In this house, we mess up.

Every ounce of me is tired.

The year of the mother.

This isn't just parenting - this is mothering through a pandemic.

What you're doing - matters.

This waiting place isn't easy.

Your kids don't want perfect, they want a mama who is real.

You're good - right smack dab in all of your mess.

To the mama filled with worry, you've done enough.

You're not failing.

Stop coasting on fumes and calling it living.

Not everyone is going to like you - it's OK.

There's not one of us that's doing it better than the other.

It's time to lower the bar.

I'm never going to be consistent, but that's OK.

That JOY you're searching for - it's not found in her life.