Author: Julie Bielecki

Julie Bieleckihttps://jbaun.wordpress.comA happy ending depends on where, of course, you stop your story. And at any given moment, you have the power to say, "This is not the way the story is going to end." And so that's me- determined to make the good, the bad and the ugly days all part of a tapestry that creates a happy ending. My writing is a glimpse into that story- My struggles, my hopes, my thoughts--I was a teen mom, raised Evangelical and am now Post Evangelical. I was a young widow at 26, and am now a divorced single mom. My life is a messy closet. And if there are moments where you read my stuff and say, "Ahhh- you too? I thought I was the only one." Then my heart will be full. My 3 kids are my best stuff. They make the journey worth the ride. My family is my strength. My faith is both the quiet and confusion of my heart. I'm a lover of God, kindness, running, reading, shopping and beer. Not necessarily in that order. If it has a bow on it, I want it. Make me laugh and we'll always be friends. xo, julie
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A Letter to My 13- Year- Old Self~ A Guest Post from my Daughter, Casey Baun

A little over 2 years ago, I published my most widely viewed blog post ever, An Open Letter to My Daughter’s Bullies. Including, But not Limited to the Mean Girls. It was a very small glimpse into my own private pain and thoughts towards my daughter’s bullies and the heartbreak it was causing our entire family. Today marks an anniversary of sorts– It was 3 years ago on this day that Casey reached her breaking point and left public school for a year and a half to be homeschooled. Recently she was asked to write a letter to her 13 year-old self, and that’s what I’ve posted here today. While parts of her letter are difficult, as a mom, for me to read, I could not be more proud of who she has become–as a young woman, as a person, as a writer. You’ve come a long way, baby~ and this is just the beginning…

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Life doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle. It doesn’t mean it’s pleasant. But you’re going to be able to handle it. You’ve already gone through some tough stuff. Some might say too tough. And they might be right. You’re going to go through things heavier and darker than you deserve. And again, you’ve already braved circumstances that you’re too young to have to deal with. You’re only 13. But you’re going to get through all this. How do I know all this? Because I’m you. The 16 year old you. Believe me, I know that life just feels too heavy and hard and hateful right now for you to bear. But you don’t see the hope in store for you and you don’t see the wonderful things coming your way.

Right now, you can’t look past the rejection. You can’t see ahead of the depression that’s so mercilessly eating away at you these days that you’re living through. You’re unable to overlook the sting of your bullies’ cruel words. You’re unable to look past the constant crying, the restless nights, the disturbing nightmares, the weight of that hopeless feeling. But there’s a bottom line to all that– it’s NOT YOUR FAULT.

You’re not to blame for your own trauma. You are not to blame for being unwanted and unaccepted by your peers. You are not accountable for the eye rolls, the girl that trips you in the locker room, the boy that hits you and shouts verbal abuse at you, the girl that says that you never do anything right, the girls that say that they hate you and that they don’t even want you in the same school as them. These are merely actions carried out by hurting people, even though their own pain does not justify their abuse on you.

You are only responsible for you. Make sure you take care of yourself, whether it means crying and letting it out or if it means finding the good in yourself, because there’s more to love about you than you realize. And there’s more hope for your future that you won’t get to know until the actual time comes. You ARE going to bloom and thrive and mature. But most importantly, you WILL learn to love yourself. You don’t know how that feels yet, but that’s okay. After the hate and dreariness you’ve endured, even thinking about loving yourself is excruciatingly challenging. But your craziest, wildest, most beautiful dreams are going to become a REALITY. Your soul and mind will be at an almost alarming peace. You will make friends that love you and accept you 100 percent for who you are. And you’re going to find a long-deserved happiness that you’ve never known before. There will come a day when you don’t question your presence on this beautiful nightmare we call Earth. There will be a day where you know that you deserve better than arms lined with self-inflicted scratches. There will be a day where you can look in the mirror and love the strong girl smiling back at you. Hang in there. There’s hope ahead even though you can’t see it. Yet.

