A Seat For One (One Minute Memoir)

A memoir of movies, solitude, and stepping back into life

Setting: August 2025 — A chilly theater in the heat of summer

The first time I went to the movies alone, years ago, it felt like rebellion. Buying a single ticket, sliding into a seat with no one beside me... it was awkward at first, then unexpectedly empowering. I realized I didn’t need company to enjoy myself. I could be my own.

A few weekends ago, I went alone again. I just had to see Weapons. Horror is my favorite, but I only have a couple of friends who share that love, and none of them were interested in this one. I thought about waiting until it hit streaming, whenever that might be, but why keep waiting for someone else, or for a someday that might be months away?

When the previews started, I felt that little thrill — mentally circling the films I wanted to see, anxiously awaiting the opening scene. I noticed I was the only person there by myself. For a second, I wondered if I looked strange. Then I stopped caring. No small talk required, no one whispering in my ear. Just me, my smuggled-in can of Diet Coke, and the movie.

The film was great: I jumped at all the right spots, covered my mouth in surprise, and watched anxiously as the story unraveled. Eventually, the credits rolled, the lights came up, and I walked out into the afternoon air. 

Alone.

On the way home, I debated whether I was brave enough to sit down at a restaurant by myself. In the end, I grabbed Mexican takeout instead. Maybe next time. Even so, the day had already given me more than I expected. It turned out I’d seen more than a movie — I’d seen proof that after so long of standing still, I’m finally moving back into life.

This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still 

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Month in Review: October 2025

🗓️ October 2025 in Review

October was a busy month of recovery and routine. My shin splints finally healed, the fall air rolled in, and life started to feel steady again... even if the weather on Halloween had other plans. From donut runs to school open houses, it was full of small, ordinary moments that somehow added up to something good.

Highlights

• Kept on running: I started the month hobbling through shin splints but ended logging more than a dozen runs. A trip to the local running store for a proper shoe fitting (ended up with Asics Gel Nimbus) made all the difference. The shin pain faded, though my knees are still adjusting.
• Open houses + book fairs: Both boys had their open houses this month, complete with Scholastic Book Fair stops and ice cream after at Byrne Dairy.
• Take Your Kid to Work Day: Both boys came this year! It was chaotic but fun. Kind of. Holden kept me on my toes, and Caleb was all business.
• Weekend at the cottage: A chilly, windy overnight getaway with my parents and the boys. 
• Fall traditions continued: Two more trips to Zarpentine’s for donuts, fritters, and apple pie bites, plus another visit to Kelly’s Apple Farm.
• Community Bingo Night: A night of chaos, prizes, and tears at the local community center. (Read the One Minute Memoir.)
• Fun for Holden: He attended a birthday party at Get Air, finished up his fall season of soccer, and lost another tooth on an evening run. Funny enough, Caleb also lost a tooth on a run a couple of years ago.
• Hocus Pocus movie night: This is an annual tradition with my two besties. Pretty sure we could quote the entire movie by heart at this point!
• Clue on Stage: First show of the theater season with my aunt. This one was short, funny, and the perfect kickoff to our annual season ticket tradition. 
• Almost migraine-free: After switching to my new preventative med (Qulipta) in September, I had only one migraine all month.

What I Read

This was a slow reading month for me, thanks to Gallows Hill taking me about three weeks to read. UGH. It dragged on and on, and took up almost my whole month. Here's to better books ahead in November!

• The Mirror House Girls by Faith Gardner ★★★★★
• Gallows Hill by Darcey Coates ★★☆☆☆

🏅 Favorite Book of the Month: The Mirror House Girls
Books Read: 2
Yearly Progress: 48/100

What I Watched

• Halloween Baking Championship: festive and fun, as always.
• Hocus Pocus: I've only seen this about a hundred times now...
• A Wisconsin Christmas Pie: my very first Christmas movie of the year, watched on Halloween night! 

🏃 What I Ran

Runs this month: 13

Total miles: 24.15 mi

Total time ran: 8:06:25

Fastest mile of the month: 17:23 (October 26)

Average pace per run: 23:51 | 21:45 | 20:56 | 19:45 | 18:18 | 19:48 | 19:05 | 18:38 | 18:07 | 18:55 | 17:25 | 19:25 | 21:22

Average monthly pace: 20:09 / mi (↓ 2:46 from September)

Notes: October was a turning point. I started the month limping through shin splints but ended it running more than I had in months years. The first week or so of the month, I wasn't able to run at all, but I showed up anyway and walked laps on the track. Even when it hurt. Even when it was hard. The new shoes from my fitting made a huge difference: the shin splints eased up, and I started to run again. I’m still slow, still walking plenty, but I’m out there. And that’s what counts. I do have some minor pain in my knees now, but it's nothing like before with my shins, and I'm working through it. Holden dropped off a bit with the running this month and only joined a couple of times, but Caleb was pretty good. He skipped a couple of runs, but he made it out there for most of them. We'll be racing at the end of November, so we'll keep on keeping on!

