I met my younger self for coffee this morning.
She showed up full of conviction, so sure of who she was supposed to be.
Hopeful. Certain.
Soft and kind, unaware of what was coming.
She showed up full of conviction, so sure of who she was supposed to be.
Hopeful. Certain.
Soft and kind, unaware of what was coming.
If you’ve been around this blog for a while, you might remember “Mr. Chickadee” ~ my nickname for my now ex-husband, back when this space was mostly about little feet, diy, and homeschooling chaos.
Well, time has flown, and my life looks a little different now. I’ve remarried to someone who stepped into this beautifully chaotic life of ours with an open heart and a solid sense of humor.
And because this blog has always had a bit of a bird theme, it only felt right to give him a nickname too.
I can’t remember exactly when or why I started calling my kids “chickadees.” It’s one of those nicknames that just became part of our world ~ like a favorite blanket or a well loved book. One day, I said it, and it stuck. Now it feels like it’s always been theirs.
It’s been a minute… okay, a few years. My last post was in December of 2018, and since then, life has hit hard and deep. It’s been beautiful in moments, but also messy, heavy, and brutally honest. The kind of full that cracks you open, forces growth you didn’t ask for, and reshapes everything you thought you knew. I’ve been surviving, stumbling, learning, and slowly finding my way back to myself.