A few months ago, my beloved grandmother passed away. It was not entirely unexpected, but the passing of such a cherished and monumental person in my life threw me into a tailspin. My world suddenly looked different and took on a different meaning. In some moments I didn’t recognize myself and in other moments I feel like I reverted emotionally to the person I was as a child. They say that the death of someone close to you changes your perspective on life, and I can certainly vouch for that.

Has anyone else out there felt like they were messing their kids up – like someday you’ll be receiving bills in the mail for your kids’ therapy? Do you have days where you feel like either you or your kids won’t survive through the day? Or is it just me?

Trigger warning: sensitive content

Do you think it’s your job to fix everyone? Or just one or two people? Do you think that other people’s happiness is dependent upon you and what you do or say or how you act?

So I had these thoughts on Sunday:

Have you ever hidden from your kids in plain sight? I never have.

I lied.

Are there any train lovers out there? Specifically, are there any tunnel lovers out there? I absolutely love tunnels. I love everything about them – their darkness, cave-like qualities, echoes, and the fact that almost always, there is literally a light at the end. I have driven through tunnels dug into mountains, giant underground tunnels carrying foot and automobile traffic underneath large cities, and I have walked through tunnels underneath streets and carved into the trunks of giant redwoods in California. The whole concept of tunnels and their different types fascinates me. Plus, echoes, amiright?

So let’s talk about health and fitness.

Yes, two days before Christmas. I’m not going to lie, I have hesitated to write about my story because it’s very raw, personal, and I have to get pretty vulnerable. So what the heck, why not share it with the world, right?

I went on a trip by myself this past weekend for the first time since having kids. It was the first time I had flown in over ten years, so I was a little nervous, but excited. I like flying – the airport people watching, the convenience, the ability to sit and rest or read or listen to music while launching hundreds of miles per hour toward your destination, shimmery city lights glistening in the inkwell below, orange and pink cotton candy clouds with nothing but blue sky above. There’s nothing quite like witnessing dark, jagged mountains silhouetted against a radiant sunset or seeing chains of lakes which resemble the water droplets leftover on the sink after brushing your teeth.

I left the chili out last night. All. Night. Long. A huge, savory, delicious pot of barbecue turkey chili that was probably the best I have ever made. The chili that was supposed to feed my family while I had to take a solo trip in a few days. The kiddos even devoured it without any complaint. Potholders were ready in the fridge to protect the glass shelf, the pot was sitting on a cool burner to cool down properly, and I left the stove light on as a reminder to myself to put it away before bed. I thought I had it all planned out. Turns out, even with all my mental “planning” I still forgot the actual putting away part.