birthday

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Daphne Turns Nine

Nine.

Somehow, impossibly, beautifully… nine.

There is something about this age that feels different from the years before it. It feels like the beginning of becoming. Like watching someone slowly unfold into who they were always meant to be. It’s a weird thing to be a mom where you are so proud of their growth and the person they are, but also realizing you never get to be with this age again. There is mourning and celebration with each passing year.

This year asked a lot of you, Daphie girl.

A new school. New experiences. New teachers. New friendships. New expectations. The year was packed full of things that kept you busy.

And yet, you kept going.

You walked into unfamiliar places and kept trying anyway. You raised your hand for things that would have felt scary to many people. You qualified for two academic competitions, and it was amazing to see you shine in those moments even when I know it was out of your comfort zone. You tried basketball for the first time. You stretched yourself in ways that would have been easy to avoid. And even when you doubted yourself, you kept showing up.

That quiet courage is one of the things I admire most about you.

Sometimes I wonder if being sandwiched between two brothers who naturally take up so much space has caused you to shrink yourself a little smaller than you should. The world around you can be loud. Fast. Busy. Full of people talking over one another.

But there is something powerful about people who observe first. Who think deeply. Who notice details others miss.

That’s you.

You have one of the most creative minds I have ever seen. Your brain is constantly moving, imagining, creating, experimenting. There are science experiments scattered across your room, drawings on notebooks and scraps of paper and sometimes things that probably were not intended to be drawn on at all. You are always building something, imagining something, wondering something.

You are endlessly full of ideas.

And what I love most is how your mind works. You don’t just color outside the lines. Half the time you’re inventing an entirely different picture altogether. You see things differently, and I hope you never lose that. You are constantly teaching yourself new things whether it is the periodic table, random facts about space or penguins, how to shade in pencil drawings, or how to make your own slideshow in different apps.

This year I also watched you build your confidence in dance. There’s been something really special about seeing you settle into lyrical and tap, seeing moments where you stop overthinking and simply move. We really saw that come out when you did the stage show “High School Musical.” Those moments feel like little windows into who you really are underneath the uncertainty.

And I wish you could see what everyone else sees so clearly.

Because the truth is: there is so much greatness inside of you.

Not the loud kind. Not the kind that demands attention every time it enters a room. But the steady kind. The thoughtful kind. The creative kind. The kind that changes the people around it quietly and deeply.

You are constantly reading the room to fill in the holes. Whether that is something physical to brighten the room up, or emotionally telling when someone needs extra attention or care. You are the everlasting helper. Your empathy is one of my favorite qualities you have, and you are someone who is always making sure that those around you feel included and seen.

My biggest wish for you at nine is that you begin to believe in yourself the way the people who love you already do.

I hope you find your voice in all the noise.

I hope you learn that your thoughts are worth sharing, your ideas are worth hearing, and your presence is worth noticing.

And more than anything, I hope you continue leaning fully into the wonderfully out-of-the-box way you see the world. Because that part of you, the imaginative, curious, creative, beautifully kind part, is how you put your mark on this world.

The world does not need you to become more like everyone else.

It needs more of exactly who you already are.

Happy ninth birthday, sweet girl. I can’t wait to see what this year brings you.

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Walter Turns Five

My sweet Walter,
Today you turn five. Five feels big. Five feels like the official goodbye to babyhood, toddlerhood, and so many little moments I’ve held onto with both hands. You came into this world with a sweet simplicity, and you have been healing parts of me ever since. You’re our youngest of three — the grand finale — and somehow watching you turn five feels both impossibly fast and incredibly sacred.

I’ve known this day was coming, but there’s something about the youngest hitting this milestone that hits a little differently. You’re the last one who needed me for everything. And now here you are — tall, hilarious, opinionated, fiercely independent, and so wonderfully you.

You were born into a loud house with siblings who have wrapped you up into their chaos. You’ve grown up trying to keep up with the big kids — running a little faster, climbing a little higher, talking a little sooner and a whole lot more. You’ve taught us all how to laugh at the chaos and soften in the sweetness.

You are the perfect blend of tough and tender. You know how to hold your own, but you also know how to melt into us when you want to be little. I secretly love those moments — the ones where you curl up next to me and remind me that no matter how big you get, you’ll always be my baby. You did this last night as climbed up to me to snuggle after you had a scary dream, and I will hold those last moments of being four so dear.

What I want to remember about this age with you Wally:

  • The way you are always the last to wake up, and always with wild hair. You still have me carry you down to breakfast on school days, and I will keep doing it since I never know when the last time will be.
  • The sound of your footsteps running down the hallway because you have important things to tell us…or how you are sneaking down to get a late night milk.
  • Your obsession with chicken nuggets.
  • The way you throw yourself into things and teach yourself how to do something hard, like swinging on your own.
  • The way your body moves and dances anytime you hear music. Your movie credit dancing is my favorite.
  • The way you set your boundaries and stick to your strong will. You are firm when you don’t want to do something, and you cannot be swayed once you are convicted. This isn’t just about doing things like chores, but how you aren’t going to engage in activities that don’t bring you joy even if they seem fun to the rest of us.
  • The way your brother and sister light up when you do something funny. You bring out the kid in all of us. You are always trying to make everyone smile around you, and you bring levity into every situation.
  • You are wild beyond measure, but you still search for my hand to hold as we walk places which reminds me of your gentleness.

