NP&G

Faith for the ordinary! Grace for the everyday! Joy around the table

  • Three Girls Vanished on Halloween Night. But This Story Started 25 Years Earlier.

    I have officially fallen down the rabbit hole of writing a thriller.

    And this one?

    Oh, she’s creepy.

    She’s twisty.

    She’s full of secrets, small-town gossip, mothers who aren’t telling the truth, an abandoned section of a high school, and a Halloween night that went terribly wrong.

    Meet my newest psychological thriller:

    NO ONE SAW

    No One Saw by: Bobbi J. Earp

    Three girls vanished. Three mothers lied. Twenty-five years later, someone remembers.

    And I am already completely obsessed with this story.

    Welcome to Black Ridge, North Carolina

    Black Ridge is the kind of little North Carolina foothills town where everybody knows everybody.

    Friday night football matters.

    Families have known each other for generations.

    People wave when they pass you on the road.

    There are church steeples, pumpkin stands, winding mountain roads, old farmhouses and the kind of downtown where everybody knows exactly whose child just got caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

    Serious crime?

    That happens somewhere else.

    At least, that’s what people in Black Ridge like to believe.

    Until Halloween night.

    October 31, 2026

    Black Ridge High School is holding its annual Halloween dance.

    By the end of the night, three teenage girls are missing.

    Caroline “Caro” Mercer, 17.

    Popular. Polished. Student council president. The girl who seems to have everything together.

    She came dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.

    Jade Holloway, 16.

    Sarcastic. Artistic. Rebellious. A photographer with a habit of going places she’s been told not to go.

    She came dressed as a witch.

    Evelyn “Evie” Bell, 17.

    Quiet. Brilliant. Observant. The kind of girl who spends more time in the library than at parties.

    She came dressed as a ghost bride.

    Three completely different girls.

    Three different circles.

    Three different lives.

    And by the time their mothers arrive to pick them up…

    all three are gone.

    Their cars are still there.

    Their belongings have been left behind.

    Nobody remembers seeing them leave together.

    Security cameras don’t appear to show anyone taking them.

    There is no obvious reason the three disappearances should be connected.

    Until someone finds an old photograph.

    Halloween, 2001

    Twenty-five years earlier, four teenage girls attended another Halloween dance at Black Ridge High.

    Natalie.

    Rachel.

    Rebecca.

    And Mallory Crane.

    Only three of them went home.

    Mallory disappeared that night.

    No body.

    No arrest.

    No explanation.

    For twenty-five years, Black Ridge has had its theories.

    Mallory ran away.

    Mallory met someone.

    Mallory was murdered.

    Mallory knew something she shouldn’t have known.

    Eventually the posters came down.

    The searches stopped.

    People stopped talking about her.

    Natalie, Rachel and Rebecca grew up.

    They built lives.

    They became mothers.

    And they buried what happened that night.

    But secrets don’t stay buried forever.

    Because the three girls who disappear in 2026?

    They’re their daughters.

    And when the mothers begin searching Black Ridge High, they find a photograph from Halloween 2001 waiting for them.

    Someone has drawn a black X across Mallory Crane’s face.

    Underneath it are four words:

    YOU LEFT HER HERE.

    And suddenly the question isn’t simply:

    Where are the girls?

    It’s:

    What happened to Mallory Crane twenty-five years ago?

    And That’s Where Things Get Twisted…

    Because Caro, Jade and Evie may not be as unconnected as everyone believes.

    Their mothers definitely aren’t telling the whole truth.

    Someone has been watching.

    Someone remembers Halloween 2001 very differently.

    And hidden inside the oldest part of Black Ridge High are secrets that were never meant to be discovered.

    Then there’s Detective Lena Cross.

    Lena grew up in Black Ridge before leaving for Charlotte and eventually returning home. She’s spent enough time investigating serious crimes to know when someone is lying.

    And Natalie, Rachel and Rebecca?

    They’re lying.

    Maybe not about everything.

    But definitely about something.

    The deeper Lena digs into Halloween 2001, the harder it becomes to separate the girls who disappeared tonight from the girl who disappeared twenty-five years ago.

    And my favorite part?

    Everyone has a secret.

    Some are heartbreaking.

    Some are terrifying.

