What My Son Has Taught Me About Slowing Down, Showing Up, and Getting Dirty

— Stars, Stripes, and Sticky Fingers Edition

Ah, the Fourth of July. A time for fireworks, freedom, and forgetting how many hot dogs you can reasonably eat before someone suggests a Tums sponsorship. While most folks are busy planning their red, white, and BBQ, I’m over here reflecting on something just as sparkly as the night sky on Independence Day: what my son has taught me—about life, love, and the power of getting a little muddy in the name of childhood magic.

Let me tell you, motherhood is the most beautiful messy thing I’ve ever stepped in. And that’s coming from a woman who owns chickens. 🐔💁‍♀️

Slowing Down: Because Fireflies Don’t Work on a Schedule

You know what kids don’t care about? Your planner. You know what else they don’t care about? That you had 47 things to do before bedtime. My son has this magical ability to stop time with a simple, “Mom, look!”—and suddenly I’m barefoot in the backyard, watching a snail cross the sidewalk like it’s a NASA launch.

Before him, everything was fast paced. Real estate deals, baking deadlines, even family dinners—everything had to be efficient. But he’s taught me that freedom is found in the slowness—in the messy popsicle drips, the mid-day giggle fits, and the evenings where the only plan is to lay on a blanket and count stars (or chickens, whichever comes first).

On the Fourth of July, the whole country slows down for a moment—to look up, to breathe, to remember. My son reminds me to live like that every day.

Showing Up: Even if You Smell Like Smoke and Watermelon

Showing up doesn’t mean being perfectly put together. Thank the Lord, or I’d be disqualified daily. It means being fully present—even if your shirt is stained with ketchup and your hair smells like bonfire smoke.

Whether it’s playing catch, answering another “why” question, or watching him ride his bike in circles for 34 minutes straight—it’s in those moments that I’m reminded: our presence is the greatest gift we can give.

On the Fourth, we wave our flags, light our sparklers, and show up for our country. But our kids need us to show up like that every single day—with heart, with honor, and maybe a little bug spray.

Getting Dirty: Because Freedom is Found in the Mud Pies

Y’all. My son doesn’t play—he conquers. He digs, he splashes, he climbs, he explores. And yes, he tracks half the backyard into the house with him. But he has taught me something I never expected to learn with a laundry pile taller than the chicken coop: freedom lives in the dirt.

Because when we let go of perfection—of the clean floors and Pinterest plans—we get to see joy in its rawest form. We get to join in the messy baking, the puddle jumping, and the cookie-face-smeared hugs.

A Mom’s Firework Finale

So here’s to the little ones who remind us to slow down and smell the sparklers.
To the muddy feet that stomp through our clean floors but leave the biggest footprints on our hearts.
To the ketchup stains, the backyard adventures, and the moments that don’t make the highlight reel—but make our lives rich and real.
Here’s to showing up, slowing down, and getting dirty—in the name of love, liberty, and laughter.

And if you need me this weekend? I’ll be in the backyard, barefoot with a bowl of strawberries, chasing a little boy with a sparkler in one hand and a s’more in the other.

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of sticky happiness. ✨

Want more stories like this? Follow along at @ChickensCookiesClosings where real estate meets real life—feathers, flour, and all. 💕🇺🇸