Motherhood – Prayers Over The Kitchen Sink

Little Mamas

Help Me Write a Rosary of Stories!

This story first appeared on motherhoodthroughthemysteries.com

*Scroll to the bottom of the post for more information on sharing your story.

The best part of my day comes late at night, when everyone’s asleep. Our loud, bright house turns still, soft and quiet. The giggles of the day are replaced by the peeping of tree frogs. The stampede of little feet gives way to my barefoot tiptoeing.

It’s that dreamy slice of evening when all my family’s needs are met: all the bellies full, stories read, prayers said, and foreheads kissed. Everyone entrusted to me safe, at rest, and cared for. The reward for my exhausting day: a still life of my many blessings.

I do my best to move silently about the moonlit rooms. I turn down lights and tuck in loose sheets. I sigh and linger in the doorways where my sleeping children rest. I send silent prayers of gratitude into the starlit sky.

I soak in the silence and clear my mind along with the evening’s clutter. I love these little trinkets of our happy, messy life: sketch pads and magnetic blocks, stacks of books and empty juice cups. But my favorite find by far is always Baby.

I can always tell when my little girl is getting sleepy, because that’s when she finds Baby. Some nights, it’s a doll; other nights, it’s a teddy; some nights, there are three or more! But no matter where I find them, they’re always lovingly swaddled and sweetly laid. My heart can’t help but swell with pride. She’s such a good little mama.

In the daytime, she’s my shadow, always by my side. Whether I’m digging in the garden dirt or putting on makeup, you can be certain that she wants to do it, too! They say imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and seeing myself in her royal cuteness always does my ego good!

Sometimes, it’s sweet, like when she helps her little brother. Sometimes, it’s beneficial, like when she acquired a taste for red pepper hummus. Sometimes, it’s funny, like the slanted look she gives when she gets sassy.

That is, until I remember all my pre-coffee grumbling. Or how I screamed at her little brother as he streaked across the house. How I put off playtime so I could write, but once I finished, it was too late. Or the way I dismissed her help with a wave as I rushed through making lunch. Was I really way too busy to let her stir the macaroni?

It’s inevitable: I won’t always get it right, but when I’m reminded just how close my mini-me watches me through those almond eyes we share, I worry about all the little ways I could be falling short.

But I have hope that the good will outweigh the bad. That my perseverance will be more impactful than my inexactitude. That my humility will give her permission to try again or ask for help when she needs it herself one day. That what will have the greatest impact on her won’t be the days when everything is flawless — the coiffed family photos or big birthday parties — but the way we navigated all the mundane moments in between.

Those whirlwind days, those sleepless nights, the times we laughed and cried together, the ways we’ve grown and overcome. Our life, our real life, unfiltered and radiant, sometimes off-center but a constant source of love.

That is my prayer, because I know one day, she will be a mama for real. Whether physically, spiritually, or figuratively, the motherly attributes in her little soul are sure to make a great impression in the future.

It’s why I ask God every morning for the grace to be a good example to her and to all of my children. I try to be the best mom I can be by imitating the virtue of His, hopeful that my kids will encounter the deposit of grace that Jesus and Mary have both given me, despite my many flaws, and follow suit.

In this sense, I’m just a little girl myself, toddling around in my Mama’s big sandals, playing dress-up in her mantle, trying not to trip on the armfuls of overflowing fabric. But she extends her gentle hand through the holy Rosary and leads me on the path of her Son as the mysteries of their lives console, strengthen, and sanctify my soul.

I’m a much better mother when I remember to be a daughter first. Motherhood is serious business; there is no denying that. Sometimes, I scold myself for all the ways I don’t add up, but when I find her comfy little Baby, all snuggled up and sung to sleep, I give myself a break. I pick up the sweet bundle; smile Heavenward; and say, “Lord, I guess I must be doing something right!”

Because my daughter is my sweet little reflection, and she finds joy in caring for others and peace in performing small, simple acts of love. What can I say? She’s a good little mama.

And maybe that means I am, too.

* Motherhood Through the Mysteries is a storytelling apostolate that connects the mysteries of the holy rosary to daily life through a Rosary of Stories. I am praying for 14 special women to share their experiences of motherhood and faith to create a new round of stories. If you’re interested in writing with us please email your inquiry at motherhoodthroughthemysteries@gmail.com by February 28th, 2026.

