Finding My Rhythm Again

I finally have a routine!

Again.

After about six months of never quite knowing what was coming next, a full house without much structure, and more chaos than I’ve endured in a long time, a new rhythm has finally emerged.

And I couldn’t be happier about it.

Now that Layla is back in school and both Alex and Eva have secured gainful employment with steady schedules, my house is no longer a constant revolving door.

And considering I work from home, you can imagine just how disruptive that revolving door can be!

My mornings begin at 6:25 a.m.

Archie, my grandpup, arrives around 6:45. And if I’m not up and ready to greet him, believe me, the entire neighborhood will hear about it!

He hangs out with me in the kitchen while I clean up the dishes that have magically appeared overnight.

I’m perpetually washing dishes.

Then we make coffee and prepare Layla’s breakfast: a toasted bagel topped with cream cheese, strawberries, honey, and chia seeds. I prep her lunches on Sundays, so those are easy to grab on the way out the door.

With my piping hot black coffee in hand, I head to my office and quietly begin my workday while the rest of the house starts to stir.

Eva is the first out the door around 7:30. She heads over to pick up Grace, and since they both work downtown, the girls get to ride to work together.

I absolutely love that for them!

Layla is next, getting picked up around 7:45, which is about the time Alex hits the shower. He’s typically out the door by 8:15.

And then?

Fifteen blissful minutes.

Fifteen glorious minutes to clean up after everyone.

And, naturally, wash more dishes.

Around 8:30, I take a little break from work, just as everyone else is settling into their own day.

My sister often comes over, and we head out for a walk together. On mornings when she doesn’t, I take myself and my Addy girl for a walk around the neighborhood.

A little fresh air, some movement, and either good conversation or a little quiet time with my own thoughts.

By 10 a.m., I’m usually knee-deep in work calls, and that carries me through most of the day.

And there you have it.

My morning routine.

I realize that, on the surface, none of this sounds particularly remarkable. Kids heading off to school and work. Coffee. Breakfast. Dogs. Dishes. So many dishes.

But to me, it’s so much more than a schedule.

It’s a sense of order after a season of uncertainty. It’s the comfort of knowing what comes next. It’s having enough breathing room to enjoy the little things instead of constantly reacting to whatever the day throws my way.

It’s creating space for the things that matter to me, even in the middle of all the ordinary responsibilities that come with a full house and a full life.

Because I’ve learned something about myself over the years.

I don’t need every day to be exciting. I don’t need every hour to be filled. And I certainly don’t need everything to go according to plan.

But I do need a little rhythm.

Without it, life starts to feel chaotic instead of intentional.

And an intentional life is exactly the kind of life I want to live.

One piping hot cup of coffee, one morning walk, and one sink full of dishes at a time.

A Beautiful Day to Have Absolutely Nothing Planned

There is something almost magical about opening your work calendar on a Wednesday morning and discovering that you have absolutely zero meetings.

Not one.

No Teams calls. No back-to-back conversations. No awkward 30-minute blocks that somehow turn into an hour.

Just a glorious stretch of time to answer emails, get some work done, and solve all the world’s problems from the comfort of my home office.

Naturally, I decided to go for a walk.

In my defense, it is an absolutely beautiful fall day in St. Louis. The sun is shining, the air has that wonderful autumn crispness, and the trees are putting on their annual show. It seemed almost irresponsible not to get outside and enjoy it.

So I took myself to Creve Coeur Lake for a walk, popped in my airpods, and listened to a podcast from the Dominican Sisters.

A little fresh air, a little faith, a little movement, and a little time with my own thoughts.

Honestly, not a bad way to spend a Wednesday morning.

On my way home, I picked up a cobb salad and some chicken tortilla soup for lunch. Because apparently today’s theme is taking care of myself while still being a reasonably productive member of society.

And now here I am, spending part of my afternoon writing a blog post between answering emails and putting out whatever little fires happen to pop up.

It’s funny how much I appreciate days like this.

There was a time when I might have measured a successful day by how much I accomplished, how many things I crossed off a list, or how many people needed something from me.

And don’t misunderstand me. I still love a good crossed-off list. I am also quite capable of being the person who gets things done.

But somewhere along the way, I’ve learned that a beautiful day doesn’t have to be a particularly busy one to be worthwhile.

Sometimes the best thing you can do with an unexpected opening in your schedule is actually enjoy it.

The rest of the day has a little more structure.

This afternoon I’ll take Layla to physical therapy. She had knee surgery back in June, which is an entire story of its own and probably deserves a blog post someday.

While she’s in her session, I’ll settle in with an iced sweet tea and whatever book I’m currently disappearing into.

Not exactly a tropical vacation, but I’ve become pretty good at finding little pockets of pleasure in the ordinary responsibilities of life.

And then there’s dinner.

Your guess is as good as mine.

Alex is working. Eva is heading to the St. Louis City Soccer game. Layla may be home with me, or she may head off to watch her boyfriend’s soccer game.

Which means I could be cooking for two.

Or one.

Or perhaps deciding that a perfectly acceptable dinner consists of something I find in the refrigerator and absolutely no dishes to wash.

The possibilities are endless.

And for once, I don’t feel the slightest need to figure it out ahead of time.

Maybe that’s one of the things I appreciate most about this season of life. I’ve spent so many years coordinating schedules, making meals, getting kids where they need to be, and keeping all the moving pieces of a family in motion.

And while I’m still very much in the middle of some of that, there’s a little more room now for spontaneity.

For a walk because the sun is shining.

For a good book in a waiting room.

For lunch that someone else made.

For an evening that doesn’t need an itinerary.

None of these things is particularly remarkable on its own. But together, they make for a pretty lovely Wednesday.

