making room.

Can I be honest for a couple minutes? Like - real, looking you in the face, honest?

I’m not busy. 

My life is not busy. 

Shane and I are not torn between obligations or running our family around constantly. We actually often stare at each other asking, “So, what are we going to do this weekend?” 

My planner that I overspend on every year is most of the time used for to do lists instead of actual activities - and one time last week I let Rhett color all over it because he had a pen in his hand and I was done picking battles for the day. 

And let’s get even more honest here - I find myself jealous of people who are busy. 

"Oh we have plans every weekend from here until Christmas!"

"I’m sorry - I can’t stay long because I have another thing to be at in an hour."

"Between work and school and the activities there is no time on our family calendar."

Getting even more gritty - I associate busyness with having a life. Having purpose. 

I think busy people have a fuller life with more friends. 

I think busy people are better organizers - they have to be if they have so many things that need attention.

Not being busy and having quiet, slow days are hard for me. I can get restless and crabby. I start wondering what I’m doing with my life and start the whole comparison game. 

But (there’s always a but) - being quiet has been so good for me this past year. I have felt an overwhelming nearness from God, I have connected deeper with a few friends, with my husband, with myself and my maker. I wish I could tell you that I have meticulously made room for all of that - but that wouldn’t be true. 

Along the way, I have learned that God’s nearness alone has to be enough for me. I couldn’t feel him when I was busy - I was trying to cram so much in my life to feel valid as a human being instead of placing that identity in Christ.

A friend actually brought up my unhealthy addiction to busyness a couple years ago. We had decided to start running together right when I got off work. Her home was a couple blocks from my job and the plan was to change and head over there and sweat it out together. Easy peasy.
Being super awesome at follow through and priorities (heavy sarcasm there, I’m terrible) - 5 days a week turned to 3 days a week. Which turned to 1 day a week, which turned to “Gosh I really don’t want to run.” 

A couple weeks after we completely stopped - she confronted me about it. She was hurt. She felt like I had no time to be a friend, let alone run with her. I think her exact words were, “I know you have a lot on your plate, and a lot of friends, and it’s okay if you don't want to be mine.”

My heart broke. 

Unknowingly, I came across as too busy to be a friend. And I hated that because I loved (LOVE) her place in my life. Truth speaker. Encourager. Friend. 

My jealously of busy people is based on lies. The lie says, “Wow! Look at their amazing life! They have so many places of connection, so many friends. So much worth.”

And what I’ve had to train myself to believe is this: No. Being busy doesn’t make you better. It’s not who you are. It’s far from connectedness (what I crave most), and actually creates division in your life if you allow it to.

As our family grows and Rhett gets older, I’m sure this will start being more of a battle for our family. 

But I think this is the perfect season to sit in the stillness and become disciplined in the power of being unhurried. To love the slow moments. Creating time for more. 

More wagon rides. More waffle breakfasts. More outside time. More eating with friends standing up in their kitchen, connecting.  More simmering and less microwaving. 

More of that. 




I decided to take the month of November off of social media.

Mostly because I was sick of the time I was wasting on it (hello priorities, let me rearrange you) - and even more sick of the election drama.

But if I was on instagram, these are the pictures you'd probably see.

We are soaking up every single day of this amazing fall weather by going to the park and running in town.

Rhett is really into figuring out how things work these days. I find him tinkering with his toys daily, trying to figure out how the wheels are on and how everything is connected.

Evening wagon rides in t-shirts are soon to be replaced with rides in a sled.

I had a little down time in the alley while Rhett took in a nap in the stroller. It was 30 minutes of pure goodness.

Libraries are our favorite. Especially the Grinnell one.

Rhett got to experience a haircut for the first time. We left Earl's with a picture of the slate house from the 1950's and gratefulness for small town living.

Lastly, I finally bit the bullet on spending actual money (aka, more than 20 bucks.) on skinny jeans. 10 years later and I've finally let my heart believe that they aren't just a trendy thing and it's okay to invest in a good pair. The kicker - they are also high waisted.


They hold it all in. No butt crack in sight. No belly showing when I raise my arms.

Just another instance of me eating my pre mama words.

I love eating my pre mama words.


an evening in the field.

