So God Made a Mother Collection ➔

One morning, I broke some dishes.

I was feeling broken, defeated, and stressed out. My sweet precious children for whom I had prayed and loved so much had pushed every one of my buttons in the middle of breakfasts and backpacks, and I lost it.

How can it be so difficult for them after a hundred or so days of school to get up on time, eat breakfast, comb hair, brush teeth, tie shoes, and leave the house on time? Don’t they know some children would give anything for their breakfasts? Their shoes? Their opportunities?

How can it be so difficult for me after a hundred or so days of school AND several years of motherhood to lower my expectations and take it in stride?

Then I tossed an empty dirty bowl into the sink. The bowl that should have been carried from the table to the dishwasher by one of my thoughtless offspring. And I, already empty inside, watched it shatter. And it broke the already chipped dish beneath it.

What the hell am I doing? Why wasn’t I more careful? Did I just almost do that on purpose?

Oh well. It wasn’t like I ruined the fine china stacked perfectly behind glass doors only used twice a year. The broken pieces were of a mixed set from the everyday kitchen cabinet full of round plates, square plates, rounded square plates, round bowls, and square bowls. Some chipped, some not. Twenty years of white dishes grow brittle in the dishwasher, break, and are replaced to create a mismatched eclectic set of white tableware that would drive any Type A organized mom over the edge.

But not me. If a kid breaks one of these during dishwashing chore night? No worries. Off to find the cheapest replacement that won’t exactly match. It’s kind of like a knockoff Crate and Barrel sampler pack of white dishes.

I looked at the broken pieces. I was too annoyed to turn to God in prayer or open my Bible and listen to Jesus. How could I come before Him in my anger?

I definitely didn’t want to exercise away my stress. And I didn’t want to eat chocolate. I was angry over my pointless anger. Was it too much coffee? Not enough? I should have been thankful that my biggest problem was such a small one. 

And I thought my kids were thoughtless. I had compared them to the perfect early-bird children I imagined down the street with every hair in place, immaculate outfits, and clutter-free backpacks. And if their perfect mom walked into my house any given morning, I know she’d be mortified. I thought about the perfectly organized teacher at the school and wondered if she liked that organized child better than mine. Except that I know better than to believe everything I imagine.

I cleaned out the sink . . . and my soul, trying not to cut myself on the sharp edges I had harshly created.

In our house, we’re all like chipped dishes in different shapes and sizes. We’re not pieces of exquisite china arranged in formal order, except maybe twice a year. We have our flaws, but we fit together just right. It’s kind of like life where we need the crazy creative people who can’t find their keys to balance out the responsible, organized people who set everything straight. Plus everyone in between.

I swear I’m going to be more careful with the dishes, but especially with my children and my own heart. Nothing should break—or be brokenhearted.

Her View From Home

Millions of mothers connected by love, friendship, family and faith. Join our growing community. 1,000+ writers strong. We pay too!   Find more information on how you can become a writer on Her View From Home at

I’ll Never Be Ready for My Son To Let Go of Me

In: Motherhood, Tween
Tween boy and mom

The arts-and-crafts tote overflowed with cylinders of petrified Play-Doh, crispy-bristled paintbrushes, and Elmer’s glue bottles with clogged applicator tips. Underneath it sat a stack of spiral notebooks with homework from previous years: simple fractions, facts about fossils and chlorophyll, vocabulary words neatly written on blue lines. Star Wars characters were sporadically doodled in the margins.  None of its contents had been touched in years. Yet, the very second I tipped it upside down into the garbage dumpster—unwittingly blasting a flume of silver glitter into the garage ceiling—I felt deep, aching sadness and enormous regret.  When did fuzzy pipe-cleaners become nostalgia-worthy?...

Keep Reading

To the Emotional Mom of a High School Senior, Enjoy It

In: Grown Children, Motherhood, Teen
Teen girl in graduation gown, color photo

Dear moms of high school seniors, I see your posts on social media, and I sense your excitement, mixed with anxiety and a bit of sadness (if we are being completely honest). I notice your photos of all the lasts, and I celebrate your child’s accomplishments with you. I see you, and I know you because I have been you, twice now.  I feel the almost palpable sinking feeling that hits in the pit of your stomach when you think about them moving on to the next stage. How is it possible they have grown from such a tiny, helpless...

