After Monday’s court, the rest of this week slipped into quietness. It’s left me wondering—is this the calm before the storm, or is this what life is supposed to feel like? I’ve done a lot of waiting. Nothing new there.

But there were bright moments too. My friend celebrated one year of finally having her ex off the house deeds—a milestone that deserves joy and recognition. So, as her “wifey,” I went all in: helium balloons and bright paper pompoms outside her door, British chocolate (the best kind, of course), candles, soda pop bottles, and a card tucked inside.

She deserves this happiness so much. Watching her smile and laugh reminded me that this is what life should be—friends lifting each other up, finding little ways to celebrate freedom, resilience, and milestones. Her neighbors probably think I’m half mad, but honestly? Who cares.

And then there was something for me, too. I went for a job interview this week. Imagine having proof that people want you. Even if I don’t get the job, it felt so good to feel like I’m moving forward. The people were welcoming, and I could picture myself fitting in, working alongside them with ease. As my dad used to say, what is meant for you won’t go by you.

I was supposed to go out last night with the same friend whose house I ballooned, but life had other plans. My youngest daughter called me in tears—her first proper crush had broken up with her over text. Urgh. Heartbreak by phone screen. It was an hour’s drive home, but I didn’t even hesitate. I was in the car and by her side as fast as I could be. We had a lot of hugs, then I took her out for DQ ice cream and bought her chocolate. What else can you do for a broken heart? Sometimes love looks like sprinkles on a sundae and the comfort of knowing you don’t have to cry alone.

So no night out for me—but knowing that when my daughter needs me, she calls, and she trusts that I will drop everything to be there… that’s priceless. I haven’t been out since a poetry slam in May, so she knows exactly what it means that I chose her without hesitation. That bond is worth more than any night out.

And then there’s today—swim lessons an hour from home, a kids’ party two hours beyond that, and endless miles of rural Northern Ontario highways. Six hours of driving in one day—but three happy kids. The fourth is tucked up in bed, nursing her broken heart, and she’ll be smiling again tonight when I walk through the door with a tub of mango sorbet and hand her a spoon. A late mango sorbet, mind you—because another daughter has to swing through the mall for a gift and head out to a birthday dinner before I can finally settle in at home. More waiting… but maybe that’s not wasted. Because in the waiting, new ideas take root. I can already feel the tug of another poem forming in my head, waiting for me to put pen to paper and see where it leads.

The fall weather has been beautiful and warm, the colors absolutely incredible. I have taken some many photos.  Including the one above.  Still, I have my red rubber boots waiting by the door, ready for a heavy rain, music from the speakers, and me dancing like no one is watching.

This week was quiet, but maybe that’s not something to fear. Maybe it’s a reminder that progress isn’t always loud—it’s in helium balloons and bright paper pompoms, in laughter on a doorstep, in walking into an interview room with hope, in holding your daughter close when her heart is breaking, in the long drives that stitch together a family’s messy, beautiful life, and in the quiet moments when inspiration whispers.