    And some are dangerous enough to make someone willing to do almost anything to keep them hidden.

    The Vibe

    If you love psychological thrillers with:

    • Small-town secrets
    • Dual timelines
    • Missing girls
    • Unreliable memories
    • Creepy old schools
    • Hidden rooms
    • Anonymous messages
    • Family secrets
    • Halloween atmosphere
    • Mothers protecting their children
    • Old friendships that ended badly
    • Red herrings
    • “WAIT… WHAT?!” chapter endings
    • And twists that make you rethink everything you thought you knew…

    NO ONE SAW might be your kind of book.

    This one is darker.

    More atmospheric.

    And every time I think I know exactly where the story is going, another little piece falls into place and makes me want to turn the entire thing upside down again.

    One Thing I Can Tell You…

    There is a reason this book is called NO ONE SAW.

    Actually…

    there are several.

    No one saw the three girls leave.

    No one saw exactly what happened to Mallory Crane.

    And in a town where everybody watches everybody?

    It turns out an awful lot can happen when people decide not to see what’s right in front of them.

    I am still deep in the writing process, so I’m keeping the biggest secrets locked away for now.

    But I can tell you this:

    Halloween night in Black Ridge is far from over.

    And somebody has been waiting twenty-five years for the truth to come out.

    NO ONE SAW
    A psychological thriller by Bobbi J. Earp

    Three girls vanished. Three mothers lied. Twenty-five years later, someone remembers

    Would you enter the abandoned wing of Black Ridge High to find out what happened to Mallory Crane?

    Because apparently my characters have absolutely no survival instincts.

    And I love them for it.

    If you’re interested in receiving the first chapter, please comment below! watch for the release of my first official thriller, October 24, 2026!

  • It’s the little things that matter

    There’s just something about October that makes ordinary days feel a little more magical.

    Maybe it’s the cooler mornings and the leaves beginning to change. Maybe it’s pumpkins appearing on every porch, cozy blankets making their way back onto the couch, and the kids getting ridiculously excited every time they spot another Halloween decoration.

    Or maybe October is simply our excuse to turn everyday moments into fall adventures.

    And around here, an adventure doesn’t have to mean packing everyone into the car and going somewhere elaborate. Sometimes it looks like four little kids gathered around the kitchen table with tiny black cauldrons filled to the brim with popcorn and candy corn.

    Because obviously popcorn tastes better when it comes out of a cauldron.

    Then there were our Vampire Kisses drinks—sweet, red, spooky-looking concoctions served in mason jars (ice, Sprite Zero & Jordan’s Vapire Kiss Syrup) topped with their very own vampire teeth. Just creepy enough to make the kids think they were drinking something straight out of a vampire’s kitchen, but cute enough that nobody was actually scared.

    So much fun!

    Add in a not-so-spooky Halloween movie, and suddenly an ordinary afternoon at home became one of those little memories I know I’m going to miss someday.

    That’s the thing I’m learning about raising these four.

    I don’t think they’re going to remember whether the kitchen was spotless. They probably won’t remember what I had planned for the day or the hundred other things sitting unfinished on my to-do list.

    But they might remember sitting around our big wooden table, digging candy corn out of tiny cauldrons.

    They might remember giggling over Vampire Kisses.

    They might remember curling up together to watch silly Halloween movies while the house felt warm and cozy.

    And I hope they remember that Mom made October fun.

    There will be plenty of bigger fall adventures this month—pumpkin patches, crunchy leaves, Halloween costumes, chilly evenings, maybe a hayride or two. But I think some of my favorite adventures will happen right here at home.

    No tickets.

    No elaborate plans.

    Just popcorn, candy corn, tiny cauldrons, spooky drinks, movies and four little people I happen to really love hanging out with.

    Because childhood moves ridiculously fast.

    So this October, I’m choosing the cute treats.

    I’m choosing the silly traditions.

    I’m choosing the movie afternoons, the sticky fingers, the candy corn scattered across the table and the extra few minutes together.

    October is for fall adventures. But most of all, October is for making memories with the people who make home our favorite place to be.

    — Bobbi

  • The Joy of Being Avi Lynne’s Mama

    There are some people who come into your life and somehow make everything a little brighter, a little louder, a little more colorful, and a whole lot more fun.