The Fault in Our Stars and Everything That’s Right With my Heart

I’m right in the middle of reading The Fault in Our Stars by John Green and it is achingly beautiful and tragic and painful and funny and everything in between. Every single time I pick up this damn book there is a lump in my throat and tears well in my eyes. It undoes me. It presses a bruise inside my heart. But like a million books before this one, I wallow in it and I drink it in like a person who is dying of thirst because somehow the pain resonates. I keep reading and I almost weirdly enjoy that emotional tidal wave that threatens. This morning as I snuck in another 10 minutes of reading with my coffee and pumpernickel toast and egg whites, I had the most personally profound thought: All of these tears–these frequent tears– these tears that so closely associate with pain and loss and heartbreak–do not mean I’m broken, as I have always suspected. As I have been led to believe. As I have been told. And that I have been ashamed of. They mean I’m human. And I feel. And I have a big, warm, sometimes complicated heart . And this is not a fault. It is actually quite a beautiful thing.

Like the rest of the human race, I have known tragedy. I have known heartbreak and heartache. I have known my own personal suffering and therefore tears come easily. But I have long said to myself, and more so recently, that this was some sort of indication of my brokenness. A defect of sorts. And I have been told this, as well. And while there may be some partial truth to this- that there are broken parts of me, isn’t this also the human condition? I don’t believe this makes me unique or special in any way–but I have now come to realize-neither does it make me defective.

And in fact, could it perhaps actually be a gift? Not like in a cliche way that makes you want to slap someone who refers to suffering as gift– but could this fragile, tender-to-the-touch heart of mine be a gift for myself and the people whose paths I cross, instead of a burden to bear? Because it means when I say I feel your pain, I really do. Because sometimes I can’t help cry when a friend is crying. Because compassion and kindness and empathy are important-and it hurts when they’re not extended generously and often and without judgement or measure.

And though I do feel life deeply and cry easily, I also laugh easily. And a lot. And did I say easily and a lot? Despite the fact that one of my favorite things to do is be by myself with a book that is undoing my heart and mind (I know, I know…I sound like a real party in a box), I’m actually a truly happy and optimistic person. Is it possible that the heartache makes the happiness easier to recognize and perhaps that much sweeter? “So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.” (John Chbosky) But I do know this: I’m okay with it.

My New Running Partner

Running

As I was leaving the house for my run that morning, I was already running late. Torn between skipping it completely or rushing to fit it in, I chose the latter and scrambled out the door. Total self-imposed stress, I know, but still better than berating myself the rest of the day for missing a run. Within moments, I realized I had forgotten my watch but didn’t want to waste time going back for it. And as long as I wasn’t going to time myself, I figured I’d skip using Runkeeper, as well.

If you’re not familiar, Runkeeper is a GPS app that tracks every aspect of your run and also offers voice coaching with time and pace cues. If you’re having a good run, Runkeeper is your friend. On a bad run, you want to throat punch her.

So for the first time in a very long time, I was running without a clock. Without being timed. Without the compulsive need to check my pace and mile split times. Simply put, I was running without the pressure of performing and competing against myself.

My counselor asked me recently if I enjoy running and what I think about when I run. She wondered if it was a peaceful mental place for me. (Yes, I have a counselor. She has this amazing ability to help me process life events and relationships, and in turn, formulate healthy responses and reactions. I adore her and she’s worth her weight in gold) Ummm. Wow. The fast answer would’ve been, “Yes, of course I enjoy running.” And I do. To an extent. But you’d never know it by the self-talk that normally bounces around in my brain:

“Ugh. God, I’m so slow today. Is that all the time that’s passed? This sucks. What the hell is wrong with me? I do NOT want to run 9-minute miles. Mother of pearl- I wanna be sub 8 on this. Or at least low eights. Have I gotten slower? I need to eat better. Less beer would probably help too. I should really cross train. I say that everyday and never do it. Dumb. This hill is kicking my ass. I suck. How did I ever run 2 half marathons when it feels like I can’t run 4 miles today? I’ll never be able to run a full marathon.”

You get the picture. Big sigh. It’s not very nice. I’m kind of embarrassed by it. My counselor went on to ask me if I would ever talk to a friend the way I talk to myself. Ummm no. Never. Ever. So what would I tell a friend who was having a bad run? “Hey! Not every run is going to be your best. Every run is different. You still got out there today! You’re still running! Look at all the people who never exercise or run at all. Be proud of yourself. You’ll do better next time.” Woah. Big difference.
So there I was, running without any self-imposed pressure–and though I was tempted to worry about my time, I made a conscious effort to just simply run at a pace that felt natural to me. And then I did something that felt sort of corny at the time. I started to think about some quotes I’d read recently -the ones about living in the moment and enjoying life and being fully present. So part way through my run, I made myself breathe as deeply as I could and started to meditate on the positive things in my life right now. It’s very possibly been the worst year of my life (or 2nd worst year anyway) and therefore seemed like a loser idea,  but this is what I heard in my head:

“I love that the sun is shining right now. It’s an absolutely beautiful morning. The trees are changing colors and it’s amazing. I’m so thankful I can run this morning. I know my schedule won’t always be like this, but it is today- and I’m thankful for that.”

