The end of an era

Last year was the summer of t-shirts. I got my sister an era shirt. I got Erin an era shirt. I got a friend an era shirt. And then I got myself two era shirts: In my triathlon era and In my homeschool era. I think on what this year has brought, and it's brought many ends (and many new beginnings). 

With Erin graduating and working now, my homeschool years are over. She said to me yesterday while we were getting our nails done (a first together! And it's been since our last house since I've had a manicure--it was a pampered delight yesterday, and when I woke up this morning, I felt so fancy! It was nice to feel fancy.), "I'm graduated and I have a job now. And now I have actual days off that I don't have to do anything. I can do whatever I want! What will I do with my day off?" She wondered in delicious thought. I smiled. 

Even my days' rhythms have changed. What I thought would be hard (in letting go and picking up) is not. Not now. I am still busy, but with new objectives. 

I thought ending our homeschool journey would be crushing because my heart was so invested in my children--and rightly so. I grieved the coming end for years, and probably since the first time someone whispered over me, "It goes so fast." But I am not afraid of ends.

Lanie has moved out. Erin is working. Shane has changed a lot of things too--he even wears a baseball hat on our walks. We went out for over five miles last weekend. It was good. There are new rhythms here, and I embrace them gently, intentionally, and gratefully.

I thought I'd have a heartrending reflection on this end of the homeschool journey. I don't. Not now. It was beautiful and meaningful, and it is over. 

I thought I'd have a heartrending reflection on this end of motherhood. I don't. Not now. It was beautiful and meaningful (do those words even do it justice? All of it, a precious blessing. Raising littles, thank you, God). And it is over. 

And I thought I would have a heartrending reflection on the end of this blog. But I don't. Not really. Not now. It was beautiful. It was meaningful. And it is over. 

I am busy with new objectives. New rhythms. And a return to living fully human. I've loved writing in this space mostly because I love writing, and I love my family, and I wanted to tuck away in this heart, all the things the heart and mind forget. And so I did.

But I am going out to live my one wild and precious life (Mary Oliver wrote a poem called The Summer Day), fully, appreciating the moments and finding meaning in everyday experiences, as I've always done (even while pursuing epic). I'm going to sweat in the summer sun, splash in big blue, listen and lean in to the morning songs of birds. I'm going to take walks with my husband, savor simplicity and beauty, and give thanks to God in all of it. Because it goes so fast. 

I am not afraid of ends, because they often signal new beginnings. 

Memento vivere.

***

 ²⁴ “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. ²⁵ And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. ²⁶ And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. ²⁷ And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.” Matthew 7:24-27, ESV

***

Thank you, God, for everything.

The last

I close the book with quiet hands, the lessons done, the last command.

The years were full, the days were long--a woven life of work and song.

I taught her letters, love, and grace, our kitchen table, a quiet space.

We read through stories, history, and found the world inside our tea.

 

We sipped our drink, poems at hand, set butterflies to sky, unmanned.

We read by fire, danced through rain, in joy and sorrow, loss and gain.

 

She grew beside me, year by year, each word and wonder drawing near.

My daughter learned to fly in place--her roots were formed in sacred space.

 

And now the day is soft and still, a tender hush upon the hill.

No stage, no robe, no marching song--just hearts that hold the moment long.

The world now calls with open skies, I see the hope within her eyes.

And though I stand behind the gate, I bless her path, I trust, I wait.

This work was love, not always neat, but rich and whole, and bittersweet.

I poured my days into her light--and soon she'll shine beyond my sight.

So here I stand, not lost, but still, with folded hands and humbled will.

The years were mine, the gift, the cost--and in her rising, nothing's lost.

***

We finished homeschooling. Erin is graduated.

So many big thoughts to ponder about this end of an era, but I wanted to mark it gently until I can wrap my heart and head around it all. Erin's last day last week was also her first day at work. 

My friend Sandy mentioned to me, how when her children had graduated and she was no longer teaching at co-op, that she felt the shift was swallowed up--she likened it to a finger dipped into a cup of water, and that when you took the finger out, the water filled the void, as if the finger had never been there. And that's how she felt about her departure at a place that had been so significant to her. It moved on as if she had never been there. 

And this moment, so big, a building anticipation and weighty feelings, just passed over, like a next breath, as easy and simple and natural as that.

