And it isn’t because I don’t want to revisit things, I do. It is more of a time thing. You know, time is limited and I spend it doing other things. However, it may also be somewhat of a self preservation thing. My life has changed so much since I posted on here regularly. My kids are older and a couple of them are legal adults now. I also help parent more of them that I used to since I have “bonus kids”. Additionally, I am married for a second time, finding love again in my 40s, after an unexpected, but needed divorce.

If you have read here regularly or follow along/are friends with me on social media you know these things about me. They are not surprises. They are my life now. Even though things are very different now, I am thankful I documented much of my bio-kids’ childhoods and my time at home with them on this tiny corner of the internet. When I do find myself here, looking back, I usually smile really big. The very sentimental part of me loves it here.

Last weekend I took my daughters on a trip with some of their friends to celebrate their Sweet 16 birthdays (a little early for each of them). K asked me to bring my “real camera” to get some photos on the beach, so after doing a frantic search for the ole digital camera charger, charging the battery, and making sure I had a camera card with some space on it, I complied.

Unfortunately, while at the beach, the camera lens fogged up and I quickly gave up and reverted back to my phone for some photos. Later, back at our condo I checked to see if I got any shots worth using. After looking at the few I took in 2025, I came across hundreds of photos I took in 2014, still saved on the card. Right there in front of me was the cherub-like face of my little girl, instead of the current teenage one, with her big blue eyes and bright blond hair.

It sort of took my breath away.

With the click of one little arrow button, my girl went from 15 back to 5. It felt like a time machine for my heart.

I kept going forward, scrolling through the photos and realized many of them were taken for posts I did on this blog back then. There were several pictures of one of my favorite desserts that I posted about on here and on Pinterest. Also, a craft I made with my scrapbooking supplies, that also went on Pinterest.

Sprinkled among those photographs were several of the kids playing outside, watching t.v. in their pajamas and handmade hero capes, and even a time when we had a little snow here in Lafayette. Their younger, elated faces beamed back at me, the tiny scenes of memories lighting the way for that corner of my brain.

I probably spend too much time marveling at how much time has passed and so quickly, however I feel like it is justified lately. So many milestones, like graduations, one kid going off to college soon, “kids” becoming adults, me turning 50. This year has already been jam-packed with BIG things and the train just seems to go down the tracks faster and faster… I mean, some of my friends have grandkids (WHAT?!) and my birthday t-shirt says “vintage” (lol). Long gone are the days of “mommy blogging” and tweeting in the middle of the day with all my online friends, while the kids watched Thomas the Tank Engine or The Wiggles. I no longer post very much or ever about a snack recipe, a free toy or food item I received in exchange for a blog post, or our outings to the zoo or on playdates. Little ones napping at the same time is no longer big news.

Do I miss it? Sure, some of it. I miss them being sweet and little and marking their smaller milestones, like first words, first steps, and learning to read. I don’t miss that kind of tired, constantly keeping house, or being asked for a snack.

So, my favorite thing to do now is to look back at those photographs (I took a lot!) and recall that time in my life when I was able to be with them when they were little. I don’t want to forget what it was like to snuggle them on the sofa in the middle of the day or watch them walk out of their room in the morning, all crazy-haired and sleepy, asking for milk. I want to remember that at one point in my life (and each of theirs), I was their everything, their sun and moon, their soft place to land, and all those other clichés that Moms can be.

So I may just keep that camera card as is forever. I mean why mess with a good and beautiful thing, right?

Then I thought about how so many other people in so many other homes, all across this country, are daily living out their lives and stories from inside a building they call “home”.

Sure, it may not seem like a big deal to some, however to others it may be their everything. Everything they worked so hard to attain, for so many years. The inside contains the majority of their story. They could have lived there since they were a kid, the home passed down from their parents. Or, it could be the home they bought with their sweetheart, containing drawers layered with love notes, paper memories from their children’s school days, and photos, cards, snail mail.

