I don’t know about in your home or with your family or friends but the middle of the day where everything and nothing happens at once.
By the time noon rolls around, the morning has already taken a bite out of me, and the day hasn’t even shown its teeth yet. This is the part of the day where everything hits at once — the work, the house, the planning, the Easter prep, the “Mom, did you see this?” and the “We need to add this to the list,” and the “Did you check your email?” and the “What are we doing for dinner?” even though dinner is still hours away.
Even though it seems l’ve walked a milion miles there is nothing to show for it because the fitbit is no where to be found and the phone is dead and even if its charged 9 times out of 10 I forget to bring it with me. Do you do this as well?
I always think I’m going to sit down at noon and breathe for a minute, maybe even eat something warm, or take the dogs out for a walk but that’s not how this house works. Noon is when the second shift starts. The real shift.
The one where I’m not just Mom or Glenda or the woman trying to keep the house from falling apart — I’m the content creator, the researcher, the planner, the finder of deals, the Easter Bunny’s assistant, the woman who keeps the wheels turning even when the wheels are squeaking and wobbling and threatening to roll right off the axle.
C is still working — answering messages, scheduling clients, updating his business pages, planning his week, and somehow still finding time to tell me what Dollar Tree has and what Dollar Tree doesn’t. He’s got opinions about Easter baskets, and he’s not shy about sharing them. He tells me which candy is worth buying and which candy tastes like disappointment. He tells me which stores are lying about their sales and which ones actually have a deal. He tells me what’s cheaper at WInCo and what’s cheaper nowhere because prices are rude.
I start pulling out last year’s Easter decorations, and of course half of them are missing because that’s how holidays work. You put everything away neatly, swear you’ll remember where it is, and then the next year you’re standing in the hallway holding a plastic egg with no top and a bunny with one ear bent like it’s been through something traumatic. I add “find the rest of the Easter stuff” to my mental list, which is already full.
I check my email, and there’s always something — a brand wanting something, a mom needing something, a reminder I forgot to set, a deadline I didn’t realize was today. I answer what I can, flag what I can’t, and pray the rest doesn’t explode before I get to it.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I think about what I’m reading. I always have a book going — something faith‑rooted, something cozy, something that reminds me I’m still a person even when the day tries to swallow me whole. I think about sharing it later, maybe in the Night Letter, maybe in a separate post if the day gives me room.
Then there’s the crafts. Easter crafts always sound cute until you’re knee‑deep in cotton balls, glue sticks, and a child who suddenly has opinions about bunny ears. I make a mental note to grab more supplies when we finally get to Dollar Tree— if we get there before the shelves look like a tornado hit the seasonal aisle.
And then there are the deals. Always the deals. Moms don’t get to shop without thinking. We shop like strategists. We shop like generals. We shop like people who know the difference between a sale and a scam. I check the apps, check the stores, check the rewards, check the coupons, check the things I didn’t even know I needed to check. I make notes for later posts, because if I can save one mom five dollars, that’s five dollars she can put toward gas or groceries or Easter candy or a moment of peace.
By one o’clock, I’m working on content — writing, editing, planning, trying to get ahead even though getting ahead feels like trying to outrun a train on foot. I write in bursts, in pieces, in moments between interruptions. I write while the dogs bark, while C asks questions, while D texts me from work, while the house hums with the kind of noise that only families understand.
By two o’clock, I’ve done enough to feel productive but not enough to feel caught up. That’s motherhood. That’s working from home. That’s running a blog that breathes with your life instead of sitting neatly in a planner. I close my laptop for a minute, stretch my back, and remind myself that the day isn’t over — not even close.
The middle of the day isn’t glamorous. It’s not quiet. It’s not organized. But it’s real. It’s where the work happens. It’s where the planning happens. It’s where the love happens. It’s where the chaos lives. And honestly? It’s where I feel most like myself — tired, busy, stretched thin, but still showing up.
Because that’s what moms do. We show up. Even when the day is loud. Even when the list is long. Even when Easter is coming and the decorations are missing and the deals are calling and the work won’t wait.
We show up. And somehow, that’s enough. Because this circle is unbroken and this is my circus and these are my Monkes and it’s why I’ grateful, thankful and blessed.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