Things I Never Would Have Chosen

Help me write a Rosary of Stories!

This story first appeared on motherhoodthroughthemysteries.com

*Scroll to the bottom of the post for more information on sharing your story.

Motherhood has humbled me.

Not only in the body changes, the naked birthing, the being-covered-in-who-knows-what while putting everyone’s needs before my own, but in my expectations.

My motherhood journey started off on a dark and winding path: as a single teen mother trying my best to build a life for my daughter and I through a haze of heartbreak and post-traumatic stress.

With everything to lose and even more to prove, I dedicated myself to a stable path, studying and working in the medical field. I loved my job, worked well with the physicians, and enjoyed helping others. I wanted security, benefits, and all of the things necessary to provide. I didn’t realize it at the time, but choosing a career that required responsibility and projected professionalism was an attempt to build up others’ confidence in me.

A young mother has much to live up to.

Every move I made felt highly scrutinized. I was shunned by most of the moms at school and Saturday morning dance class and my friends just couldn’t relate. But I was blessed early on, meeting my incredible husband and soon after felt the Holy Spirit drawing me back to faith.

It took some time to get down the road, but once Jesus took the wheel, I knew we’d end up where God wanted us to go. We got engaged, got married, and had two babies in two years while raising my daughter. We all grew up together, grew in faith, and grew as a family.

Follow my substack!

It was a beautiful time, but it held its challenges. The most difficult and enduring of these challenges involved my oldest daughter and negatively impacted her emotional well-being. For the first time in my motherhood journey, I was dealing with problems too big to kiss away. It was painful to watch my daughter suffer and not be able to fix it for her.

I bartered with God. We had come so far, finally on the straight and narrow path. Why would God allow this sweetest time to be shadowed by stress, worry, and pain? Why would He let our best-laid plans be overturned by psychological suffering and a worldwide pandemic?

This was my second chance!

I was following the path God brought me to. I wasn’t perfect but I was doing my best to live right. I understood the difficulties I had the first time around, but I was far removed from the sins of my past. I had cultivated a lifestyle I could only dream of as a full-time-working single mom. Staying home with my babies, serving my family and finding God amongst the pots and pans.

A cross had been placed upon my shoulders at a time when all I wanted to do was bask in my undeserved blessings. I learned that the crosses mothers carry for their children are the heaviest because they’re saturated in tears.

It was desperation that led me to adopt a regimen of prayer that included a daily Rosary and Divine Mercy Chaplet. It was then I began to relate to Mary in a deeper way. She knew what it was to watch her child suffer, and to grieve every stripe, thorn, and fall.

But there was always hope to light the way.

Motherhood has taught me humility. Not only in my life, but in my expectations.

I no longer think “I only want to be happy.” or “That couldn’t happen to me.”

Instead of thinking “Why me?” I think “Why not?”

Why Jesus? Why Mary?

I no longer let false humility hinder my prayers. I no longer try to earn the love of God.

For all is gift.

We often forget that following Jesus means following Him to the cross.

Where we nail our wants and desires. Where we pray in Gethsemane through blood, sweat, and tears, for God’s will to become our own.

I’ve learned that suffering is a gift. That we don’t change God when we pray; instead, He changes us.

Though there are still ups and downs, I’m happy to say that things have gotten much better. God keeps blessing us, keeps delivering on His promises, and always abides.

The thing about crosses is that they always lead to resurrection. Through grace, the instrument of our torture becomes the ladder we can use to climb to Heaven.

God brought beauty out of the ashes of that time. A richer prayer life, a Confirmation, a marriage proven strong enough to weather any storm.

And He brought me, you (yes, you!) and all the women who so boldly share their stories through our little storytelling apostolate.

Motherhood Through the Mysteries was inspired through that daily Rosary I took up, fueled by the hard things in my life. The things I never would have chosen.

Jesus and Mary showed me how to walk the hills and valleys of the human experience with virtue and grace. They taught me that humility has a lot to do with trust in God and His plans for us.

That no matter how heavy our cross on earth, a crown of glory outweighs it in Heaven.

Let us strive in hope, Sisters, to one day claim them, so that we may lay them at the feet of Christ, our King.