Extras

• Loved: Tons of writing inspiration; the return of my running groove; getting through October with just one migraine; a cozy Hocus Pocus movie night with friends, pizza, and dog snuggles.
• Sucked: The relentless rain and wind on Halloween; trick-or-treating in soggy costumes.
• On the Menu: Zarpentine’s apple pie bites and fritters; Kelly’s Apple Farm treats (apple crisp); Crumbl’s Dubai Brownie (a returning favorite), plus a Biscoff Pie and Tres Leches cake; Byrne Dairy ice cream and dinners; morning protein shakes at a new shop near Caleb's school after early morning band drop-offs.
• Made Me Laugh: Holden's open house life-size self-portrait, complete with plenty of teeth and a generously sized head; the boys finding motivation to run when fries and treats were promised after; Caleb to Holden in the car: "can you stop talking? I don't want to be talked to."

⏭️ Coming Up in November

• Turkey Trots: Two races planned: one the day before Thanksgiving (2 miles) and one on the day itself (4.4 miles).
• More training runs: Building consistency and mileage heading into winter.
• Thanksgiving plans: Family, food, and (hopefully) a quiet weekend after our races.
• Holiday season kickoff: Hallmark Christmas movies galore and cozy weekends ahead. I started my Christmas shopping in October and plan to get it nearly finished in November!

What I Learned

Consistency beats speed. This month reminded me that slow progress is still progress — on the track, on the blog, and in life.

So that’s it for me! See you next month!

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Run Through It

On raising a kid who doesn’t quit, even when it rains

The rain started soft, the kind that feels more like mist than warning. The track glistened under the lights, and for a moment it felt almost peaceful. 

So we started running.

For a while, it wasn’t bad. The three of us circled the track together, our footsteps steady against the drizzle. After half an hour, it turned heavier: chill creeping in, sleeves soaked, hair plastered to our faces. Holden and I called it quits. 

But Caleb didn’t.

From across the field, I called to him that it was raining harder, that we were heading to the gate. He didn’t even slow down. He said he wanted to hit three miles first.

So he did.

I watched him go, small and determined against the rain, each lap an act of quiet defiance, tenacious in a way that felt achingly familiar. The lights caught the mist around him, and for a moment it took me back to another night, years ago, when I ran through falling snow. The track was empty then, too. I remember the sting of the flakes on my face, the sound of my breathing in the cold, the rhythm of my shoes on frozen ground. I hadn’t wanted to skip a day. I had miles to hit. 

And I did.

Now here he was, running through the rain for the same reason I once ran through snow: because sometimes you just have to finish what you started.

He is so much like me. Obsessive. Stubborn. Anxious. I’ve often wished I hadn’t passed those parts of myself on to him: the restless brain, the refusal to quit even when no one’s asking him to keep going.

But he’s like me in the best ways, too. Determined. Driven. Unshakable once he decides. Watching him run lap after lap in the pouring rain, I realized maybe the traits I’ve spent years trying to soften aren’t flaws at all. Maybe they’re the reason we both keep showing up.

Some people slow down when the weather turns. 

We just keep running.

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Crying Hot Dog, Collapsing Cheeto

A Memoir of Family “Fun,” Snacks, and Shared Suffering

Setting: October 2025 — Halloween Bingo Night at the community center, where the prizes were small and the meltdowns were mighty.

Halloween Bingo Night both started and ended as a complete shitshow.

Caleb, dressed as a hot dog, began unraveling in the very first round. The first and second numbers called weren’t on his board, and that was enough to tip him over. By the third, he was crying, his little face poking out of the foam bun like a weepy frankfurter.

Not to be outdone, Holden, a bright orange Flamin’ Hot Cheetos bag, started slamming his fist on the table whenever he didn’t have a number. His costume was so long he nearly tripped over it twice, which honestly felt like foreshadowing.

Eventually, everyone did win something, and the tears temporarily dried up. Holden hit the snack table like he’d been fasting for days: four cookies, two bags of chips, and whatever else he could stack on his plate. Later, they went trick-or-treating around the building, the crowed marching straight through a Zumba class before I accidentally led them the wrong way a moment later. When we finally made it back to the last trick-or-treat station at the front desk, Holden spotted their leftover glow sticks and helped himself to roughly half of them, because he was last and there were “plenty left.”

By the time the raffle drawing rolled around, he’d somehow managed to turn in both sides of his ticket — because, naturally, he hadn’t listened — and was furious when he didn’t win. I shot my mom a look, exasperated. This is what happens when we try to do something fun.

When it was finally over, we herded everyone to the car. I opened Holden’s door after he'd gotten in to hand him his glow sticks, not realizing he was leaning against it from inside. He tumbled straight out onto the pavement, screaming, clutching his hand like it had fallen off. Once we finally got him back in, he sniffled from the back seat, mourning his lost squishy eyeball toy, a casualty of his dramatic exit.