And still counting ... (20,374-20,475)

 years of Early Starts, a little extra sleep

the field to cut, pink geraniums in a pot on the patio, the babies outside in the sunshine, a playlist for running, salty drinks 

a trip to DC and dinner out, safe travels, her chance for the backstage pass and meeting a longtime favorite, how she smiled, happiness

a race bib, race season, lunch with my man at the table, neighborhood walks, all the sunshine

Ruth at my feet, a church home, podcast sharing with Amy, cookies in the freezer, a home that smells like vanilla and love

an afternoon hug in the last week, all things new, books in the cart, the bright red cardinal in my front yard, peppermint oil

iced water, the Paris candle burning, running into a neighbor on a recent walk--and that she was outside walking!, house prayers, oil

 praise music, azaleas in bloom, field fragrance, good memories, peace

thunderstorms, a group run with a run club, making it to the finish line at the half marathon, good books, breakfast for dinner

dresses in the mail, a(nother) knit bag on sale and delivered, the pink tissue paper wrapping, Mother's Day wishes from my daughters, spending the morning on a walk with Shane

burgers waiting to be grilled, a pretraining training plan, a wetsuit on the way, sharing encouragement with Amy T, perspective on suffering

a good night's sleep, trusting the process, his first week home, lunch together, a chicken to garden with me

a friend's kids at the table, new tables, berries, Ruth, Pilates

the pace feature on my watch, new routes to run, the triathlon bag and his interest in it, chocolate milk in a glass bottle, the swag from the half marathon and chilly temps to wear it

a weeknight group run, Lanie's new job, Erin's new job, the end of a school year, the end of an era

spent tulips in a vase, a Sunday afternoon nap, clean floors, Pine Sol, a cooling breeze

a reminder to be ready to help, cinnamon rolls in a red baking dish, books on the shelf that I took down to read again, books to purge, and new books on the way

her graduation cake ordered, a Saturday shopping outing to the mall, dinner for three at a restaurant by a wide open window, gratitude for all the years (his, hers, ours), a group run on a Saturday morning

Pilates, a wetsuit delivered, an electuary to gift to Lanie, sunrises through the woods, sunset views from the living room, an 8-lb dumbbell

knit projects, rainy days, plants in the garden beds (mucho nacho!), bunnies in the field, chickens

skirts and dresses, a haircut, meal plans and grocery lists, celebrating Erin's graduation, the end of an era

Live loved

I went to the hair salon to get my roots touched up. I was early and sat in the waiting area and worked on knitting a sleeve. My stylist walked in to start her shift and I told her not to rush on my account, but she took me immediately. She mentioned I was her only appointment. She cleared her schedule that day because her son's school activity had been rescheduled from when her day was clear to this day. But she kept me on the schedule because she didn't want to cancel on me. While I told her that I had no problem for her canceling because of her son's event, a huge part of me was humbled and warmed by her keeping just me on the schedule. She came in that day just for me.

***

One year on Mother's Day, Shane took the kids out to get me a gift. They returned with a beautiful lily for the garden (from Lanie, still blooms yearly in the garden) and a jalapeno plant that's called Mucho Nacho (this from Erin because she was obsessed with that plant because of its name and loved to say it repeatedly!). I thought about the Mucho Nacho plant this year as I thought of that special Mother's Day, and said to Shane I wanted to head to Lowe's to get another one. (Mostly I wanted that time back with my kids.)

I went to a local nursery to get plants for the garden. I added chamomile, calendula, a couple of ferns for hanging, and other herbs and vegetables. I went to get a spicy pepper, and to my surprise (delight and gratitude), there was a Mucho Nacho. I didn't expect such a find in a mom-and-pop-shop. I felt so grateful. 

It's planted in my garden now.

***

I have a small set of adjustable weights (2-5 lbs) and a larger set (5-35 lbs by 5 lb increments). I have a 12-lb pair of free weights, and one lone 8-lb weight. As I've been doing Pilates, I found I needed the 8-lb weight, and having only one when I needed a pair, I decided to hit up Play-It-Again-Sports for a match.

The sales associate asked how he could help me. 

"I need one 8-lb dumbbell. Just one," I said.

"Hmm," he said doubtfully. "I don't know ..."

I followed him over to the rack of weights, big massive dumbbells there. And to his surprise, on the end, was one single 8-lb dumbbell.

"I can't believe it," he said.

I picked it up and took it to the checkout. 

"You seem really surprised you had it," I commented. It had never occurred to me they wouldn't have one.

"I really doubted we did!"

I walked out to the parking lot carrying the weight, thinking of how I almost didn't stop in that day. Thinking of the associate's doubt. Seeing that one tiny weight among giants. How I was holding it in my hands. 

It all came together in that moment. The stylist--the plant--the weight. Things that spoke to me of love--evidence, markers throughout the day. 

Thank you, God, for being in the details. 

Roo is back to Rue. But Polly may actually be Pollux. Black Copper Maran.

We love rhyming words here. How could I resist?

The only 8-lb weight

Thank you, God.

In the past, I remember God sending a hot-air balloon over our house in the woods, revealing a captains bell from underneath a mass of vines, the pink bleeding hearts plant in the big garden, how our road was flanked by crosses like some kind of beacon, the letter C carved in the tree where the limb fell down. When I look closely, he's always been in the details and always told me how loved I am.

