Snailmates! Love at 0.03 mph

 

There are a lot of serious things happening in the world.

This is not one of them.

Let me tell you about the time (today) when I became a snail matchmaker.

Britt and I each have large home tank but also a little fish tank in our offices at work—because apparently we can’t go anywhere without building a tiny ecosystem.

One of my Mystery Snails laid a clutch in one of my home tanks (clutch that’s snail-speak for a gooey pile of eggs), and after some expert FB advice, several YouTube’s on incubating and zero emotional preparation, I ended up successfully hatching them….twenty-five…and counting baby snails. I mean, I could start my very own TLC show! 

What started as what I thought was “just one survivor” turned into a full-blown —a booming colony of slow-moving, algae-scraping freeloaders.

Meanwhile, Britt’s giant mystery snail, at work, has been laying unfertilized clutches like clockwork. Girl was out here working overtime—with nothing to show for it.

So naturally, I decide if we’re getting eggs we need more babies! So, I did what any rational, reasonable, and responsible adult would do, I transported my male snail to work in a Panera cup.

Yes. A Panera cup.

Because what screams “romantic gesture” more than being delivered,  for some SNEXY-time, in a container formerly filled with ice tea?

Anyway, I introduced him to Britt’s love-starved snail, and named them Sheldon and Shelldonna. It took them half a day to find each other—which I think was actually super fast in snail-time! And once they did?

Magic.

There they are under a leaf, and I’m telling you, it was the most awkwardly beautiful love scene you’ve ever seen. I told Britt to cue the mood lighting, so we turned on the tank’s color-changing feature. Then I made her play Barry White but even better she come up with….“Let’s Get It On.”

And I took a video.

Because what is snail intimacy if not meant to be shared on TikTok?!! lol! 

To honor this sacred moment, I hung a sign on her tank that read:

DO NOT DISTURB

Mystery Snail Love in Progress.

Please respect the privacy of Sheldon & Shelldonna

as they embark on their underwater honeymoon.

Mood lighting active.

Romantic playlist engaged.

Panera cup origins: classified.

#SnailLove

We cackled. We think we are hilarious! And we are so proud that we will soon be grandparents!!! 

I don’t know what the baby count will be, but if we’re judging by technique…let’s just say Britt better start prepping her own nursery tank.

—————————

So yeah. The world is a lot.

But sometimes in the middle of all the stress, heartache, and unread emails, you get to witness something ridiculous and beautiful—like two snails finding each other under a leaf.

And in that moment, nothing else matters.

Slow down. Laugh often.

And remember:

Love always finds a way… even if it takes all day to cross the gravel.

——————————

I love you. Pass it on.

Grace & Grit

 

I’ve wanted a custom license plate for the front of my car for a while now. I designed a few different versions and finally landed on one. It’s not really a vanity plate—more like a tiny billboard on my 20 year old car that reads:

Grace & Grit

Fueled by Faith.

Grounded in Grit.

This is why…

Grace is one of God’s greatest gifts.

It teaches me to respond with compassion, even when the world invites me to react.

It’s choosing kindness when I could choose control.

It’s letting people be human—including myself.

It’s the soft answer when—honestly—I want to bite back. The deep breath before I react. The prayer in the parking lot.

Grit is what keeps me standing when grace feels impossible. It’s the stubborn, sacred kind of resilience that says: I will still show up.

Even when it’s hard.

Even when I’m tired.

Even when the path forward feels more like a cracked sidewalk than a yellow brick road.

The flower on the plate is a reminder—to myself—of resilience and beauty in the midst of the messy. Through concrete, gravel, and broken places…

That’s me.

I will bloom anyway.

But it’s not just about growth—it’s about beauty.

The crack in the sidewalk is a story in itself.

It’s the part we’d usually cover up, pave over, or avoid. But that’s exactly where God shows up. Not in polished perfection, but in the broken places.

This is where His grace takes root. This is where He grows beauty out of what feels hopeless.

Not just resilience—but redemption.

Not just surviving—but thriving.

This plate isn’t about being perfect.

It’s about being real.

Because although my word for 2025 is thrive… I’m not always feeling it.

I am not strong on my own. God meets me in the mess. He gives me grace when I run out, and grit when I want to give up.

Yep—every ounce of softness and strength I have comes from Him.

So if you see my plate, you’ll know…you are  looking at someone who’s still growing. Still going. Still believing in the One who gives both Grace & Grit.

Mother’s Day is complicated!!

 

I tried to sit through church this morning, but my heart just couldn’t. The emotions came too fast, too layered. In the end, I had to leave, felt like a long walk to the back with tears streaming and sobs wanting to burst.

This day holds joy, but it also holds grief—for so many.

For mothers who have lost babies.

For moms grieving children, taken too soon.

For women longing to be mothers.

For those who have mothered and not been seen, or who are healing from broken stories.

And for kids, grown or not, whose mom’s have passed away or they carry complicated memories of their moms.

I think about our boy’s birth mother today. The deep brokenness that led to him and his brother entering “the system.” And with varying degrees of sorrow and anger, I think about the former adoptive parents—and the many foster parents—who came and went, leaving wounds of their own.

My child has lived through more than most adults. This day isn’t easy for him—or for me.

But still, I’m a mom. And I’m learning to hold both the pain and the privilege in the same hands.

I also have an incredible mother of my own….she who loves deeply and shows up, no matter what. She deserves celebration too…as does my sweet mother-in-law and my amazing sister-in-laws!

So today is… everything.

Joy and sadness. 

Gratitude and grief.

It’s a lot to carry—but I know I’m not the only one carrying it.

If today is hard for you, I see you.

You’re not alone!

Masked Warrior

Here we are on the boat. Smiling. Relaxed. Grateful to be there.

