Bad, bad blogger.

When I consider all that has transpired in the previous year, I think I'm a little crazy for homeschooling my kids. We have moved, traveled, had a flooded house, moved out due to said flooded house, moved back in, and had all sorts of "life" in the in between times. I would be crazy for choosing to continue with this journey that is so exhausting and demanding.

And yet, it really isn't a choice for me. It is a calling from my heavenly Father and I can do nothing but follow His will. Did I pretend not to hear His call for a while? Um, yeah. Do I really resent this calling some days? Yes. And have I gone, but only like a toddler in a tantrum? Definitely.

Though the past year has definitely been tough and has added to my wrinkles (but I got BANGS to cover them up!), I would not trade it for any other year. This time spent at home with my kids learning with them and from them has been priceless. I would not trade it for a wrinkle-free forehead or all the money in the world. I learned so much about myself, about them, about God's goodness.

Watching my little man learn to read or seeing history come alive or snuggling while listening to "Beethoven Lives Upstairs"...all moments that made this calling worth every bit of challenge.

I may be a terrible blogger, but I think I'm a decent homeschool mom. I certainly have more books than money, more holds at the library than anyone in town, and more on my to-do list than I could ever accomplish in a day. So I will continue to be a terrible blogger, updating when I remember to...so please forgive me (if there's even anyone reading this!)!

So...that's a tiny update. I will hop on again soon (promise!) to share what we did for school last year and what we'll be up to this year. I am so very excited to learn so much more this year---The Middle Ages and Chaucer and Beowulf and Shakespeare and War of the Roses and Astronomy....

Oops.

Sometimes, I get too focused.

I'll be happily listening to my "Peaceful Holidays" station on Pandora, which I've calibrated to my liking perfectly. Simultaneously, I'm tidying the school mess and making lunch and emptying the dishwasher, while encouraging my daughter, Little Miss Pink, to express her artistic side with some watercolor.

And then I look up from all of that, and realize that she has expressed herself all over her cute little face.

Oops.

Excuse the bad photo. I took it with my Droid, right before I told her to stop painting on her face.

Amazing Revelation

 yikes. this is a keeping it real picture, proving that i can teach, but, on some days, i can't teach and cook and put on makeup. something's gotta give, and this day it was concealer & mascara. 

I can't do it all.

Simple, right?

But for a first-born, type-A personality, it's actually quite a difficult to accept and life-altering revelation.

I.can't.do.it.all.

With homeschooling, church commitments, family responsibilities, healthy eating, attempting to exercise, be a good friend, maintain my marriage, keep up (somewhat) with laundry....something's gotta give. Or a lot of somethings.

And little by little this fall, I have come to realize and accept that I just can't be everything to everyone and do everything I "think" or "feel" that I should. I have come to love even more the verse in Phillipians (4:13) that says, "I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me." Because that verse doesn't say "I can do EVERY thing..." but just ALL things. I think there's an important difference. I don't have to bake 7 varieties of Christmas cookie and make homemade laundry soap and conquer every dust bunny. I just have to do my best at what I do tackle. And, to be honest, these days its a lot fewer things.

Homeschooling is hard work. Mighty hard. But the fruits of my labor have demonstrated that I'd rather make choices about my time and do less, but do it better.

I can't do it all.

Sounds like a simple thing, but you could ask my best friends and they'd definitely realize it's a huge deal for this girl. This girl who, in fact, held her Little Man's birthday party in a BOWLING ALLEY. Yup. I can't do it all.

Thank the good Lord.

**Cute pictures courtesy of Gruman Photography

The Day I Became a Mom

Dear Little Man,

Did you know that I have been writing you letters since the very early days of my pregnancy with you? Lots and lots of letters written in those days to a baby whose gender I did not know, to little ears I couldn't wait to whisper in and kiss, to eyes that I hoped would be blue, like your daddy's.

After you were born, I wrote you letters. Letters as I watched you sleep in your bassinet next to my bed, letters as you crossed milestones, letters on each of your birthdays--six so far. Letters as you became a big brother and a preschooler and a kindergartner and a first grader. Many letters.

But this is the first letter that I know you really understand. Someday, I will give you all of the letters. But I can sum them up in this: I loved you before you were born. I loved you the moment the midwife placed you in my arms, your eyes open wide and soaking up the whole wide world with your wise, serious glance.  And I have grown to love you more and more each day, each month, each year.

I am so very proud of the boy you have become. I feel like turning seven is a very big milestone, sweet boy! When I tucked you in tonight, I felt as I was putting to bed a little boy and would be kissing a young man in the morning.

You are wise and bright and mature. You are fun and funny. You are athletic and handsome. You are a loving big brother, adored by your baby sister and cherished by your little brother. You are a sensitive soul, much like your mama. You feel things so deeply and are so empathetic. I love that about you. You have Jesus in your heart, which makes me most proud of all.