Day story

 May 2025

Outside my window, an explosion of green. So grateful for the hula hoe purchase that makes working the front garden much less of an issue as it has been. My garden beds have been seeded for lettuces and spinach, and this week I head out to get other plants and herbs. Shane is taking stock of chemicals for the pool, and said at lunch, "We're a couple weeks from opening." And I was so grateful for him, this home, this peace. 

And I quote,

"My body tells me no, but I won't quit 'cause I want more." My Body by Young the Giant. The context is probably not about running, but it's on my playlist, so it's 100% about running for me.

Giving thanks for what is. A Sunday walk with my husband. A call from Lanie with Mother's Day wishes. Rides with Erin to her job interviews. New groups I belong to. My friend's daughters next to me at a knit night. Looking forward to this new chapter with my family. I look for God in the details, where he has always been, and trust that his ways are higher and better than mine.

In the school room, Erin and I are finishing up this month, and then books are closed. Shane is in a purge and declutter mode and my stuff is on his radar. I have a ton of homeschool books to sell or donate, and I know he wants me to get on it. Some days, I think it could be easy work. Other days, it's a heavy heart weight. I am thankful for all the years I got to homeschool my kids.

From the kitchen, all things yummy and protein. Lunches at the table. Afternoon smoothies. Dinners. The evening yogurt and frozen blues snack.

I am training. I have the plans inked in my planner. I am in go mode to get things done. I have my own thoughts to battle--sore feet, sore muscles, the dread of lane sharing at the pool (which is really not that big of a deal, but it stresses me out sometimes), lack of energy, discouragement. But I have to focus on the process and trust it. Already, new muscle definition. Already, new strength. Already, faster swim times. I want to do it all while I can. 

I don't want to forget the way it was. This year is definitely a new beginning to many things, and I'm ready. But I also want to make sure to take a picture and give thanks to what was. When we were going to move from the last house, I started making changes and forgot to take formal pictures of the way it was before we listed. Now, getting ready to rearrange and change, I want to snap photos to remember how it looked for the past thirteen years. (Oh, how I remember the sound of breathless littles gulping water on a summer evening at our last house. And now I want to slow and savor every nook of memory here--where they grew up.)

I am reading all the time. At least four in the works at any given time. And last night, I scored a sweet freebie of vintage Vogue knits. How can I do it all? Read all the books .... run all the miles ... bike all the roads ... swim all the distances ... and knit all the things. And still reinvent myself, learn new skills, and pursue new communities.

Around the house, I am preparing my heart to take it all back. I used to have helping hands to carry the load. Shane is a wonderful support and has taken back cleaning up after meals, and lately, he's been making the morning coffee and the bed (I feel so pampered). As I wash the dish towels and fold them, sweep the floors, care for pets, do the grocery trips, etc., I am grateful for all the ways my kids contributed here. But mostly, I miss them.

I value work.

A view of my favorite things (and memes):

This meant a whole lot to me.

Getting to meet Tommy backstage all on her own

 

WIP, still on the Boston Sweater, working on sleeves and learning how to add stitches.

At the table, I am at new tables now, meeting new people. In the past, my kids were often the connecting element to new friendships, and in some ways, that's still true. But I'm also stepping out: teams, hobbies, and support.

The training before THE TRAINING

I've been making great progress with doing Ladder App Pilates Strength. I feel stronger for sure, and I'm definitely seeing new definition. I've even gained some better flexibility with Dynamic Runner, and this duo has been a great discipline since March, or more specifically, after the third week of it when my inner baby kicked in and started whining and I had to shut that nonsense down. Glad that's behind me.

This week is the start of the training before THE TRAINING. I wasn't getting anywhere with my running, and my two half marathons this year have been my worst ever. The last one was a full two minutes PER MILE slower than when I ran it last year. I'm also carrying an extra 20, so I'm going to use that as an excuse. Anyway, I needed to switch things up. 

I sought out a running plan that mimicked THE TRAINING that starts next month, based on Hal Higdon's Novice plan for marathon training. Started Monday, I'll run four days a week, do Pilates and Stretch five days a week, and swim twice a week. I have a solid rest day that I'm actually reserving for regular walk/hike time with Shane. We took a walk together last Sunday, and he made me laugh. Normally, he's a "shower before going out" type of guy, but I said I'd just get sweaty, so I was going to shower after the walk. And to my utter surprise, he showed up minutes later wearing a baseball hat (he never wears hats) and said, "Let's go!"

WHO IS THIS MAN?

We had such a great time together!

 

I'm trying out a new menu based on protein needs and a caloric focus (1,600 vs 1,300 because I'm doing a lot more exercise and I'm trying to last, not fast). 

Monday's dinner, one serving:

grilled chicken breast, 1/2 c quinoa, a sprinkling of feta cheese, and 3 c lettuce, 1/2 c cherry tomatoes, and 1/4 cucumber with a homemade vinaigrette (olive oil, red wine vinegar, a plop of Dijon mustard, minced garlic, and Italian seasoning). 

