Sparkling Escapades Abroad with the Fairy Bra Mother

Tag: #sonyasjoys

  • Seasons of Beauty

    It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to write. Isn’t it funny how inspiration often strikes when you’re out and about—standing in line, driving, or watching the world around you—only to vanish by the time you’re home and ready to put pen to paper? I’ve decided maybe that’s okay. Perhaps those fleeting thoughts weren’t meant to be written just yet. Writing, for me, seems to happen best when the inspiration really takes hold.

    This morning, what came to me was the rhythm of the seasons.

    Do you have a favorite season? Or maybe you live in a place where the weather doesn’t change all that much. For me, each season holds something beautiful—something worth noticing and cherishing.

    I love fall. 🍂 Even though I would never wear browns and oranges, the trees wear them magnificently. Our anniversary falls in September, and we’ve often celebrated by driving along the Mississippi River near Dubuque, Iowa. The rolling hills along the river explode into a tapestry of color—gold, red, russet, and burnt orange—reminding me that even endings can be breathtaking.

    Spring, though, always makes me smile. 🌸 After months of drabness and cold, it feels like the whole world wakes up and stretches. Bright flowers push their way through the soil, trees bud, and colors burst back into view—soft pastels and brilliant blossoms alike. It feels like hope itself blooming all around.

    Summer might be my favorite. ☀️ There’s warmth, light, and life everywhere. The birds sing their hearts out, gardens overflow, and the wild is full of babies—tiny fawns, fluffy chicks, curious little critters, each one a reminder of innocence and new beginnings. And as I get older, I’ll admit—my body doesn’t like the cold quite as much as it used to. Summer feels like a kind of relief. A gift.

    Each season is different, and yet they all remind me of the same truth: there is beauty all around, if only we slow down and take the time to notice it.

    So now I’d love to know… what’s your favorite season, and why?

    ✨ From my corner of Iowa, where the seasons keep me inspired—
    Sonya

  • “The Phrase That Woke Me Up”

    Normally when I dream, I don’t remember much—just the feelings that linger when I wake. But this morning was different. I had the strangest, most vivid dream, one so real it pulled me out of sleep with a phrase echoing in my mind.

    In the dream, I had started working at a maternity clinic as a researcher-in-training. Part of my role was to observe deliveries, study every detail, and even dissect the placenta and blood after birth. On my very first case, tragedy struck—the mother died, and the baby nearly did. We immediately began examining what had gone wrong. The head doctor, a man, and his female assistant guided me. More than once, I watched them quietly lay their heads down and cry, before softly resuming their work, murmuring their findings as they went.

    Eventually, the dissection ended, and it was time to move to another room. I cradled the baby in my arms as we walked together, the atmosphere heavy and solemn. To comfort her, I hummed softly as we went. Once we arrived, I was told to lay her in a man-sized shoebox and gently unwrap her. The female assistant stepped forward, prayed over the child, then turned to me with urgency in her eyes and asked:

    “Do you want to turn your memory of a bad day today into a day of rest and relief tomorrow?”

    The whole room—including the baby—seemed to hold its breath, waiting for my answer. Tears welled up in my eyes as I whispered, “Yes, please.” At that, everyone wept. Even the sleeping baby had tiny tears sliding down her cheeks.

    That’s when I woke up—those words repeating in my mind over and over. It was about 5:30 a.m., and though I tried to drift back to sleep, the phrase kept jolting me awake until finally I got up and wrote it down.

    Most of the time, my dreams vanish without a trace. Only once before—when I was 11—did I have a recurring one vivid enough to stay with me. I don’t fully know what God was trying to tell me through this dream, but I do know I want to hold on to that phrase. I choose to believe it. I will trade my hard days and heavy memories for days filled with love, rest, and peace.

    HeartWhispers

  • 💥Life Lesson from the Ditch 💥



    Hello friends—it’s been a little while since I’ve written. My mind hasn’t been in a writing mood, and I wasn’t sure what to share. I’ve been working on some children’s storybook series, but this past week gave me something very real to write about.

