The Farm Wife Sagas

Traditions are something that mean so much to me. I love planning, hosting, and just having everyone together. Whether it’s friends, family, or our community, there’s just something special about being in the same place, sharing time.

Growing up, Sundays meant lunch at my Nannie and Papa J’s, then heading to my Nannie and Papa Cheek’s. We had family reunions, weekend cousin get-togethers, friends over for movie nights, fishing days, and so many moments we looked forward to.

Now, life feels busy. Too busy sometimes. And if I’m being honest, our priorities have shifted. We don’t always make the time like we used to. We say we will, we always say we will, but then before we know it, another holiday rolls around and six months have passed.

This past Saturday, I hosted Easter for my side of the family, my third year doing it, and it filled my cup in a way I didn’t even realize I needed.

Watching my mom and aunts laugh together. Sitting with my cousins, catching up like no time had passed. Seeing our kids play, run, and just be kids together made my whole week, honestly probably my whole month.

I like to think we’re a close family, but the truth is, we mostly see each other for birthdays, Christmas, and now Easter. And days like Saturday have me asking why not more?

And you know what, it really wasn’t that hard.

A simple text.

Bring a dish. Bring a chair.

That was it.

Sure, I tidied up the house, but honestly, I needed that anyway. Everyone showed up with food, Easter goodies, and happy hearts. We dyed eggs, had an egg hunt, and the kids played so well together. It was simple. It was easy. And it was everything.

So if you’re like me, if you love having people together, this is your sign.

Plan it.

Send the text.

Pick a date.

You don’t have to cook everything. You don’t have to go all out.

Sometimes all it takes is an invite.

It’s been a while, y’all! Life has been nothing short of chaotic around here. In North Carolina, we’ve been living smack in the middle of a winter saga, the kind where you wake up every morning wondering if school will ever open again or if this is just your life now. Two full weeks of school closures, 9 to 11 inches of snow, a couple inches of ice underneath, and wind that could cut straight through your soul.

And listen… I have done my fair share of ice busting. I joke that I only had to handle it about a third of the time (only when Colton was on shift), but I promise you that third felt like a lifetime supply. After about day three, I officially decided that ice baths may be great for Olympic athletes, but the rest of us normal humans? Absolutely not. Whoever swears that “cold therapy heals you” has clearly never tried busting frozen troughs in 20 degree weather. I am healed enough, thank you very much.

But in between the slipping, sliding, snow sledding, and the general “Lord, please give me strength before I lose my ever loving mind” moments with this sassy mini teenager of mine, something unexpectedly sweet came out of the chaos. We slowed down. We connected. We put our crazy, go go go lives on pause and actually lived inside our home instead of just passing through it. And that, honestly, felt like a gift.

If you know me, you know we are rarely home. Like… ever. Our schedule stays so full it feels like we’re running a marathon with no finish line in sight. And if you really know me, you know that while I can drive in winter weather, I fully choose not to. I will simply not do it. “Safety first” is my excuse, but truthfully, I’m just a homebody who wants to be on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, with VJ snuggled in close and Colton pretending I’m being dramatic.

So being iced in for two and a half weeks? As inconvenient and sanity testing as it was, it was also exactly the shove I needed. A holy pause. One of those quiet reminders God slips into your life when you’ve been moving too fast to notice you’re running on empty.

Because sometimes God doesn’t slow the storm. Sometimes He slows you.

And sometimes that slowing looks like canceled school, closed roads, and a calendar wiped clean whether you wanted it to be or not.

And in that strange, still, frozen quiet, we remembered what it felt like to just be.

To laugh.

To rest.

To breathe.

To enjoy the four walls He blessed us with.

To appreciate the things we already have at home.

To enjoy each other without rushing to the next thing.

Cabin fever? Absolutely.

Frozen fingers? Yes ma’am.

A deeper appreciation for home and each other? One hundred percent.

And while we were tucked inside trying to keep warm and keep our sanity, it was also a reminder that the farm doesn’t stop for weather. Animals don’t care that school was closed, or that I was tired, or that the world was covered in ice. They still needed to be fed, watered, and cared for. Life on the farm never hits pause, not even for a blizzard.

So if you haven’t lately, thank your local farmers. Truly. Their days didn’t stop because of a little snow. They were out there every single day making sure their animals were fed and watered while the rest of us hunkered down with hot chocolate.

