I’ve been hiding.

There’s a part of me that pours everything into writing—my fears, my wonder, my love for my kids. But then I go quiet. I second-guess. I keep it private.

But that’s not why I make things.

I make things because in the moment, they feel true. Then they get buried in the past. But every time I dig one up—like Lucy and the Rock Game—I’m grateful I captured it.

So here’s the beginning of a new chapter: sharing my work while I’m still inside it. I’m not going to worry about who my audience is. If you’re reading this and it’s not your thing, that’s okay. This blog might not be for you.

It’s for me.
It’s for my kids.
And maybe it’s for someone else who needs it, too.

📜 Poem: "oOo Bubbles"

Bubble bubble
In the air
Where you land
I don’t care

There you sit
At the edge of change
But now you’re here
And it feels strange

All things break, all things bend
But I don’t need this to last—just pretend
If you stay, even just tonight
That’s enough to make it right

Oh Dandelion
In the weeds
Then one day …
a gentle breeze

A part lets go
when you blow
Where it goes
No one knows

This one’s for my kids.
But it’s also for anyone who’s ever tried to hold on to a moment, knowing it’ll pass.

Permanent change is temporary.
But it’s also everything. 🌬️

More soon.