February.

So it’s February.

When did that happen?

And here I sit, thinking about what I should write, and feeling, deeply, that I really have nothing to write about.

I am so grateful that life doesn’t depend on how I feel. There are things to write and share all over, and while I often feel that there aren’t, they still remain.

Sweet conversations with my poor little night-owl child, who sings and tells stories and performs her adorable version of magic tricks until all hours of the night as she resists sleep.

The knowledge of oncoming change, and the simple way that it transforms my outlook on housekeeping and purging our belongings.

How my brother, whom I don’t talk with as often as I should, gives the BEST gifts. Gifts that I open and immediately have to use, because they’re just what I like. Even without talking frequently, we know each other. I should call him more. How he’s bravely setting off on the new adventure of being a freelance writer.

My dislike of grocery shopping… well, more having to pay for the seemingly small things I accumulate in my cart. How can 20 items cost that much? But I can buy them. I am grateful for that, too.

My dad told me the other day that I lead an exciting life. He’s got a delightful dry sense of humor, but in that particular moment, after regaling him with a story about my daughter using a pretend magic wand to “disappear” her pacifier (which she hid under her pillow and then declared it was gone, then made it “undisappear” with a wave — adorable, trust me, I’m only slightly biased), he told me that. And I think he might’ve been a bit serious, instead of all humor.

I think he’s probably right. I’ve got lots to glean from. And so I’m off to write some 500 words for the day. What about you?