Get cosy. I hope you like a story.

Hi! I’m Rebecca but lots of people call me Reb (if you call me Reb I’ll immediately feel like we’ve been friends our whole lives) and I’m from Northern Ireland.

If you know me as Maverick Mum, then I‘d love to give you a big, tight squeeze for putting up with me this long. If I’m a stranger to you, I’d still love to give you a squeeze, but maybe a more appropriate not-so-tight one. Either way, I’m SO glad you’re here. And by here I mean my online home. This is where my words live.

If you know nothing else about me, you should know that I’ve been a mother all of my adult life. Yes, file that under ‘Teen Pregnancy’. 8 years ago I would never have opened an ‘about me’ page with that statement, but these days I’m okay with the fact that motherhood has shaped who I am in every single way.

Most of all, it led me to Jesus, after two friends showed me His love like I’d never seen it before. Motherhood has a way of bringing you to your knees like that, right? 

After my first son Reuben (a true legend) was born, I documented our life at Maverick Mum, ‘the blog of an unconventional mother’. At a time of feeling totally lost, I found my words. I wrote about the struggle to juggle toddler tantrums and university assignments, I told stories about our ‘village’ i.e. the group of students helping me to raise Reuben, and I did a lot of verbal wrestling with God in the midst of single parenting.

Just as I’ve grown up alongside Reubs, so has my writing. And looking back, I cringe at both. But Maverick Mum was my happy place. I may squirm when I read those raw, hilarious, extremely questionable blog posts with equally questionable grammar, but I am forever thankful to every person who read my rambles, partnered in my processing, and encouraged me to keep going - in mothering and in writing. 

In my final year of university, somewhere in between assignment deadlines and nursery pick-ups, I found the time to fall in love with the cute ginger boy sitting opposite me in the library. Paddy slid into my DMs with a sermon. He brought me filter-coffees and Milky Ways every day, and let me be on his team when we played pool (so he could hug me and smell my hair if we won).

My toddler remembered Paddy’s name from the second they met, despite knowing everyone else by their dog’s names. Now, he calls him daddy. The inside of my wedding ring says Grace Upon Grace (John 1:16) because that’s exactly what Paddy Smyth is to me. Pure grace. 

After I graduated, started working at our church full time, and found a husband and father for Reuben, I thought God had tied a neat little bow on that season of being Maverick Mum. I thought the days of being the girl with a ‘story’, or being known (reluctantly) as the Testimony Girl, were over. And I was actually relieved. I was excited for my life to look more ‘normal’ (ha) and move into a more stable (ha), quiet (ha) and not-so-maverick chapter of working and wife-ing and mum-ing.

But at work, at home, on the school-run, words were always swirling around in my head and burning at my fingertips. There was no quiet. I stopped being the one with a story, but I never stopped noticing the stories around me. It was super annoying. I moved on from the blogging chapter and my brain needed to get on board.

Sometimes I’d make sense of my thoughts on Instagram under an unrelated photo, but most of the time my scattered sentences lay dormant in my iPhone notes, jumbled-up and begging for order. Much like the inside of my head. When Paddy made jokes about blogging, I dramatically declared MAVERICK MUM IS DEAD. 

At the time of writing this we are adjusting to life with our second son, Asher (another true legend) and I am technically a stay-at-home mum (8 years ago I also would have vomited in my mouth at that statement).

Yet, in the not-so-maverick and mundane parts of life, there is a story in every moment. And a thread of God’s grace weaving through each one. Sometimes it panics me that I’ll die some day without getting all His Grace out on a page. Again, dramatic, I know. 

So, here we are.

On Christmas Day 2021, Paddy slipped me a piece of paper, clearly torn from the envelope of a Christmas card. 

The night before, I worried that I didn’t get him enough, so I jokingly (but not really jokingly) made him a ‘voucher’ for married-people-activities (it’s not what you think…or is it?). With that in mind, I wasn’t sure what to expect from this little piece of paper he passed across the table in front of our unassuming, innocent children. I took a bite of my Christmas-morning almond-croissant and read the familiar scrawly writing.

To my surprise it said ‘www.rebeccasmyth.co.uk’.

A website!

Paddy gifted me a domain name, but he also gifted me permission to write. Not as Maverick Mum, not as Reuben and Asher’s mum, not as Testimony Girl. Just as me.

I don’t have much else figured out but I do know that every word from me is an offering to the ultimate Giver of Good Gifts (James 1:17). And to you too; if you’ll tolerate me as I overshare my words, my boys and my Jesus. It has taken me an embarrassingly long time to realise that writing is my way of seeing God in my life. And I hope that maybe, through this online home of mine, you might see Him in yours too. 

Lots of love,

Reb x

The Fun Stuff

When I’m not parenting or writing or trying (and often failing) to know Jesus better, the rest of my time is spent with our church family in some shape or form, or curled up in a ball on our brown leather sofa, bingeing Netflix with Paddy.

I’m happiest on a slow Saturday morning when everyone’s at home, there’s lego and baby-cuddles on the go, and Paddy is making the coffee (bonus points if he’s cooking breakfast or appears with a sneaky plate of pastries). I’m second happiest when I’m catching up with the girls or when I’m ALONE with a book. My favourite shop is TK Maxx; I love ALL the clashing boho patterns; and my last meal on earth would be a lukewarm tuna-cheese toastie with a piping hot cup of tea. That’s it. That’s as fun as it gets these days.