    For me, one of those people is Avi Lynne.

    Being her mama is one of the greatest blessings of my life. I get a front-row seat to this beautiful little girl becoming exactly who God created her to be—and goodness, what a privilege that is.

    Avi is the kind of girl who refuses to fit neatly into a box.

    She loves all the frilly things. Give her a pretty dress, something pink, a little sparkle, and she’s happy. But don’t let the ruffles fool you.

    This girl also loves skateboards.

    She’ll trade the fancy shoes for cleats and head straight to t-ball or the soccer field. She can be sweet and delicate one minute and ready to run, climb, compete, and try something completely new the next.

    And I absolutely love that about her.

    Her interests are just as wonderfully Avi.

    She loves Yoda, Mario, Stitch, and—most importantly at this particular moment—Teen Titans Go! Because when you’re little, we all know that today’s greatest obsession could be replaced by something completely different next week.

    But underneath all those things she loves is an even bigger heart.

    Avi isn’t only an incredible daughter. She’s a wonderful little sister, and somehow she’s an even better big sister.

    Watching her love her siblings is one of those things that makes my mama heart feel like it might burst. She knows what it’s like to look up to someone, but she also knows what it’s like to have someone looking up to her. And watching her grow into both of those roles has been such a gift.

    She’s loving. She’s funny. She’s independent. She’s determined.

    And when Avi decides she’s going to do something, apparently the rest of us just need to get out of the way.

    Case in point: she taught herself to swim.

    She decided she was ready, figured it out, and took off. That’s Avi. There’s this incredible determination tucked inside that little girl. She may be wearing ruffles while she does it, but she’s going to figure it out.

    That same determination is showing up in kindergarten, too.

    Watching her learn this year has been amazing. She’s doing so well, and seeing her confidence grow with every new thing she learns makes me incredibly proud. There is something so special about watching your child realize, Hey, I can do this.

    And Avi Lynne absolutely can.

    I know there will be so many versions of her that I get to meet over the years.

    The things she loves will change. Teen Titans Go probably won’t always be at the top of the list. The little kindergarten assignments will eventually become bigger books and harder math. Her feet will outgrow those tiny cleats. One day, swimming across the pool won’t feel like such a huge accomplishment.

    But I hope some things never change.

    I hope she always loves fiercely.

    I hope she always has the confidence to try something new.

    I hope she never believes she has to choose between being the girl who loves pretty dresses and the girl who loves skateboards.

    I hope she keeps being silly.

    I hope she keeps being brave.

    I hope she always knows that being exactly who God created her to be is more than enough.

    Most of all, I hope she always knows how incredibly loved she is.

    Because before the swimming, kindergarten, soccer, t-ball, skateboards, Mario, Stitch, Yoda, ruffles, and Teen Titans Go, there is simply Avi Lynne.

    My daughter.

    Her sister.

    Their big sister.

    Their little sister.

    A beautiful, funny, determined little girl who brings something to our family that nobody else ever could.

    And I am so incredibly thankful that God chose me to be her mama.

    Avi Lynne, you are one of the greatest blessings of my life. Watching you grow is an adventure, loving you is easy, and being your mama is a privilege I will never take for granted.

    Keep being exactly who you are, sweet girl.

    Ruffles, skateboards and all. ❤️

  • Lillie Ruth Is Rocking It

    Being four is tough.

    I mean, really tough.

    You’re not a baby anymore, and you’ll be the first person to remind everyone of that. But you’re not quite one of the big kids either. You’re stuck somewhere in the middle—old enough to have very big opinions, but still little enough that sometimes those big feelings are way too much for your tiny body to hold.

    And right now, our Lillie Ruth is right there in the thick of it.

    Four is wanting to do everything “BY MYSELF!” and then, five minutes later, desperately needing Mama because something didn’t go exactly as planned.

    Four is knowing exactly which cup you wanted—but somehow everyone else was supposed to know, too.

    Four is wanting independence while still needing cuddles.

    It’s wanting to be brave while also wanting someone to check under the bed.

    It’s running full speed into the world one minute and crawling into Mama’s lap the next.

    Four is hard.

    But goodness, Lillie Ruth is rocking it.

