I had quite a day yesterday.

My daughter’s youth group left on a trip Tuesday morning. It was a long 12-hour drive. Unfortunately, the timing of the trip conflicted with her dance recital. Because of this, she stayed home until her dance commitments ended.

Last week was a sad one in Texas. As a result, there has been a lot of shouting about our rights in America.

People get really passionate about their rights.

My son was speaking to another member of our church last week. Afterward, I got a very lovely text from this person, who described Landon as an incredible person. It was such a nice thing to hear.

I was talking to my son last week about the trombone. He, who has played the trombone for the past 10 years and has a full-ride scholarship in trombone performance, is considering quitting.

The conversation was a difficult one.

When I was in grade school, I loved writing stories. I loved creating characters that were precisely how I envisioned them to be. I often made the hero (always a girl😜) practically perfect. I created strengths and abilities in her that were missing in me. I loved it.

It was May 1998, and I was getting married in a month. In a moment of inspiration (more like insanity) I decided to sew a quilt for Brian, my fiance. I immediately went to my mom and told her my great idea. She looked at me incredulously.

“Do you know how to do that?”

I’ve been pregnant six times. Six babies. In each of these pregnancies, there came a point where I was really uncomfortable. I was using the bathroom all the time and sleep was elusive. My heartburn raged, it hurt to walk, and breathing had become a chore. I was not exactly a pleasure to be around. For the baby who was inside of me to get outside of me, I had to go through labor.

A few weeks ago, I was busy making posters. I was in charge of teaching songs to the kids at church, and I had my markers and posterboard ready. I used my ruler to make a very light line for the bottom of the letters. Ok. Here we go. I started writing.

The boy I absolutely adored in seventh grade leaned over to my desk. I tried to appear cool, but I was sure he could see my heart practically beating out of my chest.

Three years ago, my dad died.

I spent the final week of his life with my mom and siblings, going back and forth to the hospital in my small hometown of Blackfoot, Idaho.

When our family got a WII gaming system, MarioCart was all the rage. My kids loved it and played it often. They would beg me to play as well.

At the end of January, I went to Utah for the weekend. On Sunday morning while I was on my way home, Brian texted me.

“Annie is sick. 🤮”

I took one of my kids to the doctor’s office yesterday. As I pulled into the parking lot, my mind went back to a time many years ago.

I love calendars. I adore planners and organizers.

Twenty years ago, a friend and I were coming home from a fun day at Disneyland. We both had two year-olds, and they were sleeping soundly in the back of my car.

Landon is coming home this weekend for a very brief, but highly anticipated visit. Monday morning he is getting teeth!

Mary Lou Retton scored a perfect 10 on the vault in the 1984 Olympics. I remember that moment. That particular vault made her the first American woman to win the all-around gold medal in gymnastics. She opened the doors of possibility for little American gymnasts all over the country.

We were stuck.

Brian and I had just returned from a trip, and we couldn’t find our car.

Experience creates wisdom, if you let it.

Last February, Texas was hit with a huge storm that lasted for a week and caused all kinds of damage and even death.

My husband walked into our apartment in California, looked around at the new decor, and then looked at me. He seemed puzzled.

“Is there a theme you are trying to create? Is it wood-sy?”