Pull Up a Chair: January 9, 2026

Welcome to Pull Up a Chair 2026!

If you’ve been around here for a while, you know that Fridays have always been reserved for a certain kind of post. The kind where we sit down together, talk about life, laugh a little, vent a little, and remind ourselves that none of us are doing this alone. For years, that space was called Friday Conversations. And while that name has served us well, this year—this season—felt like the right time for something new.

So welcome to Pull Up a Chair.

This series will be taking the place of Friday Conversations going forward. Not because anything was wrong with the old name, but because I’m in a season of transition, and sometimes a fresh name helps mark a new chapter. Pull Up a Chair feels more like an invitation. Less structured. Less polished. More real. The kind of phrase you say when someone walks into the kitchen while you’re already exhausted and you just say, “Pull up a chair. You might as well sit with me through this.”

These posts will still live on Fridays, still sound like me, and still cover life at Shady Pines, midlife moments, and the occasional chaos that comes from sharing a home with two free-range seniors. I’ll also be adding giveaways into the mix—hopefully starting next Friday. I finally have a plan for those (which feels like a small miracle), and I just need to tweak a couple of details before rolling it out.

So this is the beginning of something familiar, just with a new name and maybe a slightly deeper sigh.

This Week in the Wilderness

I wish I could say things have felt lighter lately. That the move ushered in a sense of calm, fresh starts, and positive momentum. But if I’m being honest—and I always am here—things have been tense.

What should be the three of us working together to get settled has somehow turned into a full-blown battle of wills. And I am fairly certain I am losing.

It feels like trying to wrangle a dozen two years of unresolved habits, preferences, routines, and personalities—all having tantrums at the same time—while I’m standing in the middle thinking, I would also like to have a tantrum, thank you very much.

Moving is stressful under the best of circumstances. Add in rushed timelines, temporary living arrangements, and everyone being out of their element, and it’s a recipe for frayed nerves. I find myself constantly reminding myself that this is temporary. That things will settle. That walls will get finished, doors will be hung, routines will return.

But some days? Some days feel like survival mode.

Life at Shady Pines is Getting Tense

Let’s talk about Uncle R.

Uncle R has apparently decided that the concept of day and night is optional. He sleeps most of the day, wakes up to do exactly one task—sometimes something helpful, sometimes something baffling—and then stays up all night. This new nocturnal lifestyle is driving Ma absolutely up the wall.

She cannot stand it.

She paces. She sighs. She comments loudly about “normal hours.” And then, just to add a little extra spice to the situation, Uncle R has taken to using our bathroom. Why? I do not know. He has he own perfectly good bathroom available. But for reasons known only to him, he keeps choosing ours.

Now here’s the real issue: Ma will not use the toilet after Uncle R unless it has been cleaned. And when I say cleaned, I mean surgical-level sanitized. Take a guess who gets tasked with that job.

I clean that toilet more times a day than I care to count. You could eat out of the bowl. I mean, honestly—just go pee, Ma! The amount of emotional energy being spent on this toilet is truly something.

And yet, here we are.

Hot Flashes & “Stop Putting the Covers on Me!”

As if all of that weren’t enough, let’s add one more layer to the chaos: I am temporarily sharing not only a room with Ma, but also a bed.

Temporarily. I keep reminding myself of that word.

The room doesn’t have a door yet and sits right next to the living room. Which means I can hear everything. Every television show. Every commercial. Every late-night channel flip. I have never wanted to throw a television out a door more in my life!

And then there’s menopause.

Night sweats are very much a thing right now. I wake up overheated, uncomfortable, and desperate for airflow. Ma, however, believes I am cold. So every time I fall asleep, she lovingly—but aggressively—covers me up like she’s tucking in a small child.

I wake up drenched and immediately whisper, “Please stop putting the covers on me.”

She apologizes. She truly does. And then fifteen minutes later, she does it again.

I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since we moved in before Christmas. The only reason I slept that first night was pure exhaustion. Since then, it’s been broken sleep, half-awake moments, and the kind of tired that settles deep into your bones.

Holding It Together (Mostly)

Some days I feel patient. Other days I feel like I’m one misplaced blanket away from losing my mind.

But here’s the thing: even in the tension, even in the exhaustion, I know this season won’t last forever. I know these stories will eventually turn into something we laugh about. I know that one day I’ll sleep in my own bed again, with my own thermostat control, and I’ll miss these strange, chaotic days in a quiet way.

Pull Up a Chair is about that space right there—the in-between. The not-quite-settled, not-quite-okay, still-showing-up days. The days where you’re tired but still trying. Where you’re frustrated but still grateful. Where you don’t have tidy conclusions yet, just honesty.

So if your life feels tense right now… if you’re tired… if you’re navigating change that came faster than you expected—pull up a chair. Sit with me. We’ll get through it together.

And maybe next Friday, we’ll even do it with a giveaway.