There are so many things I want to save- an unending list of special pieces of time, morning to night that I would preserve if I knew how. I want to take these moments as they're happening and press them between pages, a daisy, a leaf, a ticket stub, forever safe. As I move through these days I feel like I constantly place markers in my memory. Keep this always. Never forget how this feels. I remember being a little girl, sitting in that yellow bedroom with the one window that looked out onto the driveway, building castles from blocks so my Barbie dolls could live inside. Oh, the dreams I had! Mamas and Daddies and babies, stories in those walls, a little girl's idea of what it would all be like.

It rained the other night- a monsoon storm that rolled in over the horizon like a blanket, gray and blue and black as the clouds moved together. I sat outside and watched the lightning, I listened to the thunder, I got lost in my thoughts and ended up somewhere thinking about all of the turns in the road that led me here. It's weird, right, how many possible outcomes there are. If I think too much about it it makes me crazy- going back in my mind to places I've been, people I've met, choices I've made. Do one thing, there you are. Choose another, there you go. But yet here I am- there you are- and we're right where we should be, if we believe in that. Or maybe we're simply just right where we are, and there isn't some roadmap of our decisions leading here, to this one story. I don't know.

But I sat out there and cried as it rained, Hank inside probably wondering what his crazy wife was doing, and I thought about how painfully grateful I am for this life. This story we're living- all of the everyday things we do that feel so tiny but are so big, all of the space and time and moments we share. I'm morbid, so my brain always goes to a weird dark side of things too- and I thought about how if I died right now, I would feel like all that I've experienced already has been so beautiful that it would be enough. Is that strange? Probably. But even though I absolutely don't want to die and there's a whole life out there to be lived and I can't even think about my babies being without me, I had this odd little thought. Strange, I know. But I think when you don't believe in anything after this, there's a whole different outlook on life that's there. The right now. The only now. And here we are.

Storms have a cleansing way about them, don't they? The way the water rushes over the pavement, cleaning out the cracks, even the smell afterward. And I sat outside until it stopped raining. I sat outside and let that summer storm roll right on through, and let it do its work on me too. I thought about that little girl in the yellow room with the Mama and the Daddy and the babies, who I am and all the people I've been since. The paper doll selves we all become as our stories fold into the next, one version of us into another and another, a whole army of past selves and experiences and memories, yet all that is seen is that first layer facing out.

When I came back inside I checked on the boys, sleeping soundly in their rooms. Hank reading in bed, Madeline laying on the couch, the last bits of rain running down the window behind her. All was well. Mama and Daddy and babies, the block castle we'd built standing tall and strong, and the little girl in the yellow room, smiling at her luck, tucked up somewhere inside of me too.

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First of all, I already know the answer. Of course it is. I look at that photo, at those beautiful boys and it's clear. I can sit in the big chair in our living room and have these little limbs strewn across me, blonde heads buried into my neck, big brown eyes crinkling as they laugh at one of my silly jokes, and I know, this is all I need. Truly. But then sometimes there's this tiny little twinge in my heart- an extra beat maybe, when I think about having another baby.

I used to want six kids. I dreamed of this. I imagined Hank and I living on a farm somewhere (ignoring that I'm basically scared of most animals) raising our children. I would homeschool (I would never homeschool), grow our own food (I kill half of the plants that enter our house), and live our life simply. Oh, dreams. What funny things they can be as you grow into your reality.

So we had one child. And as he got older I said, "Okay, for us, six is insane. Maybe four. Yes, four." And we had another. And I saw how that went. And I said, "Okay four is insane. Maybe three. Yes, three." And that baby grew and grew and more and more of his baby-ness fell away. And now that baby is turning two and the other is turning five and I look at this life and I wonder what is next.

Do I have a hole in my heart that yearns to be filled with another child? Is that what this feeling is? Do we grow our family one more time? I'm certain the answer is yes, and I've been thinking about it often. But not now. I'm pretty sure about that. But then we ask ourselves, when? When does life slow down enough where I would say okay, this is the time?