Funny how God uses 9-11 inches of snow, a sheet of ice, and a whole lot of North Carolina chaos to remind us of what matters most. Home, family, and the people willing to show up no matter the weather.

The new year is always a time of reflection, do-betters, and resolutions. I’ve tried the lists, the goals, and the endless to-dos, and while they sound great on January 1st, they usually end up feeling more overwhelming than helpful. What I’ve found works best for me is choosing a single theme word to guide the year.

So for 2026, my word is Intentional.

Intentional means more to me than a dictionary definition. This year, I’m moving from doing everything to doing the right things. The things that work for me and my family. The things that bring peace instead of pressure. I want to be present in the moments that matter and stop filling my calendar just to prove I’m busy.

Socially, this looks like being more mindful of where I pour my energy. I’ve always been a yes person. I show up, I give grace, and I give my all. If you mean something to me, you get everything I have. And while that’s not a bad thing, I’ve learned that effort should feel mutual. Being intentional means choosing relationships that feel life-giving, not draining, and sitting at tables where we’re wanted, not just tolerated. Fewer obligations, better conversations, and more laughter sounds like a win to me.

Spiritually, being intentional means slowing down. Choosing prayer over panic and trust over control, even when I really want to micromanage everything. It means remembering that faith doesn’t have to be loud or perfect to be meaningful. Sometimes it’s quiet mornings, quick prayers in the car, or reminding myself that I don’t have to have all the answers.

Mentally, I’m choosing to protect my peace. That means setting boundaries without a long explanation, giving myself permission to rest, and understanding that I don’t have to carry everything. Being strong doesn’t mean being stretched thin. It means knowing when to pause, breathe, and step back instead of powering through out of guilt.

And yes, I’m being intentional with my health too. Healthier eating, moving my body, and building habits that actually fit my life. Not perfection. Not extremes. Just consistency and grace, because this is real life and I still like snacks and sweet tea!

Choosing Intentional means choosing purpose over pressure, alignment over obligation, and peace over people-pleasing. Here’s to a year of showing up fully, giving energy where it’s deserved, and making space for what truly matters.

So what’s your word of the year? Comment below!

It used to sound so old… until I turned it. And now somehow, it feels so young.

Here I am, lying in bed trying to find a comfortable spot because your girl is sore and tired. But I’m also smiling and low-key giggling to myself, because the reason I’m sore isn’t from some intense workout or an extra long day on my feet. It’s because I chose to be a kid today. With my husband. In a bounce house. At my niece’s birthday party.

And honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s kind of our thing. The moment we walked into the gym where the party was being held, the kids made a beeline for Colton and dragged him straight into the bounce house, and just like that, the fun began. You truly don’t realize how many muscles you don’t use until you suddenly need all of them at once. Those bounce houses are no joke. I’m pretty sure I discovered muscles tonight I didn’t even know existed.

Some people might call it never growing up, and maybe there’s a little truth in that. But I like to think of it differently. I like to think of it as choosing memories. Choosing moments. Choosing to fully step into the season we’re in instead of watching it pass by from the sidelines.

Because these moments with VJ and her cousins, the giggles, the chaos, the wide-open smiles, the breathless laughter, we don’t get these back. And one day, these kids won’t need us to climb into bounce houses with them. One day, they’ll be too cool or too busy or too grown. But today, we are the fun adults. And even better than that, we are building real relationships with them that will last long after the bounce houses are gone.

So yes, I’m sore. Yes, I’m tired. And yes, 30 continues to humble me. But my heart is full. My life is rich with connection. And I’m learning that staying young has less to do with age and more to do with choosing joy whenever it shows up, even if it shows up in the form of a giant inflatable and a room full of screaming kids.

And honestly, if this is what 30 looks like, I think I’m going to like it just fine. May I never be the adult at the table scrolling or too “grown” to have fun with the kids! I pray that I am always the “fun” one!

Traditions are a big part of my life. I love keeping them, adding to them, and, much to my husband’s amusement, creating brand-new ones any time inspiration strikes. I’ve always been that person. The one who gets excited about doing the same thing every year because to me, it’s never really “the same thing.” It’s another chance to make memories, gather our favorite people, and remind myself that the ones who show up to help these traditions happen are the ones who matter most.

Now, does it drive Colton a tiny bit crazy? Of course it does. He gives me that familiar look every time I say “Okay, so next year let’s add…” It’s the face of a man who knows he’s about to participate in something festive he didn’t ask for, but will absolutely end up doing anyway. Poor man didn’t just marry me. He married my traditions, and now he’s fully stuck with both.

