Sure this is a day early, but tomorrow I will be so busy de-catifying and cleaning and fixing and bustling and hustling– that I won’t have time to write an entry.

But shouldn’t you be thankful you’re getting one at all? That’s right you should be ๐Ÿ˜‰

I’m thankful for my family. Both near and far. ๐Ÿ™‚ I’m grateful for the view I have from my window (even if it is just for one more week) I’m happy and thankful for my house, it’s nice to say that we’re having thanksgiving with the H family in my house ๐Ÿ™‚ Yay! I’m grateful for my husband who doesn’t get upset at my whining, listens and respects me, loves me, supports me. He does such an amazing job with Katie who— BTW is the sweetest girl and we love her so much. I’m grateful that our family is expanding (in more ways than one ๐Ÿ˜‰ Which is to say marriage in addition to pregnancy!) I’m grateful for the awesome past I have, and the totally wonderful sibs I have too.ย  I am thankful for my new ward. They are welcoming and sweet. They are nice but not overbearing. It makes me feel good. I’m thankful for our jobs (both Scott and i’s) that they are able to provide for us, and our family. I feel very fortunate that in this time of uncertainty that we are able to continue to have our jobs and the income they provide for us. I’m very happy and appreciative of the time and place that we live. Things are hard, but in perspective, things are often hardย  and in reality — will not magically get better by wishing things were different, or blaming someone else for the problem. That won’t solve anything– So work in the now.

I was thinking earlier about my writing. it’s not… common that i write. I write when I feel something and then I try my best to express the feeling that I have.ย  The image in my head. I don’t often successfully paint a picture with words. I feel like i have all these awesome images in my head that If I could just find a way I could express them and show them to someone. it’s very frustrating to have something like that trapped in your head. Smeyer said that Bella and Edward were there until she wrote and wrote and got rid of them. For me, it’s like the pictures, are never satisfied with what I write. They just want more and more. There isn’t ever a story, just vivid images. I suppose that’s where the problem is, that the images don’t translate into the story. it’s like knowing what you want to say, but feeling absolutely too tongue tied to say it. have you ever had the experience where someone wakes you up and asks you a question and you know the answer, so you tell them what you think is the right answer, and they just stare at you like you’re insane (because you’re telling them gibberish) and then you get angrier and angrier because they don’t understand what you’re telling them? (Scott know’s what I’m talking about.) I feel like that sometimes fully awake. I try and try to show people. I feel like inside my head are some of the most heartbreaking, earth shattering, heart melting stories– and I just can’t– I can’t tell anyone. I can’t get them out. It’s unnerving.


A young woman sits in a rocking chair next to a window. She wears a long dressing gown, her hair braided loosely draped over her shoulder. She’s waiting.

The chair squeaks as she lolls back. It seems to protest.ย  Her slippers scuff against the floor, making a muted noise.ย  She lets a heavy sigh escape her lips. Her hands worry the wooden armrests on the chair. She’s waiting for him.

She pulls an afghan over her legs. She’s not sure what time it is. She curls into the chair, trying to remember when she was young. The chair seems to pull her in as she pulls her knees to her chest. A deep breath. The smell of cedar reminds her of her grandmother. The chair groans in protest. Almost seeming to say “Sit properly” like her grandmother would. She ignores it all the same. She doesn’t want to sit like a proper lady. She doesn’t want to be an adult.

She just wants him to come home.

Time seems to stop. With No light outside, it’s hard to tell if much is changing at all. The sun had set hours ago. At least it seemed like hours. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and hummed. “Soon.” She said, “He’ll be home Soon.”


Derringer Meryl [Vignette] Out

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