It is an honor for me to be your mom. I am so glad that we met that bleary-eyed early morning in November seven years ago. I am thankful beyond belief that you are my boy. I wish you everything wonderful in life, most importantly that you would grow up to be a man after God's heart. You are on your way.

Happy, Happy Birthday, Little Man.

I love you more than you can every know!

xoxoxoxoxo
mom

***photo credits-last three shots from gruman photography

Happy Birthday, Little Man!

My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, "You're tearing up the grass." "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys."

--- Harmon Killebrew

The business of raising boys is hard work. But I must say, Little Man makes great joy of the work of motherhood.

On this very day, six years ago, Little Man entered the world, my arms, my heart and our life. He was born in the wee hours of the morning after a long night of labor. I chose to do water birth, mostly because I'm completely needle-phobic and was too afraid of an epidural. Long story short, I loved water birth and Little Man certainly seemed to reap the benefits of the natural delivery in the water.

The moment he was born and was placed in my arms, he didn't cry. He did not yell. He opened his eyes and looked all around with the most inquisitive and searching expression. His eyes, as they were that early November morning, are bright and beautiful and blue, like his Daddy's.

This day, I celebrate that Little Man (or "The Boy" as we called him, before his baby brother arrived!). I celebrate his search for wisdom, I celebrate his pure heart, I celebrate his love for God and family. I celebrate the gift he is in my life. I thank God that He, in His infinite wisdom, entrusted us with Little Man. What a blessing, an extraordinary gift!

Happy Birthday, Little Man! I love you like crazy.

PS More SOON on the birthday preparations, including the rest of the invite, decos and a Lego pinata! Fun, fun, fun! AND my other project I spoke about. phew. I'm behind!

My Favorite Little Bookworm

On Facebook a few months back, a college friend commented that Irish hubby and I were raising nerds after Little Man, upon seeing the snow on the ground in early October, said, "We're on Hoth." As in, the frozen planet that Luke and Co. travel to in Star Wars.

I have to say that I'm kind of proud to be raising nerds. Nerds that like cool music and have great senses of humor. Nerds that love Jesus, their mom and books. In that order!

To bear witness to the nerd-dom we are creating in our little Irish Norwegian family, I present exhibit A.

It's a normal Tuesday afternoon at our house. I pick up Littlest Man at preschool with Little Miss Pink in tow. We head to the prep academy that Little Man attends to pick him up from half day kindergarten. We get there early, so Littlest Man and Little Miss Pink look at books (and I do, too) in the car.

Little Man and his classmates file out of the building, waiting to get escorted to their awaiting minivans. Little Man's adorable teacher (who reminds us all of Giselle from "Enchanted") holds his hand and walks him to the car. Normally, she says hello and goodbye and is on her way to deposit another kindergartner in his or her vehicle.

Not today. Today, she looks at me with a rather serious face and says she had to have a chat with Little Man. Uh-oh. You have to know that Little Man, like his mother, is incredibly obedient and rule conscious when it comes to other people (at home, not so much always!) and school, church, etc. I remember the very few times I got in trouble in elementary school. Vividly. I digress.

My stomach dropped when she said those words because, as I said, I'm a rule follower, too! She proceeded to tell me that, upon arrival at school, Little Man and a classmate stopped at the book fair that was being held in the school atrium. They did not continue onto class, though. They stopped for many minutes. Little Man was reading and reading, until another adult stopped him to ask, "Where are you supposed to be, boys?" His teacher told me that Little Man was actually late for class because of his little Book Fair visit. She let me know she'd talked to him about this behavior and he understood he couldn't do it again.

So, Little Man's first run in with the law at school was as a result of his inability to hold back the urge to check out all the new books. Like an escapee from Fat Camp at the candy store. My Little Man.

We had a chat about it that night at bedtime. Little Man told me that when the adult "caught" him, he felt like his heart was just racing. We talked about being obedient and making good choices. Then he said, "My heart is beating a lot again." I asked him why. He said, "I wonder how am I going to walk by all of those books without stopping again tomorrow?"

Priceless.

Mom Rant

You are Super Mom.

(this super photo is by Olivia Wagner , btw)

Uh oh. I'm getting out my soap box.

I just wanted to say that being a mom is a heckuva tough job. Moms never really get to call in sick. We never get to go "off duty." We don't get credit when credit is due in many cases. It is a hard job.

And I think we're too hard on ourselves, which is silly because everyone else is already very hard on us!

Let's just stop that nonsense, umkay?

Don't chastise yourself for not making homemade costumes, or for buying the rotisserie chicken at Costco. Don't feel badly because you didn't run to be the first mom helping at the preschool today (or the germ factory, as I prefer to call it). Don't criticize yourself for turning on Veggie Tales just so you could check your email and get a Diet Coke.