Our friends laugh when I bring up yet another thing to add to the list, but they’re just as invested as I am. They show up. They participate. And they keep coming back, which tells me they secretly love it as much as I do.

This year has been the best year of traditions yet. Partly because our group is growing and we have three friends expecting babies within the next five months, so next year’s traditions will come with tiny feet, diaper bags, and sleepy parents running on caffeine and Christmas magic.

But the biggest reason this year feels different is because of VJ. My little mini-me is officially the Chief Tradition Officer of this house. She is all in. She’s begging her daddy to carve pumpkins, go hunting, put up Christmas lights, and start all the holiday fun long before I can even suggest it. Colton thought he had his hands full with my enthusiasm, but now he is definitely outnumbered.

🎁This is the year she understands Santa.

🎁This is the year she proudly tells anyone who will listen about Jesus.

🎁This is the year she has her own little Christmas list, even if it’s really just one very specific thing she’s set on.

And it’s the year every tradition we’ve ever loved suddenly feels bigger and more magical because she’s right in the middle of it.

I’m not the only one excited to ride around and look at Christmas lights anymore.

I’m not the only one who could watch Christmas movies every single day.

VJ lives for Christmas movies. She will proudly tell you which one we are watching next, which snack belongs with it, and exactly where each of us belongs on the couch. Daddy’s spot is assigned whether he chose it or not.

There is something really special about watching the things you’ve cherished for years grow right along with your family. Seeing VJ light up in the same moments that always meant the most to me feels like experiencing the magic all over again. And even if he pretends to grumble, Colton never misses a single tradition. Even when he rolls his eyes on the way to the car for a Christmas lights ride, he is still the one grabbing the keys. Even when he says he doesn’t care about holiday movies, he’s the one bringing snacks. He may not have asked for all this tradition chaos, but he is in it with us every single time.

And maybe that’s the best tradition of all.

Here’s our tradition starter pack, the simple moments that make the season feel like ours every year:

🎄We always get a real Christmas tree and track pine needles all over the house.

🎄We collect ornaments from everywhere we travel so our tree tells our story.

🎄Colton and VJ have their Christmas movie nights watching all the old classics while I soak in the tub and enjoy my own version of holiday peace.

🎄We go on weekly rides to look at Christmas lights and point out every house that “goes all out.”

🎄We decorate Christmas cookies and somehow end up with sprinkles in places no sprinkles should ever be.

🎄We host a friends holiday party with a yearly theme, and this year’s theme is choosing a country and bringing a dish.

🎄We play Dirty Santa and the competitive spirit always comes out.

🎄And this year we started Elf on the Shelf, even though we aren’t completely sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

And if you’re reading this and thinking you don’t have many traditions or you’re just getting started, here’s the encouragement: traditions don’t have to be fancy, perfect, expensive, or Instagram-worthy. They just need to matter to the people doing them. Start small. Start messy. Start with whatever makes your family laugh, or slow down, or smile a little bigger. Because one day, those tiny moments turn into the memories your kids talk about when they’re grown. And that, more than anything, makes every tradition worth keeping.

I’ve had the pleasure of being around so many different people, both adults and children, and I’ve genuinely enjoyed every encounter. Every family has their own rhythm, their own ways of doing things, and their own stories shaping how they raise their kids. Over time, I’ve learned that there’s no single “right way” to parent. Some are gentle and patient, others are structured and firm, and many of us are simply figuring it out day by day. What I’ve come to understand most is that behaviors are often learned at home. The words we use, the tone we set, and the love we show all create the environment that teaches our children how to treat others.

I’ve realized how important it is to approach parenting, both our own and others’, with grace instead of judgment. We’re all doing the best we can with the tools and examples we’ve been given.

I’ll admit, I’m the type of mom who worries about how my child is around others. I wonder how the things she hears or sees at home will reflect in the eyes of others. I’ve said before that I want to raise a kind person, but I also want to raise VJ to be respectful, confident, and grounded, to know her place in the world while still treating others with compassion.

And while I know I’m not perfect, I’m learning that perfection was never the goal. Colton and I both have our flaws: the occasional bad word, an argument spoken too loudly, or a moment of frustration we wish we’d handled differently. Lately, VJ has even started tattling when “Mommy is upset with Daddy,” which made me laugh but also think… wow, she’s really paying attention. We’re always a work in progress, aren’t we?

