And just like that, just like a snap of the fingers and a flip of the page, the basement is finished. For those of you new to my psuedo-neighborhood, Ken and I (the “and I” should be loosely referenced), have been renovating our home in the Midwest for oh, five years now? We shared two
It’s an interesting thing, to watch your child grow from baby to toddler to altogether person. The very core of their soul is discovered more each day – a layered onion, revealing, eyes watering – until you’ve unearthed the person who lives in your home; the one sleeping just a few rooms away. She wants
Last week, amidst glittered business cards and sequin headpieces, I was asked for my advice on blogging. I had hopped a flight to Salt Lake City to spend a whirlwind 48 hours manning the blogging mentor table for Altitude Design Summit, a conference that will always be dear to me in that it was the
There was a time when the cookie sheets were not burnt and rusty, when the diamond was new, shiny, sparkling. We were young, and tan, and overly analytical. After we married, we disagreed about whether or not we should paint the walls in our Los Angeles apartment satin or eggshell. Both, we’d decided, and we
I am not the fun friend, the one you call when your book proposal was just accepted and are in dire need of some celebratory dancing and perhaps Paris. No, I am the friend you call when your book proposal was declined, and your heart is in two, three, four parts and you need some
Well, I didn’t expect to talk about this today, but here it is and here I am. For the past few months, I’ve been wearing the same clothes – 25 of them – over and over and over. It’s not earth-shattering, the idea of minimalism, and I’d even argue that it’s trendy to be a
There are days when a group of objects are placed just so. There is a bowl of sunlit fruit casting shadows over a wilting flower on the dining room table he’d built with his hands, before the baby, when we were two. Bowls stacked, ready and able, and there is coffee. A white mug, oversized
On Sunday morning, I’d sit in a hard pew sandwiched between my two wavy-haired, lacy-socked sisters – passing notes about whether or not we thought our mother might let us stop for roast beef and milkshakes after service. We’d sing “Victory in Jesus” from red, dusty hymnals and I’d secretly pray to the Lord that
