Like many people at the start of a new year, I’ve been reflecting on the one we just closed. Thanks to Sunny, I had the luxury of nearly two full weeks to unplug—to be with my family in Dallas, to spend time with more family in Colorado, and, honestly, just to be.

That time brought a lot of joy and ease.
It also brought some hard moments.

When our family is out of routine, things can get tricky. There were meltdowns. Spin-outs. Moments that felt heavy and exhausting. But instead of framing those experiences as failures or frustrations, I’m choosing to see them as information—as a quiet but clear wake-up call to live more intentionally, to build more support, and to move through our days with a little more grace than force.

I’ve also felt a gentle pull to write again.

Originally, I thought this would be a post about reflecting on 2025—looking back at the goals we set, what we carried out, what surprised us, and what we learned. And that reflection is coming. I also wanted to share how we’re resetting as a family for 2026 and how we’re thinking about the year ahead. That’s coming too.

But before I go there, it felt important to acknowledge the space in between—the gap.

Seasons of creativity

When I left my job in 2023 and eventually launched Nectar for Good, something unexpected unfolded. What began as a professional leap slowly evolved into a deeper kind of storytelling—about work, family, creativity, fear, and freedom. In 2023 and into 2024, I was breaking from structure for the first time in my adult life. Letting go of familiar scaffolding brought both uncertainty and a surprising amount of peace.

Then came a surge of creative energy I still don’t fully know how to explain.

In 2024, ideas came fast and insistently. Late nights turned into hours spent creating—designing, writing, iterating, building tools like The Morning 5, launching an Etsy shop, and sharing resources that felt genuinely useful for parents (and me!). None of it felt forced. It felt like a download—like something that needed to move through me and into the world.

Out of that same energy, this blog and Substack were born. After our trip to Italy in the summer of 2024, I began writing regularly—almost weekly—for nearly a year. Not because I “should,” but because the words were there. Stories wanted telling. Ideas wanted shape.

And then, quietly, that surge subsided.

Over the last several months, I haven’t felt called to write or post in the same way. The energy shifted. Maybe it moved into other outlets. Maybe it needed rest. Either way, I didn’t push it—because the whole point of A Glittering has always been that it’s a digital diary. A place for reflection, creativity, and honesty, shared only when it feels true.

So it’s interesting—and telling—that over the past week, I’ve felt that pull again.

This post is me listening. Following my gut. Trusting the rhythm instead of fighting it. And beginning again, right where I am.

Reflecting on 2025

Back to what I originally thought this post would focus on: 2025.

**Sanford Family Goals: 2025**

What did we set out to do as a family?
And what actually stuck?

As Jim and I do each year—now increasingly with more input from our kids—we created a set of family goals for 2025. Because this was during the height of my creative flow, I had fun making them visually engaging, thoughtfully organized, and placed somewhere our whole family could see. The goal was to bring a little joy, a small dopamine hit with every completion, and just enough visibility to keep us accountable.

When I first glanced at our list in December, my instinct was disappointment—so many boxes left unchecked. But as I looked closer, reread the details, and reflected on the year we actually lived, I realized something else entirely.

We totally rocked it.

Take family dinners. We didn’t religiously track a weekly sit-down dinner, but what emerged instead was something better: a rhythm. We now have a weekly family dinner that’s a given—one night a week, sometimes two. The kids know it. We protect it. It’s no longer something we have to plan or track; it’s just part of how our weeks work.

The same thing happened with game nights. We never hosted a multi-family game night the way we imagined (another home renovation may have gotten in the way!), but something quieter and more meaningful took its place. On our weekly family dinner nights, the kids now pull out a board game. It’s muscle memory at this point—dinner, conversation, then a game. No screens. A lot of laughter, especially when they choose Cards Against Humanity: Family Edition (basically the same game, just replace anything “sex” with “poop.” Hysterical. Also, the winner gets a wedgie…it’s in the rule book). It’s become one of my favorite rituals—and it wasn’t something I could have engineered on paper.

And while some goals evolved, others held their place because they mattered deeply to us. Family volunteering was one of them. We spent time volunteering together, including projects with Stronger Together, an organization founded by a friend, Cassie Braun, and her family. They create meaningful, kid-friendly ways for families to give back—like tying blankets for foster children. We also assembled Thanksgiving baskets together in our own community, and we already have our next volunteer day with Stronger Together on the calendar for MLK Day. Brother Bill’s, here we come. That continuity feels important to all of us.

When I look back at our 2025 goals, I don’t see a list of things we missed. I see experiments that taught us what works. I see habits that formed without needing to be tracked. And I see a family that kept choosing connection—even when it didn’t look exactly like the plan.

Which is, I think, the whole point.

Resetting for 2026: Deliberate

After some journaling in Colorado, 2026 doesn’t feel like a year for me to leap or climb. It feels like a year to be intentional. To root. To trust my gut and intuition. To continue finding and creating joy, strengthening connection, and simply being.

In parallel, Jim had been doing his own reflection—specifically following Ryan Holiday’s New Year, New You Challenge for the third year in a row. (Go, Jim!) On the second day, the challenge was to choose a word to represent the year. He suggested we choose a word for our family, which led to a great conversation on our drive home from Colorado.

A few contenders rose to the top—intentional, present, presence. All felt true, especially after a season that felt full and fast.

We ultimately landed on deliberate.

It felt active but not rigid. Thoughtful but not precious. Deliberate implies choice. It suggests pausing just long enough to decide—without getting stuck or overthinking everything.

Instead of a long list of family goals, this one word now guides us. It gives us shared language. A filter.

Is this deliberate—or reactive?
Does this add connection—or crowd us?
Are we building something we can actually sustain in this season?

Will I create a colorful reminder of Deliberate and place it strategically in our home, cars, and kids’ backpacks? Umm… yes, of course. I just haven’t gotten there yet—and I’m okay pushing this live in service of progress > perfection.

That doesn’t mean we aren’t setting goals at all. We are—just fewer, and clearer.

Each of us has a small number of individual goals. Nothing overwhelming. Nothing performative. Just supportive, realistic, and age-appropriate.

We’re choosing simplicity on purpose.

The Daily Five (still here, just evolving)

And yes—our kids are still doing a Daily Five. That anchor remains.

The only twist is that I’m experimenting with a more digital version this year to better fit how our lives actually function right now. It’s an experiment, not a declaration. I’ll report back later on how it goes.

That, too, feels deliberate—keeping what works, adapting what doesn’t, and allowing things to evolve without burning them down.

As we step into 2026, I feel less interested in perfect plans and more interested in thoughtful ones. Less focused on doing more, and more focused on doing what matters—with intention, flexibility, and grace.

This season feels quieter. Clearer.
And honestly—exactly right.