    Have you ever had one of those moments where your life flashes before your eyes? I had that happen recently while mowing. Now, I’ve always been nervous about mowing ditches—they make me feel like the mower is going to roll right over. About three years ago, I finally taught myself to mow our berm without being too afraid, and I was pretty proud of that!

    But the other day, while mowing the edge, I must have looked behind me to check for traffic at the wrong moment. Before I knew it, one of the big drive tires dropped over the edge. I tried to steer it back, but the mower had other plans—the deck lifted, the weight shifted, and for a split second, I thought it was all over.

    I don’t even know if I prayed, but God must have been guiding my hands. I yanked the left bar back and pushed the right one forward, which spun me straight into the ditch. Down I went—fast. I may have even screamed like I was on a roller coaster! By the time I hit the bottom, I was facing the opposite direction and thanking God I was still upright.

    By the time I made it back to the house, my legs were weak and I was shaking. Sean later told me I did the only thing I could have done—and if it had rolled, I’d likely have been badly hurt. My family was pretty concerned (and Sean checked things out right away), but the truth is, I’m still sore and may need to get checked out.

    The moral of this story? 🚫 Stay out of the ditches—literally and figuratively. Life can throw us off balance in a blink, but sometimes the only thing we can do is steer the best way we know how and trust that God’s got His hand on the bars too. 💖

  • Mousekin and the Roaring Red Beast- From the Fairy Bra Mother’s Notebook


    In a cozy nest of hay and thread,
    Beneath the barn near the flower bed,
    A mama mouse gave birth one day
    To squeaky babies, pink and gray.

    Six little fuzzballs, round and small—
    But Mousekin was the boldest of all.
    With a twitch of his nose and a curious stare,
    He asked big questions with thoughtful care.

    “Mama, what’s that rumble and boom?
    Why do the shadows race past the room?
    Why does the wind sometimes whisper ‘run’?”
    And Mama sighed, “Well, little one…”

    “There’s much to learn in this wide old place.
    There’s wonders, yes—but danger’s face.
    Giants roam both near and far—
    And not all wish to know who you are.”

    Daddy Mouse stepped in with pride,
    His whiskers curled and eyes wide-eyed.
    “There’s one great beast, bright, loud, and red—
    It growls and chomps and fills us with dread.”

    “It zooms across the fields with might—
    Blades spinning fast, a fearsome sight.
    We call it the Lawn Roarer, son,
    And when it comes, you leap and run!”

    Mama added, “You must beware
    Of traps with treats that lure and snare.
    Some smell like peanut butter bliss,
    But one small nibble—and you’re missed.”

    “There’s sticky boards that never budge,
    And snap traps sprung by just a nudge.
    And cats—oh, they are quick and sleek,
    With padded paws and eyes that peek.”

    “There’s dogs who bark and chase with glee,
    Not knowing we just want to flee.
    And high above, the birds patrol—
    With wings like sails and eyes like coal.”

    “They dive from clouds, without a peep,
    With talons strong and dives so steep.
    You see their shadow—don’t ask why.
    Just drop and dash, or say goodbye.”

    Mousekin shuddered. “Is that the worst?”

    Mama smirked, “You haven’t heard the first!
    There’s womenfolk with ears too keen,
    Who shriek like banshees when we’re seen!”

    “They jump on chairs, they throw their shoes,
    Like we’re a headline on the news!
    They flail their arms, they stomp and spin—
    As if we brought the plague again!”

    Daddy grinned, “And men, oh boy—
    They treat the chase like some big toy.
    They’ll grab a boot and stomp around,
    Like hunting mice is honor-bound!”


    —

    But Mama Mouse, with a gentle sigh,
    Looked down at Mousekin eye to eye.
    “The world’s not just a scary place—
    There’s joy and hope in every space.”

    “There’s clover soft and puddles sweet,
    And sunshine warm on tiny feet.
    There’s porch-crumb feasts and tunnels deep,
    And dandelions when we can’t sleep.”


