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Recently, I’ve been doing some math.

What could elicit the amount of joy I need to escape the doom-spirals taking up every ounce of my unconscious (and conscious) brain?

“I swear I didn’t queue this up,” he said as Tim’s Minchin’s voice streamed from our Google Home speaker.

In the age of social media where we are constantly trying to “keep up with the Jones’”, life comparisons and regret are rampant.

How can I expect to feel inspired in any way if my only goal is to end the day on my couch, watching mindless tv for 2 hours before I pass out?

Instagram will try to fool you; it is NOT all rainbows and butterflies. It is bodily fluids and temper tantrums.

And moments like these—where you’ll let me hold you, feel your little body’s warmth against mine and rock you to sleep—are fleeting.

…everything in life that has a beginning should also have an end, right?

Needless to say, I’m anxious about this trip.

…disappointment is a cruel, cruel bitch.

Call it my Spidey-sense, but my memories are triggered by the five senses.

Thank you, my baby Fin—my last baby. For reminding me how magical the newborn stage can be.

I don’t think I—or anyone, for that matter—quite realized what went into that rooftop performance, made infamous because it was the first live performance in over three years and would also be their last

…this year was always the year we were going to travel to my husband’s home country for Christmas.

But hidden within those “shiny” themes can be in-depth character development or symbolism that a child wouldn’t necessarily pick up on.

But is it okay to live in the glow of your current piece of art?

“What the heck are meta tags?”