sleep.

Happy One Month baby Gus!