Mini Book – St. Louis Adventures
After several days of adventures in St. Louis with Kevin’s grandma, I wanted to give her something she could hold onto. Not just photos buried in a camera roll, but a little book she could flip through whenever she wanted to remember those days.
Every time we travel or spend meaningful time with friends or family, I try to make one of these mini books. They’re simple, but they’re one of my favorite ways to preserve memories.
I always include photos, of course, but I also make sure to add the little details—the places we went, the things we laughed about, the words we said, and how the moments felt. Those are the parts that fade first, and they’re often the parts that matter most.
There’s something about turning pages that a phone just can’t replace.
In a world where thousands of photos live on screens we’ll probably never scroll back to, I think tangible memories matter. They invite us to slow down. To revisit a moment instead of just remembering that it happened.
And I love giving these books away because they’re really about more than the memories themselves. They’re a way of saying: “We noticed.” Thank you for planning the adventures. Thank you for making time for us. Thank you for creating memories worth keeping.
Time, effort, and intentionality are gifts. This is just my favorite way of honoring them.
Mother’s Day
Feeling all the emotions this Mother’s Day as we prepare to welcome our second little dude into this world. I can tell my body is starting to crave the slow down in this season, which is the perfect time for me to be more present and truly feel these last weeks. ❤️
The Year of Attune
I started thinking about my word of the year back in November when I realized nothing had really come to mind yet. Some years the word feels obvious and steady by fall, and other years it doesn’t fully surface until I’m goal setting in December. I’ve learned not to rush it. The right word has always found me when it’s ready.
This year felt different though. I was newly pregnant, and I knew that would shape whatever word emerged. I didn’t want to force something sentimental just because of the season, but I also didn’t want to ignore how much this year already feels like a threshold.
So I did something I’ve never done before — I asked ChatGPT for suggestions. I shared my past words (Joy, Rooted, Adventure, Nourish, Thrive, Connect, Rest, Open, Delight, Engage, Experiment, Whole, Play) and asked if there were patterns. Seeing them all laid out reminded me how cyclical my choosing has been — expansion, grounding, delight, connection — a rhythm between outward adventure and inward anchoring.
I initially thought maybe my word would lean into pregnancy in an obvious way: something like Bloom, Nurture, or Wonder. Those were beautiful, but they didn’t feel quite settled.
Then I realized I was craving something slower. Less performance, more presence. I kept coming back to words like slow, savor, space, enough. I’ve been deeply impacted by the idea that life isn’t waiting for me in some bigger, better version of my circumstances. The life I want is already here. I don’t need more space, more time, more readiness — I need gentleness with what is.
“Enough” almost became my word. I loved what it represented: contentment over striving. Gratitude instead of “if only.” But it still felt slightly static.
When the word attune surfaced, something clicked.
Attune felt alive. It held slowness without stagnation. It held gratitude without forcing positivity. It felt like listening instead of proving. Like tuning an instrument before playing — aligning first, acting second.
Attune means paying attention — to my body (especially now), to my children, to my intuition, to the subtle cues in my home and relationships. It means moving at the pace of this season instead of the pace of pressure. It means trusting what I sense. It means responding instead of reacting.
After a year of Play — spontaneity, adventure, “why not?” — Attune feels like the exhale.
Not smaller.
Just deeper.
This year, I don’t want more noise. I want more noticing.
More listening.
More presence.
More trust.
More enoughness.
2026 will be the year of attunement.
🌿 Attune Definition
To adjust or bring something (or oneself) into harmony, accord, or a sympathetic relationship, often involving becoming more aware or responsive to something like sounds, needs, or trends, essentially meaning to get in tune or acclimatize. It can refer to musical tuning or, more commonly, to a figurative sense of fitting in or understanding a situation deeply.
Key meanings:
- To Harmonize: To bring into agreement or balance, like tuning a musical instrument or aligning feelings.
- To Adjust/Accustom: To adapt or acclimatize a person or thing to a new environment or situation.