It's weird to be at the end of this part of our lives. One more baby. Just one. It seems like yesterday that we were at the beginning, pregnant with Henry and imagining what life would be like once he arrived. Then I can flash forward to almost two years ago, when Charlie was born. Two boys sitting there with me on the hospital bed. One wrapped up in a blanket nursing, the other snuggled up next to me, looking with awe at his new baby brother.

What a gift it is to know when something is your last. The last time you're pregnant. The last time you have that first moment with your new baby. The last time you give a first bath. The last first word. I've already promised myself that when the time comes to try for that sweet baby, and if we are able to have another, that I won't spend my time mourning everything as it passes. That's no way to enjoy a beautiful season of life. Being in the now will be so important, and that's where I want to be- where I need to be. So we will see what's next for us, see what's next for this little family of ours. I have babies on the brain lately, but there's a pause button there too, and a little thought in my mind saying "Not now, but maybe soon." We'll see, we'll see.

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It's Monday. I'm sitting here in my living room, after arriving home late last night from a long, 11-hour drive. The boys are still sleeping, I have a big glass of water next to me, and I'm enjoying the very quiet silence of the morning. This is my favorite time of the day. Whenever I can, I try to get up before everyone to enjoy a small bit of it before the hustle and bustle of the morning begins. And it's funny, I remember my Mom doing the same when I was little- I would wake up to find her having been up for hours, the gym, morning tea, breakfast, already check off her list.

So I sit. And I think. And the thing on my mind most this morning is happiness. I've been thinking a lot about it- Hank and I actually had a long talk about the idea of joy on the way home yesterday. What makes me (you/us) happy? What makes us feel alive? Are we doing enough of those things?

Henry is in a place right now where he is acutely aware of his own happiness. "I'm not happy right now." "This is making me feel upset- I'm not happy with this." So I ask him, what would make you happy? "I want to play!" "I want to run outside!" And so we do it. It's as simple as that, really.

There have been many times in my life where I haven't felt happy. And although I can also look back and see specific seasons of my life where it wasn't a choice- hormones or chemical imbalances- I believe most of the time it was a choice for me. I chose to do things or be around things that didn't add to the goodness of my life. I would do the same things over and over, all the while saying "why isn't this working?" and expecting things to change. And it wasn't until one day I woke up and said "I'm not happy right now." And asked myself, "What would make you happy?" and did those things, that I understood more of how to get back there when I needed to.

It's a long road, you know, this happiness thing. And I remember reading something somewhere that was about the goal not being happiness, but wholeness. Does this add to your wholeness? Bad or good or terrible or wonderful. Does it add to the big picture of your life, the experience, the feeling? Yes? Well good then. I like that.

So what things make you happy, what things make you whole? What makes you feel alive? As far as happiness, it's my family, always. Being around them and traveling with them- seeing new places and that first excitement of a shared new experience- that's what I live for. Just waking up next to Hank and feeling safe, hearing the boys stirring down the hall- that is everything. And then there are my my soul sisters, the girls who have been there from the beginning. Traveling with them, sitting on a couch with them, just being in their magical, accepting, uplifting presence- they are my happiness. Being outside, hiking and exploring. Exercising and moving my body. Seeing new places with the people I love. A good book. A good meal. Writing.

The other day Henry was complaining about something, I don't remember what, but I told him that it was silly to keep complaining, when he could be spending that energy working to change it. And I thought about my own life, and how many times I could have used that advice. Life isn't so simple when you're really in it, but sometimes when I take a big enough step away, it can feel that way.

It's exciting really, when I think about being 33 and how I'm kind of in the middle of the really sweet spot. Enough behind me where I feel slightly experienced in how to live my own life, but so much ahead that there's a lifetime of goodness to look forward to. Isn't that such a gift? Waking up today and feeling like there's a whole day stretched ahead of you? What will we do? How will we fill it?

