My son runs through the kitchen, tossing crumpled papers onto the counter. I shuffle through the math worksheets and drawings and find a letter from his music teacher about the upcoming Christmas program. In the letter, she outlines the outfits each grade level needs to wear for the performance. My kindergartener is supposed to wear … More The Lights on the Tree
Because she still fits in the crook of my arm, tucked right beneath my chin. Because I love watching her rub her blankey on her cheek, blinking her eyes, as she relaxes into me. Because she asks me to. Because it’s the only time she holds still all day. Because I can breathe in the … More Why I Rock My Toddler Before Bed
“Let me quick take your picture,” I say, shuffling Nora up my hip while posing Allie on the bus steps. She smiles, her hands tucked nervously under her chin. My nose burns, but the tears don’t fall. My eyes catch the bus driver’s gaze—the skin around his eyes crinkles—how many moms has he waved to, … More All the Kindergarten Feelings
The knife slices through the potato, the sharp edge hitting the cutting board with each chop. Thwack. Thwack. It’s not quite noon, but I want the mashed potatoes made now, so all I have to do at 4 o’clock is pop the pan into the oven. Glancing at the meal planner for the week, I … More The Harvest Meals You Didn’t Ask For
“She’s probably the last little one we’ll have at harvest,” my father-in-law said, looking at Nora in her car seat. She smiled at me, her cheeks covered in chocolate, leftover from dinner in the field. I could tell from a distance that her hands were still sticky. The last eight years have been full of … More On Being a Farm Mom During Harvest
My son, Rhett, is stuffing his feet into the wrong shoes when he asks me if I’m going to play football with him and his dad. I’m in the hallway on the way to my office, but I pause to look at him—the familiar knots in my stomach bubbling up. “I have a few things … More The Keeper of All the Things
In my bedroom, I have an old wooden stool. The paint is chipped, and the legs are marred with scratches and dents, probably from being dropped over the years. You can see where glue has been added, likely from my dad repairing it years ago. But my name is still there—clearly painted in blue cursive. … More One More Stool
The chair rocked back and forth, my baby’s sniffles the only sound in the quiet room. In the dark, I looked down, and she lifted her head off my chest and smiled at me. I started sobbing. At 15 months old, Nora’s not a baby anymore. But she’s still a baby to me. And in … More I’ll Never Regret Being a Stay-at-Home Mom
This is my first summer as a mom of three, and I feel like I’m failing. The smell of burnt hamburger fills the room, intensified by my baby’s sobs from the playmat on the floor. My shoulders rise; the tension is palpable. “I know, Nora, we’re past your naptime. I’m sorry,” I say, but her … More Moms Say Sorry, Too // On Coffee + Crumbs
As a kid, I remember thinking of Christmas as a mile-marker. I would look back over how much had changed from one year to the next. In high school, I’m sure I wondered if the next Christmas I would have a boyfriend. (Spoiler alert: I did not.) Or the year I went from not being … More A Few Good Things