I took my personal Instagram account off my phone about a month or so ago in the midst of so many unthinkable happenings. It began to feel like consuming grief and outrage as readily as Cheerios and milk…on the news, in our palms, in our ears, so very loud.

In these moments of upheaval, we rush to assert a stance, identifying who to hate and to blame, versus who to rally behind and associate with…who to excommunicate from our lives and vow never to speak to again. I wanted to sit with myself and my thoughts, no matter how uncomfortable, so I stayed logged out and tuned out, within reason, and played with toys and sang songs and tried to cherish the glimmers that make it so special to be alive.

With the volume lowered, I made room for silence. On the morning I turned 36 the baby went shopping with his dad and came home with a bouquet of flowers, a Bluey banner and the vacuum I've been asking for. Between the cats and this busy little man it's the dust bowl around here and I could not be happier to have such an ordinary but useful item at my disposal.

I made challah with Jewish friends, mostly grandmothers, for the new year. I've always been welcomed whole heartedly, even as a Gentile, at Friendship Circle and I'll forever be grateful to them for the care and grace they showed JJ in our darkest moments.

We made the simple, extraordinary. The car isn’t exempt from crumbs and glee so we went to the car wash on repeat with the steady hum and smell of soap. Those two minutes in neutral in the dark are wildly cathartic. We made mud kitchens, slipped down slides, explored pretend fairy woods, and buried sensory stones.

We savored Daniela's gazpacho and Raya’s ice cream cake, treats from the farmers market and new bakeries, and leaned into our toxic trait of grabbing an iced latte every time we left the house. The cats feasted on a solitary potato that the baby lovingly prepared for them and tried to snag a Jellycat or two.

We discovered the Descendants and watched them all, and each sing along too. Pro tip: sing “What’s My Name” and sub in “mama” for the character Uma. It’s very empowering and fun! We also stumbled on performances of beloved musicals at the Hollywood Bowl and put faces to cartoon voices. And: A Whole New Sound! Imagine Warped Tour meets Disney heroes.

We had really impactful and loud arguments that were clarifying, shining a light on shadowy corners that have been neglected for too long. We are grateful for the candles and voice notes from an earth angel in Galway.

Stray cats came “home” again and we received free landscaping from hungry deer with a hankering for crab apples.

I do not want to be ignorant or avoidant, but resolve and courage begin with small actions at home, in our communities and among our neighbors. We will do our best to teach the children to love and include, and to value the sanctity of life. But sometimes sheep stray from their flock, so we will also entrust God with guiding their steps and pray for lighthouses in the bleakest of places.

The irony of reporting back on Instagram how it feels to be logged off of Instagram is not lost on me, but as a child of this era I'll leave a few of my digital crumbs here or it didn’t happen.

2024 was one for the books. After navigating one of the hardest years of my life, the clouds parted and not one but two boys found their way (back) to me. One a gift from God, I never thought I was going to receive, Jameson was born on June 22nd with his daddy’s face. He had a few health setbacks, and we spent much of July in the hospital, but now he’s strong and jovial, and truly a child of light. The second was my gift from the stars as I say. Big boy John is 17 now. I met him when he was only 14 and grieving the unimaginable, the death of his beloved mother. How far he has come. We are unbelievably grateful for the community that has helped John heal and continues to surround us with support and guidance. I learned first hand that redemption is possible.

In hindsight I learned it takes courage to ask for help, prioritizing yourself and your welfare. I’m still coming up against difficulty saying no when I need to say no and please help when I need help. People pleasing is a hard habit to break. When we derive much value from being useful and helpful and proverbially saving the day, we forget that we are already enough when we just sit still and do nothing. But this little person I am charged with taking care of and protecting is teaching me lessons daily. To slow down, give grace, and recalibrate.

I learned that you can be 35 years old and still know very little. Conversely, you can be six months old and embody all that is truly important. To lean towards love, to be vocal about what you need, to forgive, to wake up smiling, to be unashamed, and to take up the space that you inhabit without apology or condition.

I learned the world and the organizations that you participate in don't combust if you can't perform like you had prior. People make do, slack is picked up. You're not that important in the cosmic sense, but to a precious few you are the whole universe.

Perfectionism and improvement may have their place and I think we can all endeavor to be our best selves but if you find yourself somewhere lower on that continuum know that you are in good company and are still worthy and deserving of all the love in the world.

I learned people evolve. My husband held my hand the entirety of my C-section. We typically don’t hold hands. It’s not really his style, maybe the combat veteran in him, and I honor who he is as he is. But it doesn’t mean I don’t long for those small interactions. But the day my dear Jameson was born, James held my hand and it was beautiful. It may be intrinsic in our nature to look at the world and see how we don’t necessarily add up to the aspirational. But something that gave me comfort was my Nana sharing that my beloved Papa never really held her hand, when we were gabbing one day. He was the most magnificent man I’ve ever known and thus it was illuminating. You’re allowed to imagine things you’d like and also allowed to find beauty in the way your life deviates from what is deemed typical or desirable. It can all concurrently be true.

I reread “A Return to Love” by Marianne Williamson. I had needed a tuneup after navigating highs and lows of postpartum. I’m reminded that it is profound when people come together, not as two broken pieces, but as two full entities that can amplify the vibration of one another, such that you might reach higher peaks and more graciously navigate the valleys that are inevitable.

I learned that you can have much that you desire and still have a hard time. Things can still be challenging. Mothering is supremely difficult and also magic. Having the job or the relationship or the house or the opportunity that you’ve always dreamt of can set your soul on fire and simultaneously frighten you to death. Anything fragile and beautiful presents the ability to lose something dear and that’s a lot to hold.

Relationships change and people come and go. Your world may become more insulated as you age. But nothing is lost and even if seasons are brief, they matter. Every engagement is a thread in the tapestry of your life as it unfolds.

This year was a year for the boys. A child of my bearing and a child who found me. JJ is doing beautifully well in the world and in the community. He has a team that empowers him and helps him to thrive. He’s reaching new levels of independence with the right help. And my little person is learning and growing day to day. The time they spend together is the loveliest to behold. Add Tiernan to the mix and it’s a party!

I lost one of my indoor cats that I saved from outside and oddly enough her kittens’ dad that stayed outside. They found their way back to one another.

You can’t be everything to everyone. Not even remotely. You have to make choices and sacrifice certain parts of yourself to nurture the other parts. You will let people down but the important thing is not to let yourself down or anyone whose welfare you’re supremely responsible for. I must remember this when I’m running to and fro with a baby in tow.

I learned your body is pretty remarkable. It can go through arduous events and still heal. The scars, the extra weight, the thinning hair and the aches made a baby.

I might not actually like to cook as much as I used too. Or I could just be tired, but I’m still certain I love to be fed.

I learned about the gift of clarity that comes with sickness. The bubble of Jameson’s hospital stay was wrenching and frightening, but also oddly peaceful. We were surrounded by doctors and nurses willing to help us around the clock. The housekeeping crew became my friends, and trips to the ice machine or across the street for a coffee became my routine. My husband wasn’t going to work and we just sat together on those uncomfortable couches and stared at our baby and prayed for his welfare. If only to practice this same humbling surrender in our other worldly power struggles.

I learned we aren’t done learning yet, not even close.