When COVID hit, many people around the world felt the effects of loss of community. But our experience was little bit different because we all ended up quarantining together.
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During seasons of unpredictability, the natural tendency can be to retreat into anxiety and dread, as if imagining the worst might prevent it or at least soften the blow if our fears become reality.
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As I shuffled around my house, frantically moving piles from one spot to the next so I could capture a decent shot, the mental checklist of disclaimers kept getting longer.
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A year and a half ago, we began this blog in response to a tugging that had been pulling at my heart for several years.
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These past weeks have been a culmination of magic and monotony, community and loneliness. Having a baby has forced me to slow down in a season that would otherwise be taken over by a “more” mentality.
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So many of my childhood summer memories are painted in golden hues. Catching fireflies, campfires, the sun setting behind my grandparents’ lake house, the bright yellow shag carpet in our “midcentury modern” living room.
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I have a confession. I haven’t been been living up to my own words.
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In the weeks between finishing school and starting my job, I felt an unusual amount of pressure to answer the question, “what did you do today?”
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Quite possibly my favorite thing about summer as a mom is the ability to unashamedly relive some of my childhood nostalgia through my two-year-old son.
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Can I level with you? This morning, well it just has not been good.
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I’ve always been drawn to the big old Southern porches. There’s something romantically nostalgic about them, like they hold the secret to lazy summer afternoons and fresh squeezed lemonade and kids chasing fireflies after dark.
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Christmas is just days away. We have all been busy decking our halls, dressing our trees and hanging stockings with eager anticipation. We have been listening to Christmas music since November 1st and
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It strikes me as sadly ironic – as I’m clearing out my fall decorations to make room for Christmas – that there was no room for them in the inn.
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This week’s blog is a story of celebration and victory. It’s a story of God coming through.
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These days are not what I expected they would be. They are both harder and better. More chaotic and more satisfying. I thought the tired-eyed, fuzzy-headed, new mom thing would have worn off by now, but it hasn’t.
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Fall made its opening debut early this week, enticing us with crisp, clear mornings and crystal blue skies. They say fall is a southerner’s reward for surviving the summer.
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When I heard that malls are starting to die off, I wasn’t initially bothered because I could practically count on one hand the number of times I’ve been to a mall since I graduated high school (the better part of a decade ago). But I’m realizing
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I’m not a huge fan of the empty nest. Most of the time, I much prefer a full house. Empty, dark & quiet is NOT my thing. I want my home to be light, open, alive. I love hearing laughter & conversation drifting from the other room.
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The other day, Matt walked into the kitchen and saw me holding one of Cyrus's tiny shoes in my hand. He asked what I was doing and I told him
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