* Motherhood Through the Mysteries is a storytelling apostolate that connects the mysteries of the holy rosary to daily life through a Rosary of Stories. I am praying for 19 special women to share their experiences of motherhood and faith to create a new round of stories. If you’re interested in writing with us please email your inquiry at motherhoodthroughthemysteries@gmail.com by February 28th, 2026.

The Most Powerful Rosary

Telling the story of the most powerful Rosary of my life; Join the Rosary Confraternity!

As a cradle Catholic and a Marian devotee, I’ve prayed countless Rosaries. I’ve prayed them in good times and in bad, in sorrow and in joy. I’ve prayed them as a child, a young adult rediscovering my faith and a seasoned mother. But the most powerful Rosary of my life was prayed this past year.

It wasn’t in the car or in my bed, at the park or over the kitchen sink but a hospital room where my daughter lay on life support. When things became dire I called for spiritual help.

The Franciscan Friars of the Immaculate came to my aid, coordinating for my daughter a blessing by the hospital chaplain and an anointing of the sick given by a priest from the diocesan headquarters across the street. Father assured me that he would come to the hospital as soon as he could to pray with me and my family.

It was day two in the ICU and a sudden decline and iffy prognosis left my husband and I terrified. Naturally, we called our mothers. It just so happened that they arrived at the same time and in God’s perfect timing, the friar followed. We greeted them all with somber thanks in the cold, stark waiting room while a procedure was performed.

The friar offered words of encouragement and passed out Rosary beads of Marian blue, silver and white. Of course, I was already clinging to my own, a large, strand of wooden beads that had long ago been blessed. I asked for confession for my husband and I so that nothing would hinder our prayers. We received absolution in a small, adjoined conference room before heading back into this spiritual battle.

“The holy Rosary is a powerful weapon. Use it with confidence and you’ll be amazed at the results.” -St. Josemaria Escriva

Our group processed through the halls to my daughter’s room, which was directly in front of the nurse’s station since her vitals were so poor. I walked in and placed my wooden rosary in her hand. The moment it touched her, my husband exclaimed that her oxygen saturation spiked. Momentarily, the screen displayed a number much higher than the grim ones we’d been seeing— a spark of hope.

What’s that supposed to be? The body of Christ?

“What’s that supposed to be? The body of Christ?”

He said it in a mocking tone through a half-smirk, half-scowl, as he held up a round water cracker. He had plucked it off the slap-dash charcuterie board I set out for our Christmas house guests—him and his family.

He was Christian, like me, but made sure to let me know how he felt about my Catholicism right there in my own home. He preached his version of the truth, pulling up conspiracy websites and videos in the cracked-screen phone he shoved in my face.

He ruthlessly spouted lies and misconceptions about my faith but refused any healthy debate or reasonable discussion. He was too caught up in his ego trip, raining down fire and brimstone in my parlor, telling me to repent and follow Jesus.

If only he could understand that Jesus is everything to me–to us.

“Mama, can you wash my foot?”

A Little Lent Reflection

Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast brought perfect praise.-Matthew 21:16

It was a typical busy morning with my kids. I had just finished slinging pancakes, slipping a whole one through my pre teen’s door before cutting the rest up into little bite-sized pieces and leaving a dollop of maple syrup in the smallest wedge of the divided plastic plates.

With the calvary distracted by breakfast, I finally had my chance. I grabbed my coffee and my copy of that month’s Magnificat and headed to the dining room. I settled at the table, out of the splash-zone of the eat-in kitchen table where my toddlers dipped their morsels and slurped down milk.

The readings contained the story of Mary Magdalene who showed her love for Jesus by using her hair to bathe his feet in her tears. Magdalene has always held a special place in my heart. Not only is she often misunderstood, but she believed in Jesus’ power to forgive and to heal.

Christ at the Center: Our Domestic Church

Making a home for my family until we make it home to Heaven.

For several years the walls of my home had been the same tan color. Its neutrality and tone served us well, hiding the little fingerprints and scuff marks that come with family life. But, soon the little ones grew out of the toddler stage and it became painfully obvious that the house was long overdue for a refresh.