It was so good. I grilled double chicken so that we could effortlessly have leftovers. 

This morning on a 93% humidity day, I had to shut down any whiny opinions and just get outside to do it. I programmed my watch to keep me within a pace range and set out to run five miles on a new route. 

Trusting the process

It is what you make of it.

No place like home

I cut the field today. It was full of buttercups (we have a chicken named Buttercup). The field fragrance seemed so sweet. I told a friend I felt lonely cutting the grass. That the yard felt empty this year.

***

No Place Like Home

When laughter rang through summer air, and sunlight crowned each golden hair,

I held a world within my hands--two little girls, with dreams unplanned.

We wandered through the poet's rhyme, with tea and tales and sugared time,

On quilts beneath the walnut tree, breezes carried harmony.

Each page we turned, each story read, now drifts to songs we played instead--

with violin and soft keyboard, the fire aglow, our hearts restored.

Recorders trilled through twilight air, as friends found joy just being there.

Picnics sprawled across the field, with wildflowers as our shield, 

And friends who came with joy and cheer, to swim, to shout, to just be near.

No palace walls, or marble halls, but joy lived in our sunlit walls--

with books, with songs, with cookie dough, with love in every "don't let go."

Now grown, you walk your paths apart, but still I hold you in my heart.

And when I see that walnut tree, you're little once again to me.

 

Oh, fleeting days that gently roam, this is the beauty of our home. 

Making all things new

I sat outside in the sun one afternoon, waiting for Erin. I watched the breeze push through the trees. I soaked in sunshine and took in gulps of blue sky--no clouds. I quieted to listen to a distant mower. At least five different varieties of birds sang out. A cluster of white flowers in the middle of the lawn were a surprise guest. It was all so good.

I sat and savored this space. Once a place where my kids and my friends' kids played. It's a yard full of beautiful memories, and it's full of beauty in the present.

We went to the store to get feed and food. I washed up blackberries, blueberries and strawberries, while upstairs I could hear Erin at the keyboard in her room. Her keyboard used to be in Shane's home office, but we moved it into her space (when she made a space for it). In all the years she's had that keyboard, I've never heard her practice on it. She used to wear headphones so that only she could hear herself play. 

I heard her playing a favorite song from a favorite band, and my heart felt so many emotions as I considered the months since I heard music played in the house. Such an overflowing gratitude for Erin's songs. I delighted in the music--so fun and free. Unlike church hymns or classical--these songs were hers. Fresh. New. Full of energy. And she felt free to play out loud.

She came downstairs later to ask me to bake another batch of cookies. My house smells like vanilla and love.

***

I baked a batch last week, and she asked, "Mom, is this your old recipe for chocolate chip, white chip cookies?" 

And I said, "Yes." 

She answered, "My heart knew it the second I tasted them."

***

Shane woke up for a Super Early Start. Lately, we've been waking later, and our bodies both struggle to stay asleep that long after years of the Super Early Start. I'd been doing that since the kids were in elementary school, and Shane has always been an early riser. 

He said this is the last time he has to get up this early--which I corrected, "Until it's a race day." (Race weekends are always early.)

So many ends and new beginnings in the past twelve months. 

When I used to think of fractures of before-and-after, this past year has felt like a literal canyon between what was and what is. 

Quiet mornings, gentle prayers, and my God who never leaves me.

 And yet, I have a growing peace. 

Actually, I have joy.

And freedom--to lean into a next season. I focus on endurance. Onto the second Pilates Strength session, and I'm feeling it. Reading running books to improve and manage bigger goals. Dreaming a little bigger. Praying a lot more. 

***

This song  ("All Things New") by Elevation Worship came out thirteen years ago. Thirteen years ago, we moved here (now almost fourteen). And it feels like a fitting anthem even now. I sang it as I cut the grass yesterday, remembering a field full of a changing floor of colors: blues, pinks, purples, yellows, green. The field fragrance, sun on my skin, a past and a future laid out before me.

We went out to dinner without kids and enjoyed our time together. This is empty nesting.

No hidden message. Just an ad that caught my eye.

The tea

Last year, Erin and I had plans to go out for tea together, but the plans fell through after yet another foot procedure that had sadly left her couch bound. I got our order to go, and we enjoyed a movie and tea goodies at home. 

I'm thankful for a friend who suggested we go out to tea when we were having a coffee a couple months ago. She sent me a reminder, and in true Kellie fashion, pinned down a date and made reservations. She's thorough and a true planner like that. 

She texted me a few days before to ask what color dress I'd be wearing.

"Black and white," I said, thinking of an Ann Taylor favorite in my closet. However, the morning of, the dress was snug (I'm not surprised with all the changes). I grabbed a black dress I bought from Pact last fall, and then felt that a black/beige/cream print would hide the curves better, even if it did hint at autumn.