    —

    Then came the day, bright as gold,
    When Mousekin felt the earth unfold.
    The Roarer growled, its engine loud—
    It tore through grass like thundercloud.

    A woman rode it, firm and fair,
    White hair piled high with gentle care.
    Pink sundress flowing, brace on her back,
    She mowed with style, strength, and knack.

    Mousekin heard the buzzing hum—
    The ground began to shake and thrum.
    “Now’s the time,” he told his toes,
    And off he zipped before it closed.

    He darted left, he veered to right,
    He danced with grass and beams of light.
    Past bugs and birds and butterflies—
    With dandelions blooming where danger lies.

    He didn’t stop, not once to peek—
    He sprinted fast, he didn’t squeak.
    And when he reached a shady log,
    He laughed and sighed beside a frog.


    —

    🌼
    The Moral:
    The world is loud, the giants stomp,
    Some shriek and point, some boots will clomp.
    But even small ones, brave and bright,
    Can face the day and flee the fright.

    So run with heart, and keep your spark—
    You can be bold when life feels dark.
    Be swift. Be smart. Be soft. Be sly—
    And never be too small to try. 💖🐭
    🌼

    “Just a gal, her mower, and one very concerned mouse. 🌼🚜🐭

  • Who Decides What’s Normal, Anyway?

    Today I found myself thinking about the word normal.

    I’ve often wished I was normal.

    Yesterday I listened to the funeral and shared memories of a very dear, sweet lady. She suffered from many health issues—much like I do. Her husband said that over the last 25 years, she endured horrific pain and ongoing medical challenges, yet he could only recall 3 or 4 times when she ever said, “I wish I could be normal.” And even then, those moments didn’t last long.

    She lived her life in gratitude.

    People sharing their memories said she often thanked God just for waking up each morning.

    That stuck with me. It got me thinking—not sure I’ll be able to put this into words, but I’ll try.

    Who gets to decide what normal is?

    For me, normal might look like splitting my day between my chair and my bed.
    For you, it might be buzzing around—gardening, running errands, taking care of a busy household.

    For me, normal might be a string of doctor’s appointments.
    For you, it might be never setting foot in a clinic unless it’s for someone else.

    For me, it might be longing to have company over and missing the joy of in-person fellowship.
    For you, it might be having people around so often you dream of just one quiet day.

    For me, normal might be missing church services and community events.
    For you, it might be attending them so routinely that it doesn’t even feel like a choice.

    For me, normal might mean being overweight and fighting my body.
    For you, it might be not even understanding that struggle.

    For me, it might be aching for a big family—children and grandchildren close by.
    For you, it might be wondering what in the world you were thinking when you prayed for that big family!

    For me, it’s missing my kids and craving more time with them.
    For you, it might be taking for granted that yours live nearby.

    For me, it’s the joy of helping women find the perfect bra.
    For you, maybe it’s raising little ones full time or running a business.

    For me, it’s living with physical pain every single day.
    For you, it might be never having even a headache.

    For me, it’s being adopted and walking the road of healing from trauma and abuse.
    For you, it might be a childhood full of safety you never had to think twice about.

    And on and on the list could go…

    So again I ask, who defines normal?

    I looked it up, just to be sure. The dictionary says things like:

    > “Typical or routine.”
    “Occurring naturally.”
    “Free from impairment.”
    “Within a safe or healthy range.”



    By that definition, I’ll admit—my “normal” isn’t all that safe or healthy anymore.

    But I’ll also say this: Neither is grief.
    Neither is trauma.
    Neither is raising a child with special needs, or caring for an elderly parent, or living with a broken heart.
    And yet people do it every day. Quietly. Bravely. Beautifully.

    Someone once told me that “normal is just a setting on the dryer.”
    I’ve held onto that one for a long time.

    Because sometimes, just when we get used to our normal, life happens.
    We fall. We lose someone. We get a diagnosis. We change.