Or maybe it is a brand new place to them and they were adopted by its walls, like a lost child who finally found their family. The soft carpet hugs their feet, the kitchen holds their mother’s dishes, and they sigh a big sigh, waiting for their story to unfold.

All of my homes have been precious to me in some way. The main ones hold amazing memories. The house I grew up in, the house I lived in with life-long friends I met in college, the one I brought my first baby home to, the one I brought my second baby home to, and the one I brought my third baby home to. None of those are the ones I live in now. This latest one is so precious too though, my kids have gone from kids to teens and young adults here and I share it with my love. This abode is where we LIVE.

We cry, we fight, we laugh, we listen. We move around each other in a certain routine and ask questions and try to read each other’s minds at the same time. We ask for the keys or for someone to turn off the light. We get asked “what is for dinner” or “how was your day.”

Every evening when I come home from work I try to remember to be thankful for this house and all it contains, especially the people. Some things here are just “things”, however many of the items contained within these walls have meaning and bring joy to our lives; the art on the walls, the books on the shelves, the favorite pair of boots in our closet.

This month has been a beast, with tiny moments of calm. I am quite ready for January 2025 to be over. But what is next? Does the flip of the calendar page mean things will be better? No. So I keep thinking about everyone in their homes, carrying-on with their lives while things in the world seem uncertain and scary. Because that is what we do, right? We carry on.

And yes, I can have faith, but it waivers.

And yes, I can think that despite my despair, things will work out.

But what do I do in the meantime?

I keep thinking of the very first line from A Tale of Two Cities. You know it. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” We are here.

Right now it kind of feels like someone has broken into our house and tossed everything about, looking for THE thing they desperately want and crave and to take it away from us. And so all the things in OUR house are messy and broken, and we feel violated.

In the aftermath of it all maybe we learn something from the brokenness and we put the pieces back together, make things right and beautiful again, with our good intentions and actionable love of others.

But those times seem really far away right now.

And so I go between taking care of my house and wanting to help take care of everyone else’s house, knowing I cannot ever do the second thing. It is suggested to me to manage only what is in my control, but everything feels out of control.

And so I will sit in my backyard and look into my house and pray. Pray for us all to know and do better, every day. For us to realize the human-ness of every single person walking and breathing on this earth and asking for mercy for us all.

We all look forward to a new year with a sense of freshness. Okay, maybe not all of us, but I do. Traditionally it is a time most of us feel the need for a reset, big or small. We make resolutions, write things down and mark dates on a new calendar, symbolic of a blank slate. We typically make a quick account of the year that passed before we mentally move on. We put away our Christmas clutter and “spring” clean. The trees are bare, the wind is cool (in our part of the world anyway) and we huddle up in our homes by the fire. 

But this year got off to a rough start already and I am struggling. I am completely torn emotionally about this year. I am sad for our country in general and the state of things. I am not positive on that front and it makes me very upset. Yet, this is a big year for our family, since we have several milestone Birthdays and other events to anticipate celebrating. I just wish I could feel more positive and happy. I try, I do. 

I still laugh, because a lot of things are funny. But then I cry because so many things are horrible. I find joy in decorating my home and spending time with my family and friends, but then I think about so many people who do not have those things. Some people have NONE of those things. I sleep unsettled at night in my cozy, warm bed, thinking about how not everyone has that either. I think about how I have mostly lived a really good life at almost 50 years old, and then I think about my kids’ futures and I get all depressed again. What the hell are we leaving them with? To me it looks like a fucking mess. 

I don’t have depression. I am not constantly depressed. I do have some level of anxiety and worry, but that has always been the case. And who doesn’t these days? Really, who doesn’t? I feel like we are all walking around like ticking time bombs. I could go to my therapist and talk about it (haven’t seen her in a while) but each time I think about making an appointment in my head I just hear her saying, “Elaine, everyone is feeling this way.” (She probably wouldn’t say that to me, she would try to help me work through my feelings). Why do I think she would say that, because we are. I mean, we have to be. 

