I’ve been doing a terrible job of writing blog posts, and one of my goals is to be more consistent with it. So today I had every intention of writing a post about the upcoming Rogers family trip to Sock World. 

Annabelle had other plans for me. 

It’s rare that we don’t have to wake up earlier than we’d like, whether to an alarm or to the kids. So we were very relieved to go to bed last night and not set an alarm for the morning. And our kids decided to play quietly in their rooms this morning instead of waking us up. 

Or so we thought. 

I finally got out of bed, bleary eyed and silently thanking my angel children for putting their parents’ need for sleep above their own desires. What blessed children our Heavenly Father has bestowed on us. 

I opened our bedroom door. And then the smell hit me. 

Strangely enough, it wasn’t a bad smell. It smelled fresh and nostalgic all at once. In fact, it was rather pleasant. 

I looked in my daughter’s room and this is what greeted me. Amongst the teeny Calico Critters’ accessories and the pull ups and the blankets and random clothes thrown on the floor, I found the contents of an entire bottle of baby powder. 

I didn’t even know we had baby powder. I’ve been decluttering the house for Lent (and I’m quickly realizing I need longer than 40 days to get it done) but I haven’t gotten to the inside of Annabelle’s closet or wardrobe yet. I’m assuming the baby powder has been sitting there for years, patiently waiting for its day to shine. 

Annabelle cleaned the mess up by herself, enjoying it way too much. 

As we all watched her vacuum, Noah happily exclaimed, “Well, it is the first day of April! Congratulations!”

Congratulations, indeed. 

Today my dear daughter is serenading me with a lively rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”

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This particular version apparently lasts upwards of 20 minutes. 

Meanwhile, and on a completely unrelated note, I rejoice that naptime is in 5 minutes. 

The Confetti Popper was totally worth it. 

We were FaceTiming with Anthony, watching a BeatBugs countdown on Netflix. (If you haven’t checked out BeatBugs yet, do it – cartoon bugs singing Beatles songs. What’s not to like?) The kids were super excited. Noah was holding the phone, and unbeknownst to me, blocking the majority of the camera with his finger so poor Anthony saw pretty much nothing. We all screamed out, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

And then I twisted the Confetti Popper. The incredibly loud noise it made scared Annabelle to death, who by the way is terrified of firecrackers. Confetti went everywhere. Noah laughed hysterically in delight. Annabelle sobbed. Anthony and I laughed at the kids’ reactions. 

My living room was covered in confetti. 

Best part? Once the children calmed down they spent two minutes cleaning up all the paper into a pile to jump into. 

We have no trees in our yard, and the kids have been dying to jump into a pile of leaves, so they’ve got to make do. 

10/10. Next year I’m buying the 2 ft tube. 

Happy New Year, everyone! May God show you His face this year. 

Quote from my favorite movie aside (it’s from Mean Girls. If you didn’t know that, you need to go watch it as soon as possible or we can no longer be friends), tonight is going to be fun. 

Hubby is working tonight, but the kids and I went to my parents’ house for dinner and fun time with my nephew Max. We played games, ate pizza, and set off teeny fireworks. 

Now we are back at home, about to do a Netflix New Year’s Eve countdown. Seriously though, parents salute you, Netflix. These countdowns are genius. One minute of fun and then we can get those kiddos off to bed at a decent hour. 

We are going to FaceTime with Daddy. And when the countdown is over, we will shout, “Happy New Year!” And then. We will use our confetti popper. 

I found this bad boy for under $2 at Walmart. I’m a little terrified of it. It cautions that there may be recoil. It warns not to point it at animals or people. It prohibits use by anyone under 16 years of age. I’m probably going to regret this. 

Pictures of the aftermath to come. At least my kids will always know I tried to be fun. 

Dear MOPS mamas,

Today is the day. Today is our first meeting of the year. Today you will join us in this holy, set-apart, safe space and our lives will begin to be woven together. 

Some of you will come in with joy and familiarity because you’ve been here before and you know the hope this year holds for you. 

Some of you will be scared to death as you walk in this room – because meeting people is scary. And trying to make friends as a mom who worries that she’s lost her identity and her personality to the beautiful, energy sucking world of laying your life down to raise children is, quite honestly, terrifying. (Will they like me? Will I be able to string together a coherent sentence after my kid kept me up all night? What if I unknowingly have poop or spit up on my shirt? What if they ask me what my hobbies are and my mind completely goes blank other than “showering alone” and “drinking a hot cup of coffee that didn’t have to be reheated five times”?) You may be so focused on your anxiety that you can’t even bear to hope that the relationships you gain in this place will change your life. And that’s okay. We know you will be surprised by that grace. 

We have prayed for you, prepared for you. We have been neck deep in spreadsheets and documents and lists and planning. We have figured out logistics that would make your head spin. We have decorated and brainstormed and poured over your names and information. We have loved you before we have met you. 

Mamas, you matter. You are worth it. You sacrifice yourself so that your children can gain. So often what you do is thankless and invisible. You are in the hard years of never getting a quiet moment or a solitary trip to the bathroom and while you are never alone, these years can be so very lonely. We get you. We know where you are. We see you. 

This is a place of rest. Of grace. Of restoration and hope. It’s a place to be safe and let others in and encourage each other. 

So come and share your beautiful selves. Bring your funny stories, your hardships, your dark moments, your worries, your victories. Come and share yourselves with each other and leave as better mamas who are filled up and ready to pour out on your kids again. Come and be filled. 

We love you. 

Love, 

The MOPS Steering Team

Anthony and I have been married for (almost) eight years. He’s got an incredible sense of humor and an infectious laugh. 

Anthony lets me sleep in on a regular basis and takes far more than his fair share of night wake ups with the kids. He loves to serve. The kids live for living room wrestling sessions with daddy. 

My husband didn’t know what a bagel was until he was 21. He’s an incredibly hard worker. He’s also pretty clumsy. Keep wine glasses and power tools away from this stud. 

Our sad and pitiful vehicles over the years (and a healthy dose of Google) have turned Anthony into a pretty decent home mechanic. 

After our first kiss, I temporarily lost my mind and said, “You make my heart go pitter patter.” And he didn’t run away from me in terror. 

He loves soccer. And cricket. And curling. And sports radio. At one point he called into our ESPN radio station so often they all knew him by the sound of his voice. And if you want someone to win a radio contest for you, he’s your man. He’s won us hundreds of dollars in restaurant gift cards. And once he sang “Can You Feel The Love Tonight?” on the radio to win us Elton John tickets. That’s romance, ladies. 

I love this man. And for the record, he still makes my heart go pitter patter.