My house smells like Coffee and Lysol which can only mean a few things.

A)Someone is sick and I’m out of energy.
B)I’m turning in to my mother.
C)Someone is sick and I’m still turning in to my mother.
D)Wait, when did I start drinking coffee???


Perfection is overrated.

I have learned that life isn’t about getting it “perfect” but maybe living in the small instant that comes before perfect. After all, it’s more fun anyway.

I’ve always taken 100 pictures to make sure I get just the right one. This morning when I found the last one was perfect, I backed up to that one above. It just seemed…..perfect. It captured the true essence that is my wild children. The world we live in creates this idea that everyone and everything should be a certain way at all times. I just have to disagree. Sometimes when you’re rushing out of the door to get to point B and the kids are already complaining that their shoes are too tight or the other one is taking their hair down and you are just about to snap before you can put the kids in the car in that moment, laugh. Yes, just laugh because no amount of screaming will make you feel quite as good. (Trust me)

Photos tell a story and hold memories that often change over years. The one thing that stays the same is the photo itself. Nothing has brought me more joys and rewards than motherhood. I’m learning to live perfectly imperfect with a family perfect for me.

Do your children “live” where they live?

I’m curious how many people allow their children to actually live in their home.

If you come to my house, you will quickly realize that it isn’t spotless. I ask that you be understanding and see that I would rather lay in Chances’ floor reading books with him or CG’s room playing dolls. I grew up where everything had a place and you kept it all together, all the time. My kids? Well, by now you can probably guess that I’m a little more relaxed in that department. Sometimes, I just like to sit and watch them play. Wherever it may be.

If you can’t accept that two little people live here and share their toys with everyone, scattering them through the house, you wouldn’t make good company for us.

Why is it that the kitchen is the one place that can be cleaned 10 times a day and still be dirty? I am 90% finished cleaning our house yet random dishes make their way to the sink and clutter seems to migrate to the kitchen table. Where is it coming from???? I love a clean house, but I absolutely detest giving up time with my kids to clean it!

Legos, doll clothes, and puzzle pieces are among the most popular items this week. It can be challenging finding the balance between allowing your children to play freely and creating boundaries.

Children have their entire lives to have someone stand over them and dictate. I believe in cleanliness and teaching them to cleanup but this is their house. This is their home and they have the right to enjoy it like everyone else. I don’t tell my husband to play games on his phone in our room and practice his “duck calling” in his shed. He doesn’t tell me to read my kindle in our room so why should I confine our children to theirs?

Big boys don’t cry (but Mommas do).


I woke up a little early this morning and after getting dressed, I strolled to the kitchen and removed lunches from the fridge (as usual), and placed them in their designated bags. I woke up my children from oldest to youngest and arranged backpacks. All in the same ritualistic motions as I do every morning.

Somewhere between my driveway and the school parking lot, I must have missed someone pressing “fast forward”. As I watched him gather his things in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t help but notice his hair perfectly combed to the side, his new school shirt crisp and clean, not a stitch out of place. He looked so sweet, so perfect, so brave. That was until the car door opened.


Walking to the front door of the school, I’m taking the 1 million pictures that I always do of every first and I can’t help but notice he seems anxious. With a few encouraging words from Mom, he was ready to kick Pre K butt! Just as we’re walking inside he let’s a small courageous smile creep out and says “Big boys don’t cry.”

We check in at the office and head for the classroom. Immediately I notice the door looks like a giant yellow
minion“, a character from a movie he recently watched. He thought that seemed funny. Deep breathe, and the doors opens. He scans the room taking in all of the art, and bright colors covering the walls. The teacher is kind, bubbly, sweet, and within a second he takes to her. He seemed so self assured. Far different from the little boy who only moments ago hopped out from the booster in my back seat, and suddenly, this Momma wasn’t.


Do you really understand the impact a teacher has on a child or a child has on a teacher? I hope so. Our children will grow to trust, mimic, care for, and even love their teachers. Teachers carry an immense amount of responsibility. One teacher can potentially make or break a child. More life lessons are learned in a classroom than almost anywhere else. That teacher, has the ability, the right to to groom our children into young adults.


Being a parent is far more than just having a child. We are raising a future President, astronaut, teacher, pastor, coach, or any of the other 1 billion jobs out there they may want to do when they “grow up”. A teacher shares in that journey. When you send your child to school, you loose a little piece of control. You give another person the responsibility of helping to mold your future grown up. As a Mom, that isn’t easy for me and I’m woman enough to admit it.


