Little Farmhouse Mama

07/11/2025

06/21/2025

It’s mulberry season.

Purple-stained fingers. Barefoot kids with buckets. Laughter in the trees.
We’ve been out under the June sky picking from our mulberry trees—fresh, wild, and sweet as summer itself.

The house smells like a memory—warm pie in the oven, windows open, breeze drifting through like a song.

These are the days I’ll never forget. The kind of days I hope my kids always remember.

So here’s to mulberry season…
To the sticky smiles, the muddy toes,
To trees that give and hearts that grow.
To the simple, beautiful magic of right now. 🫐✨

06/20/2025

I used to dream about more.
A bigger house. A newer car. Fancier clothes. Hustling for something just out of reach.

But these days?
I dream about less.

Less noise.
Less pressure.
Less pretending.

Because I’ve found a kind of peace in muddy boots and toddler giggles.
In backyard eggs and clothesline breezes.
In holding my babies close and watching them grow wild and free—with dirt on their knees and joy in their souls.

I don’t need the world to be impressed by me.
I just need my kids to feel safe with me.
Loved by me.
Raised by a mama who chose slow… even when the world said go.

We’re building something here.
Not just a farm.
Not just a home.
But a life that feels like us.

06/15/2025

Unpopular opinion :
Let your kids get bored.
Let them wander.
Let them dig in the dirt and figure it out.

You don’t need to be their constant source of entertainment.
You don’t need a Pinterest plan for every hour.
You don’t need to fill their day with screens and stimulation.

Let them get bored.
Because that’s when the magic happens.

That’s when they build forts out of scrap wood.
That’s when they turn sticks into swords and mud into pies.
That’s when they become resourceful.
Creative.
Independent.
Grounded.

Boredom is not a problem.
It’s a portal.
To imagination. To resilience. To childhood.

You’re not doing it wrong by giving them space.
You’re raising kids who don’t need constant noise to feel full.
You’re raising kids who know how to be content without a screen in their face or a schedule in their hand.

That’s not lazy.
That’s powerful.

You’re not failing them by giving them space —
you’re giving them a gift most kids don’t get enough of anymore. 🤍

06/13/2025

I don’t want a fast life.
I lived that.
And all it ever gave me was burnout and blurry memories.

Now?
I want slow.

I want long mornings with my kids.
I want bare feet in the grass and flowers picked just because.
I want to stop and actually smell the roses.
To notice the way the sunlight hits their hair.
To laugh when they’re muddy and wild and free.

I don’t care about a full planner anymore.
I care about full hearts.

Give me sticky hands, quiet moments, and days that feel like a hug.

Let the world keep spinning fast.
We’ll be here—
watching sunsets, chasing fireflies,
and choosing a life that feels like home.

06/06/2025

I hope they remember this.

Not the mess.
Not the noise.
Not how tired we were some days.

I hope they remember gathering eggs in pajamas.
Running barefoot through the garden rows.
The sound of goats calling from the fence line.
The way the air smelled right before the rain came.

I hope they remember how the whole world slowed down
when they were out feeding animals at dusk.
How we watched sunsets from the barn door
like it was the best seat in the house.

They’re growing up in the real.
Not the curated.
They know life and loss.
They’ve buried animals they named,
and held brand-new ones still slick from birth.

They don’t flinch at hard things.
They rise to meet them.

This isn’t just childhood.
It’s foundation.
It’s character.
It’s the kind of upbringing you don’t outgrow—
you carry it with you. Forever.

Because this little farm?
It’s not just raising animals.
It’s raising them.

& I hope one day they look back and smile on the memories of growing up on this farm.

06/05/2025

Let’s talk about something real—
Homesteading is hard.

And I think more of us need to say that without shame.
Because yes, there are flower patches.
There are sunrises that stop you in your tracks and quiet moments that feel like a prayer.
There are baby chicks, fresh eggs, and dinners made from food you grew with your own hands.

But there’s also mud.
There’s sweat.
There are tears you wipe away quickly because the work won’t wait.

It’s checking on animals in a blizzard with frozen fingers.
It’s planting under a blazing sun with dirt in every crease of your hands.
It’s loss. It’s failure. It’s learning the hard way more times than you can count.

And being honest about that?
It’s not complaining.
It’s not weakness.
It’s truth.

Because even when it breaks you down,
you wake up and choose it all over again.

Not because it’s easy—
but because it’s worth it.

It’s worth it to know exactly where your food comes from.
It’s worth it to feel the deep, unshakable pride of feeding your family from your own land.
It’s worth it to slow down, to reconnect, to live a life that asks everything of you and gives back something sacred in return.

This life isn’t for everyone—
and that’s okay.

There’s no pride in pretending it’s perfect.
Only in living it with your whole heart.

So if you’re in it—mud, sweat, soul-deep weariness and all—
You’re not alone.
You are strong.
You have a homesteader heart.

And this hard, beautiful, honest life?
It’s worth every single bit of it. 🤍

06/04/2025

They won’t remember how clean the house was.
They won’t remember what I made for dinner on a random Tuesday.

But they will remember this.

Bare feet in the mud.
The way the earth squished between their toes.
How mama smiled instead of scolding.
How they were allowed to be wild and free.

I used to worry about the mess.
Now I just want to make memories.

Because one day, their shoes will stay clean.
Their clothes won’t need soaking.
And I’ll ache for the sound of muddy giggles outside my door.

So I let them play.
I let them get dirty.
I let them live the kind of childhood we’d give anything to relive.