I'm realizing that Christmas is run by anti-perfectionism in our home. Well, a lot of things in our home are run by anti-perfectionism; I just realized it when we were decorating for Christmas.

The Man and I are just a month or so shy of six years of marriage, so I've been thinking a lot lately about what makes a marriage work and why.

It's the last day of October, the last day of daily writing, the last day of thinking purposefully about this weird in between space I'm in right now. Somehow I really think I had tricked myself into believing there would be this massive transformation and the end of October would include a glittery denouement of awesome.

There's not.

This year for Mother's Day, the Little Man gave me a potted plant. I mentioned during the house tour that I was going to come back to it later. Considering that this is the second to last day of October, it can't really get much later than this.

I had a friend over this afternoon who came accompanied by her three beautiful children. And it was crazy and loud and chaotic and there were half a dozen paper airplanes flying down the stairwell at one time and peanut butter cookie crumbs all over the table--and I loved it.

One of the things I butt up against every time we move is my own use of defense mechanisms. When I'm facing something challenging and potentially painful, I automatically do what I can to protect myself. Unfortunately, as is often the case, while a defense mechanism may protect me from pain, it also keeps me from experiencing true joy.

Growing up the way my sisters and I did, we learned early on that the only constants in our lives were each other, and we made our sisterhood count.

The second bathroom didn't get cleaned today. All the cleaning supplies are sitting on the sink waiting for me, and there's an empty spot on my To Do list that is just begging for a check mark. This would bother me except I'm too tired to drag myself off the couch and go back upstairs to clean.

That, and I have the hiccups, and hiccups are the worst.

When we enter into seasons of change in our life (whether by choice or by chance), there will be pain--most if it will be worse than bee stings--because it is impossible to go through the between without some form of discomfort.

I'm going to explore my future here as a professional broken record. Bear with me.

I've been raiding our local library, and this week enjoyed Kate DiCamillo's Flora & Ulysses. It was a sweet and quirky book, and it got me thinking more about home…and what home means, especially when we're between places and relationships and jobs.

There are two kinds of people in this world: the kind who leave and the kind who get left.