The Forty Files

Sometimes the small things sneak up on you.

I volunteered to make root beer floats at the local pool today and found myself getting unexpectedly emotional watching generations of people walk in and light up at the sight of that classic combination of root beer and vanilla ice cream. Kids were excited. Parents were nostalgic. Grandparents smiled as they shared a tradition they probably enjoyed decades ago.

In a world that changes so quickly, there was something beautiful about seeing everyone celebrate the same simple treat.

Maybe that’s the magic of community—not the big events, but the little moments that bring people together and remind us that joy doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes it’s just root beer, ice cream, and a sunny afternoon at the pool. ❤️

Found a picture of me from 15 years ago sitting on the shore, waiting for a private boat tour with my beloved on our honeymoon. Sun on my shoulders. Salt in the air. A whole life ahead of us.

God, those were the days.

And then, for a moment, I caught myself mourning them before realizing something softer, truer, and maybe even more beautiful: these are the days too.

No, I haven’t wandered the coast of Italy lately. This weekend holds grocery lists instead of passports. Kid drop-offs instead of cobblestone streets. Laundry folded in warm heaps instead of linen dresses packed into suitcases. My luxury now is an iced coffee in the carpool line and six uninterrupted minutes before someone yells, “Mom?” from another room.

But love has a different texture now. Less postcard, more poetry.

It lives in the peonies he brings inside before the rain. In shared glances across crowded kitchens. In late-night takeout eaten barefoot at the counter while the house finally quiets. In daughters growing taller beside us. In the sacred ordinary of a life built slowly, faithfully, together.

Fifteen years ago, I was romanticizing Italy.
Now I find myself romanticizing this middle-aged life we made from scratch — this beautiful, chaotic, tender little world.

And maybe that’s the real magic:
realizing the days you’ll ache for someday are the ones you’re living right now.

makes my favorite candles, and so on this fine Sunday afternoon I’m burning bright with so much joy and hope for the week ahead and the season to come. Summer is almost here, and I am ready for slower evenings, open windows, sun-warmed skin, and all the small beautiful moments that make life feel full again.

They still have to be painted, but let’s hear it for the doors. Everyone says when one door opens, another closes — meanwhile, in this house, none of them closed properly for six months.

We are almost done with this damn renovation.

Tomorrow: the deep clean. Then maybe I can finally stop finding drywall dust in places drywall dust should never be.