Before You Move On From This Week

Before You Move On From This Week

By Friday, the week has usually already told its story.

Not in big moments—but in the small ones.
The meals that got made.
The conversations that happened in passing.
The things you handled without stopping to notice yourself.

Most weeks don’t end with a clear finish line.
They end quietly—right around now.

And if you’re feeling tired, that makes sense.
Not because the week was bad.
But because you showed up again and again in ways that don’t always get counted.

You held things together.
You adjusted when plans shifted.
You made space for other people’s needs—sometimes without even thinking about it.

That matters.

This week is a little extra special for me. Thursday marked 21 years of marriage with my husband.

Over those years, I’ve learned that love isn’t always about big, sweeping gestures—it’s about showing up.

Even on the hard days. Even when we were at odds.

Because no matter what, our kids were always our main focus. And somehow, they always brought us back together.

Rich connected with them in ways that made me pause and smile.
like staying up late with them as infants while I rested, bouncing them in their bouncy seats to the beat of his music because he read that it would make them smarter. (I’ll Bite on that.. I have a drummer & all my kiddos are smart!)
He would sing Mr. Donderbeck every night he was home, letting them scream along …. “He gave the crank a Hell of yank!” at just the right moment.
Dance parties with mom to let the wiggles out and cleaning up turned into races and games.

I connected with them by planning elaborate, interactive birthdays, & making sure every neighborhood kid was welcome and safe, just as Rich’s mom had done for him growing up.

That openness and kindness didn’t just make memories—it built a foundation for connection, for trust, and for joy.

Even in moments of tension between us, these little rituals reminded us what mattered: being present, playful, and together.

The invisible threads of care, laughter, and attention tied us back to each other, over and over again.

Motherhood has a lot in common with that.
Showing up matters more than perfection.
Steady care matters more than drama.
The small, intentional moments of connection, play, music, shared laughter—matter most.

Before you move on to what’s next, I want to pause here with you for just a moment.

You don’t need to evaluate the week.
You don’t need to decide what you’ll do better next time.
You don’t need to turn this into a lesson.

It’s enough to notice that you were here.
That you carried what needed to be carried.
That you made it to the end of another full stretch of days.

Some Fridays call for celebration.
Some call for rest.
Some just call for being done.

All of those are allowed.

If this space has felt steady for you this week, even quietly, know that it was built that way on purpose.

For the moms who read but don’t rush. Who notice but don’t always speak.

You don’t have to announce yourself to belong here.
You already do.

Take this with you into the weekend:
You did more than you realize.
You don’t need to carry it all forward.
And sometimes, life and love show us that consistency, patience, play, and showing up quietly—even on the hard days—are the most beautiful celebrations of all.

You can set it down now.