    She is growing into this funny, strong, sweet, opinionated little person right before our eyes. Every day, there seems to be a little more independence. A little more confidence. A little more personality.

    Okay… maybe a lot more personality.

    There are moments when four tests every ounce of patience we have. The negotiations. The tears over things that seem incredibly small to grown-ups but feel enormous to her. The sudden declarations that something she loved yesterday is absolutely unacceptable today.

    And sometimes I have to remind myself that she’s not giving me a hard time.

    She’s having a hard time.

    Because being four means learning how to be a person.

    She’s learning what disappointment feels like.

    She’s learning that sometimes the answer is no.

    She’s learning how to share, how to wait, how to apologize, how to speak up, how to calm down and how to try again.

    She’s learning that she can be angry with someone and still love them.

    She’s learning that mistakes don’t mean the end of the world.

    She’s learning where she fits in this big family of ours.

    And she’s doing all of that while still being little enough to need her mama.

    There are days when I look at her and see the baby she was. I can still picture that tiny little girl who needed me for absolutely everything.

    Then she says something hilarious, puts her hands on her hips with all the confidence in the world, or insists she can handle something completely on her own, and suddenly I catch a glimpse of the girl she’s becoming.

    That’s the bittersweet part of motherhood.

    We spend so much time teaching them how to grow that sometimes we don’t realize just how quickly they’re actually doing it.

    So yes, being four is hard.

    There are big feelings.

    There are battles over things that make absolutely no sense.

    There are tears.

    There are giggles.

    There are a million questions.

    There are moments of fierce independence followed immediately by, “Mama, hold me.”

    And I hope I never become so focused on correcting the hard parts that I forget to celebrate the beautiful ones.

    Because Lillie Ruth is learning.

    She’s growing.

    She’s figuring out this whole big world one four-year-old adventure at a time.

    And through all the messiness, emotions, laughter, stubbornness, sweetness and growing pains, one thing is certain:

    Lillie Ruth is absolutely rocking being four.

    And I am so incredibly lucky that I get a front-row seat. ❤️

    I’ll be so sad when she’s too old for fake glasses and baby dolls!
  • I took a picture of myself today.

    The image I took! I honestly dislike it so much. However I forced myself to walk out of the bathroom in my swim suit and go swimming with my kids. Because they don’t care what I look like. They just want me to play!

    And almost immediately, I started picking it apart.

    My stomach. My face. The angle. The parts of me that looked bigger than I wanted them to look. The things I wished I could smooth, shrink, hide, or change.

    It’s amazing how quickly we can do that, isn’t it?

    We can look at a photograph filled with an entire person—a woman who loves deeply, works hard, raises babies, keeps a home moving, carries a thousand invisible responsibilities—and somehow reduce her to the size of her stomach.

    And I started thinking about my children.

    Especially my girls.

    What are they learning when they watch me look at myself?

    Because whether I realize it or not, they are watching.

    Being a Confident Woman Is Hard

    There is something incredibly difficult about being a confident woman in today’s world.

    We are surrounded by messages telling us what we should look like.

    Lose the weight.

    Smooth the wrinkles.

    Cover the ever evolving glitter (greys).

    Fix your skin.

    Tone your stomach.

    Dress younger—but not too young.

    Age gracefully—but somehow don’t look like you’ve aged.

    Be comfortable in your body—but only after you’ve changed it.

    It is exhausting.

    And social media has made it even harder.

    We don’t just compare ourselves to celebrities anymore. We compare ourselves to women we went to high school with, women from church, other moms at the playground, influencers, strangers, and sometimes even our own younger selves.

    We scroll through carefully selected photographs without seeing the twenty pictures that were deleted first.

    We see flattering angles, good lighting, filters, makeup, editing, and perfectly timed snapshots.

    Then we look in the bathroom mirror under fluorescent lighting and wonder why we don’t measure up.

    But measure up to what?

    Our Environment Shapes the Way We See Ourselves

    The things surrounding us eventually become the voices inside our heads.

    If we’re constantly surrounded by messages telling us that smaller is better, younger is better, smoother is better, and prettier is better, eventually we begin believing that our value is somehow connected to how closely we can get to those things.

    And sometimes those messages don’t even come from strangers.

    Maybe you grew up hearing women criticize their bodies.

