Tag: family

Embracing Life’s Imperfections: A Thanksgiving Reflection

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

A Week of Imperfect Consistency, Sweet Memories, and Deep Gratitude

I’ll be honest — consistency was not my strong suit this week. I had every intention of sticking to my routine, but life had other plans. A doctor’s appointment, Thanksgiving preparations, a Friendsgiving I was supposed to attend, and even a memorial service… it all stacked up quickly.

In the end, I didn’t make it to either the Friendsgiving or the memorial service. I woke up with a migraine — one of those “thank you, fall weather” migraines that completely derail the whole day. So instead of people and plans, I surrendered to rest when my body demanded it.

And once the fog lifted, I did what brings me comfort: I headed to the kitchen.

With apples, pumpkins, and pears staring me down, I rolled up my sleeves and lost myself in the rhythm of cooking for the people I love. Apple pie. Pear tart. Pumpkin pie. As the dough came together under my hands, memories surfaced — childhood flashes of rolling out pie crusts with my mom and my Granny. Bittersweet moments. Warm hands guiding mine. Laughter. Flour everywhere.

I thought of them as my crust came out buttery, flaky, and honestly… perfect. That quiet pride felt like a little hug from the past.

Then came the Lemon Delight — the recipe taught to me by my former mother-in-law, Debbie, who learned it from her mother-in-law, Margaret. Generations of women passing down love through something as simple as dessert. I could hear Debbie’s voice reminding me that you just can’t mess up Lemon Delight. It’s simple, forgiving, and always delicious — a lot like the lessons she gave me.

As I stirred, baked, and tasted my way through the day, I found myself whispering quiet gratitude:

Here’s to my Mom.
Here’s to my Granny.
Here’s to Debbie and Margaret.
Here’s to the women who came before me, who made the dishes their families loved, and who poured themselves — heart and soul — into every meal.

Today, I honor them. I thank them for the love, the memories, the laughter, and the skills that let me move through a kitchen with confidence and purpose. Even in the darkest seasons of life, feeding the people I love anchors me. It gives me something solid to stand on.

I hope your Thanksgiving was full of warmth, good food, gentle moments, and the people who matter most. And if your week looked a little imperfect like mine? That’s okay. Life happens.

Here’s to being present anyway — in the kitchen, in the memories, and in the moments that matter.

Low Flame, Big Impact: The Strength of Being Present

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

Blog Post: A Low Flame Still Lights the Dark

I haven’t wanted to do much of anything this week. Oh, I’ve done the bare minimum the best I can. I have pain. I have grief. I have things that need doing, and absolutely no motivation to do them. Showering, cooking, cleaning—those things get done, though some days I have to talk myself into each one.

I check in on my kids. It probably annoys them sometimes; I ask the same questions and get mostly the same answers. But I hope they know I’m here. I’m listening. I cheer for them silently, and I cover them in prayer every. single. day.

Right now, I’m in my mostly silent era. I’m being still, being quiet, trying to heal the parts of myself I don’t share with the world. I’m taking a beat to remember who I am, what I stand for, and how to stay present. Even if “present” looks like me half-asleep on the couch, waiting to welcome my daughter home after her trip to say goodbye to a friend who could no longer bear the weight of his pain.

I keep reminding myself that I am not expected to have all the answers. That others need grace and mercy. That the time and space I occupy matter—and simply being present matters.

Readers, when you come across this, and as you move through your day and all the days to come, please remember to be kind. You never know what battle someone else is carrying. I’ve studied world religions and belief systems, and one major tenet shows up in every single one: don’t be a jerk. Do good where you can. Help those who struggle. We have to be the light, even if sometimes we’re only a low flame.

Always,
Julie 🙂

Embracing Consistency Amid Life’s Challenges

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

I Didn’t Feel Like Writing This Week

I’ll be honest—this week, I didn’t feel like writing at all. It’s been a doozy. More changes. More upheaval. Another loss I can’t publicly speak about yet. Just layers of raw, real emotions, stacked on top of each other like I’m supposed to carry them with grace when half the time I feel like I’m barely treading water.

But I reminded myself of something important: consistency matters. Even when the steps feel small. Even when it feels like I have nothing profound or polished to offer. Writing about my struggles, or my adventures in the kitchen, or the little victories—those things ground me. And maybe they remind someone else to keep going, too.

Inside my own mind, I’ve been giving myself constant pep talks:
Breathe. Slow down. Do better. Be the example.
And Lord knows I don’t always succeed. I miss things. I stumble. I screw up. But I am trying. I am healing, grieving, learning, and growing. And honestly? I’m proud of me.

I keep reminding myself to meditate, to be still, to move my body, to eat what nourishes me, to stretch, to breathe deeply, to stay present. Some days it feels like sooooo much. And this week especially, my mind was rebelling. I didn’t want to write my blog. I didn’t want to get a colonoscopy. I didn’t want to watch my kid leave to go help a grieving family. But I did all of it—and more.

I’m still figuring out what works for me as I get older, as life shifts under my feet, as new seasons roll in whether I ask for them or not. I hope my kids see that I’m trying to be better, to stay healthy, to keep growing. I still have some habits to break, but I’m getting there.

Halloween came and went, and I missed my mom with an ache I couldn’t shake. I want to ask her how she carried the heavy load all those years. She made it look effortless. And she was beautiful while she did it. I miss her smile and that little cackle she had. I can almost hear her telling me she left her burdens in God’s hands—that her faith, tested and steady, is what kept her standing.