    And then, a new normal begins.

    So maybe I don’t want to be “normal” after all.

    Maybe I want to be real.
    Grateful. Present. Joyful when I can be, and gentle when I can’t.

    Whatever your “normal” looks like today, I hope you give yourself grace.
    You’re doing the best you can in the body, life, and story you’ve been given.

    And that’s more than enough. 💖

    “Trying to be normal? Honey, that setting’s for laundry, not for life.”

  • “Spoiler Alert: It Wasn’t All in My Head!”


    Yesterday was my follow-up appointment for the MRIs I had done recently. I’ll be honest—I was nervous. I’ve been told so many times in the past that “there’s nothing wrong” or that the pain is “all in my head.” And every time I hear that, I want to shout, “No, it’s not in my head—it’s in my spine!” But like a good girl, I bite my tongue.

    The doctor walked into the room and said, “Mrs. Nightingale! You look good!” (I always wonder what that even means…) Anyway, we got to talking and started going over the imaging.

    First, we discussed my sacroiliac joint fusions from last year. I told him about the pain in my right hip—how it feels like a rubber band tightening when I walk. Some days I can make it a block without too much pain, and other days I can barely get from my chair to the bathroom without tears. He said that was actually expected—he sees this kind of “flip-flop” pain often, where one side gets overworked as I try to protect the other. That may go on for another 6 months or so.

    Then we moved on to the shooting pain and numbness down my left leg. He said it could be related to the SI joint fusion, but there’s also a bulging disc pressing on my spinal cord. Still, he doesn’t want to jump straight to surgery.

    Next, he asked about my mid-back. He touched the area where I had a fusion in December 2022. That spot actually doesn’t hurt—but just above it, about two finger widths higher, the pain is awful when I sit in a hard chair, stand too long, or walk. It takes my breath away. He looked at my thoracic MRIs and confirmed there’s a ruptured disc pressing on the cord. Again, he doesn’t want to rush into surgery unless absolutely necessary.

    Then came the neck. I already have three fusions: C3-4, C4-5, and C6-7. I told him my arms sometimes go numb, even in positions where they shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s my left side, sometimes my right—once I even had my right arm go completely dead while lying on my left side. He reviewed the imaging and, sure enough, another disc is pressing into the spinal canal.

    He asked how many PT sessions I’d had—just four so far. He said that’s not enough and originally wanted to try a steroid injection, but I don’t tolerate those well. So instead, he wants me to increase PT, wear a neck brace for support, and follow up soon.

    I also brought up how weak my hands and arms have been feeling. After examining me, he rated my arm strength at a 4 minus—which, for those who don’t know, means serious weakness, not just a little fatigue. That clearly got his attention. He ordered a CT scan to better look at the bone structure in my neck and spine and moved my follow-up to 1–2 months instead of the usual 4–5.

    And at one point, he looked at me with this half-sigh and said,
    “Well, you just have not been blessed with good cartilage.”
    Not exactly a blessing I’d hoped for—but at least now I understand more of what’s going on.

    But here’s what stuck with me most. Throughout the appointment, he repeated something that brought tears to my eyes:
    “Your pain is REAL. You have a structural problem that is causing this pain.”

    Do you know how much that meant to hear? After years of being brushed off, that validation was everything.

    My husband and wellness coach are helping me focus on healing from the inside out—working on weight loss, nutrition, and ways to support my body naturally. They’re hopeful we can avoid more surgeries… and while I’d love that too, I’m not holding my breath just yet.

    With my cataracts recently done, I’ve now had something like 30 surgeries—including:

    Wisdom teeth (yes, twice!)

    Hernia repair

    Complete hysterectomy

    Gallbladder and appendix removal

    8 spine surgeries

    3 right shoulder surgeries

    2 SI joint fusions

    2 cataract surgeries

    Tubal ligation

    Lysis of adhesions

    5 diagnostic laparotomies

    A bleeding stomach ulcer repair
    …and I’m probably forgetting a few.