I could feel the tears starting to come.

“Thank you God for my kids and how well each of them are doing. Thank you that they are happy and healthy and each in a good place. Thank you for my parents and how much they love me and support me. Thank you that I have brothers and a sister that love me and would do anything for me. Thank you for the friends in my life that love me and adore me and think that I am lovable and funny and kind.”

I am in the home stretch now, running down my street with tears streaming down my face. “Thank you for my home. I love my house. My yard. My dog. Life has been so, so very hard- and yet there is so much sweetness too- I am overwhelmed. “

The day I forgot my watch, I probably didn’t run my fastest 4 miles ever, but it wasn’t my slowest either. I loved the happy and free girl I ran with. In those moments, yes, I loved running- but I loved my life, too. And that’s a good run day.

A Kindness Countdown to Christmas

Somehow I’m always a week or two late with this post– but not this year! Thanks to Snovember and all of those days we were trapped inside, The Kindness Countdown to Christmas is happening right on time! I asked my girls if they were up for this again and got a resounding YES! We hope you decide to join us for what ends up being a very fun and thoughtful way to count down the Christmas season.

Every year I have such mixed emotions about the holidays. Of course I want to enjoy them with my kids and family and friends, but sometimes there’s a sticky gap between expectation and experience. The busyness and exhaustion of the season and all that it requires gets all jumbled up with the ghosts of Christmas past, loss and grief (December was the month I lost my first husband…and then buried him on New Year’s Eve), stress over broken and tricky relationships…and the holidays can feel like The Hot Mess Express. Bleh. Skip to January. PLEASE?

And I regret this. I hate it, actually. Because in the deepest parts of my heart and soul,   Christmas is all about the birth of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Advent, the 25 days leading up to the celebration of the birth of Christ, represents the darkening of winter and the whole world as it awaits a savior. A yearning. A recognizing of the ache for something more that what this life has to offer. And then He came. On a glorious star-filled night. And nothing would ever be the same. Including my life. Surely, this is a reason to celebrate, rather than dread.

So. A few years ago I stumbled upon a simple, fun and creative way to help nurture more happiness during December. I will forever wish I had thought of this myself, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery… so it’s on! 25 Random Acts of Christmas Kindness. Yep. Everyday in December, the girls and I perform a random act of kindness accompanied by a card that says, “You’ve been RACK’ed”. The card has an explanation of what we are doing and why. The sentiments are small–so far they’ve included candy, fun trinkets (think Target dollar aisle) and $5 Tim Horton’s gift cards, paying for the car behind us in a drive-thru, doing little favors and chores for neighbors…But the return for us has been priceless. It feels good to give, but it feels even better to see how happy it makes the other person. Kindness. Just. Feels. Good.

In a season when children (and adults) spend a lot of time thinking about their own wish lists, intentionally planning a daily way to think of others is now a precious pause we take. I know there will be days we accidentally forget, but that means we get to do it twice the next day. And right from the start of this, my kids caught the concept: Kindness matters. Even teeny tiny acts of kindness matter. And what if the people we surprise decide to do it too?  Now we’re part of a kindness chain. And what if we do it every day, instead of just at Christmas time? Then what? Could we change our little part of the world with our little random acts of Christmas kindness? Well actually, I think we can.

And in reality, we ARE part of a kindness chain. It started with a baby born 2000 years ago. In the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season, may my exhaustion come from kindness. I will gladly work full-time to keep that spirit alive in my heart and in my family.

It’s perfect timing to participate! Click here to find the link for free printable cards.