I hear stirring in Charlie's room, so I'm typing this quickly. My quiet morning time is coming to an end. How wonderful it feels to just share this river of thoughts in my mind with you, to empty it here to revisit later. Today I will work on my wholeness. I will look at the big picture and pull out tiny pieces of goodness, things that are happy and hopeful, and hold them there for a minute, and say thank you. We're building something here, and those are the parts I most want to grow. So I ask myself, what would make you happy? What would make you feel whole? And that's where I begin.

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Sometimes I think about you, on the other side of that screen. I'm sitting here right now on this side- specifically in my bed, where I do half of my blogging (the other half at my desk when I'm feeling official)- and I'm typing this. My hair is up in a messy bun of too-clean hair, which I actually hate 10x more than too-dirty hair. If you're curious, I got my hair colored yesterday and unlike most women I've spoken to about it, I may be the lone lady who really doesn't like that fresh from the salon feel. Way too soft, way too clean. But anyway. Top knot, workout clothing, listening to my sister entertain three children in the playroom. You might be curious after reading that, why is your sister watching your children while you sit in bed? Well, we switch off watching the little ones during the week. I watch Lucy for a few hours in the morning, and she watches in the afternoon. I work from home so most of the time while she's watching the boys I'll be working on actual work stuff, but sometimes I'll take a break and write a post here. Not too often though, as I'm sure you've noticed, but whenever I get an idea or an urge to share in this space, I do.

So that's my side of the screen. Or part of it. On this side I have so many thoughts going through my mind. I went out with friends on Saturday night so today I'm feeling that third day after-drinking sadness. It's making me say things like "I will never drink again!" Or to my sister, "Why didn't I stick with just wine?" I'm also thinking about this video I came across, of our last East Coast trip. My sister is divorced now and there are parts of the film that include her and her ex-husband. It makes me think about marriage and how no one goes into it thinking they will get divorced. But people do get divorced. There are just no guarantees in life in anything you do, and that's equal parts exciting and scary, depending on the situation at hand. I could get lost in thinking about it so instead I'll just stop- I'm just so glad my sister is happy and doing okay. I also can't help but wonder about this next year. Hank and I decided to hold off on having another baby and do some of the traveling we've been dreaming about with "if not now, when?" echoing in our heads. But then the other night I spent too much time looking back at old photos and videos of Charlie as a tiny baby and that familiar ache returned in my chest. Another baby. Yes. And so I had a panicky moment thinking about the trips that are already booked and in place and unchangeable, and how we absolutely could not have another baby now, even if I wanted to (which I absolutely did in that very moment). I went to bed with incredibly dramatic tears in my eyes and woke up feeling silly and a-okay that we were waiting. What was the rush anyway? So we'll wait a year.

I'd like to imagine that you're there, on your side of the screen, and you're smiling. You're reading this and thinking how funny it is to read this weird lady's random thoughts and about her day and her family. I'd like to imagine you have a lot going on in your life too, over there, and you're taking just a moment to read these words I type here, from my bed. I hope you know how much I appreciate you. Some of you have stuck around for almost eight years here in this space. Whoa, right? So crazy, so cool.

Now I'm going to shut my laptop and go out to see how everyone is doing out there in the playroom. You'll shut your computer too, or lock your phone, or walk away from your desk, but just know that I'm thinking of you. I'm sending you these positive vibes and happy thoughts and I'd like to imagine that you can totally feel them coming your way, floating out there in cyber space and over to you, somehow. Lots of love, my friend.

xoxo

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Isn't Spring just the best? I've taken great pleasure this year in watching the brown fall away and fresh buds start to pop up. I've enjoyed seeing our town slowly renew bit by bit, tree by tree, until one day while taking Henry to school I realized that overnight we had moved into full-blown, bright green, Spring.