    Maybe your mother constantly talked about needing to lose weight.

    Maybe someone commented on your body when you were young and you’ve carried those words for decades.

    Maybe you’ve spent years thinking you’d finally be confident when you lost twenty pounds.

    Or when you fit into that size again.

    Or when you got your hair done.

    Or when the stretch marks faded.

    Or when you finally looked like the woman you thought you were supposed to be.

    But what happens if we spend our entire lives waiting to love ourselves?

    More importantly, what happens when our children watch us do it?

    Our Children Are Listening

    I never want my daughters to look at their bodies and immediately search for something wrong.

    I don’t want them standing in front of a mirror at sixteen, twenty-five, forty, or sixty and hearing a voice telling them they aren’t enough.

    And I certainly don’t want that voice to sound like mine.

    I want my son to grow up understanding that a woman’s worth isn’t determined by her waistline, her age, her clothing size, or whether she looks like the women on his screen.

    But teaching our children confidence requires more than telling them they’re beautiful.

    They need to see it.

    They need to see Mom get into the swimming pool instead of sitting on the side because she doesn’t like how she looks in a swimsuit.

    They need to see Mom get into the family picture.

    They need to hear Mom accept a compliment without immediately responding with something negative about herself (I’m working on this, myself).

    They need to see Mom eat without apologizing for it.

    They need to see Mom wear the dress.

    Take the picture.

    Laugh loudly.

    Show up.

    Live.

    Because one day our children may treat themselves the way they watched us treat ourselves.

    That’s a sobering thought.

    But This Is Bigger Than Body Positivity

    For me, confidence can’t simply come from looking into a mirror and telling myself I’m beautiful.

    Because some days I won’t feel beautiful.

    Some days the jeans won’t fit.

    Some days I’ll notice another wrinkle.

    Some days I’ll see a photograph and wish the angle had been different.

    If my confidence depends entirely on how I feel about my appearance that day, it will always be fragile.

    That’s why I have to remind myself of something much bigger.

    I was made in the image of God.

    Genesis 1:27 tells us:

    “So God created man in His own image; He created him in the image of God; He created them male and female.”

    Think about that.

    Before the world ever had an opinion about my body, God created me in His image.

    Before there were clothing sizes, beauty standards, filters, diet culture, anti-aging products, or social media, there was a Creator who looked at His creation and called it good.

    My worth was never supposed to come from a mirror.

    It comes from Him.

    My Body Has Done More Than Look Pretty

    Somewhere along the way, I think many of us were taught to view our bodies primarily as decorations.

    But my body isn’t decoration.

    It has carried me through my life.

    There is room for growth without shame.

    These arms have held babies.

    This lap has been climbed into countless times.

    These hands have made meals, wiped tears, tied shoes, cleaned messes, turned pages of bedtime stories, held tiny hands, and folded approximately seventeen billion loads of laundry.

    This face has laughed until it hurt.

    These eyes have cried.

    This body has changed through seasons of life because I have lived inside of it.

    Maybe instead of constantly asking whether our bodies look good enough, we should occasionally stop and thank God for everything they have allowed us to experience.

    Confidence Doesn’t Mean Loving Every Picture

    I think that’s important to say.

    Confidence doesn’t mean I’ll never have an insecurity again.

    It doesn’t mean I have to look at every photograph and think, Wow, I look amazing.

    It doesn’t mean wanting to exercise, lose weight, wear makeup, color our hair, or change something automatically means we don’t love ourselves.

    There is room for taking care of ourselves while also refusing to hate ourselves.

    There is room for saying:

    I may want to change some things, but I don’t have to hate the woman I am today.

    And maybe that’s the kind of confidence I want my children to see.

    Not perfection.

    Freedom.

    So I’m Trying Something Different

    I’m trying to stop criticizing myself in front of my children.

    I’m trying to stop hiding from photographs.

    I’m trying to stop believing every unflattering angle deserves to be deleted.

    I’m trying to remember that the little people watching me don’t see the things I criticize.

    They see Mom.

    They see the woman they run to when they’re hurt.

    The woman they want when they’re scared.

    The woman whose lap still feels like home.

    The woman they ask to play, swim, snuggle, read, color, explore, and stay just a little longer.

    They aren’t measuring my waist.

