Before sunset

At the time, those waiting days felt arduous and uncomfortable. Years later, I see their golden glow.

Welcome to Nourish, a free monthly(ish) newsletter to help you be kinder to yourself and others. In your May 2025 issue: reflecting on presence, simple pleasures, connecting over art and new reading recommendations.

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Dear reader,

After our Mother's Day dinner, I insisted on visiting the park to practice baseball. My sons protested (they wanted more screen time), but I pulled the Mother's Day card and won. We'd had a nice day, with church and brunch and a sweet gift of pajamas, and I wanted to keep the joy going.

The sun hung low in a vivid blue sky, and dandelions freckled the overgrown baseball field upon which we descended. I loved that the days were growing longer, allowing ample playtime before sunset.

My first throw hit my second grader’s glove and popped into the grass rolled towards me. Jack frowned. “Let's see how many catches we can get in a row,” I suggested, sending the baseball back.

Back and forth we tossed the ball, bringing to mind fond memories of playing catch with my mother. A high school softball player, she’d instilled in me a love of this game. I wanted the same for Jack, but this baseball season, he hadn't yet found his confidence. His skills weren’t where he wanted them to be; I hoped more practice would help.

We’d made five catches in a row, then I made the mistake of correcting Jack’s throwing form. He grimaced, shifting his eyes to the dandelions, the cotton ball clouds overhead, finally, his father. Jack wouldn’t look at me or continue to play. Ugh! Why did I open my mouth?

My husband Jay and I exchanged looks. Switch? I mouthed, already retreating towards our youngest son Adam. Jay jogged over. He’d know what to say to Jack to lift his spirits. My husband is a fixer.

Where Adam was playing, Creeping Charlie grew in clumps, emanating a peppery smell and stirring thoughts of our old backyard. That weed had descended on it from our neighbors’ yard and Jay had repeatedly attempted to thwart its spread. Now we had no backyard to tend; we were renting an apartment while searching for a new house. Unfortunately, Jay and I hadn’t seen any homes we liked within our budget, and when we finally did see a good one, we’d certainly have to compete for it in this market. Our search felt as impossible as fighting off that stubborn weed.

Sunlight slanted in thick stripes over the field, framed by shadows of stately homes. Sometimes when we came here, I liked to imagine our family lived around the corner. Our temporary living situation was keeping me up at night. What would it feel like to put down roots again?

When I reached for his wiffle ball and bat, Adam refused to play with me — my three-year-old was too interested in digging around in his brother's baseball bag. I slumped onto the dugout bench, turning towards Jack and his dad. Jack wasn't smiling. At least he was throwing again.

“We're not batting over here, so feel free to come over!” I called out. Hitting was Jack’s favorite part of baseball. Perhaps a few good hits would sweeten his mood?

Jay pitched. At first, Jack swung and missed, swung and missed, shaking his head. Believe in yourself, I wanted to tell him. Wait for your pitch. I kept my mouth shut. I knew better than to speak again.

“Do you want to make a wish, Mommy?” Adam asked. He wore his brother's blue and white Nike cleats, which were comically large on him, and held out a dandelion puff.

Do I want to make a wish? I have so many wishes, I don't even know where to start. I wished that the wiry gray hairs on my crown would disappear. I wished I was braver, and less selfish. I wished we had a house. I wished our government was kinder. I wished for peace on earth and in my heart. I wished for my boys’ comfort and happiness.

The setting sun cast a golden glow around the field and the dandelion puffs seemed to dance in the light.

This was what I wished especially for Jack: to find pleasure in a game we loved, to build his character, to cheer on others, to hone his patience. Patience was something I needed, too. Jack and I had that in common — we wanted to skip ahead from where we were now to where we wanted to be.

I thought of the months I spent waiting for two pink lines on a pregnancy test. While pregnant, I waited months for my sons to make their debuts. After each arrived, there were months upon months of sleep-scarce nights and desperate prayers for relief. At the time, those waiting days felt arduous and uncomfortable. I did not always appreciate the blessings in my midst. Years later, I see their golden glow.

I didn’t want to waste too much energy focusing on what I lacked, lest it blind me from the fleeting beauty before me. Beaming at Adam, I grasped the puff and exhaled. Together, we watched wishes float and sparkle in the sky.