    My mama always says I’ve had enough surgeries for several lifetimes—and she’s not wrong.


    —

    So yes, it’s been a long road—and it’s not over yet. But for the first time in a long while, I left an appointment feeling heard. Validated. My pain isn’t “all in my head.” It’s real. It has a name, a reason, and most importantly—it’s being taken seriously.

    And that? That gave me peace.

    I don’t know what the next steps will be. I’ll keep doing the work—physical therapy, healing from the inside out, bracing when needed, and leaning on the people who’ve been lifting me up when I can’t do it alone.

    To those of you silently struggling, wondering if your pain is “real enough”—I see you. Your pain matters. YOU matter.

    If nothing else, remember this:
    You don’t need to prove your pain to anyone. You deserve to be heard and helped.

    And I’ll keep blooming, one day at a time, like the bluebonnet in the sunshine.

    #sonyasjoys #ChronicPainWarrior #SpineSurgerySurvivor #MyPainIsReal #OneDayAtATime #FaithInTheValley #HopeAndHealing #YouAreNotAlone

    . “Turns Out, I’m Not Crazy—Just Falling Apart!”

  • Trusting the Master Weaver… Even in the Midnight Hours

    Some of you know our son moved to Alabama in early March, officially making us empty nesters. For the past few nights, I’ve found myself wide awake—worrying. Up until now, he’d been living with his boss’s family, but on Saturday, he moved out on his own.

    If you’re a mom of adult kids, you know the kind of worries that creep in. He’s a single guy, living alone for the first time. I trust him… kind of. But the world is full of temptations—for the young and the not-so-young. I worry about the big equipment he operates, about him finding good friends, eating well, avoiding trouble… and not blowing all his money on that “new” truck. And goodness, I miss him.

    When I shared this with my husband, his advice? “You need to stop worrying at night and just sleep. Do your worrying in the daytime.” Ummm… sure. Easier said than done! I haven’t quite figured out how to turn off my brain when my head hits the pillow.

    And it’s not just our son. I miss my daughter too. She’s in Kansas with her family, and I couldn’t be prouder—she rebuilt her semi’s engine, cleaned it up, and even painted it herself. I never imagined back when I was “teaching” mechanics to my 7th and 8th graders (I use the term teaching very loosely, mind you!) that one of my kids would go on to do something so major.

    But still… I worry about her heart. Her marriage. Her little boy. Whether she knows how deeply God loves her. And I miss her—our shopping trips, picking up pheasant chicks in Wisconsin, laughing, telling stories, and me (of course) singing to her in the car.

    Then the other morning, I saw a quote someone had shared (see the graphic below), and it stopped me in my tracks.

    Why is it so hard to fully entrust our kids to God? Am I holding on too tightly? I know they were only mine for a time, but goodness, letting go is hard. I want to shield them from heartache, steer them away from disappointment, and wrap them up in bubble wrap forever.

    But that’s not how life—or faith—works. Each of us has a path to walk. A tapestry to be woven. And God, in His wisdom, uses both light and dark threads to create something beautiful.

    I’m still learning how to trust the Master Weaver… especially in those quiet, sleepless nights.

    “A mother’s prayers can reach farther than her arms ever could.”

  • Cold Weather and Me- A Complicated Relationship


    There’s something undeniably beautiful about snow—when it’s gently falling outside the window, blanketing the world in white like a quiet little miracle. I love the look of it.

    But feeling it? That’s another story.

    Cold weather, and I have never been good friends. As the temperature drops, my body seems to protest louder than usual. My joints ache, my back stiffens up like an old barn door, and I start to move a whole lot slower—partly because everything hurts and partly because I’m trying not to slip and fall. I walk gingerly, like I’m tiptoeing across glass, because one misstep could mean days of extra pain.

    Even my teeth get in on the drama—chattering like I’ve stepped into a freezer I never signed up for!

    So yes, give me twinkling snowflakes and cozy blankets by the fire. But also give me caution, warmth, and a whole lot of grace when winter shows up.