Somehow, my mind seemed to have lost all control to function. As I was waving goodbye to my baby boy, it was as if I where saying hello to my little man. So full of pride for him and complete heartbreak for myself. I really don’t know how we got to this place so fast. Of course I cried, and I had to excuse myself to pull it together in the hall. Finally managing a goodbye, I left. As I made it to my car, and managed to drive myself to work I heard his little voice “Big boys don’t cry.” and I thought to myself “No, but Mommas do.


Mothers Intuition?

The time seems to be flying by. Looks like another appointment, another check up, another four hour trip, only to reveal the same news. The time is January 8th to be exact. I will remain optimistic, but always in reality. Some days it seems like it was only yesterday, others an entire lifetime ago.

I guess some form of explanation is in order. You can’t truly understand the story until you’ve heard the whole thing.

Note:Some things have been left out and names have been changed to protect the privacy of this blog and those directly connected to it.

From the moment he was born, I knew something wasn’t right. He was absolutely perfect, not a hair out of place. The call it mothers intuition. After fighting for the entire first year and a half of his life, I finally reached my breaking point. His pediatrician did everything but call me insane. Parading around like some “know it all” trying to belittle me. Claiming that I was an “over bearing first time parent”. Even went on to say it may be in the child’s best interest to be brought to the appointments by someone else. Someone other than his mother?

Jumping in the car and driving to next town, I don’t recall how I managed to run into the doctors office, much less demand immediate help. Once the staff realized how serious I was, they grabbed the nearest doctor, and escorted us to a room. I remember it like it was yesterday. The kind look on her face. A little tremble over her eyebrow letting me know she was genuinely concerned. She gave us her undivided attention. Once she heard our story, the restless nights, constant wheezing, loss of appetite, and all of the other horrible symptoms. She felt the same heart stabbing pain, picked up the phone and began making calls.

Later that afternoon she called to say she found a specialist a few towns over and that was her best guess. She later called to say the soonest she could be seen was three months away, but another doctor there would be happy to take the case. She followed that statement with “So I said sure! Your appointment is tomorrow.”

Relief, and anxiety began the battle in my mind that I would be tormented with over the next few days. Once arriving, the staff where friendly, the office was nice, and the Doctor, he was like nothing I’d ever seen. From the moment he walked in I felt this sense of peace. He asked to speak with the child, not myself or my mother in law. Only the child. (My husband was out of town on working.) Once he managed to say the simple word “no” to the doctor, the answers where coming. “There are several different scenarios, all are rare. Surgery is in order. Go home pack your bags, pray, and come back first thing in the morning.”

Leaving was the hardest part, my legs seemed to have lost all ability to move. Once in the car it was a quite ride home, followed by packing, crying, praying, more crying, and the long trip back to a hotel down from the hospital. No sleep for anyone that night. The next morning seemed to creep by. Anxiety building and worry taking over. The time finally came to take him back to the operating room. There are no words to describe the gut wrenching, heart breaking pain of giving your child to someone you don’t know and allowing them to perform a life threatening procedure. The nurse assured us it normally takes around 30-45 minutes to get in, take pictures and get out. Nervous I asked “Should it take longer can someone come out and reassure us?” 45 minutes later she did just that.

After what seemed like an eternity (2 hours and 37 minutes) the doctor appeared. Sweat on his brow, pale face, pictures and papers in hand, he leans in and pulls me aside. My father stepping in “We’re all family here, you can tell us too.” With a small nod of my head he proceeds. “In my line of work, we don’t usually mix business and religion, but I’m telling you, I don’t know what God you pray to, but you had better get on your knees and thank him. It’s a miracle that baby was alive when he got here! We’re going to have more results later when our samples return but I can tell you that he has a very rare respiratory disorder. They’re working toward classifying it as a disease but its still in the early stages. The good news is you’re in the right place, the bad news is there is no cure.” The words seemed to paralyze me. No words, no movement. The entire world seemed to have faded into mass chaos blurred out by my heart beat.

An hour or so later the nurse came out announcing we could go in. He seemed so weak. So small, and yet so strong. He was released a few days later to come home. That was 3 years and 8 months ago. We’ve had our ups and our downs, but we still have our boy! The journey has been one of heartache and great joy. It’s not as rare as it was when we started this, but it’s still uncommon.

Most people who have heard this story say “I don’t know how you done it. “How did you know?” Or the ever popular “He’s so lucky to have you for a mom!” As much as I appreciated the positivity, one thing is for sure, he isn’t lucky, he is blessed. I give every ounce of credit to The Lord above. He gave me the strength to keep fighting, and my son the strength to hold on. Everyday we have with him is a miracle in itself. After successfully completing 11 surgeries and countless other procedures he just celebrated his 5th birthday!

Moral of the story:
Never take one single breath for granted and when you have a gut feeling, don’t let others talk you down.