You and Your Stickers


I used to see your stickers and inwardly roll my eyes. Your 26.2s and your 13.1s. Your “Just Run” and “I Run Because I Can” bumper stickers. I used to see them and think, “We get it. You can run. Congrats.” (I’m such a snot, right?) But then I became a runner. And now instead of my petty little jealous thoughts, I feel inspired. Now I see your stickers and I think, “You rock.” Because now I know and understand some of what it takes. I’m working up to my first half marathon in May and I really do get it. The fact that I’m about to lose a toenail really makes me feel legit. (And unfortunately, just in time for flip-flop season. This is totally going to ruin my feet for summer. Boo.)
And so now, your stickers inspire me. It’s a whole different type of jealousy. It’s admiration. It’s respect. And it’s tons of inspiration. I see your stickers and I think, “You did it. You paid the price and you did it. You toughed it out and did it.” I see your stickers and think, if I can run 11.3 miles, then I can run 13.1 miles like you did. I see your stickers and think, “That’s not some crazy Olympian. That’s another chick like me. And she’s got a sticker.”
I used to see the sticker and think it was a little egotistical. A little braggy. Now that I know what it takes, I see the sticker and I think, “Thank you. Thanks for reminding me that if you can do it, I can too.” And when I do, I’m gonna get a sticker.

Hungry For More

Up until now, The Hunger Games in my life went something like this: It’s late. I’m laying in bed, I promised myself I would NOT eat another thing tonight. But now I’m hungry. And so the battle begins–To get up and get a snack or not to get up and get a snack? Last night my mental arch enemy was a Rice Krispy treat.
But now. Now I have literally just finished reading the REAL Hunger Games and I’m hooked. I’m a fan–and it’s surprising me a little bit. I read a lot. As in, probably a book a week. And normally, books that even hint of fantasy or science fiction would NEVER grace my nightstand. It’s just not a genre I enjoy. And on top of that, word on the street was that The Hunger Games were written towards and marketed towards a younger crowd–and this reminded me of Twilight. And I wanted to throw up in my mouth a little bit. I read Twilight. And I wish I could get those hours back. (Sorry-you’re reading Real Life. Truthfully. Remember? It’s true!)
The Hunger Games was riveting. It was a genuine page turner. Because I love to read so much, I normally “restrict” my reading hours to bedtime–but I found myself drawn back to the book all day long, thinking about the story and the characters and anxiously anticipating what would happen next. It did not disappoint.
But here’s the other really surprising part of The Hunger Games for me–in some of the circles I travel, there had been talk that this book was not great reading material for Christians. I honestly hate to even broach this topic because after reading the book (and I’m not certain that everyone involved in those conversations had), it’s a little embarrassing. From my humble and albeit limited perspective, the prevailing theme of The Hunger Games is the indomitable power of the Human Spirit. It is the triumph of good over evil. It is a showcase of our ability to endure horrific circumstances long after we think we’re able to. It is the glorious display of an incredibly strong and level-headed young female heroine. Unlike the Twilight series, Katniss Everdeen cares less about romancing her male counterparts and more about fighting for her life and not allowing the evil empire of government to change the essence of who she is. I don’t know about you, but that’s a story that’s worth my time. And although much has been made about the “kids killing kids” aspect of the story–that is not nearly the central theme the reader comes away with, nor a part of the story that is emphasized, dwelt upon, or championed.
I want my 14-year-old daughter to read this book, and my younger daughter when she’s of age. Not just for the brilliant and thrilling storyline, but for the inspiring and empowering role model of The Hunger Games’ rock star girl character. There has always been a shortage of these girls in our movies and our books and I want them to see her fierce ability to triumph over adversity. Unlike their mother, who caved and ate the last Rice Krispy treat.

Post Traumatic Bird Stress Continues…

In case anyone is wondering how I’m doing post-bird trauma, here’s an update– they’re stalking me. At least it FEELS like they’re stalking me. As Emery was waiting for the bus this morning and riding around the driveway on her scooter, I was standing on the front porch, minding my own business. I just happened to look over at my spring wreath, only to see that a bird’s nest is being built IN THE WREATH. ON MY PORCH. RIGHT NEAR THE DOOR. I don’t need to imagine the possibilities of a bird’s nest near the door– I’ve already lived it. And as we know, it was not pretty. Soooooo, as you might imagine, I was not happy to see this. I was actually, um, a little nervous. 

Me: Oh, Em! You will not believe this. Look at the wreath. Do you see that? Birds are building a nest in it!

Emery: (Eyebrows raised. Look of concern for her mother’s mental health and stability.)

