Sunday, March 7th, 2021

Captain’s Log

I have been struggling with a mad case of writer's block the last week or so and can’t seem to get out of this rut.

The Crew and the ship have been running smoothly over the last week and we've enjoyed the quiet rhythm of normalcy. As delightful as it’s been, they haven’t been overly considerate in my pursuit of content for blogging.

So I've looked to myself, and found that perhaps I do have some confessions and grievances to share;

My house looks like someone threw a party but failed to clean up. Constantly.

I'm pretty sure I haven’t put jeans on in over a year. I now refer to them as the modern corset.

I still hate cooking dinner, and even though I have the time I will still throw a frozen pizza in the oven on a Wednesday evening because I just don’t care to cook.

Despite all my best efforts, there is always one banana that ends up in the freezer. Despite my best intentions they most likely never make it to the muffin stage and I’ll throw them out in 6 months when I rage clean the freezer.

Speaking of rage, road rage has now become grocery store rage, FOLLOW THE ARROWS PEOPLE.

1000 piece puzzles are now too easy, but 5000 piece ones scare the shit out of me. Not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment.

I make TikTocs, not to annoy my children anymore but because I legitimately love it. Although I still take great pride in their groans of embarrassment though.

Dawn Power wash and Scrub Daddy’s have changed my life.

I purchase craft supplies and actually use them now. I have claimed The Cricut machine we bought for the Dutchess. So glad I bought it for her.

I now deep clean my mattress and pillows quarterly. I clearly need a new hobby, cleaning is now becoming a crutch for my anxiety.

I’m OBSESSED with laundry stripping. If you know, you know.

I don’t want to brag but I now religiously drink a big ol’ glass of water each morning before coffee. Makes me feel like I have my shit together.

Even though I have an abundance of spare time, the laundry still never gets folded in a timely manner. Truthfully, I'm staring at a pile as I sit here and type.

After 17 years of parenthood, I still have no idea what I”m doing. So grateful that therapy exists because I'm very certain my womb gremlins are going to need it. This motherhood gig is fucking hard and exhausting.

Hopefully, If anyone ever reads these posts that they find comfort in knowing that no matter how curated someone's social media feed seems, they aren’t alone and that we are all living our own hot mess life. Until next time, miss your face, can’t feel mine.

xoxo