    Because the cold may bite—but I’ll keep showing up, carefully and bravely, one chilly step at a time.

    #chronicpainwarrior #coldweatherwoes #gentlemovement #snowlooksbetterinside #sonyasjoys

    “Winter reminds us that rest is part of the rhythm too.”

  • Confident, Curious & Over 50: Travel Tips for Solo Women Ready to Explore

    There’s something empowering—something quietly thrilling—about stepping out into the world on your own terms, especially after 50. You’ve raised families, nurtured dreams, survived loss, and now? Now you get to rediscover yourself through new experiences, places, and flavors.

    Solo travel isn’t just a getaway—it’s a return to yourself.

    Whether you’re sipping espresso at a café in Italy, strolling a quiet beach at sunset, or exploring a bustling local market, you’re not just traveling… you’re reconnecting with your courage and curiosity.

    Here are a few of my favorite solo travel tips for women 50 and up:

    1. Stay central and walkable.
    Skip the outskirts. Choose places close to the action where you can explore on foot, safely and easily.

    2. Learn a few phrases.
    Even just “hello,” “please,” and “thank you” in the local language will open hearts and ease interactions.

    3. Don’t overbook your days.
    You don’t need to see it all. Choose a few must-dos, then allow time for rest and spontaneous joy.

    4. Be in the photo.
    Hand someone your phone or bring a tripod. These are your memories—make sure you’re in them!

    5. Honor your preferences.
    Whether it’s a luxury boutique hotel or a quirky bed-and-breakfast, your trip should reflect your tastes. You’ve earned it.

    There is no age limit on adventure. And there’s no rule that says you need a travel partner to enjoy the world. Sometimes, the best company is the woman you’ve become.

    So pack your bags, bring your sparkle, and let joy be your compass.


    What destination is calling your name next?

    “She believed she could—so she booked the flight

  • “Gotcha Day” Reflections: A Journey of Love, Loss, and Belonging. 


    Today is my Gotcha Day.

    Fifty-six years ago, I was placed into the loving arms of Herb and Jean Ensz. That tiny, fragile baby became their daughter—and big sister to my baby brother, Sheldon Ensz. What a journey it’s been.

    Gotcha Day always brings a swirl of emotions. Gratitude and joy… but also questions and what-ifs. I’ve wondered what it might’ve been like to grow up with my biological siblings, to know my roots from the beginning. There’s a soft ache for what I missed—yet an overflowing thankfulness for what I gained.

    I’ve always known I was adopted. My parents never hid that from me, and I’m so glad they didn’t. Recently, someone asked me if I wish I’d had an open adoption. And truthfully? I’m not sure. Maybe it was a gift that decision wasn’t mine. Would I have felt torn? Would I have longed for a different life? I’ll never know. But what I do know is this: all three of my families—adoptive, biological, and in-laws—have welcomed and loved me just as I am.

    As I got older, I longed to know more about where I came from. I hoped to learn who I looked like, acted like, or shared a laugh with. But I never expected to find siblings. The day I learned I had a full sister was overwhelming in the best way. And over time, I discovered five more sisters and two brothers—so far! There are still some mysteries on my biological dad’s side, and I’m okay with that. The journey continues.

    I’m so thankful for my aunts, uncles, and cousins from both the Ensz and Haynes families. And the friends I’ve made along the way, from all the places I’ve lived… they’ve added color and joy to my life in ways I could never have imagined.

    If I hadn’t been adopted, I wouldn’t have met my husband. I wouldn’t have had my two wonderful children or become a grandma to my precious grandson.

    So today, I celebrate not just being chosen—but being woven into something greater. A life full of love, mystery, laughter, pain, and purpose.

    Thank you for being part of my story. I believe, with every bit of my heart, that God knew exactly what He was doing when He brought me into this world and placed me right where I needed to be.

    “Family is not defined by our genes, it is built and maintained through love.”
    — Amara Nwosu