Sharing good news scares me.
Well, not only “good news,” but like…things that I’m excited about it.
Doesn’t it always seem like as soon as you do, the things that you were just gushing over start to fall apart…? Or is that just me??
Like recently when I sent out Christmas cards and hard-launched my love for a sweet giant rabbit, only to have to hand her over to a foster home after Christmas…?
braving the 15-degree morning to enjoy the world covered in ice
For much of last week I was down sick, but honestly, I wasn’t even upset about it.
Morally I couldn’t take any more time off of work on my own (since I’d just gotten back to work after my little Christmas vacation), but being passed out with a beautiful sweaty fever for a few days forced me to take some real rest time. Which I really needed. Mentally and physically, I just hadn’t been spending enough quiet time with myself, and I had really been starting to miss it. If I’m being honest, I feel like I’ve been in go-mode since October, and although a lot of positive things have happened since then, I just haven’t had the time to simply allow myself to calm down. Or even process everything that’s happened.
So cue the 12-hours of sleep every night, lazy days, and wasting time while rotting — unshowered — on the couch with a weird feverish rash all over my body (Mom said it was nothing to worry about).
You know that warm Christmas-is-coming feeling that you used to get when you were a kid, and you never really get it anymore, but every year you look for it? And hope that it’ll appear? I’ve been feeling that warm Christmas-is-coming feeling lately, and I don’t know where it came from, but I want it to staaaaay ❤
On Saturday evening I was standing at checkout with a basket full of candy, and the woman standing behind me (holding a couple rolls of Christmas wrapping paper) commented that I was either going to the movies or had some crazy munchies. I told her that I was actually on my way to a gingerbread house party and how happy I was about it, as I hadn’t made one in years. She got really excited and said how much she loved making gingerbread houses, and she and the cashier both agreed that it was an amazing Christmas tradition. I finished paying, and the cashier and fellow shopper both gave me a big smile and said goodbye with a genuine, and exuberant, “I hope you have fun tonight!!”
Recently I got incredibly bored with myself. You know when Bruce Springsteen said:
I check my look in the mirror / wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
That’s been the mood. So I started scrolling Pinterest and pinning all the braids and simple updos, and why did it take me so long to start learning this stuff?
Crisis averted. I did not have to cut my hair, or mistakenly bring back the bangs, I simply needed to learn to show off what I have.
She’s cute, she’s classy, and she stays put all day long 🤍
I’m in love.
His name is Edgar.
He’s now 20 days old, and though his eyes are open, there ain’t nothin’ behind ’em. He looks absolutely clueless and soulless 100% of the time, and it’s absolutely infuriating how cute he is.
Although I knew kittens grew up fast, it’s still hard to believe how quickly he’s quadrupled in size since the day of his birth. And the size of his paws?? They’re tiny, but also massive. We all think he’s going to end up being a much larger cat than his mom.
Edgar, formerly known as “One”
rainy weekend / a good book / vanilla peppermint tea / sweatpants / gloomy skies / the smell of wet leaves / lentil soup / wood smoke / neutral colors / a perfectly moody playlist / lazy self portraits
Okay, here’s the thing: I am refusing to go back to letting my entire personality be centered around being disappointed and let down by life.
It’s not necessarily easy though, because it has definitely felt like every time I get back on my feet lately life bitch-slaps me again. The audacity.
You see, Agnes has given birth. And (drum roll, please), she had two (two) black-and-white kittens inside of her. One of which was stillborn.
So therefore: there is one healthy kitten.
(naturally we’ve been referring to it as “one” while we wait to see if it’s a boy or girl)
Went to a baby shower, miraculously didn’t come home with baby fever, despite the dozen of newborn babies in attendance.
(I think I’m healed)
Taylor turned twenty-seven yesterday.
*cue “27” by the magnificent Passenger:
twenty seven years now / only thing I know / I know that I don’t know how / to please everybody all of the time / ’cause everybody’s always fucking changing their minds
When we were young birthdays were super exciting; you all know how it used to be in the days of our youth. We got cards in the mail with money in them, donuts for breakfast, Mom planned us themed fun-filled parties (some of my most memorable were dinosaurs, cats, and pirates), and we’d get a day off from all of our chores. For 24 hours everyone just had to be nice to you, cause it was your birthday.
These days we really don’t do too much to celebrate birthdays in our family; more often than not we just give a few gifts and have a nice meal and dessert. We’re lucky if everyone remembers to send us a “happy birthday” text, and why does the money always stop when you need it most!? Like, we have bills to pay now. What’d we need it for when we were 6??
art by jordan rae 