I want to remember how you look at the world with wide-open excitement, as if everything is an adventure waiting for you to join in.

You made our family feel complete. You taught me how to let go of perfection, how to savor the littlest moments, and how to find joy in the middle of messy days. You stretched my heart in ways I never expected.

As you step into five, into kindergarten this next year, into bigger shoes and braver steps, I hope you carry these things with you:

  • Keep your imagination big.
  • Keep your laugh loud.
  • Keep your kindness close.
  • Keep your dance moves coming.
  • And keep believing that the world is good, because you make it better just by being in it.

One day, you’ll be too big for my lap and too cool for my hugs. But I hope you’ll still read these words and know how fiercely loved you’ve always been.
You are my last baby, but you’re also the one who taught me that endings can be beautiful — because they’re really just beginnings in disguise.

We love you more every single day Wally, and we can’t wait to see you grow this year.

Here’s to five — to the magic, the mischief, and the memories ahead.

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George Year Eleven

Dear George,

Today you turn eleven and start middle school. I cannot believe that we are at this stage, but welcome to this adventure called middle school! You are about to grow, stretch, stumble, laugh, learn, and change more in the next few years than you may even realize. And that’s okay—middle school is meant to be a little messy.

Here are a few things I want you to know:

  • It’s okay not to have it all figured out. You’re still learning who you are, what you like, and what matters most to you.
  • Mistakes are proof that you’re trying. Some of your biggest lessons won’t come from getting things right the first time, but from trying again.
  • Kindness matters. The way you treat others (and yourself!) will always matter more than grades, clothes, or being “cool.”
  • You are not alone. Even when it feels like no one understands, I promise there are people cheering you on—teachers, friends, family, and more.
  • You are enough. Exactly as you are today, you are worthy of love, respect, and joy.

Middle school is just one chapter in your story, but it’s an important one. Take chances, work hard, be curious, laugh often, and remember—who you are becoming matters more than who you’ve been.

So this is a very special birthday for you, you not only began a brand-new school year but also stepped into middle school today. Eleven is such a special age—you’re right in between being a kid and becoming a teenager. What I love most is how you get the best of both worlds: you still have that playful, silly side that makes life fun, and you’re also starting to see the world in deeper ways, asking big questions and sharing your thoughtful ideas.

I am so proud of you—of your positive attitude, your courage, and most of all, the way you are freely and unapologetically yourself. What a gift to walk into this new chapter on such a meaningful day.

You’ve got this.

Love,

Mom

Daphne Year Eight
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Daphne Year Eight

This year Daphne has been insistent that she is going to space one day, and that she will be one of the first people to Mars. She is inquisitive about what it will take to get there, and from those details, she has created a plan. And if space doesn’t work she wants to be a Air Force pilot; and if that doesn’t work she will be an actress. It is precise and big, and entirely her.

Today is Daphne’s birthday. She is eight, and thinking about all the things. Another year older, a little taller, and somehow even more full of wonder than the year before.

She’s always been a big dreamer — the kind who sees possibilities in places most of us overlook. But here’s something else I deeply admire about her: she gets scared. She worries about trying new things. Whether it’s speaking up in class, learning to climb a rope, or joining a new activity like trying out for a musical— the fear is real. I see it in her eyes.

But then… she tries anyway.

And that’s what makes her brave. Not the absence of fear, but her choice to move forward in spite of it. Her dreams aren’t just floating ideas — they’re fuel. They carry her over the bumps, push her past the nerves, and inspire her to step into the unknown with wide eyes and a steady heart. Watching her dream and be determined to chase them is one of my favorite things.

As adults, we often fall into the trap of practicality. We trade wonder for what’s “realistic,” and over time, the dreams we once had quietly shrink. We have been talking a lot about dreams in our house, and I have to thank Daph for some of the reflection I have been doing lately. Watching her, especially today, reminds me how vital dreaming is — not just for children, but for all of us.

Dreaming gives us vision. It gives us hope. It sparks creativity, innovation, and joy. Daphne doesn’t yet know what’s impossible — and honestly, I hope she never fully believes anything is. Even when she is scared or doubts her ability, she still goes out on a limb and tries. She is shooting for the stars in so much of what she does. While her astronaut dreams may be cute memory in a decade, I hope she never loses this sense of dreaming and trying.

So this is a little birthday love letter to her — and to every child (and adult) who still dares to dream big. Let’s not quiet that voice. Let’s fan the flame. Let’s encourage curiosity, imagination, and the wild kind of belief that makes going to Mars feel absolutely possible.

Here’s to the dreamers — may we raise them, may we nurture them, and may we remember that we are them too.

Happy birthday to my BIG dreamer! Daphne, you are a wonder.

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Is Time Different at 40?

Today I turn the big 4-0.

I have never been weird about birthdays. Generally, I have embraced them and been excited about this journey of life and moving to the next year.