    They’re measuring my presence.

    And someday, when they’re grown, I don’t want them looking through childhood photographs and wondering why Mom was always behind the camera.

    I want to be there.

    Mama, Get in the Picture

    Wear the swimsuit.

    Get in the pool.

    Put on the shorts.

    Take the selfie.

    Stand beside your babies for the picture.

    And when that little voice immediately points out everything you think is wrong with you, answer it with something stronger.

    I am God’s creation.

    I am made in His image.

    My body is not the measure of my worth.

    I do not have to become smaller to deserve to take up space in my own life.

    Our children are growing up in the same world that taught us to criticize ourselves.

    We may not be able to silence every message they’ll hear.

    But we can make sure there is another voice in their lives.

    A voice reminding them that they were intentionally and wonderfully created.

    A voice teaching them that bodies change and beauty fades, but character, faith, kindness, courage, and love matter infinitely more.

    And maybe that voice begins with the way we speak about ourselves.

    Because our daughters deserve to grow into women who don’t spend decades at war with their reflections.

    Our sons deserve to grow into men who understand that women are so much more than bodies to evaluate.

    And our children deserve mothers who aren’t waiting until they look different to start living.

    So, Mama—

    Get in the picture.

    Not because you finally found the perfect angle.

    Not because you’ve reached your goal weight.

    Not because you suddenly love every inch of yourself.

    Get in the picture because you were there.

    Because this is your life, too.

    Because those babies love the woman standing in front of that mirror exactly as she is.

    And because long before the world told you what beautiful was supposed to look like, God made you in His image.

    That is where your worth began.

    And no mirror gets to take that away.

  • 2026-2027

    The Girls excited for a new school year

    There’s something so special about the first day of a new homeschool year.

    Maybe it’s the freshly sharpened pencils and untouched workbooks. Maybe it’s the excitement of starting something new. Or maybe, in our house, it’s the combination of bed head, cinnamon rolls, first-day pictures, and swimsuits waiting for after lunch. 😂

    Whatever it is, our first day back to homeschooling was perfectly us.

    The morning started with sleepy little faces and some truly impressive bed head. No rushing out the door. No scrambling to catch a bus. Just kids waking up at home, wandering into the kitchen, and immediately becoming VERY interested in one important detail about the day:

    Cinnamon rolls.

    Because apparently nothing says academic excellence quite like warm, gooey cinnamon rolls for breakfast. 😂

    And really, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

    First Day Pictures 📸

    Of course, before we could officially begin, Mama needed the first-day-of-school pictures.

    You know the ones.

    The pictures where everyone has grown approximately seventeen inches since last year, even though you swear you just took last year’s photos yesterday.

    There’s something bittersweet about those first-day pictures. I’m excited for everything ahead of them, but part of me also wants to freeze the moment.

    These are the days I know I’ll miss.

    The little smiles. The bed head that didn’t quite get brushed down. The excitement over new school supplies. The tiny hands holding first-day signs.

    Another year older.

    Another year of learning.

    Another year I’m incredibly thankful to get to spend right here beside them.

    Preschool, Kindergarten & Second Grade! ✏️🍎

    This year feels especially exciting because we have preschool, kindergarten, and second grade happening under our roof!

    There was so much excitement about starting their new grades.

    Preschool brings all the fun—colors, letters, crafts, stories, cutting, gluing, singing, and discovering that learning can be an adventure.

    Kindergarten feels like such a big milestone. There’s something magical about watching those early reading and math skills begin to click and seeing that little spark when they realize, “Hey! I can do this!”

    And then there’s second grade.

    Bigger books. Bigger ideas. More independence. Watching everything they’ve learned begin to build on itself is one of my favorite parts of homeschooling.

    We may all be learning at different levels, but we’re doing it together.

    And that’s one of the things I love most.

    Our Classroom Doesn’t Always Have Four Walls ☀️

    We worked through our morning lessons, practiced our skills, and settled back into the rhythm of school.

    Was everything perfectly quiet and organized?

    Absolutely not. 😂

    There were interruptions. There were wiggles. There were probably pencils that disappeared even though they had literally been sitting on the table two seconds earlier.

    But there was also laughter.

    There was learning.

    There was excitement.

    And there was the freedom to make our school day work for our family.

