The way we’ve long since run out of fingers on two hands to count the years together. The fact that, thankfully, picture quality has improved dramatically since then. The way we’ve added a whole lot of love — and a healthy amount of crazy — to our life along the way. The way we’ve gotten to grow up together, from high school to college, marriage to puppies and a house, and now these two sweet boys. The life we’ve built in all the ordinary days between the big milestones.The way he makes me laugh, and the way I get to watch him make our boys laugh, too. The way there are so many versions of us tucked into these 17 years. The fact that through all the ups and downs and changes, there is still no one I’d rather do this life with.Seventeen years down, and somehow the good just keeps getting better.
I’ve been documenting a Week in the Life with Ali Edwards for as long as I can remember. It’s a practice she started that combines photos and words to capture the everyday details of life for one week. Her project is often accompanied by a scrapbook, but I’ve always kept mine in my journal or shared it here on the blog.
Since I’ve been mostly offline, I haven’t kept up with when Ali does Week in the Life each year. So I thought it might be fun to start my own little tradition and document the week of my birthday every year.
The last Week in the Life I shared here was in 2022, and so much has changed since then. That’s one of the things I love most about this project. At the time, the days can feel so ordinary and repetitive, but looking back lets me see all of the gradual changes that are otherwise so easy to miss.
7:45 AM | Today we slept in, which feels like part of our Monday rhythm these days. Weekends often mean no naps for our bigger boy, so we let him sleep in whenever we can. When he wakes up, he comes in to snuggle until the very last minute before we have to get moving. Breakfast and vitamins for him and for me. After the dogs get their breakfast, they hang around the kitchen while I make lunch, waiting to see if there are any extras for them.
8:30 AM| Wrapping up our morning routine. These days, feeding the baby adds about 30 minutes to getting everyone ready. It’s a little pocket of calm among the chaos because there’s really nothing productive I can do at the same time. Currently loving the chair in the room where my rocker is. Some mornings I end up being joined by everyone in the house.
12:43 PM | Daytime contains cycles of sleeping, eating, and playing. During the first one, I drop big brother off at school and try to get any errands done. I love being able to do things like returns and shopping during the week instead of spending our weekends doing them when the stores are more crowded. Today was a quick trip to the store for storage bins, and then I packed up a few of Callahan’s outgrown toys to make room for the new ones from his recent birthday.
4:47 PM | In the afternoons, one of us does school pickup while the other starts dinner. Today I went to pickup while Wesley finished his nap at home. We had beef tacos and fruit for dinner—keeping things simple these days. I loved our matching stripes and big man’s ever-growing Pokémon collection.
6:56 PM | After dinner, we watched baseball (Cardinals vs Reds tonight) and went for a walk outside. It’s been miserably hot lately, with heat indices over 100 and insane humidity so when we get a cooler day (in the 80’s) we take full advantage. Callahan knows how much I love flowers and asks if he can take a picture for me. Just one of those small moments I want to remember.
See you here tomorrow for more ordinary moments. I’m trying to hold onto them as they are right now—messy, repetitive, and quietly beautiful in the way only everyday life can be.
The anticipation of sunflowers year after year — and the way I stalk the Facebook page waiting for that first update that they’re finally blooming. The way their faces turn toward the morning sun. The honey bees tucked into their centers, happily collecting nectar and pollen. The fact that no matter how many times I photograph them, it never gets old. The way these fields have become part of the rhythm of our summers. The way they’ll always take me back to those tender postpartum days with both of my boys — two completely different seasons of life, somehow tied together by the same golden flowers. The way the memories just keep growing.
Some seasons are loud with milestones. Others are made up of ordinary moments that don’t seem significant until you realize they’re the last of their kind. Looking back at these photos, I see a season of waiting. Of savoring. Of making room for what—and who—was about to come.
Watching Them Together – We spent time with my brother and his family, and there is something so special about watching Callahan love on his cousin. Being able to raise kids alongside my brother is one of life’s sweetest gifts. I’ll never take this for granted.
Belly Hugs – Every morning before school, Callahan stopped to hug and kiss my belly before heading out the door. Such a quick and simple moment, but one I’ll always remember. He loved his baby brother long before he ever got to meet him.