She’d tell me I’m smart. That I’ll figure things out. That my instincts are good, and I should trust them. And I do still hear her voice sometimes, softer now, but still clear. I’m grateful for that. Grateful for her.

So here’s my reminder to you—and to myself:
Do your best out there.
Be yourself.
Trust your instincts.
Keep moving.

Love and Light, y’all.

Therapeutic Cooking: Finding Peace in Recipes

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

Finding Peace in the Kitchen: Cooking My Way Through the Chaos

Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the kitchen — testing recipes, adjusting ingredients, and finding creative ways to use what I already have on hand. It’s not just about food; it’s about coping. It’s how I manage the discombobulation of my feelings, the uncertainty of the world, and the heaviness that sometimes tries to creep in. Cooking keeps my hands busy, my mind focused, and my heart grounded.

My kids are loving this little culinary journey — they’ve become my official taste testers. Not every recipe is a winner, but that’s part of the fun. My cinnamon rolls, for example, turned out tough and not fluffy at all. Instead of tossing them, I chopped them up, added a custard base, and turned them into a cinnamon roll French toast bake. It was a hit! Proof that even “failed” recipes can have delicious second lives.

I’ve been challenging myself to waste less and create more. Leftover taco meat, beans, Spanish rice, and corn turned into a comforting fall soup — some went straight into the freezer for another day. A close-dated can of fruit cocktail became the unexpected star of my “sweet heat salsa” when I mixed it with some red pepper flakes. I poured it over a pork roast, served it with mashed potatoes, and let me tell you — it was so good. Simple, cozy, belly-filling goodness.

Cooking every day — baking bread, making tortillas, mixing my own seasonings — has become more than a necessity. It’s a form of therapy. It helps me stay present and productive while I navigate this time of year, which has been difficult for me for a number of years. Recently, I restocked my pantry: flour, sugar, baking powder, cocoa, beans, potatoes, meats… all the staples that keep a kitchen humming. It gave me a strange sense of comfort and accomplishment — a reminder that even when life feels uncertain, there’s something deeply grounding about being able to nourish my family.

Sometimes, I think about my mom, Granny, Aunt Mertie, my former mother-in-law, and my Daddy. They all enjoyed my cooking, especially when my experiments turned out well. I think they’d be proud of me now — keeping their traditions alive while adding my own twist.

This — the mixing, the kneading, the simmering — this is how I cope. It’s how I manage the overwhelm, the grief, the unknown. It’s creative, it’s practical, and it fills both the stomach and the soul.

So if you’re feeling weighed down by the world or by your own thoughts, maybe try stirring something up in your kitchen. You might just find a bit of peace in the process, too.

Love and light, y’all.
And remember — you matter.

The Impact of Loss: Lessons in Love and Resilience

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

“It’s Just Going to Keep Happening” — Thoughts from a Hard Day

Had the displeasure of making one of the worst phone calls recently — calling an old friend to let him know that someone we both knew had passed away. At the funeral he mentioned: “It’s just going to keep happening.” Raw and honest, those words hit me like a brick.

He’s right. And in that moment, I don’t think I fully appreciated how true those words were. People are going to keep dying. And we’re going to keep seeing each other in these moments of loss — in funeral homes, church pews, or standing around telling old stories while blinking back tears. I hate it. I did not like it, Sam I Am.

I don’t like thinking about them — or myself — continuing to experience more loss.
It sucks. Plain and simple.

Losing someone cracks you open. Then, as if that isn’t enough, it rips open the memories of everyone you’ve already lost. Wowsers, indeed.

At this particular funeral, my heart hurt the most for the younger folks.
Boys left without a father at such pivotal ages.
That kind of loss leaves a scar that never quite fades. You can only hope they’re surrounded by love and support, and yes — that there’s at least some life insurance to help carry the burden financially. I didn’t sales pitch anyone (ew, that would be gross), but as someone who works in that world, I can’t help but think about it. Even just enough coverage to help with the cost of the funeral can make a world of difference when grief already feels like too much.

But I digress…

Life just keeps going, doesn’t it?
We pause, we grieve, we say goodbye — and then, somehow, we go right back to the hamster wheel. Back into the day-to-day of it all.
Loss is hard. Devastating. But we, the ones left behind, can’t let it drag us too far down. That’s the real danger of grief — it can pull old habits back to the surface. It can make you want to numb everything out, to self-medicate, to escape.

So, here’s a reminder to myself and to you:
That doesn’t work.

Shoving the feelings down, pretending they aren’t there — that won’t help.
The only way is through it.

Both of my parents were the last of their siblings. I can’t imagine how lonely that must’ve been. But they didn’t wallow. They were a special kind of tough, and they taught us that you never truly get over a loss. You just learn to carry it. Some days you’ll do great. Some days you won’t. That’s the truth.

So let’s remember something today:
People are out here doing the best they can.
Maybe today, you can give someone a little extra grace, a little more patience, a touch more compassion. We need more of that. Because, like it or not, none of us are getting out of here alive.

And that dash on the tombstone — you know the one.
The dash between your birth and your death?
That’s what counts.

Let’s go out there and make that dash matter.

Peace. Love. And Pickle Juice.
– Julie