And what is the fucking mess? It’s our planet, social media, our lack of connection with our neighbors and community. It’s our constant need to be right and not bend or see someone else’s perspective, to not help those in need but take for ourselves. I keep trying to tell myself that the world is better than what I am seeing, but the proof is getting harder to find. I know, I KNOW, in my heart of hearts the regular people like you and me are still trying to do and be good. We are all just trying to live our lives and take care of those we love. But the people in power and those making the most “noise” are not, and it’s affecting us BADLY. As a community, a state, a country, a world. 

When I was a little girl I remember seeing this image of the Earth with a ring of humans from all different cultures (as designated by their dress in the illustration) holding hands, encircling the planet. I recall how the image left me with a sense of comfort; thinking about humanity uniting in this huge world of ours and people coming together from different places and cultures. I think it made me feel that despite our differences, all would be okay. I don’t really get that feeling anymore, quite the opposite actually. And the way this year started leaves me feeling melancholy and it pisses me off. 

I want to be able to feel that again, like things will be okay, for me, my family, my friends. I want to greet a new year with jubilation and anticipation of good things to come, not melancholy and dread. I feel like it isn’t fair to anyone to start anything THAT way. Yet here I am. Here we are.

So how do I combat it? I get up every day and go to work and I come home and cook dinner and I ask my husband and kids how their day was. Then I do it all over again the next day. I live my life. Some days are better than others. Some days I am good at tuning out the noise and other days I soak it all up like the driest of dry sponge, heavy with dismay. Some days a shopping trip to Home Goods, where I find the cutest thing I don’t need but I buy it anyway cheers me up for a bit. Some days I cry, like on my way home yesterday. Most days I pray and ask for grace and put out thankfulness for my so far pretty good life. 

But lately it is getting harder and that is what scares me. All the things are getting harder, even getting up in the morning. And I really, really don’t like it. I am not sure what the answer is. I guess this is just life. And the place where we are at as a world. But I still don’t like it, not one bit.

I regret it now. Hindsight and all that. 

I regret that I didn’t always answer when you called for me, or pay attention to what you were trying to say to me. But sometimes I did. I know I did. Because I helped you tie your shoe and to get that lid off that container. I worked on math problems with you and buttoned the second button on your shirt. I drew your bath each night and made sure you did not put your face under water too long and that you cleaned all the important parts. I helped spread the peanut butter and jelly until you showed me you could do it yourself.

But maybe I didn’t listen when you just wanted to tell me or show me that one thing. I regret it now. 

I took so many photos and videos too, from the time you were born. There are photos of you playing and sleeping, of you wearing your precious cape and of you hugging your favorite stuffy. I took photos while we were enjoying the zoo animals and riding the train that you loved to ride, over and over. I have scads of pictures of you, smiling and enjoying your little boy life. That is what you do with your first born, document every moment and milestone in words and pictures.

And that is what I did. But while I was doing all that, did I miss it? 

Are you getting back at me now by being gone all the time? Maybe you wish I had paid more attention back then and now feel a little retaliation is in order.

Or, are you just being a typical teenager and this time of our life together, of being as close as we once were, is drawing to a close.

And so this is where we are now, with you being on the edge of adulthood. You making many more decisions now for yourself than I make for you. Driving off, working a job, coming home later than I would like. 

Okay, I get that, I do, but please…Please know you can still come to me. You cannot fit in my lap, that is true, but you can sit beside me and we can talk. You can tell me or ask me whatever. 

I am here, listening and paying attention and wishing the years had not passed by so swiftly, holding you not in my arms, but always in my heart, my boy.

Always and forever in my heart. 
I am here. 

Therefore, I decided I need to take some time to sit with my family every Sunday and I cannot do so while singing in the choir. I love to sing. I am proud that I can use my talent to inspire and even minister to others. I have been singing in my church choir off and on since I was 14 years old. However, I can no longer deny the quick passage of time. I have many years of using my vocal cords to praise God and I know my children have seen that in a positive way. But now, during this season, I need to inspire them by sitting next to them and praying with them.