Let's agree together that, whatever we do as moms, we are doing our very best. There is a gene that passes to you the moment you hold your baby that makes you give your all no matter what when it comes to your kids, even if you don't realize you're giving your all. So know that your best effort is good enough. Your husband thinks you're amazing (even if he forgets to tell you). Your baby or babies believe the world revolves around you. And you are hot! Even if you're up to your elbows in someone else's snot. You are a mama. And a damn good one.

Excuse the profanity, please. But sometimes we need to be reminded of these things. I'm probably the first one to ignore all of this advice I'm spewing. But I wanted to tell you.

I think you're an awesome_______ (fill in the blank: cook, seamstress, singer, card shuffler, organizer, label maker, decorator, shopper, friend, thawer of meat, avoider of laundry). Tell yourself, too. Tell your best friend, while you're at it.

Being a mom is no easy feat. But you're doing a great job. One day at a time. And your hard work is paying off. Look at those kids. They're incredible. And, yes, that's a result of God's blessings, your hubby, and Y.O.U. Take credit when credit is due. You rock.

The end.

Days Like This

I'm a big Van Morrison fan. My favorite Irish hubby (and only hubby, to be clear!) and I danced to "Crazy Love" as our first dance as Mr. & Mrs. It was our song because, back in the college days of dating, we were cautious to say, "I Love You" to each other, so we'd say "I'm crazy about you" instead. We even had a little numbered system, e.g. Crazy #1 was "I (almost) Love You" and Crazy #2 was, "I just want to kiss you and skip class." Crazy #3 may have been "You're actually making me crazy and not in a good way." I'm glad we got past all of that craziness! I can barely keep track of the names of our children, let alone 12 different types of crazy for each other! Young Love!

I'm glad to have graduated to...well, Old Love. The kind that's comfortable in its own skin, the kind that is like my favorite part of one of my favorite books, The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams:

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room.  "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.  "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse.  "You become.  It takes a long time.  That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.  But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." 

These days, I am definitely Real. My fur hasn't been loved off, but I have loads of proof that I have been loved enough by the Little Men and Little Miss Pink and my darling husband to become loose and shabby.

I pray that, in this process of becoming Real to those I love, I would do a better job of having my sharp edges worn off and having my patience, along with my skin, grow thick. It's hard to have limitless patience some days as a mom and wife and friend and daughter and sister. Certainly and most objectionably, I tend to display the shortest fuse with those I love the most. On those days that are like another Van Morrison song I love, "Days Like This."

I need to do a better job of praying for a patient heart and mind and mouth with my babes and my husband. Because some days even when everything goes well, it will be a Day Like This, just like mama says. 

This job description of mom and wife doesn't always come with daily doses of praise and accolades, nor glamor or glitz. It does come with days like this, so to speak.On these days, I find it so important to be prayerful and ask for the right heart and mind. Things can turn around quickly from Days Like This to, well, Tupelo Honey. But enough of Van Morrison.

Too cool for (Mom at) School

My Irish hubby and I got married right out of college and were the among the first of all our high school and college friends to have kids. We are now among the first of our friends to send our kids off to preschool and kindergarten. Hopefully our dear friends don't think we overload them with advice and tips and "wisdom" from our parenting experience. I try my best to avoid the annoying mom rants on sleeping, diet, etc. However, one thing I know I say too often to my friends with kids younger than ours is, "They grow up sooooo fast."

Such a clichéd phrase! But it couldn't be more true. The passing of time once you have children borders on the obscene and ridiculous. It.just.flies.

All of a sudden, we find ourselves the parents of a KINDERGARTNER. It seems wrong! I swear that, in the blink of an eye, they go from tiny to toddler to pre-teen. Thankfully, we're not at the pre-teen phase yet.

While adults may be slow to change, the adjustment to kindergarten has gone incredibly smooth for Little Man. He loves it and can't wait to go back at the end of each day. He loves riding the bus and his first day on the bus was effortless. He hopped right on without turning his back. Loved the experience.

His mother, however, found the experience to be a mite bit on the traumatic side. Darling hubby decided to capture said trauma on film in extreme close up. Note the tears in eyes; ignore the wrinkles:

Now that Little Man is three weeks into kindergarten, he has definitely "transformed" into an elementary student. The other day, I happened to drop him off for school and bring in some supplies. Last year, we would always walk into preschool hand in hand. On this morning, Little Man hopped out of the car and let me grab his hand, walking up from the parking lot.

As SOON as we hit the sidewalk, he dropped my hand and slowed down. Not even thinking about the "cool" factor, I reached for his hand again. Little Man pronounced, in a matter of fact tone, "Kindergartners don't hold their moms' hands anymore."