It makes me think a lot about the spring going on in my own life, and the women around me. Most of my close friends are in their 30s too, and I'm learning that this is a truly magical age. Yes, magical. I try to use this word sparingly because at times it can sound a little silly, but let me tell you, my twenty-something readers, the thirties are the very best. Look forward to it, be excited. And to women out of your thirties, maybe you'd tell me to just wait, because it only gets better (and I hope it does), but I know that this right here, right now- it's beautiful. I'm nowhere near having it all figured out, but I do know how much I'm enjoying this current chapter of being alive. And particularly, the refreshing and renewing and bettering that's happening right now as the seasons shift and we find ourselves in Spring.

There's a lot to it, the magical parts of this decade. Maybe it has something to do with just not giving a fuck anymore. Maybe it has something to do with beginning to really look at yourself, to see who you are and what you like, and making peace with that. Not pleasing others, not worrying about opinions, just doing you. And for some, "doing you" really means "doing us." There are opinions that matter- for me, it's my husband and children.

For many of us I feel like our teens and twenties are peppered with mini-shifts, tiny blips, circles repeating over and over of "this is who I am, who I want to be, who I am not..." And then as you emerge from that, stepping into your 30s, something very neat happens- you start to see a little more clearly and begin to realize that these circles are some of the most amazing parts of your story- they've been the vehicles to get you right to where you are, right now, and any feelings of regret or strangeness regarding that journey begin to fall away. You are you, this life is yours, and it's beautiful.

I write a lot about this topic because I find it fascinating. My most recent book picks have all been memoirs written by women in their 50s and 60s, sharing what they've learned and how they've learned it. I enjoy reading things like this because it causes me to take a look at my own life and see the things I'll one day reflect upon, happening in real-time. It's a hyper-awareness of the legacy you'll leave, open eyes as you takes steps onwards and upwards. And I like it.

So here I am. Spring at 32. Almost 33, really. Another year of my life is coming full-circle and it's exciting to me to step into a new one. I never thought too much about my birthday being in May, but I see now how wonderful it is to be born in the springtime when everything is fresh and new again. And then being reborn every year as the calendar flips- a magical season in a magical season.

I'm grateful as I look around at the green leaves and the green grass and the flowers popping up. There's an excitement blooming inside of my chest and I can't help but feel like this new beautiful part of me is just starting to push through, the sunshine and warmth coaxing me out of myself once again, saying c'mon, c'mon, c'mon.

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I had a laugh with a girlfriend the other day because we both feel like we're going through some interesting shifts in our lives. For me, I've been enjoying the outdoors more and more. If you take me out of the equation and substitute in a middle-aged man, it would absolutely appear to be a mid-life crisis. Patagonia hat, adventure photos...who is this person?! We laughed at ourselves over a glass (or two) of wine and talked a lot about how we change as we age. Best case, you get better. In the worst case, you don't. Simple, right? But really, I am grateful to have so many years of self-reflection under my belt (thank you, blog), because it has allowed me to really see myself. And it's funny, when I thought I saw myself before I really didn't; I kind of just saw what I wanted people to see, as if that was who I was, or who I wanted to be at least. Then I started to believe that that person was me. Does that make sense? But as I get older I just want to be who I am. The bare bones, the real stuff. I want to put that out there, instead of what I think people will like, in every sense of that statement.

I think one of the most interesting things about getting older is becoming who you will be as the world spins on and you change and things change and every little thing changes. I thought I knew exactly who I was, but I still don't really know, at all. Getting closer, sure, but find me again when I'm 40 and I will probably poke fun at this naive 32-year old who thinks she's even scratched the surface. Then find me again at 65 and I'm sure I'll laugh at everyone I've been since then.

So who am I? Who are you?