    So after lunch?

    We went swimming. 💦

    Because that’s homeschool, too.

    Sometimes learning happens around the table with a pencil in your hand.

    Sometimes it happens curled up together reading a book.

    Sometimes it happens outside exploring.

    And sometimes you finish your schoolwork, throw on your swimsuit, and spend the afternoon making memories in the water.

    Here’s to a New Homeschool Year ❤️

    The first day back wasn’t about having a Pinterest-perfect homeschool day.

    It was about beginning.

    It was about cinnamon-roll-covered fingers, first-day pictures, excited little learners, new grades, and the promise of another year together.

    There will be hard days this year. There will probably be days when someone cries over math—and there’s a decent chance that someone will be me. 😂

    There will be days when the schedule goes completely out the window.

    But there will also be discoveries and breakthroughs. Field trips and crafts. Books piled on the couch. Kitchen-table lessons. Adventures. Laughter. Ordinary afternoons that somehow become the memories we treasure most.

    Today, though, was simply Day One.

    Preschool. Kindergarten. Second grade.

    Bed head.

    Cinnamon rolls.

    First-day pictures.

    A little schoolwork.

    And swimming after lunch.

    I’d say we’re off to a pretty great start. ❤️

    Here’s to another year of learning, growing, exploring, and doing life together.

    Happy first day back to homeschool! 📚✏️🍎

  • When Electricity “Abducts” Water

    When Electricity “Abducts” Water

    One of my favorite things about homeschooling is that learning doesn’t just happen during circle time or math lessons.

    Sometimes it happens in the kitchen…
    Sometimes in the car…
    And sometimes in the middle of a completely random conversation.

    Today my oldest daughter (we’ll call her S) came running up to me with a very serious look on her face.

    S: “Mommy, guess what?”

    Me: “What?”

    She looked at me with complete confidence and announced,

    “Electricity abducts water.”

    I blinked.

    “I’m sorry… can you say that again?”

    Without missing a beat she repeated herself.

    “Electricity abducts water.”

    Trying not to laugh, I smiled and asked,

    “Do you mean… water conducts electricity?”

    Her eyes lit up.

    “Oh yeah! That’s what I meant!”

    I couldn’t resist asking one more question.

    “Do you know what conducts means?”

    She thought for a second before quietly answering,

    “No.”

    So we talked about it.

    I explained that conduct means something lets electricity travel through it. We talked about why puddles, wet hands, and electricity are never a good combination, and why we always keep electrical cords away from water.

    She nodded thoughtfully.

    “Oh.”

    Just like that, a funny mix-up turned into a little science lesson.

    As parents, I think we can sometimes feel pressure to make every lesson perfect. But moments like these remind me that some of the best learning happens naturally—in conversations, in laughter, and even in wonderfully mixed-up vocabulary.

    I’ll probably never hear the phrase “electricity abducts water” without smiling.

    And honestly… it sounds like the title of a children’s mystery novel.

    These are the moments I hope I never forget.


    Around My Table

    Today reminded me that childhood is full of beautifully imperfect words. Sometimes our children don’t need perfectly planned lessons—they just need us to pause, listen, smile, and gently guide them toward understanding. Those unexpected conversations often become the memories we treasure most.

    Have your children ever confidently used the wrong word in the funniest way? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments—I have a feeling I’m not the only parent collecting these little gems.

  • There are moments in motherhood that feel like they slip quietly into your heart and stay there forever. My five-year-old’s very first father-daughter dance is one of those moments.

    All week she talked about it like it was the royal ball.

    The evening started with the most important detail — her updo. She sat so still while I braided it, carefully spraying just enough to make it hold. She kept asking, “Do I look like a princess yet?” And oh, she did. When she stepped into her pink sparkly princess dress, the kind that shimmers when it catches the light, her whole face lit up. It wasn’t just a dress — it was magic.

    When Daddy saw her, his eyes did that thing they always do — that mix of pride and “how are you growing up so fast?” He told her she was beautiful and she believed him completely. As she should.

    There were brownies (because every magical evening needs chocolate), and she carefully chose the perfect one. The hot chocolate bar might have been her favorite part — whipped cream piled high, sprinkles on top, and the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. She held that warm cup with both hands like it was treasure.