And there you have it. Word to the wise: They grow up SO fast! Hold little hands as often as you can! Now, Little Man is super sweet and I know I'll have some hand holding moments in the future. But gone, I'm certain, are the days of the unabashed hand holding, the unaware grasping for my hand as we walk.

I'm mourning that loss a little bit, but I'm so proud of Little Man. Of the Little Man he is becoming day by day. I am blessed to be his mama and am excited to see what God has in store for his Little Life.

Letting Go

"There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots, the other is wings."-Hodding Carter

I do believe there are other important bequests we leave to our children, but I suppose that within the realm of "roots" are love, faith in Christ, hope, and the desire to work hard and be kind. I know they've got a good foundation for the "roots" and will continue to develop further. So today, they both started earning their wings as they set off to school!

I wrote each of my school-bound boys a letter last night. I didn't shed a tear until I heard my oldest read the letter aloud (Needless to say, the "A" "I" "The" sight words are already mastered!). The letter basically expressed how proud I am of each little boy and how it's hard to let go, but that I know God has each of them in the palm of His hand. And I know He does.

So, with that (and some tears), my boys were off to school, backpacks and all.

The boys are 20 months apart and best friends in the whole, wide world.


As soon as he entered the kindergarten room, my little man headed to the reading nook. When his sister arrived, she joined him and he read to her. I found another reason to tear up!

Luckily, I didn't lose it and kept the tears to a minimum. Mostly, it was a very happy day. We are incredibly proud to have two fantastic boys and two amazing schools to which we can send them. They both had terrific days at school. In the words of the big kindergartner, it was "perfect." The feeling is mutual.

But shouldn't you be YOU?

Secretly, deep down, I always wanted to be a mom. I mean, yes, there was that time in 3rd grade that I was convinced I'd be a lawyer-slash-teacher-slash-Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. And I did go to college to become a teacher, which I still hope to do someday. But way deep down, I knew I'd be a mom. I grew up with an amazing stay at home mom who built robots out of cardboard boxes, let me cook in the kitchen, made me write in my journal in the summer and go to the library often. That growing up experience solidified my desire to be a mom.

So back to the title--shouldn't I be "Nicole" and not "Mostly Mom"? I'm not a mom first; I'm a child of God first. A wife second. A mom third. But if I had a dime for every time I heard the word "Mom" I could retire to Fiji with my kids and have a limitless source of wealth. To heck with the NASDAQ and plunging dollar! So, I'm Mostly Mom because, well, I think I hear that word more times in a day than any other word.

And, truth be told, I wouldn't change that for all the money in the world.

(Beautiful photography by Olivia Wagner Photography!)

Where does Time go?

I can say with a fair degree of certainty that Time goes to the same place as all of the lonely un-matched socks that end up in my dryer.

Poof. Gone. Vanished.

At least Time leaves us memories (as well as thousands of digital photos that are priceless, but still not in a photo album!). The dryer just leaves me a huge basket of single socks that will never find a match!

Back to where I started. Time has marched on in this little Irish-Norwegian household. And school starts a week from today!

We're savoring the last moments of summer, forgetting about the unmatched socks (let's pretend I'm "focused" on them all of the rest of the time...ha!), and enjoying the two big boys at home before they start school next Tuesday.

Our summer has been priceless. Hope yours has been that way, too.

Gingerly dipping my toe into the blog pool...

Oh so gingerly!

What do I have to say? And who the heck wants to listen? Some days, I can tell you everyone who doesn't want to listen: my kids, my ironing pile, the grocery list, the bags under my eyes, my (gasp) complexion. Just to name a few. Oh, and my waistline.


All that aside, I decided I'd give it a whirl nonetheless. I'm a jack of many trades and master of none (save giving birth to three of the most beautiful babies this side of, well, anywhere). I thought I'd give a shot a sharing some of my "mile wide/inch deep" knowledge with whomever wants to read it! If that includes you, yippee! Welcome! I hope we can learn from each other as we muddle through life one spin cycle at a time.


Who am I? I am blessed beyond measure to be married to my college sweetheart who still makes my heart skip a beat. I am a mom to three gorgeous kidlets---two handsome boys and a sweet baby girl.


And what is this little blog, exactly? The title of my blog comes from the sense that I sometimes get that life is an endless pile of laundry. Yes, there are some gosh darn cute things in that pile. But, didn't I JUST wash that? And fold it? AND put it away? Life as Mostly Mom is pretty wild. Some days there are amazing new recipe finds. Other days there are craft projects. Or tantrums. Or homemade playdough. Or timeouts. Or stain removal. No one day is the same, with the exception of the ever-full dirty laundry baskets. And the mountain-sized blessings of the four people in my life who make it all worth while!