I always imagined myself as that mom.
The one who wakes up early, birds chirping outside the window, who lovingly makes sourdough while the scent of lavender wafts through the air. She wears linen aprons. She grows her own herbs. She reads her child Shakespeare aloud while sipping homemade elderberry tea.
And to be fair, some days, I am that mom. Most days, however, I’m chasing someone around with a toothbrush, cleaning up spilled milk, and pretending frozen waffles count as “farmhouse rustic.”
The Dream: Wholesome, Handmade, and Harmonious. The Reality: Loud, Sticky, and Slightly Fermented.
Homeschooling my children has been one of the most rewarding choices I’ve ever made. We read beautiful living books, explore nature, and learn at our own pace. On the flip side, my seven-year-old gave a presentation called “Why Farts Are Funny: A Historical Perspective.” I can’t even begin to recall how many creative writing sentences include poop as subject matter.
We follow a gentle rhythm with breakfast, learning, and lots of free play. It’s all so peaceful until someone starts a Nerf war in the basement.
Homemaking is my happy place and where I hide my snacks.
I love caring for my home. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of doing with my life. Folding warm laundry, setting the table, simmering bone broth while classical music plays, these things fill my cup.
I also swept the same crumb under the cabinet on three separate occasions. There’s joy in the seemingly mundane, but there are also a lot of “Why is there glitter in the freezer?” moments.
The great outdoors (aka backyard chaos).
I believe in getting outside daily, no matter the weather (within reason). It builds resistance, inspires curiosity, and burns off the energy that makes my children jump off the furniture like caffeinated monkeys.
I picture us foraging for ramps, identifying bird calls, and collecting wildflower bouquets. In reality, we spend 20 minutes locating a lost boot and twelve minutes outside just for someone to be chased by a moth and want to come inside. Still worth it.
Baking from scratch (and occasionally from a box).
I bake a lot – I love baking. In fact, I am a baker by profession (I run a cottage bakery out of my home). There’s nothing sweeter than little hands kneading dough, flour on their cheeks, and the kitchen smelling like vanilla and chaos.
But you are sorely mistaken if you think I am above a boxed brownie mix when it’s been a long day and someone cried over math facts. (Also, shout out to mixed brownies for never letting me down; these are my faves.)
My final takeaway.
We live in a constant state of chaos, with small messes and a mystery stain on my couch. While it may be far from perfect, this life, this homemade, homeschooled, home-full life, is exactly what I dreamed of. Not perfect, but perfectly mine.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make dinner. One of my kids just asked what’s for dinner. I’m 99% sure it’ll be chicken nuggets with a side of artisanal ketchup—very farm-to-table.