Today, I sat with my husband and my two children who came to mass with us. At the end of the mass the woman who was leading the music today sang a beautiful song called “If You Want Me To.” I had never heard it before and I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as she gorgeously put the lyrics out into the ether of the church air. It was as if God himself was talking to me through her words and notes.

I will leave the lyrics here:

The pathway is broken and the signs are unclear
And I don’t know the reasons why You brought me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I’m gonna walk through the valley
If You want me to

No, I’m not who I was when I took my first step
And I’m clingin’ to the promise You’re not through with me yet
So if all of these trials bring me closer to You
Then I will walk through the fire
If You want me to

It may not be the way I would have chosen
When You lead me through a world that’s not my home
But You never said it would be easy
You only said I’d never go alone
Yeah-yeah

So when the whole world turns against me
And I’m all by myself
And I can’t hear You answer my
Cries for help
I’ll remember the suffering that Your love put You through
And I will walk through the darkness
If You want me to

‘Cause when I cross over Jordan
Gonna sing and I’m gonna shout
I’m gonna look into Your eyes
And see You never let me down
So take me on the pathway
That leads me home to You
And I will walk through the valley
If You want me to

Yes, I will walk through the valley
If You want me to

Because I was not familiar with the song, I texted our church accompanist to ask her what the song was and she quickly responded. I listened to it again as Ginny Owens sang the song to me through my phone. And I cried once again. These words particularly got to me,

“It may not be the way I would have chosen
When You lead me through a world that’s not my home
But You never said it would be easy
You only said I’d never go alone“

The entire song made me think of the trials I have been through in the last 6 years (not as many in the last few years) and how much pain I was in when I first split from my ex husband. Because even though the pain subsides, it doesn’t necessarily ever “go away”. A divorce is similar to a death, even though the other person continues to live. There is still a continuing grieving process. There is always a loss of some sort.

No one gets married to get divorced and I never would have chosen it. However, it was necessary for my life to continue on a better path, and even for my relationship with God to flourish. That may sound incorrect to some, but I have never felt as close with Him as I did those many months after the ex husband first left. God held me when I cried and raged. He held me when I first had to be alone without my kids, in the silence of the nights alone.

I don’t think about my divorce very much anymore. I am remarried and our blended family has found a new rhythm and balance. It’s not perfect, but no family is. My new marriage is healthy and honest, it doesn’t harbor resentment or shame. Do my husband and I argue sometimes? Yep. But we always come back to a place of forgiveness and love. Neither of us HAS to be right. We learn from each other and move on.

My prayer is that I never have to suffer that type of heartache again. I am faithful and hopeful enough to believe I will not. I was older and more discerning when I met Brandon. Every day we both choose to stay and that is what matters most.

I also know Brandon could choose to leave any day. I don’t think he will. He has told me he will stay forever and I believe him. But if for some reason he were to do so, I know I still would not be alone. God said to me, “I’d never go alone” and I believe Him above all else.

We all make choices every day, like which pair of shoes to wear or what to have for dinner. The bigger choices, especially those regarding my family, are made after much prayerful thought and loving guidance from our Lord. I could not go it alone even in the every day. He is my Rock and I put all my trust in Him. I know other trials will come up in my life, but I also know He will be by my side through anything. And when it happens I will “walk this valley if You want me to.”

Amen.

Behind me is the old house where everyone is talking or cooking. The men in the parlor full of aged, vinyl rockers and tattered phone books stacked up like a small table. The dust lays thick on the bookcase that holds many family photos and statues of religious saints. A picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus or Mary the Mother of God, in her blue cloak. They talk about politics and farming. My grandfather hands me a dollar and asks how I am doing. The women are in the kitchen. My grandma has already made her sweet, lemony iced tea and her stew is cooking on the stove. They chatter and gossip a little, enjoying their time of being together. 

I run out back because I am bored and I want to find some wildflowers to pick for our supper table. None of my cousins showed up today; only my aunts and uncles, whose kids are all grown and do not come with them anymore. I can only play with the dirty farm dogs so long and I need air in my lungs that isn’t musty or old. 

