Coming Home To Warmth
Coming home to Texas always begins in the body before it reaches the mind, the air heavier and warmer the moment we step outside, wrapping itself around us like a familiar hand on the back, a quiet reminder that winter here is gentler, softer, already loosening its grip, and after weeks of cold and snow and bundled layers, the warmth feels almost indulgent, something you ease into rather than rush.
Our first few days back are about settling, about re-entering our own rhythm, and I find myself doing the things many people dread but I love…unpacking slowly, folding clothes, moving from room to room putting things back where they belong, resetting the house the way you reset yourself after travel, through laundry and light and order. There is something deeply satisfying about returning things to their places, about restoring familiarity, about making a home feel inhabited again after absence.
I rearrange a little, too, especially in my closet. Shifting pieces, taking stock, letting go of what no longer feels right, because returning home always asks me to reassess not just where things go, but what I want to carry forward into the season ahead.
The boys have left some toys behind in Colorado, intentionally, waiting for them there like small promises, and while a few favorites are missing, there is an unexpected joy in watching them rediscover what remained here, toys that were never lost or forgotten, only resting, waiting patiently to be loved again. There is something comforting in that, the way not everything has to be available all the time, the way anticipation has a place even in childhood.
I return to the markets, three of them, each for a different reason, each offering its own rhythm and familiarity. One market I always come back to for the produce, it feels alive and vibrant, another one for staples and weekly rituals, and one for the small, surprising things I didn’t know I needed until I saw them. Walking their aisles feels like a conversation I’ve paused and picked back up again, my hands remembering what to reach for, my mind already planning meals, imagining the week ahead through what will fill the fridge.
Restocking feels hopeful.
Planning meals feels grounding.
There is comfort in knowing what will nourish us, in building a week around care and intention, even when life beyond the kitchen feels uncertain.
Because 2026 is already carrying weight. I can feel it.
There are good things ahead, things I’m excited for, moments I can almost see waiting just beyond the horizon, and there are also things I am not looking forward to, things I am scared to face, unknowns that sit quietly in the background, reminding me that not every season arrives gently. I am holding both truths at once: anticipation and apprehension, hope and worry, trust and fear, knowing that this year will ask things of me I cannot yet name.
For now, though, I am home.
The house is warm.
The laundry is done.
The fridge is full.
And in these early days back in Texas, that feels like enough…a soft place to land, a foundation from which to face whatever this year may bring, one ordinary, intentional day at a time.