Crack. A line drive sailed out to center field. Though I couldn't see Jack's face, I could picture his broad smile, drenched in light.

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NOURISH YOURSELF

As I navigate our family's waiting season, I'm working on cultivating gratitude for the present. I discovered that reveling in simple pleasures keeps my mind off worries of the future and anchors me in the day-to-day. Here are some of mine:

• A hydrangea-scented hand soap I use exclusively at our kitchen sink, where I prep meals and wash dishes on repeat. The kitchen sink is the only spot in our apartment with “fancy soap,” giving it extra appeal.

• This JJ Heller playlist for moms on Spotify. Often, it seems Heller’s reading my mind when it comes to motherhood and some of her lyrics provoke tears of recognition. Her music makes me feel known and anchored in the present. (I also feel this way about my favorite singer, Kacey Musgraves.)

• Walking the trails near home or at the Chicago Botanic Gardens and pausing to capture pictures of flowers has brought joy this spring.

• These delicious miniature ice cream cones from Trader Joes. They’re the perfect small dessert that doesn’t give my kids a crazy sugar high. We love the chocolate chip and strawberry flavors.

• My new mom uniform. I recently discovered this $8 scoop neck t-shirt at Target, and I’m now wearing it a few days week with high rise jeans. (I have it in olive, light gray and pale pink.) I love finding clothes I feel good in so I’m not overthinking getting dressed in the morning.

Do you have a uniform — clothes you wear again and again? What music are you listening to right now? Any sweet treats to share? What are your simple pleasures?

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NOURISH OTHERS

When Jay first told me about “Severance,” I wasn’t interested in watching it. He kept raving about it, and I could tell it mattered to him, so I gave the series a chance. This smart, darkly funny psychological thriller about office workers whose brains have been surgically altered to sever their work memories from their personal memories (weird, I know) soon became my new obsession. We’ve seen both seasons, but we’re rewatching them from start to finish while listening to executive producer Ben Stiller and lead actor Adam Scott’s podcast about it, which has added new layers to our show discussions.

Though our tastes sometimes diverge, Jay and I have discovered that finding a television series we both want to watch helps us bond after busy days working and raising two wild boys. With our sons, we love visiting the library, picking out DVDs together and having family movie nights with homemade popcorn. Watching Pharrell Williams’ Piece by Piece fostered rich conversation with them about creativity, music, tenacity and passion. Other movie night hits have included The Sandlot, Shrek and all the Despicable Me films.

With your loved ones, find movies or shows to enjoy together, then discuss them afterwards. You might ask about the characters, the storytelling, ethical dilemmas and the message/takeaway of the piece. Making time to enjoy and discuss art with people you care for forges lasting connections.

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NOURISHING WORDS

On my nightstand

• Dear Writer: In her new book, poet Maggie Smith offers practical and heartfelt wisdom for writers — especially poets — in easy to digest chapters. I reserved this book from the library after its release and quickly consumed it. As soon as I returned my copy, I went to the bookstore to buy my own. Dear Writer deserved a permanent spot in my craft collection.

• A Bit Much: Lyndsay Rush’s debut poetry collection, based on her viral poem “She’s A Bit Much,” provides humor and hope with every page. Her voice is a permission slip for women everywhere, urging us to become more confident, joyful and brave wherever we show up. Highly recommend.

Recent writing

• To mother

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I’m thrilled to share that this issue marks five years of Nourish! When I began writing this newsletter on MailChimp in May 2020 (select back issues are archived here), I had no idea it would blossom into a beloved passion project with a robust readership. With each missive, I strive to provide stories and ideas that spark kindness, and it’s been fun seeing how this work has infused grace in my relationship with myself and others. I pray that you’ve found — and will continue finding — encouragement and hope here.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading!

Grace and peace,
Erin

P.S., Will you help me celebrate five years of Nourish by sharing this newsletter with a friend? I’m so grateful to connect with you.

I’m so grateful that
Bad days are often followed
by good ones
That sometimes while it’s raining
The sun makes a little cameo
That time really does heal
and in the meantime, sleep helps
That our dogs can tell when we
need extra comfort
That when the worst case scenario 
takes us by surprise
so does our own strength

—Lyndsay Rush, "Cracks of Light"

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For more reflections on light, read these posts from my friends Fay (Where the Light Slows), Kim (These Are the Days I Live For) and Jess (Let the Light In).