I set a timer, told everyone to grab whatever they saw out of place, and assigned one kid to dishes. And you know what? It worked. Fifteen minutes later, the house looked 100% better. It wasn’t overwhelming for the kids, the timer kept them focused, and while they grumbled a little (because, hello, weekend chores are not their favorite), they survived. And so did I.

Seeing her standing there: backpack on, hair brushed, looking so grown-up and so ready, made me pause. She’s our middle schooler now. My 8th grade son also rides the bus, but his approach is a little… different....

Each school aged kid (we have four of these and two babies) has a daily 30-minute task, and on Fridays, we shake things up: instead of their regular chores, they do two smaller cleaning stints—15 minutes on Saturday and 15 on Sunday. That adds up to an two hours and thirty minutes of weekend cleaning spread over four kids and Mom.

“Henry! Do you have your balls?”…“Henry! Do you have your ball sack?” And then I realized what I was shouting. In public. Surrounded by middle schoolers (insert eyeroll here).

At yesterday’s game, Emily decided she might want to try out for cheer next year. She found some old pom-poms lying around the house and brought them along, cheering along with the squad and beaming with excitement. But then—like most things with an 11-year-old—the novelty wore off. She put the pom-poms down.

I try not to live in a totally tech-ruled world. One of the ways I keep some balance is by not reaching for my phone first thing in the morning.

I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve walked in, ready to collapse into bed, only to find my so-called sanctuary buried under things that don’t even belong to me.

because the gaming place we were heading to has $15 flatbread pizzas that feed maybe half a person. And I was not about to mortgage the house to feed 10 teenage boys. CiCi’s “all you can eat” was the only logical answer

he role was challenging to get internally, but I thought, what the heck? I tried. Almost instantly, I was rejected. No interview, no chance to talk to the hiring manager—just a quick decline. I was fine with it. It happens....

Life and the economy have caught up with us. Over the past two months we've had to replace brakes, align and repair tires, fix a cat's broken leg, put 8 stitches into my son's face, our washing machine is broken, and the rear a/c just went out on our van.

I scrolled past posts like: “I’m glad this person died,” “This person was inherently evil, and now they're dead - oh well,” or “This person was the best, I can’t believe they’re gone.” And then one voice of reason: someone I know was from the other political side from the person who died wrote, “Nobody should have to die for the right to free speech.” That was it. One clear, level-headed post in a sea of nonsense.

Even now, two months later, when we drop Danielle off first, William insists I lift him to look through the window before he’s willing to walk to his classroom.

...And let’s be honest, I’m not entirely innocent here either. When company’s coming in 15 minutes and I don’t know where to shove the Amazon boxes, guess where they go? Yep. My space. Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I am six kids in, and by now, I thought I had seen it all. But my two-year-old? He’s here to prove me wrong. Specifically, he’s invented something I like to call the silent fit.

Walking through my house can feel like stepping into a hurricane—except the storm is mostly Legos, laundry, and a few stray toys that multiply overnight. With six kids, a small business, and a day job, my house is never “perfect,” and honestly? That’s okay. Some of you might look at these rooms and think, “Oh wow, she’s a slob,” while others are silently sighing in relief that it’s not just them. Between hand-me-downs, overflowing closets, and the constant battle of keeping u

The bottom line? AI is a tool. It helps me clean things up, generate ideas, and even visualize my posts. But the heart of these blogs—the real, chaotic, messy, beautiful life of a mom of six—that can’t be faked. These posts are my life. And if they help even one person realize that real life isn’t perfect, then they’ve done their job.

The shift happens fast. At first I’m all, “Look at me, I’m an organized queen!” Then the mess creeps in, and suddenly I’m thinking, “Why should I even try? Nobody else is trying.” That little rebellious voice is dangerous, because the reality is—I’ll end up cleaning it anyway.

And what does this shy kid pick? The black. I laughed to myself, because I know he’s starting to notice girls, and honestly, that teal shirt would have been the ultimate “girl catcher.”

Last night I threw together a Chipotle-style dinner at home, and let me tell you—it was easy, cheap, and super satisfying. Only one kid halfway complained (which honestly feels like a win in this house).

When playing video games my husband and my boys (13 and 8) re pretty good at the fighting part of the game. My daughter and I? We’re more into the exploring side. But, being slightly competitive—and sometimes harassed by her brothers—my daughter likes to prove that she can take down the big monsters too...