It was a beautiful day to get together. We caught up and talked tea in many respects. She selected a chocolate brew, and I had mine narrowed down to ones called The Promised Land, Purple something-or-other (I forget the name and I can't find it on their online menu), and Tulsi Holy Basil. I let Kellie choose for me. She picked the purple one. 

She is the cutest.

the purple tea--herbal and yummy

 

We had scones, salad, and soup. We drank cups of tea. It was my first official time ever at a tea house. Other tables were full of women, sweet gatherings of friends. I was glad to be there.

***

Last night Shane climbed into bed and I had the covers off.

"Hot?"

"I think I should up my intake to two mugs," I wondered out loud. I recently fell prey to online marketing and reviews for a tea to help with menopause symptoms. I don't get them often, but when I do, they've lasted a month--night sweats, hot flashes, hot and cold throughout the night. The first night of tea, significantly reduced hot flashes. The second night I slept horrible from a sugar binge. Then last night, the heat.

"You talked so much about that tea!" he laughed. "You waited so eagerly for it! You talked about it every day!" He was laughing.

And then I was laughing.

"You walked up to the mailbox when it was delivered!" Laughter, so loud, both of us.

We had tears.

"I've spent so much on tea, cocoa, and coffee! Trying to fix all the things!" I laughed. Moonbrew cocoa for magnesium to help me sleep through the night (with tryptophan and chamomile too), that I have yet to try because I was hoping this tea would do the trick. And I was a click away from ordering Ryze mushroom coffee for its bloat-defying and gut healing properties, mental clarity and other promises, but then another brand, Roots Apothecary (elemental mushroom) said theirs was EVEN BETTER. So I got that--it's supposed to come tomorrow.

The menopause tea is really tasty. I love the licorice and sage notes. It's herbal, so no caffeine. Not that I'm against caffeine. 

I picked this up too and it has such a cheery scent

I got this and put it in my school  room

***

The Pact dress was so comfortable, and I really do like wearing dresses. Considering most of my wardrobe is athleisure, I went onto their site, snagged an Earth day deal, and am expecting spring styles soon. 

I love the modest cuts/lengths especially, their feminine flair, and that the dresses have pockets.

And still counting ... (20,289-20,373)

pleasant visits with Lanie, grilled foods

warmer temperatures, baby chicks getting feathers, sweet chirping sounds, resumes out for Erin, sleep

the cycle class, stair climbing with Beckie, a great walk and run session on the treadmill, time with a friend, collagen peptides

yogurt with frozen blues with my man, table talks together, the Pilates workout on the Ladder app, weeks of work, mood boards

a great day for a half marathon, being able to finish the race and not cry, a nap on the couch, Shane at the finish line, berries at dinner

a last literature book in the mail to read with Erin, a call from Lanie just before the race started, Ruth, Monday Pilates melting away race aches, cottage cheese

eggs from our big chickens, new races on the calendar, for clubs I never wanted to be part of for parents, a last stretch of school, inches gone

66 Books, a bright yellow bunch of daffodils in bloom, baby chicks having sunshine and yard time, how they froze when Cressida joined them, a homeschool review

Facebook memory of Erin at the snoball stand, memories that are mine to keep, protein drinks, better flexibility, Paris travel dreams with Amy T

Team Varlo, a 10k, the heart rate monitor, a duathlon, next race on the calendar

the helpers on the course that got me back in the race, a great last leg to run, medal Monday, seeing folks at the co-op and catching up, seeing my former students

a quick catch up with Christy, for pictures from and all the memories with Kellie, lots of  books, worship music in my mind, friends who pray

forgiveness, grace, love, peace, comfort

anointed spaces, fragrance, prayer, how she cuddled into my armpit and fell asleep, warm days outside with the chickens

a first mow, the fresh and tidy of spring tending, later sleeps with my man, Friday mornings in 66 Books, a video shoot for a friend

the Zoom team meet up, clearing out the garden beds, seeds planted, coffee in the morning, clean sheets on the bed

a good feeling, a great sermon, fresh perspective, phone calls from Lanie, chocolate chip cookies

kitchen dance party, the babies outside, coop lights that put on a show like the Eiffel Tower

my local team

seeds planted, but this is a photo of the two cardinals on the fence

Top 5% and grateful for endurance and resilience

Love gets the final word, always has, always will

thankful to be part of a super positive team

yes

all the babies in the run

Write me a poem

"Still"

I held you once, a hush of light, a breadth between the stars and earth--

With trembling hands I shaped your world, and built it firm with love and worth.

I taught you truth with lullabies, and folded grace within your days.

Each whispered prayer, each sleepless night, a silent brick along your way.

But time, that thief with quiet feet, stole inches, then ideals, and more--

You shed the skin of all I gave, and slammed the once-wide-open door.

Now in your eyes, I see the storm, the scorn for all I held as true.