Babymoon – We snuck away to celebrate our anniversary before becoming a family of four. A few quiet days together felt like the perfect way to close one chapter before stepping into the next.
Lunch Prep from a Chair – Near the end of pregnancy, even making lunch became something I had to sit down to do. My body was slowing down in every possible way, reminding me to rest. A photo is how I remember just how ridiculous it is.
A Pause by the Water – At a work event, my family fished while I snagged a chair and watched from the sidelines. At that point in pregnancy, being there was enough.
Room Service – For the first time ever, we ordered room service. Just the two of us, soaking up that last trip before life got wonderfully louder. Had to document a fun first.
Errands with Company – Some of our first outings with our new little man. It’s funny how even a quick trip to the store feels like an adventure when you’re learning life with a newborn.
Patterned Floors – We spent so much time wandering downtown together before the baby arrived. Callahan has been loving being downtown lately, and honestly, I can’t blame him. Looking back now, I didn’t realize I was soaking up our final days as a family of three.
One-on-One Time – In this season of balancing an almost five-year-old and a newborn, I’ve been trying to intentionally carve out moments with each of my boys. They both need me in such different ways and I’m learning that sometimes love looks like being fully present with one child at a time.
When I took these photos, I didn’t know they’d tell the story of a transition. The last belly hugs before they became hugs for a baby brother. The last adventures as a family of three. The first outings with our newest little love.
Life changes and it’s easy to overlook the subtle turning points if you’re not being intentional about seeing them. I’ll always be grateful for photographing the moments that seemed ordinary in this season.
Alicia posted a photo of textures on Substack in June and I made my own version for the summer.
A lot of what I share here begins as something small—just a few lines in a notebook that I don’t mean to turn into anything more. Most of it is just me trying to keep up with my own life, to catch something before it slips past unnoticed. Sometimes those entries stretch a little longer, and eventually they make their way here, still carrying that same quiet intention.
Autumn felt different in that way. I found myself paying attention to textures more than usual. The roughness of leaves as they dried out, the softness of worn sweaters pulled back into rotation, the way the light shifted and landed differently across familiar spaces. It gave me something to notice, something to return to throughout the days.
I think that’s part of what keeps me drawn to both photography and writing things down like this. Not to document everything perfectly, but to catch the subtle changes—the ones that don’t ask for attention but quietly shape a season. The way a room feels different in October than it does in August. The way routines soften or settle without you realizing it right away.
Paying attention to textures kept my eyes open in a way I didn’t expect. It made ordinary moments feel layered, almost like there was more to hold onto than I would have noticed otherwise. And now, looking back, it’s those small, tactile things that seem to define the season more than any single event.
Maybe that’s what I’m always trying to do when I write or take a photo—hold onto something that is already changing. Not in a way that stops it, but in a way that lets me return to it later and recognize it for what it was.
Alicia posted a photo of textures on Substack in June and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
This summer has been overflowing with good things—sun-soaked weekends, full calendars, laughter spilling late into the night. And yet, if I’m honest, it has also left me feeling spent, like a pitcher poured out too many times without being refilled. Our busy weekends have stretched long, causing our normal rhythms to spill over into the week, blurring the lines between rest and hurry.
The patterns of the seasons—both the ones written in creation and the ones we choose for ourselves—never fail to amaze me. They tumble forward like a ball rolling downhill, picking up speed until it seems unstoppable. Summer, in all its brilliance, can feel like that: bursting with life and color, but racing so fast it’s hard to catch your breath.
I wouldn’t trade the joys of this season—being with our people and soaking in experiences—for anything. And yet, woven into that joy is a gentle longing for what’s ahead. I find myself dreaming of fall: the cozy season, where the air cools, routines return, and the pace of life shifts from sprint to stroll.
This idea to look for textures is an invitation to pause in the middle of the whirlwind. A reminder that this season won’t last forever, both in the sense of summer itself and the phase of life I’m in right now. Change will come, as it always does. And in the meantime, there is goodness here too.
Even in the hustle, God’s kindness shows up—in small, almost imperceptible ways. In the moments where I don’t have to choose or plan or decide. In the quiet spaces where I can finally breathe, and remember that I don’t hold my life together. He does. And somehow, that makes both the fullness of summer and the slowness of fall feel like gifts worth receiving.