Me: Do you think there’s a bird in there? Should I bump the wreath and check?

Emery: (Struggling under the weight of her mother depending on her for safety) 

Emery: (Tentatively) Okay Mom! And if a bird flies out, you can get away on my scooter and I’ll just run.

Me: (Feeling totally embarrassed and glad to have the scooter offer.) Okay. Sounds good.

Then the bus came. So none of it actually came to pass. I think I’ll go out there with a broom right now and maybe the Mets apron. Thank God she left the scooter near by.

A Bird in the Hand…Probably Would’ve Killed Me

Yesterday, a bird flew into my house. Apparently it had been hanging around in my garage and when I opened the garage to let the dog out, I scared it. The irony. Because then, it flew straight into my house, into my kitchen, and terrified me. Yep. I completely freaked out. It headed straight for my sliding glass door, thinking it had found a fast escape, only to bump and flap at the glass and cause me to scream. And shriek. In hindsight, it’s all a little humiliating but in the moment, I was completely hysterical. Really, only for one reason- my hubs had already left for work. Why do all the good things happen after he’s gone?
Had Allen had been there, I still would’ve been a little nervous, but instead of holding a Mets apron over my head for protection, I probably would’ve been just watching, jumping around saying things like,”Get it Baby!” and “Honey, you are so brave! How do you know how to do these things?” And then Allen would’ve gotten rid of the bird and I would’ve spent the rest of the day thinking about how great he is. Instead…I acted like a maniac, ran out the front door, talked myself down a little, ran back in, (grabbed said apron for protection) and called him. I might’ve cried for a second. I know. Epic. Failure.
All this was happening while my daughters were halfway upstairs, halfway downstairs. I’m not sure what was more frightening for them. Me or the bird. I’m such a role model. Me and all my fitness and workout quotes that inspire me-“I don’t run to be thin. I run to be fierce” and “Strong is what happens when you run out of weak.” Blah, blah, blah. Wow. Keep running, eh? My one daughter actually said,”Oh, it’s a bird? From the way you were acting I thought there was a masked man in the house!” Um, hello? Is anyone else out there remotely with me on this? The bird was now perched on top of my refrigerator while breakfast was about to burn on the stove. And of course I couldn’t turn the stove off because then I’d have to go near the bird. And it might do something crazy like- I don’t know- fly at me- or peck my head to a nub. Or get caught in my hair. (Caught in my hair feeling like the most likely scenario)
Thankfully, sweet and calm husband on the phone gave me some tips, such as open all the doors- which, to my credit, I had done. Then, after closing some other doors to the living room and dining room, the bird flew out the sliding glass door. I didn’t actually SEE this with my own eyes, so I had to ask my youngest daughter approximately 237 times if she was SURE the bird had flown out the door. And then, this same child looked me square in the face and said….wait for it…”You didn’t handle that very well.” Wow. Insult to injury. And then came the re-enactments of mom freaking out. The made up songs about birds in the house and a crazy mother. Sigh…it was not my finest hour.
BUT! My chance to save face came a little later in the day when that same sweet child had a fly in her room and called me for help. That’s right- a measly, teeny, tiny little fly. Puh-leeeze. Who would be scared of a fly? I ran in like a champ and let it out the window. And we didn’t even have to call Dad.

3 Kids Later…Still an Amateur…

Last night, the Tooth Fairy was supposed to come. But she didn’t. Until this morning. And even then, she had to send in a sub because she choked. It went something like this: Woke up. Saw the clock. Started to drift back to sleep. Sat up in terror and whisper screamed at husband, “THE TOOTH FAIRY NEVER CAME!” (While violently shaking his arm) I have no words for her. 3 kids and 20 years later, she still doesn’t have this routine down? Over the years, the excuses we have had to make for this chick are unreal- Apparently, she doesn’t work weekends, holidays, certain weeknights, Passover, Flag Day, in extreme weather conditions or on Oscar night. Seriously? 

Soooooo. When she went in there at 6:35 this morning, she knew the odds. They weren’t good. It was very possible that Cindy Lou Who was going to wake up. And she did. She woke up and LOOKED at me. Looked at me as if to say, “What are you doing in my room standing there just looking at me?” It was almost a little humiliating. And so like any good mother, I whispered, “Go back to sleep. I was just checking your window.” Yep. That’s what I said. Deer in headlights. Cash in hand. Tooth under pillow. I choked. That was it. I tiptoed right back out, deed undone.

