Daybook

A quiet catch-up from my corner of the world.

Giving Thanks

For early mornings when the house is still, for the gift of a quiet hour or two that feels like my own little sanctuary before the day begins. For the way God meets me in the hush.

And for this home — our steady, sturdy workhorse — that has carried our family faithfully through so many seasons. It has held joy and noise and challenges, and it has stretched right along with us. I’m deeply grateful for that.

Outside My Window

It’s still dark. The yard is glistening from last night’s rain, and the deck is too cold and damp for coffee this morning. But the soft porch light and quiet street feel steady and comforting.

Clothing Myself In

Pajamas, of course. The soft ones. This is my favorite part of the day — moving slowly through the quiet while everyone else sleeps.

In the Kitchen

My kitchen is busy again in the best way. Sourdough classes have me measuring flour, checking supplies, refining guides, and dreaming about the next round of workshops.

Meanwhile, oranges wait to be turned into marmalade, tomatoes are stacked in the freezer ready for a slow simmer, and jars of berries are tucked aside for jam-making. Winter tending at its finest.

Writing

Easing back into a rhythm here. These Daybook entries always feel like a gentle doorway back into writing — simple, reflective, and honest.

Reading

Cookbooks. Only cookbooks. Notes in the margins, folded corners, small scribbles about what to try next time.

Watching

The natural rise and fall of a house full of people — the way it fills and empties, fills and empties again, almost like breathing.

When our daughter’s four are here, there’s usually more bickering than giggling. When the other four join in, laughter rises — mixed with squabbles, of course. It’s the beautifully chaotic rhythm of cousins being cousins.

Outside our doors, construction continues in every direction — new roads, new developments, and an ever-growing stream of traffic that has changed the feel of this area so much in the last few years.

Listening

Mostly household sounds — footsteps, whispered conversations, dishes being unloaded, kids’ shows drifting through the rooms.

And a lot of excited talk from the grown men about Pokémon events and runs — plans, strategies, and plenty of playful competition.

Podcasts are on my mind, but not yet part of my routine.

Making

Space — both the physical kind and the emotional kind.

We’re still working through our three storage units, slowly creating room for what we actually use and letting go of what we don’t.

At home, I’m making temporary but welcoming corners for grandkids and guests: trifold mattresses that can be tucked away, soft blankets in baskets, small comforts that appear when needed and slip quietly away when the house shifts back to calm.

Camp

We’re dreaming about land — not far away, but closer to home, maybe even across the river into Missouri. Something peaceful. Something with room. Something that could hold small spaces for our grown kids someday — tiny homes, gardens, shared gathering spots, and enough nature to exhale in.

And we’re still looking forward to our regular camping trips, especially toward the east, which always seem to reset us.

The Week Ahead

More sourdough prep, a few holiday projects, and some progress on the storage units.

We’re leaning into the nearby small towns more and more — stopping at locally owned grocery stores for quick trips, choosing independent coffee shops instead of large chains, and letting those quieter rhythms become part of our week. It feels grounding, and it feels good.

Closing Thought

Gratitude has been the thread running through my heart lately.

This home has worked so faithfully for us — a place of gathering, healing, growing, resting, and becoming. It has carried us through so many chapters. Even with the questions about what the next season might hold, I feel such tenderness toward it.

Whatever comes, I want to honor what this house has been — and still is — to our family. To notice. To give thanks. To tend this season with gentleness and hope.