This place will be taken for granted by me since that is who I am at this age. Someone who does not appreciate the fact that my grandparents live on a farm, in southern Texas, with a bountiful garden, cattle and chickens and space all around. I yearn to head back to the suburbs where I have my own room and can talk on the phone to my friends. Where I can put a frozen pizza in the microwave and eat it while I watch t.v.

However, I do enjoy it and try to make the best of the situation while I am there. I get lost in the maze and make my way past the field of it, only to see the hill where the Indian paintbrush, bluebonnets and other flowers cover the land like a beautiful, multi-colored blanket. I breathe them all in without realizing and wish I could pick everyone single one to take home.

In this moment all is quiet except maybe some birds flying overhead or a chicken clucking from afar. The long grass sways in the breeze and I sit down and close my eyes. For a few minutes it is only me in the world. All the air is mine to breathe. Everyone else is gone. I hear or see no other humans and though I feel a little lonely, I realize how calm I become. 

After a while, I rise and pick my favorites of the hundreds of flowers within my sight. I create a bouquet of blue and red, yellow and pink. I grasp them tightly in my hand as I walk back to the green, wooden house. In the kitchen I find a mason jar and fill it with water and am proud of the centerpiece I have created. I smell the pie my grandma just baked and wish we had already had lunch so I could eat dessert.

My grandma is so cute in her wig and apron. Her legs are bowed from years of work and genetics. Her laugh after a small glass of beer is cuter and contagious. I take her for granted too. I know she loves me but she is old and usually pretty quiet. She is a bit of an enigma to me and I wonder about her because I do not really know her. She is of Czech heritage, comes from a big family and is my mother’s mother. I love her from afar. It is all I know how to do.

I go to see my dad in the parlor and sit on his knee for a minute while the men are mid-conversation. My uncles ask how school is going, I answer politely and listen to them for a little while. I know even less about my Grandpa. Also of Czech heritage. His skin is like leather and he has worked harder than anyone I know. He keeps secrets inside him and holds past hurts I cannot know. To me he is just my mother’s father. Someone to respect and only see when we make these trips.

When it’s time to leave I am ready. I open and close the gate for my dad to drive through and we make our way over the dirt road and back to the highway. I doze off in the back seat on the way home and lightly dream of the field, full of flowers and fresh air. When we get home I secretly yearn for that space and the comfort of that house. It’s not as foreign as I think. I have been going their my entire childhood. I taste the tender beef stew and warm pie again… We have returned to our busy city life, yet I long for that quiet repose and for the simplicity of the life my grandparents know.

The farm doesn’t belong to our family anymore. It is now a part of our history and I truly miss it at times. Life is funny like that, we tend not to realize what we have until it is gone. It’s so cliche, but true.

Looking back on those times I realize how thankful I am to my parents for taking me there and making that place a part of my memories and childhood. I was able to experience both the farm and the city. That farm was my mother’s home and even though it wasn’t always my favorite place to be then, I think it would be one of them now. I am forever grateful for the time I spent on the Hajek farm, just outside of Shiner, Texas with my grandparents, Lillie and Tom (and my aunts, uncles and cousins).

What I wouldn’t give to lay down in that grass again and smell those beautiful flowers on a warm, spring day and later on, eat one of my Grandma’s amazing kolaches…

The turning of the new year has always had special meaning for my family because it’s my dad’s birthday. He typically roasts a duck and my mom and family make the sides and “fixins” that come with it every year. This year was of course, a little different. Instead of feasting on roasted duck, we ordered individual meals from a popular sandwich and soup restaurant. We sat outside and only took our masks off to eat as we sat at least 6 feet apart. I wanted to see my father on his birthday, partly because I am not sure how many he has left to celebrate. However, I also knew I wanted him (and my mom and all my family) to stay well.  