That’s when I called in the back up. I begged. I pleaded. I might’ve promised rewards. I did casually mention she’s awake. And then I got back in bed. He had to. Now he had no choice. But he went in like a pro and got the job done. Phew.

I have been bamboozling these kids for 20 years. And I have to admit, I’m one of those moms who loves it. The lengths I have gone to over the years to maintain the charade of Santa and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and the Leprechaun…it’s a full time job. And I have loved it. Probably to the point where I have wondered if the kids are now just humoring me and don’t want to disappoint me by letting on that the gig is up. 

At one point, one of our kids had reached an age where, by all accounts, she should no longer think it possible for a teeny tiny fairy to flutter into the house and replace teeth with money. And in the interest of      fairness and her sanity, finally, when she asked me the truth about the tooth fairy, I was almost relieved. “Mom,” she tentatively said. “I just don’t see how it’s possible. The little fairy and all.” “You don’t?” I replied. “Alright then. Okay. Well, how do you think the money gets there? Who do you think does it?” Slowly, a smile spread across her face and she lifted a finger up and pointed to me. “You?” she whispered. “You’re the Tooth Fairy?” “That’s right!” I smiled. “It’s me.” But I could see her excitement and where this was headed. I had evidently been such an expert swindler that this child thought I was THE Tooth Fairy. Like FOR THE WHOLE WORLD. I was slightly flattered for a minute and even considered going with it…but alas…I let her down easy. “Not for everybody honey. Just for our house.” We both exhaled a sigh of relief. That really would be a lot I guess. (Especially considering I couldn’t manage one kid this morning.) 

All’s well that ends well. The little one has her money this morning and I’ve got another shot tomorrow morning with the Leprechaun. I’m ready with the Lucky Charms, the green crepe paper, the green food coloring. It doesn’t matter that we’re not Irish. We’ve got traps to set tonight and this just might be the year we get that little guy.

 

The Memory Jar

I’ve come to accept that I will never really be a “Scrap Booker.” (Such a tough realization…) Now I know that legitimate scrapbookers are going to think that the idea I’m about to present is a far cry from scrapbooking and not even remotely comparable. I KNOW. I GET IT. It’s not supposed to replace scrapbooking, per se. Well, it sort of is. But hear me out. It’s a Memory Jar and I have totally fallen for this idea. Mainly, because it’s simple. And easy. And not at all expensive or time consuming. Sound good?

Here’s the deal. Find a jar. Any jar. I think I’ll probably need a bigger jar soon, but the one I started with is just fine for now. Throughout the year, you just add things to the jar that you want to remember. Movie tickets, sporting event or other ticket stubs, hotel keys (are you supposed to turn those in? I’m never really sure…?). Really, any small mementos that will fit. I’ve also jotted down some memories and events on post-it notes. Then, during the last week of the year, or on New Year’s Eve, or whatever works for you, dump out the jar and reminisce about the year. When you’re done, put the lid on, set it on a shelf, and eventually you’ll have a collection of memories from years gone by. See? Easy. And not a single cut or paste or sticker required.

So far my jar has Sabres tickets, a lift pass from Colden Tubing Company, a note about the Super Bowl party we had, a note from a day when Allen took the girls sledding, and some notes about a few milestones for the kids (“Emery started gymnastics” “Casey and her best friend went ice skating and had a sleepover”). There are also a few movie tickets, the ticket from a banquet we attended this past weekend, and yes, our hotel room key.

Granted, there are no pictures in the jar. But I COULD put some in if I wanted to and even add some notes to the back of them. I do take pictures of our life all the time- I just never get around to doing anything with them, other than feeling guilty that I’m not doing MORE with them. Here’s another catch- realistically, even if I WAS a Scrap Booker, many of the things in my Memory Jar thus far are probably not picture-worthy events, and yet still things I’d like to remember. I like the daily-ness of some of the contents- “Super fun game of Scrabble” and “Family dinner with cousins”.

I should’ve posted this in January- or better yet, toward the end of December so you would be ready with a jar. Sorry about that. BUT! It’s not too late to start! Grab a jar! Rinse out the jelly if you have to! Trust me- you will be totally thankful a few months- and years- from now when you have jars full of memories to sort back through. You’re welcome.