I think about when I am the happiest and it's when I'm surrounded by those who really see me, and who allow me to see them. I want authentic relationships. I want to be able have real, true, deep conversations with the people I love, and see them, really see them- and allow them to see me too. I don't want surface. I want depth and emotion and to share beautiful experiences. This past year I took a look around and saw that I was holding onto people that didn't add to my life. They didn't make me feel good. So I let go.

I want to spend my time outside, exploring the world as much as possible with my family. Hank and I started hiking at least once a week a little over a year ago and as time has progressed we spend most of our days outside in some way. I can't get enough and as the year has gone on we've become so interested in the outdoors that we plan our weekends around hikes and adventures- this is how we want to live our life and raise our children.

Work is important to me. After having Henry I said (to anyone who would listen, really) that I never wanted to work again, if that was possible. Many months went by, a year, then two, we had another baby...and I realized that as satisfied as I am with being a mother and staying home with my babies, I also have another side to me that fills up with happiness when I am working. So I explored that. I love teaching but I didn't want to be away from the boys, so I was lucky enough to find a job that allows me to do both- to stay home with my children but also be a working mama with occasional travel. This has been the magic combination for me. I've never been busier, but I've also never felt more fulfilled. There's still tweaking to be done as I continue to figure out the work-from-home and life balance- but I'm getting there. It's interesting to be in Mommy mode all week than suddenly be in a meeting in the office in work mode. I know many mothers do this everyday, but after not being a part of the working world for a chunk of time, it's been a shift. A fun shift, but a huge change nonetheless.

It's a beautiful thing to be able to change. It's an even more beautiful thing to allow that change to happen, and to allow others to change. Hank and I often have conversations about how crazy it is to be with the same person for over a decade- we're so different than the people we were when we met, but at the same time we're still those same kids, young and in love. Life is wild- we're all becoming who we will be, and one of the coolest things about being a human being is that we can choose who and what we surround ourselves with, as we hopefully shift into a higher consciousness year after year.

I tell Henry everyday- "do all things with kindness," and I tell myself the same. Be kind to others, be kind to myself, be kind to this process. We're all becoming who we will be, we're all on this path that hopefully leads up, up, up and gets better and better and better the older we get. I turn 33 in two months and I am looking forward to another year on this path. I look forward to turning around and seeing where I've come from and looking ahead at where I'll be.

There's no way to say this without soundly incredibly cheesy, but I say this wholeheartedly- here's to our best selves. I love you!

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When you sit down to write, it's a powerful thing. You are the only you, you know. That's amazing in both the most simple and most complicated ways possible. When you think about the fact that there is no one else who does what you do, who lives this life of yours, who feels all of the things you do- it will become glaringly obvious that anything you put on that paper or onto that screen will be worthwhile. You are the only you who woke up this morning with these thoughts in your head, who drove to work listening to this or to that, who stopped at stoplights wondering about what you wonder. You went through your day like no one else, you spent your time only as you can. These hours and minutes are your story- the little pieces that make up the big ones of your beautiful, beautiful life.

So many times that cursor is blinking and you feel blank, I know. I feel that too. I often convince myself that there is nothing else to really say. It's all been said before; it's all been said better. What's the points and why even bothers float up and into your orbit and sit there, trapped under some hazy cloud that makes everything seem futile. Yeah, I'm right there with you.

But hey.

Remember that your story is your story. To have the guts to take your life and write it out, to dissect the seemingly simple things in your day and splay them out there and examine them piece by piece, the whys and hows getting clearer the more you look, that is brave. No one has said what you have to say, because no one has lived this life of yours. No one has seen things the way you see them. So when you feel like your brain is empty or you feel like you don't have anything to contribute, remember that yes, yes you do.