I knew where I wanted to start, the front living room, or parlor. It’s where we receive our guests and welcome each other home. Where the dog barks and kids run as soon as Daddy walks in. Where I draw back the curtains each morning to let the light in and set flickering candles to relax at night.

I flipped through paint samples for days, finally choosing the lightest blue for the walls and the brightest white for the trim. We splurged on the highest quality, cleanable, smudge resistant paint that promised to cover the old color in just one coat. I stirred up the beautiful hue and hoped for the best.

The One Who Can

As Catholics, we’re well advised not to put *too* much stock in dreams. They can be easily influenced by imagination yet; there are several accounts of God reaching out to his people through dreams in the Bible (like that of Saint Joseph). Not all dreams are prophetic but this one has stuck with me and really personifies my journey through Motherhood, and to Mary.

Let me take you into my dream cloud for a spell:

“Where am I?” I wonder, “It’s hot! Why is it so hot?” All I can hear is the muffled sound of waves crashing. I’m walking down the street of an unfamiliar seaside neighborhood road. I squint my eyes, doing my best to look at the houses surrounding me in hopes of recognizing one. A mysterious fog mixed in the sea-sprayed air, too thick to make out details.

My Hero, My Friend

This is a story about my best friend, who went above and beyond to be there for me. My daughter was in the hospital during this time but, in the midst of so much pain, God gave us one of the most precious memories of our friendship, and my life.

Our Origin Story-

How can I even begin to explain a friendship like ours’? We met back in 2007 at tech school where we earned our Medical Assistant certifications. In class we clicked right away. We had a lot in common, both at crossroads in our lives. Me, rebuilding my life after having a baby, leaving my toxic ex and moving back to my mom’s house. She, starting over 3,000 miles away from Arizona where she lived, moving in with her dad and bettering her life for she and her daughter.

Within a few months we were not only going to school together, but working and living as roommates too! We did well in school, both graduating with honors, but our free time looked a bit different. We were a little wild back then, before conversions and reconversions but I have no regrets (okay, maybe one or two!🤭). We talked to guys, danced in clubs and sang in the car. Some of the most fun we had was just hanging out, getting ready and sharing the bathroom mirror.

Sealed With a Cross

This article first appeared on CatholicMom.com

Please follow my writing there as well as the many wonderful contributors who share their hearts, talents and time for the Catholic Mom community!

Cait Winters tells the story of how her kids cheer her on through the Sign of the Cross.

It was lunchtime in the middle of a typically busy homeschooling day. We had spent the morning on a hike at nature co-op and still had math, cursive and reading to cover that afternoon. Homeschooling can be hard on a home (and a homemaker!) because most days, aside from my hardworking husband, everyone is here all day long. I wouldn’t trade this time serving my family for the world, but it often means cooking three meals a day and constant cycles of washing and drying to keep up our well-loved, humble home.

That morning I had overslept, being early-pregnant and tired and didn’t have a chance to unload the perpetual dishes. It was easy to leave and forget about the chores while on our hike but coming back to them was another story. The sink was half-full already, but I had hungry kids to feed, so I fired up the stove and sudsed up what I could. The smell of cooking was turning my stomach and everywhere I looked, my to-do list grew.

I did a swat-like Sign of the Cross, blessing myself as I caught my breath and forged ahead. The Sign of the Cross is a quick way for me to ask for heaven’s help without even saying a word. I broke a sweat but got through the chores, finally setting plates and drinks out for the kids and calling them to the kitchen table.

An Academic Faith: Thoughts on Life as a Full-Time Student, Homeschool Mama & a Perpetually Practicing Catholic

Last year, at four months post-partum with my fourth child, I returned to college. I took a semester off back in 2014 when I was still a single, working mom. It was to marry my husband. Soon children followed and love swept me away. Life at home opened me up to a deeper spirituality, homeschooling sparked a renewed love of learning and in 2024, I went back to school myself.

An Academic Faith-

When I was engaged to be married is when I really started to learn about the Catholic faith I had been born into. After having my first child young, I had a Baptist then non-denominational stint. It’s been said that the Church is a good psychologist and I wholeheartedly agree. Thanks to the sacraments, established by Jesus, I raised my daughter in the Church. Even when I denied my faith, I baptized her out of culture and a sense of familial duty. Perhaps the seeds of my youth were sprouting curious tendrils even then.