On Monday, Rhett and I went out to spend some time with Shane in the field.

Back in high school Shane worked for a farmer - and even though he hasn't been employed by him for years, during planting and harvest he occasionally gets to hop back in the seat.

I need you to know that Shane working for Ted is like if I worked for Shauna Niequist. It's like a dreamland. DREAMS.

Ted's wife Pat used to be the home economics teacher at our high school and for lunch would make Shane and Ted homemade meals with a side of mountain dew.

It was rough.

As we've gotten older, Ted and Pat have attended our wedding, sent baby gifts, brought us pizza when we were in the middle of renovating the slate house, let my family help level off grain bins and call us up to go on double dates to Pagliai's pizza in Grinnell.

We like them a whole lot.

Here's what Shane does when he helps out. 

He unloads the semi full of corn into a grain bin. He uses this fancy remote thing to swing a little contraption underneath the semi and then all the corn goes up up and away! 

Or something like that. 

And then he drives the semi back to the field, walks to a tractor that has a grain cart attached to it that Ted has been emptying into from the combine, and then unloads the corn from the grain cart into the semi. 

Or something like that. 

Repeat, repeat, repeat until the cows come home. 

Or until you're done with a field.

My favorite part of the evening besides experiencing a lot of firsts as a family was Pat's comment as we were loading up to leave. 

"It's been a long time since a 1 year old has been on the farm."

Having a baby around makes life just a little bit sweeter. 

Just a little bit. 


grateful fridays.

Lately I've been thankful for slow mornings with ovaltine.

For crisp mornings outside that require carharrt hats. 

For tiny flannels and curious minds that wonder what water pumps taste like. 

For Psalm 8 moments.  

And for husbands that prioritize time in the morning - making sure that if he isn't home by bedtime, he still got to wrestle with a rowdy 1 year old at 7:30 in the morning. 

What are you up to this weekend? We're hauling hay and celebrating a new marriage with friends. 

Happy Friday! 

"Gratitude turns everything into enough."


grateful fridays.

Lately I've been thankful for watching the sunset from our favorite room in the house. 

 For evenings spent driving around the garage during witching hour. 

 For the opportunity of making dinner to celebrate a new sweet baby boy. 

For 10 minute pit stops that bring immediate joy.

And for another project being finished at the slate house. 

"Gratitude turns everything into enough."

Happy Friday, friends! 


life at the moment.

Dear Rhett baby.

This post is mostly for me because I'm guessing you won't care what size clothes you were wearing at this age (aka - huge.) or the fun things your Daddy and I loved watching you do.

You're an adventure seeker. Climbing on everything from the bench your Dad made in high school that sits in our mudroom, to picnic tables and the stairs when we aren't paying attention. You love to play with the cushions from the couch, rolling around and throwing them.

You're waking up once during the night. Sometimes it's at 1:00 am - other times at 4:30 when Daddy's alarm clock goes off to load hogs. Our doctor told us the other day that we need to stop tending to you in the middle of the night and my heart ached a little because that would mean you aren't a baby anymore.

You like to sing along to every thing. Music comes on? You start babbling. I'm singing in the kitchen? You start singing along. Your voice is so sweet.

Your thighs are barely fitting in 18 month jeans. We have two pairs of the same "jeans" because they are the only kind we've found to fit. I say "jeans" because they are more like sweatpants that are blue, but don't make you look like a can of muffins ready to explode. Speaking of your thighs, the four rolls that I used to squeeze at every diaper change are gone, and only a few are left. I have a feeling that this is associated with growth rather than malnutrition because you are eating food like a champ.

Yesterday you were playing in a clothes basket and decided to dive out of it, landing on your face. I was immediately worried about your teeth, but your upper lip took the brunt and swelled up real quick. Your Dad told me I better get used to accidents so I've started a piggy bank for emergency room visits.

Your first birthday party was a success! No melt downs or sugar highs. You actually ate a little bit of the cake (not a fan of the frosting, just like your Dad), tried grabbing the candle when we sang happy birthday and fell asleep on Mama's lap by the bonfire later that night. I think I kissed your forehead 20 times as I carried you up the stairs that night. What a joy you are, and what a year it's been.

We feel blessed to be able to love and raise you.

Here's to another year of adventure!