Scenes From the Witching Hour

This afternoon The Sad was so overpowering. I just couldn’t bring myself to paddle upstream against the crazy any more… and yet when I stopped ACTIONING my world, the uncontrollableness and powerlessness felt overwhelming. Oppressive.

The only way I felt I could fight back was to stop fighting the mess and look at it. Look at it and say, “Is that the best you can do?” And I took these raw, honest photos of the disaster and chaos around me. #crazylooksbetterinblackandwhite


The minute you pick up a broom, someone comes to hold your ankles. The minute you make a pile someone comes to disperse it. The minute you get the floor swept… someone throws handfuls of cereal on the floor. And sometimes you just burst into tears.


Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you’re tough. But sometimes you just cry ugly tears… over cereal. And then  you cry more ugly tears because the reality hits you: you’re crying about cereal.

And no one cares.

And here’s your big girl pants. If you could put them on, thaddad be great.

But you just can’t deal.


You can’t deal with the kids undoing the laundry AGAIN. You’re out of ideas for how to get them to quit solving their squabbles by biting each other. There is this looming thought in the back of your mind, “Is there any way I can salvage this situation (the house, the kids, and my mood) before Husband gets home? No. Probably not.”

On Mother’s day the pastor said… “Jesus is the reason that you can give yourself grace in the emotional, contentious, confusing, difficult realm of motherhood. He says you’re enough. He says you are defined by your love, and not by your laundry pile.”

He is also the reason we can Grace each other.

But real talk… Sometimes we can’t keep fighting to cover up our mess or fix it. And I mean Our Mess Mess. Not our cheerio floors.

Sometimes we just have to stop and look at it.

Sometimes we need to take a mental picture of our mess… and Grace it.

And then remember to grace others with the grace we’ve received.

Good luck with your evening, ladies. It’s bedtime somewhere.



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