You brand my love as narrow walls, and carve your path in spite, not view.

I do not grieve your growing mind, nor ache because you've sought your voice.

But in the fire that shaped your will, did you forget you had a choice?

You speak of freedom, raw and bright, as if love's roots were chains to break.

But even wings must rest in nests before the leap, for safety's sake.

I watch you go, and ache in place, a ghost within the life we spun.

Not mourning change, but loss of grace, the way you've burned what we'd begun.

Yet still I wait, and still I love--though your new truth rejects the past.

My door remains, my lamp is lit, a mother's love is built to last.

Even if you never turn--if pride won't let you see me cry

I'll love the child I once held close even as the time drifts by.

***

Day story

 April 2025

Outside my window, daffies are drooping and tulips rise in place. Everything is greening, and it feels healing. Ragged patches of grass growing in random spurts, and soon I'll have the tractor out for the season's first mow. A fine dusting of pollen coats the surfaces, and I am thankful that it isn't affecting me yet. Lots to do with weeding (always!) and picking up sticks and limbs. Awaiting a delivery for a portable run to assemble for our newest babies. Appears we have a rooster, amusingly named Roo (formerly Rue). He has no tail feathers the way our other girls have, and twice now he's serenaded me in the dining room (they are temporarily penned in an enclosure in the dining room as we await run additions to move them out into the main coop) with 5:30 a.m. crows. Shane overheard him last Saturday. Not sure how well a rooster will go over with the neighbors ...

And I quote, 

"It is not real love to affirm people in their sin." Finding Perspective in Pain, Cornerstone Chapel, 4/6/25

Giving thanks for the quick appearance of volunteers and strangers who rushed to my aid at a recent duathlon. I was at the bike mount line, and my chain had come off. It got stuck at the crank shaft. I had just completed the first run leg, and I think my mind was stuck in unbelief of what had happened. It was a significant delay, but there are so many positives: people who rushed in to help get me back in the race; I got back in the race and didn't DNF; I had to push past my disappointment of being behind by nearly a full lap's time; I had to push myself a little harder on the course to make up for the time; I had a great 3rd leg run. And even though it wasn't the race I wanted, it was the race I needed: to show that I can still finish, that I can regain my focus even when things went wrong, that even when the finish line was nearly empty of spectators my man was there waiting for me and filming me. I got a finisher's medal just like the first person who crossed the line, and hardly anyone knows the challenges I faced in getting there (the first leg run, my left shin started screaming at me and I did walk/run intervals with a teammate; we parted ways at the bike ride where I was sidelined for some time to get my bike up and running). 

In the school room, the table is nearly cleared. On it, Erwin Lutzer's book A Practical Guide for Praying Parents, two copies to mail off to two friends, a finisher's medal, a bike helmet. I think I'll always view this treasured room as The School Room. Our former kitchen table turned blackboard painted teaching table; the gifted love seat where we've had the best read alouds, cuddles, and memories made; the woodstove that's warmed us for years of winter schooling; twinkle lights on the mantle; bursting bookcases and intentions to add more cases for ALL THE BOOKS I still keep acquiring; maps on the walls; a race calendar in year-at-a-glance format; David's hot air balloon painting on the wall where our piano sits silent; a dog bed; and a rug and curtains that have been here since we put this room together when Erin was in kindergarten. It will likely have a makeover this year (bookcases, new rug and curtains, updated seating, rearrangement), but I have intentionally left it like this to last the rest of Erin's school year. 

From the kitchen, in this Holy Week, I'll be making hot cross buns. This will likely be our first Easter without Lanie. I don't like these milestones, the firsts without. And then I wonder, is this the last with Erin? 

I am praying. I'm so glad to be in community with other parents who are praying. I have a screen capture of a wall of names, including a child of mine. I am thankful for a sister in Christ who walks this road with me and we are daily encouraging each other. Our friendship is over twelve years, and it's been a beautiful faith journey together. I'm glad that God put her in my life, knowing how we would help each other in the most sacred of ways.

I don't want to forget: every year here (and even there) was beautiful in its own way. I refuse to let the heartaches of today tarnish what shone golden in the past with love and life. 

I am reading so many books right now, six or seven, and there's a solid theme. I move a chapter in each day as I can, and in some I linger longer, speaking out words of strength and promise. This has been an intense season. I hunker into it. 

Around the house, Shane asked me how I'd remodel the kitchen, and there was a time I wanted all white. But I feel that trend is over. I talked about the "bump and scootch" layout that would make the kitchen a little bigger, the dining room a little smaller, but gosh, when I wanted that makeover, it was when we were all here and we hosted dinners and playdates. I still think it would be a lovely improvement, and I will trust the Lord will fill my rooms with laughter, fellowship, and love again.  

On the letterboard: standfast. I had it written out as stand fast, but Google said it's one word? From a good sermon, above, an empowering word. 

