I think I accidentally opened a daycare this week.
I don’t remember applying for a license.
I don’t remember filling out any paperwork.
But there were three children in my house for most of the week, somebody was always coughing, somebody was always pooping somewhere they weren’t supposed to, and at one point I had two children sitting in a bathtub full of ball-pit balls.
So.
I’m pretty sure that makes it official. 😂
Last Sunday, I ended Sunday Things by deciding my dirty laundry could become Monday’s problem.
Apparently Monday saw that and said:
Oh, you think laundry is your biggest problem? Cute.
Because this week had everything.
Sick babies.
A sick boyfriend.
Very little sleep.
Poop.
Pee.
Bubble baths.
A friendship conversation that somehow lasted approximately four business days.
And a cake that nearly broke me psychologically.
But before we get to that—
there was one very important development this week.
One I have been waiting patiently for.
Very.
Patiently.
ahem.
SEX IS BACK ON THE TABLE.
😂😂😂
After surgery, recovery, restrictions, and my hoohoo essentially being placed on administrative leave, she has officially returned to active duty.
Was I a little sore afterward?
Yep.
Was it worth it?
BABBBBBYYYYY.
😂
Unfortunately, the universe apparently decided once was enough.
Because immediately afterward, my house became a plague ward full of sick children, sleepovers, coughing, snot, and eventually a sick boyfriend.
So that was Monday.
And that was also the end of that.
😩😂
Honestly, that pretty much establishes the tone for the entire week.
☕ This Week’s Comfort
The kids.
Which is a ridiculous answer considering they were also responsible for approximately 87% of the chaos.
But still.
My niece and both nephews spent most of the week with me, and somehow my house became their house.
There were sleepovers.
Cartoons.
Cuddles.
Snot.
A truly concerning amount of bodily fluids.
And a ball-pit bubble bath.
That one happened by accident.
My niece was trying to poop.
My nephew was annoying her.
Naturally, I put him in the bathtub.
As one does.
He wanted water.
Then she wanted in.
Then she wanted bubbles.
I didn’t have bath toys.
But I did have an empty body-wash bottle, a bowl, and an entire bag of ball-pit balls.
And that is how Ball-Pit Bubble Bath™ was born.
They loved it.
More importantly?
They weren’t getting on my nerves.
😂
We did it again Friday.
Apparently this is just something we do at NeeNee’s house now.
We also watched The Fairly OddParents, Jurassic Park, and Rugrats.
Or, more accurately, I watched The Rugrats Movie while one kid slept in the recliner, one slept in the playpen, and another sat on the potty.
I looked around at one point and thought:
Yep.
This seems about right.
There was also something really sweet about watching my boyfriend with them this week.
At one point, he was curled up in the recliner with my niece and youngest nephew watching Gabby’s Dollhouse.
Later, everybody was watching CaseOh.
I love how much those kids love him.
And how much he loves them right back.
Even if one of them apparently infected him with the plague.
Which brings me to something I still cannot get over.
This man has survived me having COVID multiple times.
Kissed me.
Ate after me.
Shared a bed with me.
Nothing.
A ONE-YEAR-OLD GETS A RUNNY NOSE?
Man down.
Absolutely defeated.
I’m still salty about it.
🤣
📸 Through My Lens
If I had taken one photograph that could somehow capture this entire week, it would probably look like this:
One child headbutting something.
Another biting someone.
My niece yelling something wildly inappropriate.
My boyfriend coughing in the background.
Me holding a roll of paper towels wondering whose bodily fluid I am currently cleaning off my floor.
And Rugrats playing somewhere in the distance.
😂
My one-year-old nephew spent Monday walking around saying:
“Well, shit.”
Meanwhile, my four-year-old niece has apparently expanded her vocabulary to include:
“You mother fucker.”
Beautiful.
Educational.
We’re doing great over here. 🥲
Then came the poop.
My niece has been battling constipation again, which eventually turned into her pooping twice in her panties, once in her pull-up, and once on my floor.
My nephew peed on the floor.
At that point I stopped asking questions.
This house has seen things.
But there were softer moments mixed into all of it.
My best friend stopped by before moving to Tennessee to start a new career.
The kids curled up everywhere.
We watched old cartoons.
We invented ridiculous bath-time traditions.
And somewhere between the snot, potty accidents, and sleep deprivation, I realized how much I love having this kind of chaos in my house.
Not permanently.
