Dear Friends,

Let me just start by saying—I love my kids. I really do. I know whose fault they are too, and spoiler alert… it’s mine. Five times over. That’s right. Five whole personalities walking around this house, each carrying a piece of me like it’s a family heirloom nobody asked for.

And let me tell you, as a mother of five, somebody is always mad at me. Always. If I breathe wrong, somebody’s in their feelings. If I cook, one loves it, one hates it, one suddenly “isn’t hungry,” and one is asking for snacks right before dinner. It’s a full-time emotional juggling act with no commercial breaks.

Now here’s the kicker—some of my kids are just like me. Same attitude, same tone, same “I said what I said” energy. And the others? Oh, they are their father’s children ALL day long. So basically, I’m either arguing with myself or negotiating with his mini-me’s. Either way… I’m tired.

After what I like to call my “TikTok degree in parenting” and my late-night “YouTube therapy sessions,” I’ve come to a realization—I was not mature enough to raise children.

And yet… there I was.

In the trenches.

With a house full of little monkeys jumping on the bed. Yes, that song. And yes, we sang it loudly—because sometimes singing nursery rhymes was the only thing standing between me and losing my mind completely.

“One fell down and bumped his head.”

Here’s what nobody tells you: whether you have one child or ten, it’s the same. There’s no instruction manual. No training course. No “Congratulations, you passed motherhood!” certificate. Just vibes, prayers, and snacks.

And let’s be honest for a second—some of us probably shouldn’t have had children.

I said what I said.

But for reasons only God understands, He trusted us anyway. He looked at us—flaws, attitude, impatience, all of it—and still said, “Yep, she’s the one. Give her five.”

Children are blessings, yes… but they are also character development on steroids.

They will show you exactly where you’re weak.
They will test your patience like it’s a sport.
They will teach you how to love in a way that stretches you past your comfort zone.

And somehow… it’s still beautiful.

But can we talk about the emotional rollercoaster for a second?

Because how is it that I can love these little humans with my whole heart… but also feel like I could run them over with a shopping cart in Target?

Not to harm them—just a gentle nudge. A little “rethink your choices” tap.

Don’t judge me. I know I’m not alone.

Motherhood is a ride for the strong. The weak? Oh, they’ll crumble, retreat, and next thing you know, the kids are running the house like it’s Children of the Corn: Family Edition.

But then… there are those moments.

The quiet ones.

When you’re watching your child laugh, or sleep, or just be themselves—and suddenly, you see it. A piece of you. The good, the bad, the “Lord, help them not do what I did” part.

And in that moment, you say a silent prayer:

“God… please let them learn the lesson without the pain I needed to understand it. Let them see my heart, even when I don’t get it right. Let them know I’m trying.”

Because we are trying.

Every single day.

Let me tell you a quick story.

When my kiddos were younger, one of them tried to “help” by cleaning the kitchen. And when I say help… I mean there was soap in places soap has never seen before. The floor was sticky, the counters were questionable, and somehow the dog was wet.

I stood there, looking at the chaos… and before I could say anything, they looked up at me with the biggest smile and said, “I wanted to make it easier for you.”

And just like that… my frustration had to sit down and be quiet.

Because it was a gift.

Messy, inconvenient, slightly concerning—but still a gift.

That’s motherhood.

One moment you’re overwhelmed, questioning everything, wondering if you’re doing it all wrong…

And the next moment, you’re reminded that this—this right here—is sacred.

The Bible says:

“Her children arise and call her blessed.” — Proverbs 31:28

Now listen… they may not be calling me blessed today. Or tomorrow. Or anytime soon if I keep saying “no” to everything.

But one day… they will understand.

And until then, I’ll keep showing up. Imperfect, a little sarcastic, slightly dramatic—but full of love.

Lesson learned?
You don’t have to be a perfect mother to be a good one. Your children don’t need flawless—they need present. They need real. They need you.

So, to all my girlfriends walking through different seasons of motherhood—diapers, sports practices, teenage attitudes, or empty nests…

We are all just doing the best we can.

And somehow… that’s enough.

And somehow…God blesses us with another day.

With love, laughter, and just a little bit of side-eye,
Your friend who is finally out of the trenches.

From Your Friend, It’s Me Lorie