And perhaps that’s why I’ve found myself wanting to write again.

Not because something extraordinary is happening every day, but because I’ve gotten better at recognizing how much beauty is tucked into the ordinary ones.

The sunshine. The changing leaves. A quiet calendar. A good bowl of soup. A daughter who still needs a ride somewhere. An evening waiting to unfold.

A whole collection of little moments that make up a life.

And today, I’m rather enjoying mine.

Happy Wednesday. Make a little room for something lovely.

I Never Stopped Finding the Magic. I Just Stopped Writing About It.

Well, hello there.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

And by a while, I mean something like a decade. Give or take a few sporadic posts, a whole lot of living, and approximately a million loads of laundry.

I used to write here regularly. Back when my children were little, life was loud, the days were long, and I could find an entire story in a disastrous trip to the grocery store or some ridiculous parenting predicament.

There was always something to write about. Creative projects, family adventures, funny frustrations, and the everyday chaos of raising children. Writing was my little corner of the world where I could turn the ordinary into something worth remembering.

And then life happened.

The kids got older. Our family changed. I got divorced. Life became more complicated in ways I wasn’t particularly interested in putting on the internet.

And somewhere along the way, I got quiet.

Not because I ran out of stories. Quite the opposite.

Some stories just weren’t mine alone to tell anymore. My children were growing into their own people, with their own lives and their own right to privacy. And frankly, I needed some privacy myself.

So I stepped away from writing publicly.

But I never stopped noticing the little things.

Somewhere along the way, I built a life I really love.

Not a perfect life. Let’s get that out of the way right now.

My dishwasher is broken. My oven is on its last legs. There is perpetually something in my house that needs fixing, replacing, cleaning, or figuring out.

I still have bills, responsibilities, long workdays, and moments when I wonder how on earth it’s only Tuesday.

But here’s the thing.

I’m happy.

Not in the everything-is-wonderful-all-the-time kind of way. More in the quiet, deeply satisfying way that comes from looking around at your life and realizing you genuinely enjoy being in it.

I’ve spent the last several years creating a home and a life that feel peaceful, comfortable, welcoming, and unmistakably mine.

I’ve learned that I don’t need a special occasion to make something special.

I can light the candles on a random Wednesday. Put my ginger ale in a wine glass. Make a delicious dinner for one. Take myself on an adventure. Curl up with a good book and a blanket. Turn my backyard into a haunted cemetery simply because Halloween is more fun with a little theatrical flair.

I can make homemade potato soup on a chilly Sunday, put on a favorite witchy movie, and decide that the evening is pretty darn close to perfect.

And sometimes, I can open the refrigerator, pull out a collection of vegetables that have seen better days, and somehow create a shrimp pasta dinner that tastes like something I’d order at a restaurant.

Was there a recipe? Absolutely not.

Will I ever be able to make it exactly the same way again? Highly unlikely.

Was it delicious? You bet.

And for some reason, standing in my kitchen tonight, enjoying that ridiculous little culinary experiment, I was reminded of how much I used to love writing about moments just like this.

The magic was never really in the big things.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a good adventure. A concert, a trip, a family celebration, an experience that becomes a story we’ll tell for years.

But I’ve come to appreciate that some of life’s best moments are remarkably ordinary.

A walk with my dog on a beautiful fall afternoon.

An unexpected conversation with one of my grown children.

A Saturday spent wandering somewhere new.

A kitchen full of family, good food, and laughter.

Fresh pajamas, a candle burning, and the delicious realization that I have absolutely nowhere else I need to be.

These aren’t necessarily the moments anyone would put in a highlight reel.

But they’re the moments that make up a life.

And I’ve become rather intentional about enjoying them.

So why am I writing again?

That’s a good question.

I’m not here to reinvent myself. I’m not launching a brand, becoming an influencer, or promising weekly wisdom about how to live your best life.

Good heavens. Some days I’m just trying to remember where I left my coffee.

I’m writing because I miss writing.

I miss finding the humor in life’s little absurdities. I miss putting words to experiences I don’t want to forget. I miss looking back at something I wrote years ago and being transported right back to that moment.

And maybe, just maybe, I miss the connections that come from sharing a little piece of everyday life with someone who understands.

I’m in a different season now.

My children are growing up and building lives of their own. I’m still their mother, of course, and that will always be one of the greatest joys of my life. But I’m also rediscovering all the other parts of who I am.

A woman who loves to cook, decorate, travel, read, laugh, celebrate, and occasionally get a little carried away with a project.

A woman who loves her family fiercely but also genuinely enjoys her own company.

A woman who has learned that peace is precious, independence can be beautiful, and happiness doesn’t have to wait for everything to fall perfectly into place.

I don’t know exactly what this little corner of the internet will become.

There will probably be recipes. Family adventures. Decorating projects. Books. Holidays. Stories about things that went spectacularly wrong. And plenty of moments that went unexpectedly right.

There may be some reflections on growing older, starting over, letting go, and learning to appreciate the season you’re in.

And there will almost certainly be dogs.

But there won’t be a schedule, a grand plan, or any promises about how often I’ll show up.

Just me, writing when I have something I want to remember.

Because somewhere in the last decade, while I was busy protecting my peace and building a life I love, I realized something.

I don’t need an extraordinary life to find extraordinary joy in living it.

And maybe that’s what I want to write about.

The little things.

The funny things.

The beautiful, messy, imperfect, unexpectedly wonderful things.

The magic hiding in plain sight.

So, hello again.

It’s good to be back.

And if you’ll excuse me, I have a kitchen to clean up.

Unfortunately, that magical shrimp pasta didn’t do its own dishes.

And remember, my dishwasher is broken.

Some things never change. ❤️