Rob came home for lunch and a run last Tuesday, so I drove him back to the office and had just pulled into the garage to get the mail when my phone rang.

"Is this a good time?" my genetic counselor asked while I balanced the phone on my shoulder and looked into our mailbox. Just junk as usual. 

"Sure," I said, because I always knew in my gut that the test was going to come back positive for a BRCA gene mutation, and I wasn't surprised when she told me that I was right. I didn't think I needed someone there when I got the news, but suddenly I couldn't believe she didn't call just an hour sooner, while Rob was home with me.

I made it back upstairs before breaking into tears. I thought about my mom, home from surgery, wincing through the pain of recovery; and how as I washed her hair for her a few days later I selfishly prayed that I would never be on the other side of a double mastectomy.

But I will be.

Being BRCA2-positive means that I have a lifetime risk of 41%-84% for breast cancer, and up to a 27% risk of ovarian cancer. The hardest thing to remember these past few days is that my test results are not a cancer diagnosis, and that without surgery, there's still a chance I could live my whole life without ever having cancer. 

There are some days where knowing that I have a gene mutation feels so incredibly unfair, but there are more days where I feel blessed in the strangest way. We all have a certain risk of all kinds of illnesses, because we're alive and we're human and things go wrong. This is one that I get to face head on and avoid. It's a gift. 

We haven't made any decisions yet and we don't have to--my genetic counselor was very adamant about making sure we knew that there's no rush. For a couple of days Rob and I stressed ourselves out trying to decide if we should have kids soon or if we should move to a bigger place and when would our loans be paid off and will we need two cars? It was too much. For now I'll start getting an annual MRI to make sure things are fine; and once we've had a few kids, I'll most likely choose to have a double mastectomy and reconstruction.

While I've managed to be pretty matter-of-fact and somewhat logical about this whole thing, the overwhelming truth is that I'm really scared. But I'm also hopeful. Thanksgiving is tomorrow and even with the overwhelm that has been my life lately, I don't think I've ever been more grateful--for my life, my health, my husband. That my mom is doing well. I'm thankful for God, for science and medicine, for options. For the future.

Wishing each of you a happy and healthy beginning to this holiday season.

Last night I decided enough was enough with the whole talk-about-a-capsule-wardrobe thing. I'm going to do it. Looking through these photos made me realize that even when I put together an outfit that isn't leggings and a big sweater, I'm still reusing the same five to ten pieces. I wear this grey tee shirt every single week; and even though I don't always use this skirt, I've worn it countless times, and always with a different top. My wardrobe is already full of some great mix-and-match pieces, so now I'm finally just going to get rid of the rest of it.

I really love clothes, and I enjoy sharing my style here on the blog, but I'm never going to be a style blogger who buys new things all the time. I have been flirting with minimalism for over a year now and the more stuff I get rid of, the happier (and more at peace) I feel. So I'm going to go with that.

Top: Banana Republic | Skirt (similar): J.Crew 

Bag (similar): HOBO | Bracelet (similar): Banana Republic | Shoes: Dolce Vita

I'm going to start with my winter wardrobe and go from there--if any of you have gotten rid of the majority of your clothes and are living with less, I'd love to hear how you did it! I know I want fewer things in my closet but I always have trouble actually getting rid of stuff, even though I never wear it. Wish me luck!

Photos by Andi Perullo for Freckled Italian.

Months have passed since the last time I picked up my camera and walked around with it all weekend, snapping photos of my coffee and the street and all the things we eat and drink and do from Friday night to Sunday afternoon, so this weekend I announced that I was going to take pictures of everything, because it had been too long.

It was one of those weekends that just slowly unfolds--we had tickets to an oyster roast at one of our favorite breweries in the neighborhood, so our plan was to walk to the grocery store for a crab cracker and/or an oyster knife first. On our way to Publix we passed the new Anthropologie location which always lures me in "just to smell the candles;" so we made our rounds and checked on all the dresses that were 25% off even though the clothes there are very rarely my thing. Christmas decorations were out in full force and it made me forget that I'm generally anti-Christmas-before-Thanksgiving (although we will most likely be decorating our apartment sometime in the next 48 hours because hey, it's the most wonderful time of the year).

We walked out of Anthro and Rob said, "Do you want a coffee?" which is cute because I always want a coffee. We stopped by the Not Just Coffee at Atherton Mill and ordered one iced latte and one cold brew because it's almost Thanksgiving but down here it can feel like spring in the sunshine.

On Sunday I woke up early with Ender, walked around outside with him, drank a cup of coffee, and went to barre at 9:00. I came home and Rob was still in bed, so I ate leftover frittata from the day before and cleaned my desk. We walked the dog and came home to lounge and got in one of those arguments that come out of nowhere and I watched Grey's Anatomy and cried even though I'd seen it before.

The sun began to set and I made a quick dinner of steaks and broccoli and we ate at the coffee table like we always do, and after we ate, we cleaned the kitchen and returned to the couch where I sat with my head on Rob's shoulder and felt that deep, profound happiness that I think we all must dream about at some point or another. I keep saying that we aren't going home for Thanksgiving this year, which is a first; but what I really should be saying is that we are staying home for Thanksgiving this year, because that's finally what this feels like.

As I got in bed, I realized I still didn't pick up my camera even once.

Photos or not, these are the days I'll always remember.

Photo by Joshua Vasko for Freckled Italian.