Motherhood: The Joy, The Guilt, The Grocery Bills

To the Six Souls Who Made Me: A Love Letter to My Children

To my six wildly different, beautifully complex, occasionally maddening, always beloved children—

Four of you came from my body, and two of you came through the quiet magic of blending lives. You didn’t all arrive at once, but now here you are: a half-dozen personalities swirling through this house like a living kaleidoscope. Ages five through nineteen. Every hormone imaginable. Every mood. Every era of childhood and young adulthood represented at once.

Short of a crying newborn at 3 a.m., we have it all. And honestly, some nights it feels like we do have that too.

This house is loud. And beautiful. And exhausting. And miraculous.

You six have taught me more about love than anything else in this world ever could. You've shown me compassion, raw honesty, how to stretch my patience, how to face myself, and how to keep showing up. You’ve made me laugh so hard I cried and cry so hard I forgot how to laugh—sometimes in the same day.

You've brought me unfiltered admiration... and equally unfiltered teenage eye rolls. You’ve offered me sweet notes on my pillow and also slammed doors in my face. You’ve hugged me like I’m your entire world and, moments later, acted like I ruined your life because we have no good snacks!

Parenting is not for the faint of heart. Want to feel like someone’s superhero and their mortal enemy in the same breath without ever quite knowing what you did to earn either title? Become a parent.

Want to dedicate your entire soul, body, and bank account to nurturing other humans just so they can grow up and leave you—and rip your heart out while doing it (and then do it again and again with each kid)? Yep. Parenting.

Want to spend hundreds of dollars on groceries only to be told “we have nothing to eat” 48 hours later? Welcome to the club.

And then—because life likes to keep things spicy—let’s add divorce. Let’s add the constant wondering: Did I ruin them? Are they okay? Will they be okay? Will they remember the damage more than the love?

Now let’s add schedules. Logistics. Two homes. Two sets of rules. Two very different incomes and parenting styles. Guilt. Fear. Therapy. Trying your best while constantly feeling like it's not enough. Co-parenting…I’ll just leave this here . And then—because why not—let’s go ahead and date again in your 40s. Let’s try blending again. New kids. New personalities. New expectations. New perils.

Now you’ve got one big messy, magical family.

And sometimes it works. Sometimes there's laughter around the dinner table and everyone’s helping each other and sharing space with kindness and grace and you think: Maybe, just maybe, we’re doing okay.

Other times… well, let’s just say the group chat goes silent and the fridge door slams shut a little too hard.

But even in the chaos, the heartbreak, the endless second-guessing… you are my life’s great love story. All six of you.

Each of you carries something sacred that no one else does.
Each of you has broken me open and rebuilt me into someone I could never have become without you.
You are my compass and my undoing. My softness and my fire.
You are the only people who can simultaneously drive me to blind rage and bring me to my knees with awe.

When you’re not here, I miss you so much it hurts. Even on the days I counted the minutes until bedtime—I still miss you when you're gone.

I don’t always get it right. I know I don’t. But I love you with every part of who I am. And I wouldn’t trade this messy, loud, complicated, ever-evolving journey for anything else on earth.

You are my little birds—flying in every direction—but always, always tethered to my heart.

With everything I have,
Mom