    But the dancing… oh, the dancing.

    She danced to every song. Didn’t matter if she knew it or not. She twirled in her pink sparkles, her crown slightly tilted by the end of the night. And Daddy — he twirled her again and again. Big spins, little spins, laughing spins. The kind of twirls that make a little girl feel safe and cherished all at once.

    She left with sticky fingers from brownies, whipped cream on her lip, tired feet, and the happiest heart. On the ride home, crown still perched on her head, she said, “That was the best night ever.”

    And I believe it was.

    Because long after the sparkles fade and the dress is tucked away in the closet, she will remember how her daddy held her hand, twirled her like she was the only girl in the world, and made her feel like royalty.

    And really — she is. 💖

  • Watching little girls grow up is the most beautiful kind of bittersweet.

    One minute they’re twirling in princess dresses, holding your hand with their tiny fingers, asking for “just one more story.” The next, they’re brushing their own hair, forming their own opinions, and teaching you a thing or two about strength and grace.

    There is something so sacred about raising girls — the giggles, the sass, the tender hearts, the fierce independence blooming right before your eyes. You pray they always know their worth. You hope they stay soft but strong. You want to freeze time… but at the same time, you’re so proud watching them become exactly who they’re meant to be.

    If I could bottle up the sound of their laughter and the way they still crawl into my lap, I would. But instead, I soak it in. I take the pictures. I hold them a little longer.

    Little girls don’t stay little… but the love only grows.

    My sweet 4 yr old

    girlmom #bittersweetmoments #blessedmama #nailpolishandgiggles

  • Mimi’s

    There is something so special about packing up after Thanksgiving dinner and heading to Mimi’s house. The leftovers are barely put away, the pumpkin pie is still fresh in our memories, and somehow — just like that — Christmas begins.

    Walking into Mimi’s after Thanksgiving feels like stepping into the coziest kind of magic. The house smells warm and sweet, the decorations are already placed, and the kids are already racing toward the toy shelf before coats are even off.

    We gather around the table, laughing louder than necessary, making up rules as we go, and pretending not to notice when someone “accidentally” moves ahead a few spaces. There’s something about those simple games that slows everything down. No phones. No rush. Just time together.

    And then come the magnatiles.

    Oh, the magnatiles.

    Castles rise taller than expected. Towers lean dangerously. The girls carefully design elaborate homes while little brother knocks one down with pure toddler enthusiasm. There are gasps. There are dramatic rebuilds. There are proud “Look what I made!” announcements every five minutes. It’s creativity and chaos wrapped into one beautiful memory.

    But nothing — and I mean nothing — compares to Mimi’s famous chocolate chip pancakes.

    The smell drifting through the house. The griddle sizzling. Chocolate chips melting into golden, fluffy perfection. The kids sit at the bar in their pajamas, hair still messy from sleep, eyes wide with anticipation. Syrup drips. Laughter spills. Seconds are usually requested. Mimi stands at the griddle smiling like she knows she’s creating core memories — because she is.

    When the sun goes down we gather in front of the Christmas tree in our matching pajamas. The lights twinkle behind us, wrapping the room in that soft glow that only Christmas lights can give. The kids pile in close — arms around each other — trying to get everyone looking at the camera at the same time. It never goes perfectly, but that’s what makes it ours. Those photos — cozy, slightly chaotic, full of love — will live on long after the season passes.

    And then… the basement.

    The ball pit.

    Daddy becomes the official target.

    The kids dive in, giggling uncontrollably, scooping up armfuls of plastic balls and pelting Daddy as he dramatically pretends to be defeated. He tries to defend himself, but four little attackers are no match. The shrieks echo through the house. Not so secretly mommy and Mimi have the best laughs and time…because you know daddy is the main target.

    It’s loud.

    It’s messy.

    It’s full of life.

    And it’s ours.

    Going to Mimi’s after Thanksgiving isn’t just a visit. It’s the start of Christmas. It’s chocolate chip pancakes and twinkle lights. It’s magnatile masterpieces and board game victories. It’s basement ball pit battles and pajama pictures in front of the tree.

    Most of all, it’s family — gathered close, making memories we’ll talk about for years.

    And somehow, every single year, it feels even sweeter than the last.