I was texting with a few friends the other day and we all agreed that the beginning of this year is completely “blah”. It’s nothing like the feeling of a fresh start we usually have, a time to reassess and begin again. Sure we can toss our old calendars, but that doesn’t mean our worries and fears go in the trash with them. Instead we are still stuck inside our homes (for the most part), doing our best to modify years of routines that drastically changed only 9 months ago.

Most people look for some kind of reset at the new year, whether it be a revised lifestyle centered around more exercise and less cake, or financial goals to save more or spend less. I see resolutions this year revolving around staying generally healthy (as in stay home and don’t get Covid) and spending even more time with our families, in and around our homes. 

I have always been wishy-washy on New Year’s resolutions myself. In the blogging/writing world it has been popular in the past to choose or be randomly paired up with a word for the year. I have done so in the past and last year my word was “gift”. I promptly forgot it, even though I wrote about it on Facebook, saying I would do my best to be a gift to others. As we all know, last year got away from us and many of our desires, goals and even needs went by the way side. I hope I gifted someone with something they needed at some point.

I know so many of us were more than ready to put the year 2020 in our rearview mirrors and move on, more so than other years past. It wasn’t the best year for our family either, as it started off pretty crappy with a fire at my parents’ home at the end of January and then the hits kept coming. They spaced themselves out a little, however I grew especially tired of wondering when the next thing was coming. We of course suffered our own house issues after a large limb fell on our home during Hurricane Laura at the end of August. We are still waiting on a window to be replaced, yet we count ourselves lucky. Just a few weeks later, Hurricane Delta came through our area and did much worse to some of our neighbors. As my wise father has said many times over the years, “it can always be worse.”

I guess that is how I feel about 2020, it wasn’t the best of times, however there were still many good moments. I am happy to leave it behind and would like to get more “hyped” about this new year than I have so far. I think my goal will need to be self care, as the beginning of this year has already brought about some extra stressors in my life.  It is time to move on from the many, many challenges of last year and find renewed hope in what is to come. I do believe this year will be better than last year. But if I quantify it that way I get bogged down, so I plan to take it day by day and week by week. I think at this point that is our best approach – to appreciate each new day and our loved ones who are there by our side for it all, good and bad.

So, happy Monday tomorrow. I hope it’s a really good day for you. And that the next one is too, and on and on…

xoxo

This tradition continued even after I left home, during the years I returned to my parents’ house to celebrate Thanksgiving. I would usually arrive the Wednesday night before and wake up to the same familiar odor, wafting its way down the hall of bedrooms. My own children have been present for the same cooking event and I wonder if it reminds them of Grandma and Grandpas house. Perhaps the memories attached to that specific scent fill their minds like they still do my own.

All morning my mom would mix and bake and baste. Timers would go off every so often. The smells would change as pies finished baking or a casserole came out of the oven. Dad would step in to judge the “doneness” of the turkey and ultimately carve it with his electric knife. The table was covered with a tablecloth patterned with fall leaves, and a cornucopia or fall flowers made the centerpiece. As our family continued to grow, we transitioned to paper goods and filled our plates with as much delicious food as they could hold.

This year will be different as we cook our own Thanksgiving dinner in our house, just the seven of us. In some ways I am looking forward to it, but in most ways I am not. Not because most of the cooking will be left up to me, but because I am a very traditional gal when it comes to holidays. And I adore seeing my family this time of year.

This holiday is usually the one with the least complication and worry. It’s the most relaxing to me, since it is mostly about getting together with your loved ones and sharing in the banquet of gratefulness for food and for the presence of family and/or friends. I am not naive to know it is not always that way for everyone and this year is riddled with complication for so many reasons. Our own extended family agreed to stay in place and not risk anyone’s health. Even though I understand why we cannot all be together, it doesn’t mean I am not sad about it. I feel a little melancholy as this week begins and there are no plans to leave this town or welcome others over our threshold.

On Thanksgiving morning I will saute the onions, the kids will wake to the smell and come down the stairs asking when dinner will be ready. They will probably also ask what all we are having, even though I have told them a few times already. Even though this year has been one of difficulty and extra challenges, we are still grateful for our family, our home and the love that surrounds us. We will still enjoy our meal and our day and be thankful for our health. I hope and pray to be with our loved ones again next year and that we all have the best Thanksgiving this year can bring.

