Daybook
Giving Thanks
Today is Christina’s 31st birthday, and I find myself grateful for the simple gift of being together. Family gathered under one roof. Pajamas still on at midmorning. Birds singing outside on a slightly overcast spring day while the house slowly wakes up around me. John is finally sleeping after another difficult stretch with chronic insomnia, so I’m sitting quietly on the deck trying to protect that rest for as long as possible.
I’m also thankful for seasons that are changing—even the uncertain ones. Some plans shifting. Some dreams refining. Some things quietly becoming what they were meant to become all along.
Outside My Window
The deck is overflowing with hopeful little signs of summer. Lemongrass everywhere in my ongoing battle against mosquitoes. Mint growing steadily, though everything is craving more sunshine and warmth. The basil has officially been moved from beneath the shade sail to the corner of the stair landing where it can soak up more sun. I even pinched back the center stem this morning in hopes of fuller, bushier growth because one thing I know for certain is this: I always need more basil.
The potatoes in the towers are thriving wildly right now. The strawberry tower is doing beautifully too, and John keeps encouraging me to add more layers. I probably will. The lavender experiment seems surprisingly happy. The sugar snap peas finally have netting to climb. Earlier this week John replanted green beans after something decided the first little sprouts were apparently a snack.
The grass needs mowing, but the fertilizer and weed treatment went down yesterday, so for now it waits too.
The whole garden feels like it’s standing at the edge of becoming.
In the Kitchen
There’s a cranberry walnut sourdough cooling on the counter right now, and the kitchen still smells warm and yeasty and familiar. I had planned a full baking day yesterday, but life shifted as it sometimes does, so the starters were tucked into the refrigerator instead. We’ll see how they behave once they warm back up again.
There’s also English muffin dough waiting patiently in the refrigerator for shaping, proofing, and cooking. That may happen tomorrow. Or Monday. I’m learning not to force rhythm where rhythm doesn’t naturally exist.
We may have largely stepped away from the bakery as a business, but not from baking itself. I don’t think that part leaves you once it’s woven into your hands and your home. Rachel still bakes some too, though much less than before. I’m not getting rid of the equipment. Not yet anyway. There’s still a quiet little possibility lingering in the idea of classes here at home someday.
Not hustle. Not pressure. Just people gathered around a kitchen island learning how to make bread.
That still sounds lovely to me.
Clothing Myself In
Still in pajamas. Barefoot on the deck. Cool air. Coffee nearby. Honestly, exactly where I want to be this morning.
Watching
And maybe that’s the thing I’m noticing lately—that sometimes belonging doesn’t arrive loudly. Sometimes it just quietly pulls up a seat beside everyone else on the couch.
Reading
Not much at the moment. Life itself feels a little too full for sustained reading lately. But I’m hoping to watch Remarkably Bright Creatures sometime this weekend after reading the book last year, which somehow feels fitting for this season of life—gentle, reflective, deeply human.
Listening
Birds mostly. Wind through the trees. Kids arguing off and on inside the house. The normal soundtrack of family life.
Two of the littles from Jacob’s crew have already been at odds this morning and may or may not make it onto today’s Alpine coaster adventure. Rachel is still asleep and honestly needs the rest. We’ve had some health concerns this week that shifted our plans completely and will likely keep us from heading to camp tomorrow as originally planned.
Disappointing, yes. But also one of those reminders that flexibility is part of loving people well.
Making
Plans for today include heading to Aeries Resort to ride the gondolas up the hill and the Alpine coasters back down again. We’ve done it before and absolutely loved it. Today feels like the perfect excuse to do it again in celebration of Christina’s birthday.
The Chadbourne crew is joining us, and there’s tentative talk of going to The Loading Dock either before or afterward. I want to be honest with myself, though: I didn’t really enjoy it the last time we went. The atmosphere is wonderful in theory—right on the river, lively, full of people—but it was crowded, chaotic, hot, and hard with little kids. There never seemed to be enough seating, and the food ordering system felt confusing and stressful. You order, then somehow they’re supposed to locate you among what feels like five hundred tables. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t.
Around the House
Daniel plans to start the new flooring project on Monday since he’s off for Memorial Day. His logic was basically, “What better way to spend a day off than working?” which feels deeply suspicious to me, but we’ll all be helping move furniture and get things going.
Aaron has already volunteered to help too.
Some things are better given time to quietly grow.
Rachel waited a very long time for someone who feels gentle and steady and kind. I’m learning there’s wisdom in letting new relationships settle into the comfort of family life before placing them fully out in the world. But every once in a while, someone walks into your life and fits so naturally beside everyone you love that their presence feels less like an introduction and more like recognition. Almost like everyone quietly looked up at the same time and thought, “Oh. There you are.” He doesn’t feel inserted into the family — he feels recognized by it.
The Week Ahead
The flooring project begins. The search for land continues. The dream itself has become more refined over time—not smaller, just clearer.
John has described a vision that would allow us to create something lasting not only for ourselves, but for the kids too. A place connected enough for legacy and support and togetherness while still allowing us to keep this home as long as we’re able. A place where family can gather without feeling crowded. Where generations overlap naturally.
But as always, we hold all of it loosely.
We make plans. God directs steps.
And honestly, I’ve grown to love that truth more with age, not less.
Closing Thought
Our furniture is still uncomfortable. The bathrooms still need updating. The kitchen renovation still lives mostly in sketches and conversations. The deck plants need more sun. The grass needs mowing. The house is noisy. The future is uncertain.
And yet somehow, sitting here in pajamas listening to birds while everyone slowly wakes up around me, life still feels remarkably full.
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