Share from that authentic part of you, the stuff inside that might take a few layers to peel back. Get in there. Start simple and once you start you'll see more often than not, the simple stuff is the most beautiful. And just write. And write. And write. Tell your story like no one else can. Because (really and truly) no one can.

xoxo

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I've been writing this post in my head for a few weeks, thinking about the past year and the things I've learned. There's so much to say- there always is! But I think 2014 been one of the most interesting years I've had in awhile, because lots of what I thought to be true shifted in one way or another. That's a good thing, I think. If we're not growing and changing we're pretty much stuck in the same place, right? And I hope I'm always changing and adapting to what's around me- growing from mistakes, moving forward from where I am, and constantly looking at myself and asking "how can I be better?"

It's interesting sharing things here for so long- really, you've all grown up and changed right along with me over the past eight years (thank you). I started Sometimes Sweet in my early twenties and now I'm in my early thirties. That's a LONG time and a huge span of some very transformative years. If you've been reading since the beginning you know a lot about me from these bits and pieces I share; you might have started reading when I was a newlywed, still a teacher, just beginning to fill up these pages with little stories from our life. Maybe you came aboard when I was pregnant for the first time, post after post chronicling that first baby bump, my mind always going going going, all worries and wonder and excitement. You might have come and gone, as I changed and you changed. The years have flown, haven't they? And now here we are, almost eight years later, an entire blog filled up with this story of my life. I post less, I know that. Last month I posted only eight times. That's the season of our life right now, though. Sometimes blogging.

Blogging is changing; it has changed, both for me and for everyone else too. With the insta-world right there, it's easier to put thoughts there, to fill up those little squares with all of the things I would normally share here. And as life gets busier, I find that blogging slips down on my ladder of priorities. It's okay though, although it does make me sad at times- when I don't blog for awhile a little tiny part of my world feels a bit empty. I promised myself last year though, only the good stuff. If I don't have something I really want to share, don't fill up pages to fill it; quality over quantity whenever and wherever I can. I started this blog or fun, and although over the years it's changed and evolved into other things, the reason for this space is still the same- because I love to write (need to write!) and this place is my online home.

So that's where I am. Home. Times are changing, the world seems to be moving faster and faster, but as that happens all I want to do is go slower and slower. To take time and sit and write. To call a friend instead of text. To go on long walks with Hank and the boys. To tell you some stories I haven't told you before over a cup of tea, you on that side of the screen, me on mine. Enjoy these days as they flutter on by, find beauty in the simplest of things. Slow. Intentional.

As I was writing this I got a sense of goodbye- did you feel that? I think sometimes when you're at the edge of something it can feel like that. Is this the beginning? Or the end? For me this it is the beginning, I know that. As I move forward I want to continue to be present here, maybe eight posts a month, maybe eighteen, but as life moves on and our story evolves, I want to turn the page and continue. So that's what I'll do. Turn the page, tell our story, write these words, continue to capture the little bits of our life in the best way I know how here in this online home of mine (ours).  And I hope you'll be here too.

Here's to 2015, and a lot more of this, and you, and me. I'm excited.


I can't help but use this photo for the 1000th time- I love it so much! Credit: Lauren Ristow

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Sometimes I feel like I'm doing it all wrong. Do you ever feel this way? I know as parents no one ever really knows what they're doing, but sometimes I lay awake at night and worry and over think and wonder if I'm doing an okay job. And then other times I think to myself "I've got this! I'm doing it!" and feel like maybe I've cracked some sort of Mommy code. Rarely, but it happens. Parenting is crazy, right? But like I've said before, just as Henry is learning to be a four-year-old, I am learning to be a mama of a four-year-old. We're both learning. And the funny thing about Henry and me, is that we will always, always be the trailblazers of our family. Everything will always be new to us, but especially to me, as I navigate every obstacle, age, and milestone with him, for the very first time. This is both the blessing and the curse of a first child. You experience these things together but with those initial hurdles there are lessons (so many lessons!) and you learn by trial and error as you move through your days, weeks, months, years.

