loose leaf and spiral bound

Growing up, I lived in 15 different houses. I can mark time in my head based on which house I was living in. When I say that I hate moving, I really mean it. Moving makes me physically ill. January 16, 2015 was the ninth anniversary of officially owning my own home. My little family has lived in this little house for nine years -- the most amount of time I have ever lived in one house. On those particular days where I feel defeated by the world, I remind myself that things could certainly be worse and I am so damn lucky to have the life I do. There is a specific kind of comfort in coming home after a shitty day, flopping on your couch, wrapping yourself up burrito style in a quilt your great grandma made, all while fending of slobbery kisses from your dogs, and listening to your husband and child make dinner for you in the kitchen. Because they want to make you happy. Because they care. It's one of the top five best feelings in the universe. Not everyone gets to have this feeling...

(Seriously, I tried to come up with a good name for this post, but they all started to sound like Nicholas Sparks book/movie titles..."a walk in their shoes", "a mile in his shoes", "a walk to remember", etc.) So, there is that famous saying, "until you walk a mile in someone else's shoes," or some variation thereof. I have done that. Literally. Many moons ago, my baby brother outgrew a pair of Chuck Taylors. He outgrew them in less than a year so they were still in pretty good shape. Being the kind and gentle giant he is, he gave them to his big sister. At the time, he was 10 and I was 25. Now, I'm 31 and the shoes have started to quite literally fall apart. The bends around the toe area (you know where they crease when you walk?) have split apart. Threads are coming undone at the seams and are starting to fray. The black trim around the shoes has left for parts unknown. Every time I take them off, I need to dump out the little pie...

Occasionally, my emotions are so overwhelming it seems like I could stop time and actually touch my feelings; like they are tangible things I could hold in my hands and rotate, look at, and dissect. This weekend we (me, my husband, and my daughter) loaded up in our old Chevy truck and drove out to my mother's house in rural Nebraska for dinner. It was early evening, the sun was bright, the breeze was cool, the windows were down, and the radio was up. The three of us didn't have to talk to fill the gaps between us on the bench seat. We were comfortable just singing along with the Top 40 country songs coming through the speakers. As we drove along, I felt...well, I just felt. I felt strong, loved, and perfectly perfect. It was one of those rare moments-in-time when all is right in the world. There really wasn't anything extra special about the day, the drive, or the song. We've driven that stretch of highway countless times together. But that moment was special - the ...