I value faith.

A view of my favorite things

10K

this sweet memory popped up

when she shared some of her photos with me

Kellie sent me this as she prepares Cara's graduation video

Paylor, Buttercup, Jackson, Coin, Polly, Roo

Duathlon

pre race hellos

Tara

A solid streak with Pilates, and I feel stronger for it

 

WIP, still working on the Boston Sweater, and now on the sleeves. Learning how to add stitches. 

At the table, Shane, me, and two empty chairs.

The pain cave

Shane works out in the basement. I've gone downstairs to do some strength training in the past year, but in recent weeks, I've take up dynamic stretching and Pilates. My flexibility really started tanking as I babied my leg after an injury a year ago, and now getting onto the floor or getting up off the floor is a real spectacle. Add to that, the knitting binge I went on last winter and the prolonged sitting because of it (I actually felt pain in my hips just sitting there knitting because I'm generally not used to be sedentary like that.).

Things weren't getting better, and the algorithms picked up on it, suddenly advertising all kinds of exercise programs. I tried out two: Dynamic Runner for the mobility and stretch (they also have strength and injury prevention, but I'm mainly interested in mobility and stretch), and the Ladder app for Pilates (they offer many other types of programs, but I felt Pilates was where I wanted to go). I did a 7-day free trial for both, loved them, and signed up. 

I looked forward to the first two weeks of Pilates. But soon, the devil got in my head. Just like when I first started running, I had my own thoughts daily about skipping or putting it off because my feet or something hurt. And every day since I've done Pilates for going on five weeks now, I've been in pain. Every day.

I remember hearing from a yoga class that emotions are stored in the hips. I can't say that it's true, but since I started Pilates and mobility, I've put my hip flexors through the gamut of motion--and every day I work them to pain or failure. Then on two separate longer training runs, I had to stop because I started sobbing and couldn't breathe. Sounds dramatic. It was.

But also: even though every day I start the program since week three I've not looked forward to Pilates, I showed up. I put in the work. I pushed forward. Every day something hurts a lot. But I can do lunges better than I could before I started. I can move through a better range of motion with my legs than I could. And I have worked muscles I never would have. I'm definitely noticing a change, even if it's just inward. In one brutal last section focused on core, I even managed to do single forearm planks. And I always break a sweat.

When I head downstairs to do the workout, I think of it as the pain cave. And I don't enjoy getting started, but I love being finished. (The community cheers are pretty motivating too.) Since I paid for a year in advance, I'm going to keep showing up and keep trying new things. I already feel better because of it. 

Looking forward to results on April 13.

I just gotta get that devil out of my head. It's been a tough year, but I'm starting to get back on my feet.

After a recent half, I'm in the 80s now.

The fitness decline marks seasons of change and stress. And the rapid increase is telling too.

Running up that hill

A couple weeks ago I ran a half marathon. It was pretty local and part of the course I'd done in another race. But this one took a new detour and there were a lot of hills. They humbled me. I was making great time until I hit the hills, and for the amount of energy they took out of me and the extremely reduced speed, I walked a lot of them and ran the flats and downhills. Definitely not my best finish time, and in line with another race I'd been under-prepared for.

As I neared the stadium for the finish line, there was one short but steep climb. A few women were nearby with me, and when we hit the incline, we all walked. It was like hitting a wall.

"Ohmygosh," I exclaimed. "This hurts!"

They agreed. We walked to the top and I started to run. I heard one woman say to her friend, "When do you want to start running?' 

They waited a little bit until the bend near the finish line, and then I heard them coming. I picked up my pace too. We all crossed mostly together. The hills humbled me, and the whole race did too. I knew I wasn't fully ready, but I learned a lot for next time.

Today was my last homeschool review. The second I heard my reviewer's kind, warm voice, I said, "I don't know if I can make it through this call without crying. I can't believe it's our last one."

And then I started crying. I shared a lot of things with her, and I wonder how many hats she wears: reviewer, mom, teacher, mentor, resource provider, counselor, friend.

I appreciated her warmth, compassion, and always optimistic perspective. I appreciated that I was on her mind even sometime later when she texted me an article that could be helpful. She congratulated me and encouraged me and validated our journey.

She follows me on socials, and I told her that she'd see a lot more posts about running (which is pretty much all of them now anyway) and that I am going to be training for a fall marathon. She seemed genuinely happy and said it was a healthy pursuit. 

"I'll either cross the finish line, or I'll die," I said.

"You'll make it!"

She grabbed soundbites from the conversation and made wonderful parallels and connections. And she told me I wasn't alone and told me how this was so. And that it's not an easy road. She suggested a lunch sometime, or that I grab another review spot and we can talk again. Or that Erin and I could bring in a chicken like we did the other year for the co-op kids to see. I tried to keep it together for most of the call, but goodbye was coming. It was hard.

