Family Ties

This past week felt like a whole season stuffed into a few days, the kind of stretch where life bursts at the seams in both the loud ways and the gentle ones.

We had my niece here, bright as sunrise and twice as chaotic-cute. That kid is pure joy. You can feel the love she’s been raised in just by watching her move through a room. She glows. I tell her mom every chance I get, because some truths deserve repetition. I’d take her any time, any day. She’s the sort of child who softens the edges of a house just by existing in it.

My grandma came in from Texas too, with her forever-gentleman-caller Richard in tow. He’s been part of my life for about fifteen years now, strange and delightful in ways only he could pull off. He tried to teach the girls calculus. I’m not convinced any of it stuck, but the laughter did, and maybe that’s the math that mattered.

Thanksgiving leftovers lingered like uninvited guests who somehow still bring comfort. I made six pies total because Richard and the girls requested three extras, and honestly it felt good to be wanted for something as simple as the pies only I make. Feeding people has always been one of my quiet love languages, even if it leaves me elbow-deep in dishes for a week, which I had help with as well.

And now the house is empty again. My niece is back with her mom, settling into their new apartment—no roommates, just their own little pocket of independence. A luxury, honestly. Grandma and Richard made it home safely. He keeps talking about wanting to move up here, but the Missouri cold is ruthless and he’s a Texas creature through and through.

Sometimes I forget how special this little place is until my family treats it like a vacation home. It makes me grateful in a way that sits deep in my chest. These people aren’t perfect, but they’re mine. They’re who I choose and who choose me back.

My sister turned 24 on Sunday, marching slowly toward full brain development. One year left. We’re all silently cheering her on. She’s so responsible—nothing like I was at that age. Honestly, the world didn’t need two copies of the chaos I once embodied. It took me years to untangle myself. I still pretend I’ve got everything together, but the trick is convincing myself more than anyone else.

Now reality is tapping its foot at me. CE hours deadlines loom. Payroll waits for no one, least of all me. December is creeping up with all its demands, whispering about Christmas budgets I absolutely do not have. I feel behind on everything. The remodeling went over budget, because of course it did. Old houses pull their secrets out one by one the moment you touch them. And then my car blew up in the middle of it all, setting both John and me back in different ways. Money, time, energy—life has been tugging at all the loose threads.

Next year, I crave stillness. No giant projects, no chaos I willingly sign up for. Maybe we just work with what we already have. Maybe the land can offer us quieter dreams.

Meanwhile, I’ve been burying myself in my little GoodNotes planner project. A harmless procrastination ritual. Making collages, designing templates, arranging stickers like I’m building a tiny universe I can actually control. I swear I was born a stationery girl. It’s comfort food for the hands.

And that’s the week. A little wild, a little heavy, a little luminous. Nothing more to say out loud right now, except that gratitude is still humming somewhere under the mess of it all. My family came, and they went, and in their wake I can feel the shape of how loved I am. Even when money is tight and deadlines loom and the house feels too quiet, I can still sense the thread that ties us all together.

And that’s enough. For today, that’s enough.