Let me set the scene for you. It's a Tuesday evening in our house in Glyndon. Allie is at the kitchen table studying for a final while scrolling college websites. Duane is in his room, headset on, deep in a game with his friends. Sophia is on the couch crocheting something that's either a scarf or a very long rectangle — she hasn't decided yet. Josie is running laps through the living room for reasons known only to Josie. And Lincoln is sitting in the middle of the floor, banging a wooden spoon on a pot lid like he's conducting an orchestra.
Samantha walks in from a twelve-hour shift at Essentia, sets down her bag, surveys the chaos, and says, "So, normal Tuesday?"
Yeah. Normal Tuesday.
The Roster
People ask how many kids we have and I watch them do the math in their heads. Allie is eighteen — my oldest, living with me full-time, finishing up high school and getting her driver's license, which is both exciting and terrifying. She's also deep in college hunting mode, which means our kitchen table has become a permanent spread of brochures and application deadlines.
Duane is sixteen. I have him fifty percent of the time. He's recently gotten into woodworking, which means my shed has become a shared space and I keep finding sawdust in places sawdust shouldn't be. When he's not building something, he's gaming. The kid can spend six hours in a virtual world and emerge like he's been on a spiritual journey.
Sophia is fourteen, also fifty percent of the time. She's the creative one — knitting, sewing, crafts, design. Her room looks like a fabric store exploded in the best possible way. She sees materials where I see scraps, and she's always making something for someone.
Josie is six and a half. I've known her since the day she was born. She is a force of nature — endless energy, always building, crafting, creating, and leaving a trail of glitter and glue sticks in her wake. She approaches every day like it's an adventure, and honestly, I could learn something from that.
And then there's Lincoln. Almost sixteen months old. The baby of the crew. He's the one who brought Samantha and me full circle — our little guy, born into a house that was already loud and just made it louder.
How It Actually Works
People expect me to say it's chaos. And it is — but it's organized chaos. Samantha and I figured out early on that the only way this works is structure. Meal plans. Shared calendars. A chore rotation that the older kids argue about but follow. Bedtime routines that are sacred. And accepting that some nights, the house is going to be loud and messy and that's fine.
The weeks when all five kids are here at once are the fullest. The house is smaller, the noise is bigger, and the grocery bill is something I try not to think about. But those are also the weeks that feel the most complete.
The Quiet Moments
For all the noise, the best parts are quiet. Lincoln falling asleep on my chest. Sophia showing me a finished knitting project with genuine pride. Duane asking me to help him with a dovetail joint in the shed. Allie sitting on the porch with me after everyone else is in bed, talking about what she wants to study. Josie curling up on the couch after finally running out of steam.
It's a full house. It's our house. And I wouldn't trade a single loud, messy, beautiful minute of it.