February in Chicago is just plain rough, isn’t it?
It’s officially that "wet, sloppy boots by the door" season where everything feels damp and slightly annoying. The skies are that specific, flat shade of Midwest gray that makes you wonder if the sun was just a fever dream we all had last July. Everything is frozen solid, and honestly, I am so over it.
But if you look closely, and I mean really really lean in and squint, you start to notice those tiny quiet hints that spring might actually happen. Eventually. Maybe.
Nothing monumental happened this month. No big trips and no grand adventures. Just those small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments that make a life.
Walking past the garden bed the other morning, I caught a glimpse of a tiny red tip pushing through the mulch. One of the bulbs we planted last fall decided it was time to wake up! I’m not even embarrassed to admit I let out a full-on, loud "SQUEE!" right there in the yard. My neighbors probably think I’ve lost it, but after weeks of gray, I am so, so ready for something, anything, green.
It had been way too long since I sat down with a sketchbook. My "asshole brain" likes to tell me I’m too busy for "unproductive" art, but I finally ignored it, cracked open a fresh page, and just... drew. It was such a gentle, necessary reminder that I need to make space for this more often.
Isaac started karate this month, which has been so fun to watch. I took karate years ago and loved it, so seeing him put on his little white belt and step onto the mat feels strangely full circle.
Mostly I just love watching him try something new and take it seriously in that very earnest kid way.
I love this photo so much. This is Isaac and me, squeezed into the "cozy corner" (also known as his closet) working in his Minecraft coloring book. There’s something so special about being invited into a kid’s secret fort. It was simple, creative, and exactly the kind of slow intentionality I’m trying to prioritize.
One afternoon, the temp crept just high enough that the kids spilled out onto the driveway with a box of chalk. My heart just about burst. Seeing him with friends from across the street and down the block... this is exactly why we moved out here.
Nothing big. Just the small, quiet stuff I’m trying to notice more.