Then someone online took a shot at my husband,  “remove the clown mask.”

I read the comment and was instantly peeved and wanted to delete it….but I thought about it and was reminded of how easy it is to judge what you don’t understand—and also how important it is to speak up with compassion and clarity.

I have a Master’s of Science in Nursing Education. I’ve spent years teaching others how to care, how to ask questions before making assumptions, the importance of remaining open-minded, and how to see the patient beyond the diagnosis. But even with all that, nothing prepares you quite like living it yourself.

So let me offer a little real-world education…

Beaver has been sick more than he’s been well these past few years. COVID nearly broke him. Since then, one diagnosis after another followed like an unbelievable, and exhausting, succession of health issues. Eventually, we found out he had a congenital heart defect that required open-heart surgery. On top of that, a tumor in his face required not one but two surgeries, leaving nerve damage behind.

Because of all this, he wears a mask in public. Not for show. Not for fun. But because it’s what his doctors strongly recommended, for now, to avoid further illness.

The surgical cap? For those who know him, know he’s a quirky dude, but this is not a quirky fashion choice. It’s there so he can hook his mask to buttons instead of his ears, which hurts like getting flicked with a cattle prod from the nerve damage. If you had surgery on your face and couldn’t wear a mask the usual way, you’d adapt too. He figured out a way to function that doesn’t cause pain.

 

That’s what warriors do.

So no, it’s not a clown mask.

It’s armor.

Armor worn by a guy who has faced many battles—yet still carries on with kindness, courage, and humor – though we suspect he’s more than likely sticking his tongue out at people under that mask, most days!

To the one who mocked him: I could have stayed quiet. But sometimes silence isn’t grace—it’s complicity. So, I chose to respond. Not with venom, but with truth. Because maybe—just maybe—someone else scrolling by that comment needed a reminder that compassion matters…

 

He must have gotten the message as he deleted his comment which subsequently deleted mine, which is just fine too!  Not sure what his takeaway is but here is mine: If someone is wearing a mask that you think is silly or stupid, LET THEM it isn’t hurting you. Or – I don’t know, get curious about it.  “Hey, why the mask?”

 

You never know what someone’s going through. You never know what they’ve survived just to be standing in a photo. And maybe instead of mocking them, you could try kindness. You might be surprised how much lighter your own burdens feel when you help someone else carry theirs.

As for us? We’ll keep standing together. Mask, cap, scars and all.

Because strength looks a little different on everyone.

I love you. Pass it on.

 #MaskedAndMighty #GraceOverIgnorance #ILYPIO

Pearls are formed under pressure

Update: we have about 2 dozen snails!! lol!! 

A while back, my mystery snail laid eggs. I did my research—read everything I could about incubating and raising baby snails—and did my best to give them a fighting chance. Several hatched, but we ran into some water issues, and most didn’t make it.

While I was away on our cruise, I got the sad news that the momma snail had passed.

But today, I came home and found a tiny survivor—one baby snail, no bigger than my pinky nail, still holding on.

I’ve named her Pearl Hope. Because she’s small, beautiful, and a reminder that even when things feel lost, life has a way of showing up with quiet resilience.

Welcome to the world, little one.

#PearlHope #MysterySnail #TinyButMighty #HopeFloats #SnailMom

First Cruise Vibes: A Little Watery (and Not Just the Ocean Kind!)

Well… our cruise started with a few unexpected tears—mine.

I (embarrassingly) got a little overwhelmed once we boarded. It’s hard to explain… almost like a wave of claustrophobia hit me. The realization that we weren’t on land anymore—and that getting to someone or somewhere quickly wasn’t an option—felt a little isolating. I wasn’t expecting that feeling to creep in, but there it was.

That said—the check-in process was incredibly smooth (they really have it down to a science), and every staff member has been welcoming and kind!

We found the pool and the buffet first thing, of course. The pizza was amazing, we split a burger, and I had a little chocolate ice cream cone because: vacation.

We relaxed in the shade while waiting for our room, and now we’re all unpacked. It’s cozy—like a scaled-down hotel room with plenty of closet space, a bed, a couch, and best of all, a balcony. I’m so glad we chose that option—it already feels like a breath of fresh air.

There’s only one plug in the whole room (hmmm…) but hey—there’s a mini fridge, so we’re calling it a win!

Can’t wait to explore the evening entertainment and make some memories. One deep breath at a time.

My Daughter Has No Arms (and Other Survival Tips for Parenting Through RAD)

Someone recently asked the question: what is your best tip was for staying calm during intense moments with your adoptive kiddos—especially when Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) showed up like a freight train with no brakes.

My first thought?

Shouting “WTF?!” while hyperventilating.

Just kidding. (Mostly.)

The truth is, those moments are hard. Like, cry-in-the-shower, hide-in-the-pantry, question-everything hard. So what did we do?

We prayed. A lot.

We took deep breaths (when we remembered).

And Beaver and I had a hand signal—one that meant, “My daughter has no arms.”

Now, we didn’t actually have a daughter with no arms. But we did have kids with invisible wounds—trauma you couldn’t see. The hand signal was our quiet reminder to each other that just because something didn’t look broken didn’t mean it wasn’t. We’d say “daughter” to throw people off in case we ever slipped and said it aloud in public (because… survival tactics).

That little phrase helped us recalibrate. It helped us pause. It helped us choose grace instead of reaction—even when our insides were screaming and the situation felt out of control.

Parenting through trauma requires creativity, faith, and humor in equal amounts. Sometimes you need clinical tools. Sometimes you need a prayer. And sometimes you just need a secret code that reminds you that the battles your child is fighting aren’t always visible—but they’re real, and they deserve your gentleness.

And maybe, just maybe, a whispered “WTF” into your coffee mug.