Keep Reading

I Know My Friends Aren’t Bothered by My Messy House, but I Am

In: Friendship, Living, Motherhood
Sad woman by laundry pile

My house screams at me. It screams to clear off the kitchen counters, to put away the clean clothes, to organize the shoe collection in our entry, to gather up the scattered toys, to sweep the crumbs up, to place the throw pillows back on the couch, to clean off the table—you get the idea. Everything in my sight speaks volumes to the state it does not want to be in, for the chaos it is imposing.  Keeping home is a labor of love and never of balance for me. Everything that is cleaned, made, or organized will always get...

Keep Reading

Dear Preschool Teachers, I’m Going to Miss You So Much

In: Child, Motherhood
preschool teacher sitting with kids on her lap

Dear preschool teachers, There’s just no other way to say this— I’m going to miss you so much. You are the first adults outside of our family to spend your days with my children, and watching your relationships grow and develop this year has been the most bittersweet privilege. I’m going to miss the bright smiles that light up your faces every time my kids come bounding toward you on good days, and how tenderly you hold their little hands and guide them away from me on the tough ones. RELATED: Dear Preschool Graduate, I’m So Proud of You I’m...

Keep Reading

Don’t Let Anyone Rush You, Mama

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother with two kids at home relaxing

From the moment our children are born, other people make it challenging to stay in the present moment—they start asking questions that look forward instead of at the now we are in. Can you believe how big she’s getting, where did your newborn go? Oh my goodness, he’ll be walking any day now! Are you thinking about preschool? What will you do when they’re both in school? What will you do when your baby goes to college? While these questions may come with good intentions, they’re not helpful at all. We moms need to be allowed to be fully in...

Keep Reading

There Are a Million Reasons Being a Mom Is Hard

In: Motherhood
Overwhelmed mom with child at home

Being a mom is hard.   The endless messes to clean up. The sleepless nights and sticky fingers touching everywhere. The meal prep, the nap schedule, the tantrums, the kitchen sink overflowing with dishes . . . oh, the dishes.   And then as they get older, there’s managing all the activities and the carpooling. The homework you can’t figure out. (Are you smarter than a 5th grader? The answer is no, no I’m not.)   The endless to-do list and the pressure to always put someone else’s needs before your own.  No doubt, it’s hard being a mom. But that is the obvious stuff....

Keep Reading

You Are So Much More than the Doubts in Your Head

In: Living, Motherhood
Little girl looking out window, color photo

Keep pushing. Push through every doubt the enemy instills in your mind.  Push through the depression. Push through the worrisome moments. Push through that anxiety that won’t let you win.  You’ve got to keep going. Keep moving forward.  You are a great mother. You are a great wife. You are a great employee and an even better friend.  RELATED: Struggling With Mental Health Makes You a Bad Mom—And Other Lies I’ve Believed Don’t get stuck in the same spot that depression has led you and those thoughts that say you aren’t good enough or worthy enough.  You are.  God says...

Keep Reading

Motherhood Is Hard Because You’re Doing It Right

In: Motherhood
mother holding young child

Before having children, I had a very romanticized idea of motherhood. Sure, I knew it would be hard. But I visualized the beautiful moments ahead: cuddling in bed with my baby in the mornings, sharing favorite books at bedtime, exploring the seashore, and jumping in puddles. I thought I would feel competent and purposeful, and yes, love every moment. What a reality check I was in for.  As a stay-at-home mom to a 3-year-old and a baby, those amazing moments felt few and far between. I felt utterly dragged down by the monotony of it all—not by the moments with...

Keep Reading

Just the Three of Us

In: Motherhood
Mother and father holding hands with daughter as they walk, color photo

On the eve of my daughter’s seventh birthday, I leaned against her doorway watching her sleep so peacefully. I roamed around my home admiring her baby photos and our little family. I blinked and my baby is growing up, and yet, the five years it took to have her felt like a decade. I remind my little girl she is a miracle when she requests a sibling. How do I explain that my body has officially retired when I couldn’t accept it myself? I was first diagnosed with endometriosis at the age of 19 and was informed I had a...

Keep Reading

Dear Child, God Sees All of You—And So Do I

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mom and young son painting together

Math has always come easily to him. Even from the beginning stages when we counted wooden blocks on the living room floor, the numbers just came to him. “How many blocks are there?” I asked him, pointing to the scattered row of blocks. I expected him to count them. He was only three or four years old. “Six,” he answered promptly. “Yes . . . but how did you know that?” I asked hesitantly. He had not taken the time necessary to have counted them. “Three and three are six,” he replied. And on it went. The math came easily,...

Keep Reading

 5 Secrets to Connect with Your Kids


Proven techniques to build REAL connections