- To Make Aware/Responsive: To become sensitive or receptive to something, such as needs, signals, or nuances.
🌿 2026 Intentions — Attune
1. I will attune to my body and trust what it tells me. I listen without judgment, honor my limits, and respond with care rather than pressure.
2. I will attune to this season, not rush past it. I release the urge to hurry toward what’s next and stay present with what is unfolding now.
3. I will attune to my children with patience and curiosity. I respond to cues instead of reacting to noise, trusting connection over control.
4. I will attune to joy, noticing it in small, ordinary moments. I slow down enough to savor what’s already here.
5. I will attune to gratitude by practicing enoughness. I resist the pull of “if only” and choose contentment in the life I have.
6. I will attune to my energy and move at a reasonable pace. Rest is not earned — it is essential, and I welcome it without guilt.
7. I will attune to my intuition and let it guide my decisions. I trust my inner knowing, especially when the path feels quiet or subtle.
8. I will attune to what truly matters and let the rest fall away. I make space for what nourishes me and gently release what distracts or depletes.
🌿 My 2026 Mantra
“I attune to the rhythms of my body and my life, moving at the pace of this season. I choose presence, gratitude, and enough—letting them shape who I am becoming.”
🌿 My Vision Board
Cheers to a whole new year and all kinds of new adventures. ❤️
The Textures of Autumn
Alicia posted a photo of textures on Substack in June and I made my own version for the summer.
A lot of what I share here begins as something small—just a few lines in a notebook that I don’t mean to turn into anything more. Most of it is just me trying to keep up with my own life, to catch something before it slips past unnoticed. Sometimes those entries stretch a little longer, and eventually they make their way here, still carrying that same quiet intention.
Autumn felt different in that way. I found myself paying attention to textures more than usual. The roughness of leaves as they dried out, the softness of worn sweaters pulled back into rotation, the way the light shifted and landed differently across familiar spaces. It gave me something to notice, something to return to throughout the days.
I think that’s part of what keeps me drawn to both photography and writing things down like this. Not to document everything perfectly, but to catch the subtle changes—the ones that don’t ask for attention but quietly shape a season. The way a room feels different in October than it does in August. The way routines soften or settle without you realizing it right away.
Paying attention to textures kept my eyes open in a way I didn’t expect. It made ordinary moments feel layered, almost like there was more to hold onto than I would have noticed otherwise. And now, looking back, it’s those small, tactile things that seem to define the season more than any single event.
Maybe that’s what I’m always trying to do when I write or take a photo—hold onto something that is already changing. Not in a way that stops it, but in a way that lets me return to it later and recognize it for what it was.
Summer Textures
This summer has been overflowing with good things—sun-soaked weekends, full calendars, laughter spilling late into the night. And yet, if I’m honest, it has also left me feeling spent, like a pitcher poured out too many times without being refilled. Our busy weekends have stretched long, causing our normal rhythms to spill over into the week, blurring the lines between rest and hurry.
The patterns of the seasons—both the ones written in creation and the ones we choose for ourselves—never fail to amaze me. They tumble forward like a ball rolling downhill, picking up speed until it seems unstoppable. Summer, in all its brilliance, can feel like that: bursting with life and color, but racing so fast it’s hard to catch your breath.
I wouldn’t trade the joys of this season—being with our people and soaking in experiences—for anything. And yet, woven into that joy is a gentle longing for what’s ahead. I find myself dreaming of fall: the cozy season, where the air cools, routines return, and the pace of life shifts from sprint to stroll.
This idea to look for textures is an invitation to pause in the middle of the whirlwind. A reminder that this season won’t last forever, both in the sense of summer itself and the phase of life I’m in right now. Change will come, as it always does. And in the meantime, there is goodness here too.
Even in the hustle, God’s kindness shows up—in small, almost imperceptible ways. In the moments where I don’t have to choose or plan or decide. In the quiet spaces where I can finally breathe, and remember that I don’t hold my life together. He does. And somehow, that makes both the fullness of summer and the slowness of fall feel like gifts worth receiving.