Because I made pancakes

This morning, I stood in the kitchen and made pancakes. Not because I’m “that” mom who wakes up early to craft perfect breakfasts, but because today, I felt the weight of everything I haven't been—everything I’ve missed. I’ve always been more of a “grab your cereal if you’re hungry” mom, doing the bare minimum, just getting through the mornings. But today, I wanted to do more. I wanted to show love in a way I never have before.

Lately, I’ve been flooded with memories and reflections. It’s been Easter, and hearing my older girls talk about the things I didn’t do as they grew up—how I wasn’t present enough, how I didn’t know how to do their hair or dress them in pretty, girly ways. I’d often let them do their own thing because I thought, “They do it better than I ever could.” But deep inside, I’ve carried this ache. Because even if they’re alive, breathing, and safe, I sometimes wonder—did I really give them enough? Did I hold them close enough? Did I show them I loved them as much as I should have?

When Makaela got married, that ache hit harder, like a punch to my heart. I realized I wasn’t truly there—mentally, emotionally, most of their childhood I was checked out, working multiple jobs, trying just to keep us afloat. And now, looking at their faces, I can feel the regret, the sadness that I wasn’t fully present for all those precious moments.

Today, I hoped making pancakes might somehow bring a little sunshine into their day. But as I poured my heart into that effort, chaos erupted. My youngest, not in the clothes she'd picked out last night, walks out in a dirty shirt. I ask her to change it, trying to hold onto my patience. She storms down the hall, slams her door, then throws herself on the floor crying—why can’t I just do what I want? Her scream tears into my soul. In that moment, my frustration overflows—I throw her little carousel ornament into the trash, grab her dirty shirt and toss it away, anger overpowering me.

I call her to eat her pancakes, but she’s still crying, still mad. I try to explain, "If you just did what we agreed last night—woke up, put on the outfit—things might be better." But I’m met with more tears, and I burn the pancakes I’d hoped would bring a little joy. I sit there, watching her sob, trying to hold onto hope that this simple act of breakfast could fix everything. Instead, it feels like nothing is enough. My coffee’s cold, my pancakes are cold, and my heart feels colder.

I whisper to myself, “Give grace, give grace,” because I know I need it. Life is so hard right now. The storms feel relentless—battering, overwhelming. Sometimes I wonder—are these storms the worst? Or do I just feel this way every time? I’m tired, so weary, carrying so much regret and pain. Yet, I cling to the faint hope that after every dark night, the sun will rise again. That after rain, the rainbow will appear—not as a pot of gold, but as a promise. A promise that this too shall pass. That dawn will come, and with it, new beginnings.

And all of this—this heartbreaking, imperfect morning—because I made pancakes.

And yes I totally feel like my coffee cup is judging me !!!#momlife #embracevulnerability #lemon8home #lemon8diarychallenge #breakfast