Date Night

This was a long and very busy work week. I practically ran to the door at quitting time, sneaking out before anyone else could ask me a question, send me an email, or bring anything to my desk. I was more than ready to get our weekend started!

We have a lot to do this weekend, too, but something we always make time for is our Saturday night date night. It’s been a tradition for as long as I can remember. When the kids were little, it was our family evening out. As they all grew up, it became just me-and-him time. It’s nice to look forward to it all week, talking about where we will go, and whose turn it is to pick.

I was curious, and I am a data person, so I looked it up: less than half of married couples go on regular date nights. The couples that do have date nights enjoy significantly happier marriages, better communication, more commitment, and greater sexual satisfaction. No argument here!

Standing Back Up

The end of the year left me reflecting on 2025. Last spring, I started working out, improving my eating habits. I lost weight steadily for months…until the anniversary of my mom’s death. Then it was like I lost all direction, hope, or drive, and just couldn’t get it back. The downward spiral was rapid, out of control, and heartbreaking.

By now, I have gained back about half of what I lost. Guess I should chalk up 2025 as a failure, then, right?

Actually, no. Because while the last few months didn’t register much positive progress on the scale, I was frustrated and demanded answers. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why did I fall apart so disastrously, three years after my mom passed away? I knew I couldn’t stop it from happening again if I didn’t understand it.

Painful as it was, I forced myself to sit down with those dark clouds, to face them, to hold them, examine them from every angle. When it hurt, I didn’t pull away. I kept digging, pushing, prying.

It was like excising a wound. And it was long overdue. It wasn’t easy. It didn’t happen overnight. But it did finally happen: the difficult introspection I needed to finally stop letting my mother’s death tear me to pieces.

It’s hard to put into words. It’s also intensely personal. But I wanted to share at least this little bit, because I strongly believe that no change is significant or lasting without self-insight, self-awareness, and brutal honesty. Most people avoid that, to some degree, either partially or totally. But I knew that any effort I make will be tenuous at best until I put myself through that uncomfortable work.

I finished the year peacefully. Quietly. No drumrolls, fanfare, grand announcements. I was tired, but a good tired, like the exhausted but satisfied feeling after hiking a steep mountain and finally reaching the breathtaking view at the top.

Outwardly, maybe not much has changed at all. Inwardly? That’s a completely different story. The fog has cleared. The burden is off my shoulders. I have stood back up. And something tells me that his time, nothing is going to stop me, because I am finally and thankfully out of my own way.

Everything

I had a lot of plans for my blog after the new year: a recap of last year, goals for this year, catching everyone up on my little world. But my workplace has had other plans for me.

I am known at work for being very detail-oriented, thorough, reliable. Great, right? Well, sure, until the number of people who depend on me, ask me questions, and send me documents to review became a bit overwhelming.

Yesterday I stayed late to finish reviewing a 60+ page budget for someone else in my department. I stared at numbers, followed table rows, and corrected adding errors until I was damn near cross-eyed. Meanwhile, my own work sat, untouched, because I was interrupted all day long with questions and requests for help. I am flattered that I am considered so reliable and helpful, but I really need a breather and time to handle my own work, too.

I want to think a bit about how to make this blog serve me best this year: how to use it more for accountability, for just getting thoughts out of my head, for recording snippets of my life. I haven’t had much time to ponder that since coming back to work, but it’s churning in the back of my head.

Today is officially one full week into the new year already. I know I can’t make time slow down, but I want to take some time each day to really focus on what is happening around me, from the scattering of clouds in the sky to the feel of the breeze as I sit outside at night, to a new bud on one of our roses, to the sound of my husband laughing at something I said, the way his eyes shine when he is happy, all of it…the small things that are actually everything to me.

Word of the Year

I have read other blogs about choosing a word of the year, but I have never chosen one myself. It seemed like a silly, cliched thing to do, a touchy-feely gesture with no tangible purpose. But for some reason, when I read this quote, I found myself wondering, what will my word of the year be for 2026?

I kicked a few words around in my head, but nothing sunk in its teeth and held on until I hit on one in particular. It clicked into place and felt perfect:

BLOOM.

That is exactly what this year will be for me. Last year, I did the dirty work, the digging, the cultivating, churning things up underground, just like preparing a garden bed for the seeds and the beauty to come. I dug deep, ripped out weeds, and finished the year exhausted from the work but also at a level of peace I have never felt before.

Lasting change is impossible without that prep work, just like a thriving, healthy flower garden is not possible without making sure the ground is ready to accept the seeds, ready to embrace them and nurture them into something beautiful. Weeds pop up, as any gardener knows, and vigilance is needed to tear them out before they take over and suck vitality from the flowers.

That’s where I am now: waiting patiently for the seeds to burst from that ground. Waiting for the flowers whose home I have prepared. Tired from the battle to get to this point, but in a calm, happy way, because I know it will be worth it.

Maybe Next Year

On New Year’s Eve, my husband and I canceled our plans, since both of us are finally recovering from a cold and weren’t too keen on venturing out into a 30-degree night. Right before midnight, as the 10-second countdown started ticking down to the new year, my husband straightened up on the couch and brushed at his shirt and smoothed his hair like he was trying to make a good impression on me. I thought it was adorable. We kissed at midnight to welcome the new year together.

We slept in on New Year’s Day, snuggled up under the covers on a chilly morning. It was one of those perfect, no-real-plans, just relaxed and winging it kind of days. When we finally got up, we took a leisurely, hot shower together, then shared the kitchen to cook our traditional, good-luck New Year dishes.

We took today off together too, for a long weekend. This morning we took down the Christmas tree, and now the living room has that odd, empty look to it after all the decorations are gone, until we get used to it again. As much as I love to decorate, I must admit that I feel relieved to have a break for a while! From September all the way through the end of the year, from fall decor to the last of the Christmas lights, it’s non-stop decorating, taking things down, putting the next set up.

Maybe next New Year’s Eve, we will get dressed up, go out somewhere. But the way we celebrated this past one–quiet, peaceful, cozy, happy– was just perfect to me.

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