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Feb 1, 2026    |       20 comments

The Least Romantic but Most Loving Thing I’m Doing This February

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As I have finally decided to make my move to Texas official, I’ve realized it’s also time to do something incredibly responsible: Update my “If Something Happens to Me” file. This is not morbid. This is not pessimistic. This is not me assuming the worst. This is me acknowledging that I am a 50-something single woman with a life, accounts, responsibilities, and children who should not be left playing detective if something goes sideways.

Moving states is a natural checkpoint. Addresses change. Laws change. And the mental note that says “I should probably take care of that” officially expires.

This isn’t about planning to disappear. It’s about planning not to leave a mess.

Why This Matters (More Than People Admit)

If something happens to me, I do not want my my kids:

  • locked out of accounts;
  • guessing at passwords;
  • digging through paperwork;
  • or arguing with institutions that require very specific forms.

I love them too much for that.

So yes, I’m doing the boring, grown-up thing. And I’m calling it self-love.

The First 5 Things I’m Documenting (In This Order)

Not everything. Not all at once. Just the things that matter most.

1. Beneficiaries (Because These Override Everything)

This is the big one.

I’m checking and updating beneficiaries on:

  • retirement accounts
  • bank accounts
  • any life insurance

Because no matter what your will says, beneficiary forms usually win. If the wrong person is listed, that’s who gets the money. Full stop.

This step alone can prevent absolute chaos.

2. My Trusted Person (Yes, I Have to Tell Them)

Someone needs to know how to step in if needed.

So I’m re-evaluating:

  • who that person is,
  • whether they’re still the right choice,
  • and making sure they actually know.

No hints. No assumptions. No “they’ll figure it out.”

3. A Simple “Here’s Where Everything Is” List

Not passwords. Not instructions for running my life.

Just:

  • bank names
  • investment accounts
  • insurance companies
  • recurring bills
  • where my password manager lives

Enough to reduce panic. Enough to provide a starting point.

4. Basic Documents in One Place

Not scattered. Not “I think it’s in a drawer somewhere.” This is a organized, tabbed, 3 ring binder that while I don’t look at it often, it holds the keys to everything. And it’s definitely time, I went through and made sure it’s all up to date.

At minimum:

  • ID
  • Social Security card
  • insurance info
  • any existing legal documents

One folder. Physical or digital. Labeled clearly. Boring in the best way.

5. A Texas Reality Check

Because state lines matter.

As part of the move, I’m reviewing:

  • whether existing documents still apply
  • what needs updating under Texas law
  • what I should create if I haven’t yet

This isn’t an overnight project. It’s a “start being intentional” project.

The Part No One Likes to Talk About

This kind of planning doesn’t feel urgent-until it is.

But doing it now means:

  • fewer decisions later
  • less stress for the people I love
  • and proof that I take my own life seriously

This isn’t morbid.

It’s responsible.
It’s thoughtful.
And honestly? It’s one of the most self-loving financial moves I can make.

If you’re in a season of transition-moving, simplifying, or just realizing you don’t want to leave loose ends-this is your nudge.

Start small.
Document the basics.
And give yourself credit for doing the grown-up thing.

Even if it’s wildly unromantic.

Jan 31, 2026    |       3 comments

Managing Money in a Quiet Season of Life

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No one really talks about the quiet seasons of life. Or as I am calling this season…the “Huh?” season.

We prepare people for chaos. For busy. For “you’ll miss this someday.” What no one says is: one day your house will be quieter, your calendar will stop yelling at you, and your expenses will shift in ways that make taking a breathe doable.

Welcome to my current season.

A Day in the Life

Most days look something like this:

  • 2-ish hours of caretaking duties several times a day – morning, afternoon and evening
  • 2-ish hours strategizing a new business I am absolutely going to launch (just not today, apparently)
  • Several hours of ongoing work for existing clients
  • Bible study prep, because I apparently enjoy responsibility in all forms

And somehow, despite all of that, I am also living the life of a semi-hermit, and I am not mad about it.

Caretaking

Caretaking, for the record, is real work. It’s appointments, logistics, emotional support, making sure life continues to function, and standing next to mom’s hospital bed thinking, ‘How is it only 10:30 a.m.?’ It doesn’t generate income, but it does generate exhaustion and a deep appreciation for anyone who shows up consistently.

Which brings me to modern miracles:
? grocery delivery
? pharmacy delivery
? hospice support that actually supports
? and the unmatched gift of comfy pajamas that can pass for “real clothes” on Zoom if the lighting is right

I am deeply grateful. Also deeply tired. Both can be true.

Work and Working on Work

Then there’s the business.

I spend about two hours a day planning, refining, rethinking, tweaking, and almost pulling the trigger. If preparation burned calories, I’d be in incredible shape. This is not procrastination-it’s discernment. Or fear. Or wisdom. Or all three holding hands.

The tricky part is that this stage looks unproductive on paper. It’s unpaid, invisible work that doesn’t show up neatly in a budget. And when you’re managing money while your income is steady but your future income is still theoretical, things get…a little bit spicy.

Add in my ongoing client work: work I love, work that matters, work that keeps things afloat-and Bible study prep, which somehow manages to stretch into every quiet corner of my brain, and you’d think there’d be no room left for reflection.

But quiet seasons create space whether you ask for it or not.

Money Gets Weird

And that’s where money gets weird.

I’m not paying for kid expenses the way I used to. I’m not feeding a small army anymore. But emotional spending sneaks in wearing sensible shoes. A little convenience here. A little comfort there. A “why not” purchase because the house is quiet and I miss my kids more than I care to admit.

I miss them. A lot.

I miss the noise, the interruptions, the constant “Mom!” echoing through the house. And sometimes spending money becomes a substitute for that energy-not recklessly, just… tenderly. Like buying reassurance in small, Amazon-sized boxes.

Managing money in this season hasn’t been about aggressive debt payoff or rigid rules. It’s been about not spending to fill emotional gaps and not punishing myself for being human.

A “good money day” right now looks like:

  • Not shopping out of boredom
  • Not panicking about timelines
  • Not pretending this is a hustle season when it clearly isn’t

This is a caretaking season. A stewardship season. A preparation season. A pajama-friendly, delivery-dependent, hermit-adjacent season.

And honestly? I’m kind of loving it.

I don’t need my life to be loud right now. I need it to be sustainable.

That means managing money gently. Respecting my energy. Letting the business unfold at the right pace. Trusting that quiet does not mean stagnant-it means rooting.

So yes, I’m still strategizing. Still caring for others. Still showing up for clients. Still leading Bible studies. Still missing my kids. Still wearing comfy pajamas more often than not.

And I’m learning that sometimes the most responsible financial choice is not forcing yourself to live like you’re in a different chapter.

Quiet seasons don’t look impressive.

But they do meaningful work.

And for now, that’s enough.

This semester my Saturday Bible study is working through the theme Transformation which is where this post came from. Our homework this past week was to identify our season, not judge it, just define it. At the same time, we had to identify the negative self talk we are feeding ourselves as well as the longings we feel. It’s been a really good exercise.

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