It is a truly fascinating thing, parenting yourself. Henry is me and everyday I feel in awe that I created this little person who has inherited so many of my qualities. And sometimes it hurts so badly so see him hurt in the ways I remember hurting as a child, having such an open heart, wearing emotions on his sleeve, feeling things so very deeply. I worry at times about the things I see in him, that are in me- a quick temper, so many emotions, always thinking, thinking, thinking. But at the same time I look at these things and they have been such a gift for me, in so many amazing ways. But that's what parenting is all about right? We see ourselves in the children we raise, we have a chance to do better, be better, and in the best case, we do that.

It's funny to feel as if I've been a parent all of my life. I look back to "before," and it feels like a past life, a time before this that maybe existed in a different world. These four years feel like a million, but in the same breath I will tell you its gone by in an instant. The struggles of raising small humans to be grown up humans is universal. We all have hard days, we all have wonderful days. And those wonderful days, oh, they are magic! They're what keep me going, the days when we end it snuggled up reading in bed, talking about the happiest and best parts of the past 24 hours. Or with a baby cheek resting on my shoulder, little sighs in the dark, our tiny bubble of us, where everything is perfect and wonderful and right in the world. You have to have the hard days to get to the magic, you know? So we keep going, we keep learning. We stumble, we get back up. We adjust our sails, we continue on. And here they are, these little people, my biggest teachers, reminding me everyday that we are all here for the first time, figuring it out. And that if we just do all things with love, everything will most likely be a-okay.

xoxo

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For you mamas who balance work and home at the same time, I salute you. I recently (this past summer) went back to work, and although I work from home I feel like it is a daily challenge to figure out the elusive work/home life balance. And sometimes it all feels like a whirlwind. A good whirlwind, but some days I feel like it's go-go-go with barely enough time to come up for air. I like busy though, I do. I don't like wearing busy as a badge, but busy in general makes me happy. Hank and I always laugh that even on our honeymoon it was hard for us to just be. We're not the kind of people that can just sit in lounge chairs and soak up the sun...as much as I wish I was like that! I have to constantly remind myself to relax when it's time to relax and carve time out to "take a chill pill" as Henry says. Always, always working on that.

This current whirlwind though- it's made up of a lot. It's part change- my sister's house closed last week so they've been moving out of our home and into their new one. It's part excitement- Henry turning four and Thanksgiving and Christmas and a ton of travel and everything in between. It's part fear of the unknown- my Dad had a major, 6-hour heart surgery yesterday and thankfully he is alright, but of course it's worrisome. And a million other things all swirling around in our little world.

But then there are these moments, these little freeze frames where times stops and goes slowly, or at least it feels like way here in our little cocoon. It's like last night, when Charlie was so cold after his bath and I laid him down to go to sleep just warming up his little body with the soft gray blanket, his big green-brown-hazel eyes round like saucers, looking up at me from his crib. Time slowed. It was just us in that little space of time we'd carved out for ourselves, and I willed myself to memorize every bit of it. Or yesterday, surrounded by a pile of books with Henry, watching the beginnings of him reading, the "c-a-t" becoming cat, the sounds becoming words, and it's just so magical to watch these little building blocks click together in his mind. Click-click-click. These moments are the slow, special ones, and I know to take them in, file them away, keep them for later.

So it's a whirlwind sure, just like anyone's life. We are all busy, we all have our things. But we all have our moments too. We stand in the middle of life going around and around and around and we pause. We take a breath. We take it in. These moments are all unique to who we are, our experiences, our everyday. Crack my head open and I feel like you'd see rows of filing cabinets, lined up by date, creaking and squeaking a little when opened, manilla folders with every color tag lined up, bursting with my moments. They're all in there, amidst so much else going on....little pauses in the middle of life, and for those small bits of time (and for the big ones too), I am so very grateful. I realize now that life won't be slowing down anytime soon, nor do I want it to. But what it reminds me of, is to take pause and reflect, to grab little bits and pieces as life continues to move along in the wonderful, crazy way it does.

xoxo

 photo by Lauren Ristow

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