On the drive home, glow sticks still flashing in the back seat, I thought about how nights like this always end the same: messy, loud, and weirdly sweet. My mom and I swore we wouldn’t be back for the November Bingo session, but somewhere between the crumbs and the crying, I realized something: motherhood isn’t made of quiet nights and tidy memories. It’s made of the crying, collapsing, snack-covered kind — and if chaos counts as love, we’re rich in it.

This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.

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The Year I Didn't Mourn October

On growing older, growing gentler, and learning to let the seasons change

I still felt it this year, that familiar spark when the air cooled and the light softened. I remember the first morning I stepped outside and the world smelled like change: crisp leaves, damp earth, that quiet hum that says fall has arrived.

It woke something in me, like it always does, that gentle rush of joy that says it’s time.

Fall has always been my reset button. Every year, I dive in early, eager. The pumpkins appear on the porch before the leaves have even started to turn. Candles glow, and I let myself sink into it... that rhythm of shorter days and cozier nights. It’s the season that always feels like coming home to myself.

And yet, somewhere along the way this October, something changed.

The spark came, like it always does, but it didn’t linger. Halloween is still a few days away, and somehow I’m already ready to move on. I’m not bored or sad, just… at peace with letting go.

It’s strange, really. I’ve always lived for this stretch of the year. For the haunted houses, the horror marathons, the stories that made me flinch in the best way. I loved the pulse of it, the adrenaline. The way fear felt fun when life itself felt predictable. Fall wasn’t just a season to me; it was a whole personality. A little bit of mystery, a little bit of mischief, all wrapped up in orange lights and late nights.

So it feels strange not to feel it with the same intensity. We still did all the things: the pumpkin picking, the hayride, the cider donuts I crave all year... but there’s a softness where the spark used to be. I enjoyed it, just not like I used to.

Maybe it’s because I don’t need it in the same way anymore. The older I get, the less I crave being startled. The thrill of horror and haunted houses once felt like a release, a safe kind of fear, a quickened pulse I could control. But now, after all the real-life uncertainty, I think my soul just wants a break.

I still enjoy a good ghost story or eerie novel now and then, but the draw isn’t as deep. The shadows that once felt thrilling now just feel loud. Haunted houses make me anxious instead of excited. Even my favorite horror movies, the ones I used to count down for, can’t compete with what I want most now: comfort. Calm. Predictability. The kind of peace that doesn’t need to shout to be felt.

These days, my anticipation tilts toward the holidays. I find myself craving the softness of snow, the glow of twinkle lights, the easy warmth of Hallmark movies that always end the way you hope they will. I want stillness, the quiet that comes when the world slows down and the air feels clean again.

Every year, the end of Halloween night used to ache a little. I’d climb into bed and already feel the clock ticking down, the countdown to my favorite season beginning again before I even fell asleep. But this year, I don’t think I’ll mourn it. I’ll let it go and be okay.

Maybe that’s what change looks like — not losing joy, but letting it take new forms. The thrill has faded, yes, but something gentler has taken its place. I no longer need the jolt of fear to feel alive. I find it now in smaller moments: a calm night, a cozy blanket, the sound of my boys laughing in the next room.

And perhaps that's the truest kind of magic... the way peace can still feel like wonder.

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The Art of Saying No

On keeping a little light for myself

By the time I get home from work most days, I’m running on fumes.

I drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and before I can even sit, Holden’s there, a flurry of needs in small, insistent bursts. A drink. A snack. “Can you throw this away?” “Can you grab my blanket?” Like he’s got no legs of his own.

The other night, we ate dinner with the family, and afterward, I finally sank into the couch with a book, the first quiet I’d had all day. It lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then came the voice.

“Can we do sparklers?”

No, it’s too cold and still too light out.

“Then can I go outside and ride my Shuffle Cart?”

No, again. It's only 50 degrees.

It’s like he can’t stand a quiet moment unless he’s the one filling it. The more I say no, the more creative his requests become, as if persistence might wear me down. Usually, it does. This time, it didn’t.

I tell him I just need a minute. That I’ve been going since sunrise. That I want to read one page — just one — without someone calling my name. He looks at me, confused. To him, I’m an endless source: a drink-getter, a sparkler-lighter, a do-er of things.

And sitting there, book unopened, I realize how impossible that must’ve felt to my own parents. To ALL parents, really. I remember how I once pushed and prodded, too, not to be difficult, but because I didn’t understand that tired could live inside love.

Now I do.

Maybe that’s what no really means sometimes. Not rejection. Not disinterest. Just a boundary drawn in exhaustion. A reminder that we’re human, even to the people who think we never stop moving.

A few minutes later, when dusk settled in, I said yes. We went outside, bundled in hoodies, breath clouding in the chill, to light the leftover sparklers from the Fourth of July. Ridiculous, really, little bursts of summer fire in October air. I just needed to sit first, to breathe for a moment, to come back to myself before giving more of me away.

Holden will learn it someday, probably when someone small is asking him for the hundredth thing in a single night. Maybe he’ll finally sit down, too, and understand that saying no was never about the sparkler. It was about keeping a little light for myself, even if just for a moment.

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