What’s amazed me most is realizing how much our home, the little moments, the tone we set, and even the ways we handle stress, shapes who she’s becoming. Kids are emotional sponges. They pick up on our moods, the way we speak to each other, and how we react when things don’t go as planned. That’s where the foundation of attachment begins.

When children feel safe, seen, and loved, even when we’re not perfect, they start building what’s called a secure attachment. It’s what helps them trust others, manage emotions, and feel confident exploring the world. But when they feel tension, fear, or inconsistency too often, they might develop anxious, avoidant, or disorganized attachments, each reflecting how they’ve learned to protect their little hearts. It’s not about blame; it’s about awareness. Even the smallest changes in how we connect, taking time to listen, apologize, or simply be present, can rewrite how a child learns to love and be loved.

I’ve written before that Colton is the perfect example (90% of the time, anyway) of what I hope VJ finds in a partner one day. But what I hadn’t considered until recently was my own influence, the kind of wife I want her to see me be. The way I love, forgive, laugh, and handle hard days teaches her just as much as how Colton treats me.

So while I’m over here praying every night for a spouse who will love, adore, and respect my baby girl, I should also be praying that I’m setting a good example of what she should be as a spouse. And my hope for her future husband is that his parents are doing the same.

Because the biggest lesson I’m learning in this season is that the most important influences aren’t out there in the world. They’re right here at home. The home is where behaviors are shaped, where empathy is learned, and where love is modeled. Our children soak up every argument, every moment of tenderness, and every bit of grace we give. And one day, they’ll reflect those lessons back into the world.

“Children learn more from what you are than what you teach.”

— W.E.B. Du Bois

This week has been a struggle to sit down and write, not because I didn’t want to, but because I’ve been abundantly busy and fulfilled. It’s been one of those rare weeks where every moment felt full, even the messy ones.

This was the first year VJ truly understood Halloween, and oh, how much fun (and a little chaos) it was watching her decide what costume she wanted to wear to which event, how she wanted her hair fixed, and what color eyeshadow “matched her princess dress best.” Or how her yellow hair, as she calls it, looked better with her pumpkin dress than being a princess on Halloween night. I swear we changed costumes more than a few times, but honestly, I didn’t mind. Watching her little personality bloom made my mama heart light up in the best way.

At one point, she stood in front of the mirror, hair curled, lipstick slightly crooked, grinning from ear to ear, and I felt my throat tighten. My baby isn’t a baby anymore. Somewhere between trick-or-treating and costume changes, she’s become this tiny, beautiful mix of Colton and me. She’s strong-willed, opinionated, full of energy, but she’s also gentle and kind.

And that’s when it hit me. She’s growing up right before my eyes, and I’m learning how to let her. There’s a strange mix of pride and ache that comes with realizing she’s starting to do things for herself, picking out her own clothes, making her own friends, choosing what makes her happy. It’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking all at once.

I’ve said before that my biggest prayer for VJ is that she grows up to be a kind person. But lately, I’ve realized that part of that prayer means I have to give her space to learn how to be that person. To make her own choices, even if they’re not the ones I’d make. To stumble a little. To grow.

Motherhood has a way of showing you that love isn’t about control; it’s about guidance. It’s standing close enough to catch them when they fall but far enough to let them try. It’s watching their independence form piece by piece, sometimes through sass and sometimes through sweetness, and realizing that’s exactly how they find their strength.

Does she have her flaws? Of course. Do I? Definitely. But I’m starting to see that the same God who gave her that fiery little spirit also gave me the grace to nurture it, not tame it.

There’s a special kind of heartbreak that comes with watching your child grow. When they walk into a room without needing your hand, when they have opinions of their own, when they start becoming exactly who God made them to be. And while part of me wants to scoop her up and hold her close forever, the other part knows that love looks a lot like letting go.

So this week, instead of trying to freeze time, I’m learning to be still and savor it. To thank God for the privilege of watching her grow into kindness, confidence, and courage. Into everything He’s called her to be.

Because maybe the greatest gift of motherhood isn’t keeping them little, but celebrating every moment they grow a little more into who they’re meant to be.

So if you’re in the trenches of letting your little or big ones make their own decisions, no matter how small, know that you’re not alone. I’m right there with you and struggling just as much. But also know that a little independence is good and beneficial. It’s shaping them, teaching them, and preparing them for all the good things God has ahead.

“There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: one is roots, the other is wings.”

— Hodding Carter