I’m 9 years old. I’m at a dude ranch with my SoCal family, trying to keep up with wranglers, so self-assured in their chaps and jeans, lifting saddles easily onto
I’m 9 years old. I’m at a dude ranch with my SoCal family, trying to keep up with wranglers, so self-assured in their chaps and jeans, lifting saddles easily onto
Last night, Adam and I were curled up on the couch having a blissfully unexciting Saturday night – catching up on our DVR backlog – when Annie texted me. I
I’ve been sick. I’ll sum it up for you as I did for my compassionate G-chat friend this morning… I feel like my head is stuffed with cotton, I’m wearing
I’m a bit over-zealous in my expectations. The slightest bit of chill in the air appears right after Thanksgiving, and I’m already in the throes of Christmastide, revelling in hope
…I giggled with my girls. ….we hugged our family. …we danced for joy. …we posed for more pictures than I ever thought possible. …we relished incredible community. …we embarked on
I keep everything. Well, not everything. But cards, notes, movie stubs and scraps of paper with doodles or notes from friends – those are IMPOSSIBLE for me to throw away.
So, I was going to write an incredibly bloated list of peaks and pits and everything I loved about last year and how very awesome marriage is and holy cow
I have an irrational fear. I’m so afraid that I will have spent a great portion of my life and passions on something that I’m not good at and never
I know, I know. I have not been here in 12 days, a fact that is as distressing to me as I’m sure it is to you, my Internet-peeps. Or
My first-ever guest blog is up at cakes, tea and dreams, the blog home of my dear friend Katie. Enjoy!