I mention my sentimentality because though I see it as a good trait, it can also be to my demise. That is, my emotional demise. It’s especially hard for sentimental people to go through a divorce. Suddenly, all those keepsakes from your years together feel tainted in some way. It feels like they should be thrown out and discarded, as if that time of our life never happened. However, it is hard to completely discount so many years of your life and the events during that time, such as the birth of children, other celebrations and travels. It also doesn’t help that Facebook has a “Memories” section. It’s difficult for someone like me to to go back and delete all those photos.

Even though I am remarried, I have kept most of the stuff from my first marriage, mostly so my kids can have these items if they want, and see there were good memories. Honestly, I have never taken the time to separate and decide on each and every photograph or paper memory. When I have come across them, I have simply stuck them lower or farther back in the box. It hurts my heart to think of throwing them away, but I also cannot really think of a reason to keep them all. Looking back on that time in my life is fine in regards to my children, and our marriage wasn’t a complete disaster, it just wasn’t ever going to be for the long haul.

I also received several gifts from my ex husband over the years. An item I kept and probably will continue to, is a pair of diamond earrings. He gave them to me shortly before we split. I told some friends the other day how I consider them a “parting gift”. I believe he gave them to me in good faith at the time because he knew I would enjoy them. The only thing is, someone I am no longer with gave them to me and yes, is seems a little strange. Because he wasn’t just a boyfriend, he was my husband and we had three kids and many years together. One friend suggested I trade them in. My response was, “for the same thing?” Maybe trading them out would be a good thing but is it really worth it?

Is it okay to be reminded of my ex husband every now again? I mean, I don’t hate him. I just don’t like him very much anymore. For the sake of moving on and away, should the earrings go away too? I think the only reason I would do so was if my husband now were offended by them, and last I checked he is not. Would I care if he wore a watch his ex wife gave him (he would never, by the way)? I don’t think so, as long as he saw it as just a watch.

So, if I can label the earrings as “The Earrings of Indifference”, it is not a big deal to still decorate my ears with them. I can view them as the small, hard rocks they are and be fine with it. In the end, does it really matter who they came from? They were a birthday present and I continue to celebrate that every year…

The past photos and other keepsakes are what they are. They represent a part of my story I cannot completely deny, but which has been written and put away in the archives. My sentimental self will remember them occasionally because I just cannot help it. However, my focus now is on my current love and the family we have built together, making new memories and cherishing them all the more.

A refrigerator full of stuff signifies many things to me, including a life that is also full. We are definitely brimming over here, at our house. It also indicates what stage of life we are in right now. Our fridge has a shower rotation list for the kids (so no one can argue over who goes first) and pictures of my nieces and nephews who have recently graduated from high school. There are inspirational quotes and sports photos. Also, school calendars and magnets from our travels.

I assume in about 7-10 years, as the kids phase out of school and become adults, these things will be replaced with other types of announcements and memorabilia. I envision engagement photos or notes left when they come back home to visit. The school calendars long recycled, and the newly capped graduates moving on to the next phases of their journeys, their own fridges covered in whatever it is they need to be reminded of or recall.

I am not sure if my fridge will ever be empty. When I think about it, I hope it won’t. My parents’ fridge has photos of their grandkids and sent-years-ago Christmas cards. They have a little more blank space without all the school calendars and chore charts, however the items displayed easily tell us where they are in their lives.

It’s just funny to me how a simple appliance can become an ever-changing collage of our days without us even realizing. I wish I had taken pictures over the years of my fridge so I could look back and remember what was going on in our life at any given time. Perhaps I can start now. And of course, somewhere in the archives is the photo I used to link up to that blog post years ago…

(Oh wait, here’s one: Circa 2012)

(Oh look, I was a runner then)

(Why TWO tree company magnets?)

(Also, I miss little kid art…)