Last night, there was an owl outside my window again. Not unusual anymore. He’s been here since our first week in this house back in November of 2021.

Through every season of chaos. Through exhaustion, laughter, grief, even late-night panic attacks and early morning coffee. Through sickness, storms, pool days, birthday candles, financial stress, homeschool messes, teenage heartbreak, marriage strain, book writing marathons, and all the ordinary little moments that somehow become a life.

Some weeks I hear him almost every night. Some weeks he disappears for a while like he knows I’m okay enough to stand on my own. But somehow, the nights I need him most? He comes back. Calling out into the dark like a familiar old friend checking attendance. And I know how ridiculous that probably sounds. But when you live in a house full of people you love, you start recognizing the sounds that mean safety. The dishwasher humming downstairs. Tiny feet running through the hallway. Teenagers raiding the kitchen at midnight. Pooh Bear playing softly on Harper’s iPad because she still cannot sleep without it.And the owl outside my window she’s Steady. Watching. Present.

My mom loved Winnie the Pooh, so we grew up with those stories always playing in the background of life. Then my kids grew up with them too. And now Harper is obsessed with Pooh in the way only little children can be obsessed with something pure and comforting.

Most people today hear “owl” and think Harry Potter. I think of the Hundred Acre Wood. I think of the owl quietly watching over everyone else. Rabbit and his need for control. Piglet and his anxiety. Eeyore carrying sadness so heavy everyone notices but nobody fully understands. Pooh wandering through life kind-hearted, hungry, and innocent. Tigger bouncing through existence like ADHD personified. Kanga trying to hold everyone together while raising Roo and probably being one inconvenience away from hiding in the pantry with snacks. I see my kids as these classic children characters each with their own struggles and personalities.

The Owl…well she stays awake while everyone else sleeps. Watching over the chaos without judging it. And that’s why I love hearing her outside my house so much. Because I understand that role. I know what it feels like to sit awake while everyone else sleeps, mentally counting worries instead of sheep. I know what it feels like to watch over a family so closely that your nervous system never fully powers down. I know what it feels like to become nocturnal out of love.

And yes, I can be soft. I can sing lullabies and soothe nightmares and make everyone feel safe. But I also understand the other side of an owl. Silent observation. Sharp instincts. Protective violence when necessary. Because motherhood is contradictory like that. You become both comfort and warning. Soft enough to calm the people you love. Sharp enough to destroy the things that threaten them. Yet somehow return to your branch pretending you weren’t just mentally prepared to commit felonies over somebody hurting your child. And to you that may sound dramatic. But mothers understand.

So no, the owl outside my window probably isn’t magic. She’s probably just an owl doing owl things. But after almost five years of hearing her arrive exactly when life feels heavy, exhausted, lonely, or loud… I don’t care. To me, she feels like reassurance. A nighttime reminder that even in the middle of chaos and crumbs and noise and overstimulation… someone is still watching over this house with me.