And then it was over.

[I cried when our last literature book arrived and I opened it up and started to read the last first sentence. I held off tears when I turned the page in history and saw the last unit, aptly named Endings. I cried that Erin doesn't want any part of proms or senior photos or graduation ceremony. I cried for a lot of things.]

I was walking hills during our meeting, and headed home when we finished. I turned on my playlist and grabbed a song: Running Up that Hill by Kate Bush. 

Thought back to that half marathon.

Ohmygosh. This hurts.

The finish line ahead. 

On, on.

Standing, still

It was my favorite song when I was a baby Christian in my young twenties. I loved all songs by Michael W. Smith. So when one day this favorite from the past started playing, my heart leaned in.

The wind is moving, but I am standing still.

New voices, a remake with For King and Country, and I knew all the words and sang along. Oh, sweet nostalgia!

A life of pages, waiting to be filled. 

Instantly I came face-to-face with her, the younger me.

A heart that's hopeful, a head that's full of dreams.

I ached for her.

But this becoming is harder than it seems. 

And like the trending posts on Instagram of coffee with your younger self, the pouring out of knowledge and hinting at futures, I imagined younger me looking with anticipation.

Looking for a reason, roaming through the night to find my place in this world ...

Our eyes meet. Hers with wonder. Mine with compassion, and maybe, regret. She understands, and looks down at her feet.

"I'm sorry," we tell each other at the same time. Her for not being more intentional and making better choices, for caring way too much for what other people thought. Me for pretty much the same reasons, for letting her down. 

"I thought we were going to be different, better," we say in unison. "... I tried ..."

She takes her coffee black with sugar.

"You'll eventually add cream in, just like Mom," I tell her. "You will love her and miss her your whole life. And eventually, you'll have great compassion and grace for her."

For King and Country plays on, and unexpectedly to me, Michael W. Smith accompanies, and I can't help but cry for all of it, the nostalgia, the memories, the good and the bad.

"We got distracted," I say. "But it's not too late. We can still end well." 

I hug her, and whisper into her ear, "Good luck on your marathon."

"You're kidding!" she laughs, eyes wide. "I couldn't even get past five miles!"

I pull out a piece of paper and write down a few words. She looks it over and nods in approval.

Dear Courtney, it begins, followed by private words.

... and good luck on your half Ironman. You can do this.

"Why not? Maybe she'll surprise us. Let's cheer her on," I suggest.

The song is almost over, and I'm glad to have shared a space with younger me, just for a few minutes, to share a few tears, a hug, and grace. 

"Oh!" I say before leaving, "Jesus loves you sooo much. He's got you. Never forget."

The wind is moving. But I am standing, still. 

 

Day story

 March 2025

Outside my window the daffies are shooting up. There are a lot more birds in the yard, and I love to hear nature sounds. I'm looking forward to warmer weather, but winter is still my favorite.

And I quote,

"Your future self is watching," Coach Maia, Ladder, Pilates

Giving thanks for getting back up. I keep trying to trust the process, but it's a long process.

In the school room, we are spring breaking and enjoying our newest editions: Rue, Paylor, President Coin, Jackson, Buttercup, and Pollux. 

From the kitchen, mostly a focus on single ingredient foods and protein. And lots of coffee.

I am training for the training. I signed up for a 7-day trial on Ladder app and did Pilates. It's kicked me down daily for two weeks, and I'm thankful to get back up each time--even if it isn't pretty. I feel stronger. But I'm also in more pain--and not even the delayed onset type, but during and after the workout. It HAS to be doing something. I'm trying to get myself prepared for marathon training in June, so these months leading up are a focus on mobility, strengthening, swimming, cycling, and running (enough). Cycle classes are getting better, meaning I can almost completely keep up without having to reduce tension. And swimming, gosh, I wish we had a lap pool. I hope our next house has one. For the first time ever, I mentioned to Shane I'd be ok if he filled in our pool and converted the area into a food garden. It's great to jump in on a hot day, but our days of swim dates and play dates are long over, and I really can't train in it.

I don't want to forget to do all I can while I can. God, give me strength.

I am reading from a same stack. January's chapter-a-day plan worked great. It fizzled out in February. And now, I'm falling asleep from reading. More. Coffee. Please. And going back to a chapter in each book, every day. It worked.

Around the house, baby chicks. Cozy fires. Healthy foods. Peace.

A view of my favorite things

Back to work

Prim and Lena

How does it know?!?

Chopped four inches

Get. It. Done.

Guess which one is Buttercup

mood

 

Work in progress (WIP), I'm still working away on the Boston Sweater. I'm ready to do the front V neckline. There are a few places with holes, but a woman in a knit group said that it's easy to fix up, especially with the black yarn I'm using. 

At the table, my man and me. I told him I would start to take an interest in finance and ask him thoughtful questions about it, and he laughed. He's a good sport.