But I have to admit, this one hits different.

FORTY.

It is not a sad thing about aging or that I am having a mid-life crisis, but it is making me pause in a way that I don’t normally do for birthdays.

Age is very relative, and I know at some point I thought 40 seemed so far away. You wonder what milestones you will have reached and whether there is this sudden urgency to “live life to the fullest” because it all seems downhill from here. There are a lot of societal expectations by this time of your life to have things figured out.

But honestly, I am really seeing it as a reset button. If this last year has taught me anything, is that no day is guaranteed, so maybe it is that I need to “live life to the fullest” but I am seeing it more as being bold in my priorities.

My thirties brought me so much, and I have learned a lot about what is important and how awesome my life has become. I am realizing that now is the time to fill my cup differently and prioritize my focus on certain things.

By the grace of God, Tom and I are stepping into our 40s together this year. I am forever thankful for our relationship and what being married to Tom has taught me. This time last year there were moments that we did not think 40 was possible. It is a true gift to continue growing in our partnership and move through life together. There is beauty in realizing all the different versions we have seen of each other. We met in our early twenties, and here we are stepping into another decade with our love story. We have shared and survived so much as a couple. We are comfortable with each other for sure, but within that is a deep connection that has allowed us to navigate life together with intense purpose. I do believe that we make each other better, and growing “old” together is a blessing every day.

While I had George when I was 29, my thirties is where I really came into motherhood. We have created a beautiful family, and through this time I have become more sure of the childhood we want them to have. It is an interesting balance to strike with encouraging them to try new things and put them in activities that interest them, and then still finding time to just simply exist in our own space as a family. I want them to stay little and innocent as long as possible as to not age them too fast. This next decade will bring new things in motherhood as we start to navigate them becoming young adults and eventually start moving into the world on their own. I hope due to the complexities of becoming confident in my own life and the lessons I have learned thus far will make it easier to guide them in theirs. Ultimately, I know that I want my focus to be on their lives, development, and being present in all that I can with them.

Looking at where I am right now with my career, I could not be more grateful for all the twists and turns that got me to where I am right now. I have always dreamed of being part of educational moments and being able to create experiences where others can grow and learn. Looking back at every decision that seemed hard and unknown, they all have led me to right here. I am feeling more self-assured about where my passions are and how to advocate for where I can be best utilized. It is through my career experiences that I have learned more about my own voice and how to lean into my strengths and desires in order to impact the communities I am in. I have been so fortunate for the opportunities I have had career wise, and I am excited to see what is on the horizon. Our lives are never linear as our age presumes, and I have found making “five year plans” is never a permanent decision for my future. There is strength and comfort in knowing that I am moving myself to really look at my impact and what brings joy instead of climbing a business ladder because it seemed to increase my ability to affect change. As I am turning into this decade, I am really happy for each time I bet on myself in my career and defined my own success.

Looking over my life, building community is not something that has come easily to me. I do enjoy relationship and connections, however, due to my propensity to keep my circle small it can be challenging to create those deep relationships as lives shift. And making friends as an adult is HARD. It has been one of those pieces I have had to learn to take chances and be vulnerable. But I also have had to let go and realize that not every relationship will serve you forever. This has been a very hard lesson for me, and I have had to learn to be intentional about how I am showing up to spaces to build community. However, community is so important. We are supposed to live in connection. Finding your circle can be hard, but it is worthwhile to find people you can navigate life with. I am hoping that as I move into this next phase, community building is at the forefront of my priorities. Finding space for connection can take a lot of my energy, but I find that after these intentional interactions I feel full and blessed.

I would be lying to say that 40 doesn’t make you think about the longevity of life and enhances a deeper hunger for meaning. I have been thinking a lot over the last couple years what it could look like to walk with God differently in this season. I have been pushed and pulled on my faith as I have grown. It has evolved from striving to do faith “right” to leaning into grace and being in relationship with God. I am discovering that spiritual maturity often looks like surrender, not certainty. I am coming to terms with the mysteries of life and that faith doesn’t need to demand all the answers. I am learning the true art of letting go with my faith. I am listening more, asking better questions, noticing God in everyday moments. I have started seeing my faith not just as belief and a focus on self, but how I show up in the world with my faith. As a perfectionist, my faith journey recently has been allowing myself to strip down the expectations and high achievement to have a more honest, less polished faith. My intention as I move forward is to seek continued growth and closeness with God.

I feel that I am the most confident I have ever been in my life. I am discovering that not all important things are measurable. I have started letting go of the fact of any pressure to arrive at a certain point and a certain time. I am embracing how weird and awkward life can be, and instead of trying to maneuver into a perfect picture, to really sink in and enjoy the simplicity of the day to day. I have realized everything doesn’t have to be so serious, and there is importance in finding magical moments in this amazingly precious life. I think that is the beauty of resetting myself as I turn forty today. This last year showed me how fast life is moving, and I have an opportunity to slow myself down to enjoy it. Aging is really an expansion of life, not a decline. And I hope that I can continue to choose intentionally how to walk through this life while focusing on fun, fulfillment, and connection.

So here is to 40!