Why I Am Living a Homemaker’s Year
Life is full of ups and downs.
I’ve seen my fair share in recent years, and especially in this most recent year! That is why here I am, starting again. Many starts and re-starts.
So here we are again…
Hello, my name is Tracy. I’ve been married to my high school sweetheart, Paul, for almost 35 years now. That still feels a little surreal to say.
We have fourteen children.
All ours.
No twins.
No triplets.
None adopted.
We aren’t Catholic.
We aren’t Mormon.
We do own a TV—though we don’t have much time to watch it.
That usually covers most of the questions people ask.
My husband likes to tell people we’re passionate Protestants.
Seven of our children still live at home. The rest have grown and flown the nest, starting lives of their own.
We didn’t plan to have a big family. And I certainly didn’t set out to be a homemaker.
As a teenager, I had my entire life mapped out. I wanted one child. Paul didn’t want any. I looked forward to the career I had chosen and imagined what I thought would be a perfect life.
Growing up, both my mother and my grandmother worked. Staying home as a grown woman never entered my mind—not as I planned the future, anyway.
And yet… there were women the Lord placed in my life who made a deep impression on me. I didn’t always have words for it at the time, but they stayed with me. Quietly. Persistently.
I spent many summer days with my great-grandmother. She had kept her home her entire life and never held a formal job outside of it—but she worked harder than anyone I knew. She tended a beautiful vegetable garden and flowers, too. She fed strangers who wandered up from the street. She always had food waiting for family and friends who stopped by.
Mrs. Jean Murray lived across the street from us. She often invited me in for a hot breakfast before school. I rode to and from school with her family because my mom didn’t have time to cook in the mornings. What struck me—even then—was that breakfast was always ready, her home was always warm, and she was there to greet her family when they returned at the end of the day. Everything felt touched by her care.
My Aunt Judy’s home was different, but every bit as memorable. There were puzzles on the table and homemade donuts in the kitchen. I can still picture the cereal boxes lined up perfectly in a row. There was order, beauty, and a deep sense that each person in her family belonged.
In high school, Mrs. Kathy Crawford was my home economics teacher. She knew I was headed to nursing school, yet she often encouraged me to pursue home economics instead. I think she saw something in me long before I did. I’m grateful for the love and nurturing she poured into me—and I’m still blessed to be in touch with her today.
My mama wanted to stay home with me, but life didn’t allow it. She worked faithfully for nearly 37 years, doing what needed to be done for our family.
When I had my first child, something shifted. Within weeks, I knew I didn’t want anyone caring for her except Paul or me. Ironically, I was working in a childcare facility at the time and would have had her just a few doors down each day—but I could already see that no one cares for a baby quite like her mama.
I resigned before I was scheduled to return to work. I found jobs that allowed me to work nights so I could be with our children during the day while Paul stayed with them at night. Those were exhausting years—but worth every bit of it.
I began to believe I was meant to be home for my children and my husband. Paul prayed with me and reminded me we would figure it out together.
More than thirty years later, I still believe that was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I have loved this life.
Here’s the thing, though: I didn’t grow up watching a woman care for her home full-time. I was an only child. If you had told me back then that I would be managing a household this size, I would have laughed.
And even now—after decades of doing this—I’m still figuring things out.
Along the way, we’ve lost parents, welcomed babies (and more babies), celebrated marriages, faced serious illness, endured job losses, and weathered seasons of uncertainty. Every time I feel like I’ve found my footing, something shifts.
What I’ve learned is this: much of homemaking is seasonal. Life moves in rhythms. What works in one season rarely works forever.
That realization is what led me here.
This space—The Homemaker’s Year—is my way of documenting what it looks like to live faithfully through the calendar year. Not perfectly. Not impressively. But steadily.
My prayer is that the Lord would use it to teach, to anchor, and to encourage you—no matter what season or situation of homemaking you find yourself in.