Let’s not get carried away.
😂
But someday?
Yeah.
Someday.
💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying
Sometimes clarity is weird.
I had a conversation with a longtime friend Tuesday night that somehow managed to make things clearer and more confusing at the exact same time.
Nothing was really said outright.
Nothing was completely answered.
And yet I walked away understanding certain parts of our friendship better than I had before.
Then we talked Wednesday.
And Thursday.
And basically all day in between.
At some point I realized:
Sir.
I think we have officially exceeded the recommended weekly dosage of one another.
😂
But I’ve been thinking about how strange long friendships are.
Especially the ones that have changed shape a hundred times.
There are people who knew versions of us that don’t exist anymore.
People who remember things we’ve forgotten.
People who can disappear for stretches of time and somehow return to a conversation that feels like it never completely ended.
Sometimes you think you understand what someone has been to you.
Then one conversation shifts the angle slightly.
Nothing necessarily changes.
You just see it differently.
I don’t know that every relationship in our lives needs a perfect definition.
Maybe some of them just need honesty.
And occasionally—
a little fucking space.
😂
❤️ This Week’s Gratitude
This week’s gratitude belongs to a hug.
A very small hug.
A side hug, actually.
And it meant more to me than that kid will probably ever realize.
Today was my friend’s son’s surprise birthday party.
He isn’t a touchy kid.
At all.
Hugs aren’t really his thing.
So when I was getting ready to leave and he asked me for a side hug, I threw that helium tank down so damn fast.
😂
His dad looked genuinely shocked.
Then asked him if he was feeling sick.
🤣
But I got my hug.
And after everything that went into this weekend—the planning, decorating, shopping, baking, failing, trying again, wanting to quit, and somehow eventually making everything work—that tiny moment was the thing that mattered most.
The cake was almost gone before I left.
The kids were asking me for the recipe.
He had fun.
But that hug?
That’s the part I’m keeping.
There are some moments that look incredibly small from the outside.
You have to know the person to understand how big they really are.
I knew.
His dad knew.
And I think he knew, too.
That was enough.
🥰
😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”
THE FUCKING CAKE.
Oh my God.
The cake.
What began as:
I’m going to make a tornado picking up a dump truck!
eventually became:
I have made a terrible mistake.
😂
First, the cake wasn’t big enough.
Fine.
We need more cake mix.
My mom went to the store.
She came home with two boxes.
I dumped everything into the bowl.
Started mixing.
Looked at it.
Something wasn’t right.
I looked at the box.
Brownies.
🥲
So.
Now we had brownies.
My sister ordered actual cake mix.
We checked the boxes this time.
Because apparently that was necessary.
Then came Saturday.
My sister and the kids came over, and what should have been cake decorating became an all-day engineering crisis.
We tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed.
Tried AGAIN.
Failed AGAIN.
I got mad.
I wanted to quit.
We tried again.
Failed again.
I damn near cried.
And then there was the fondant.
Fuck fondant.
The fondant made everything too heavy and literally crumbled BOTH CAKES.
At this point, I was spiritually done.
We went back to the store.
Again.
Bought two more boxes of cake mix.
Bought more eggs.
And I decided I would try one. more. fucking. time.
I scrapped the dump-truck idea.
Went back to the original idea I had before all of this started.
And—
IT WORKED.
😭😂
Six boxes of cake mix.
Two boxes of brownie mix.
Twenty-two eggs.
Multiple failed cakes.
One fondant-induced structural collapse.
Several trips to the store.
Approximately seventeen emotional breakdowns.
And one woman who became increasingly hostile toward baked goods.
But I made the fucking cake.
And you know what?
I was proud of it.
Then came today’s final boss:
the thirty-minute car ride to the party.
I swear I spent the entire drive mentally preparing myself to watch this cake collapse in real time.
But—
THE CAKE FUCKING MADE THE TRIP.
😭😂
It survived.
The birthday boy loved it.
The kids nearly demolished the entire thing before I left.
Some of them even asked me for the recipe.
Kids, the recipe is:
Six boxes of cake mix.
Two boxes of brownies.
Twenty-two eggs.
Rage.
Denial.
Several trips to the grocery store.
And the refusal to let a fucking cake win.
Enjoy.
😂
Now it’s Sunday evening.
The party is over.
The cake survived.
The birthday boy had fun.
I got my hug.
The kids are home.
I’m home.
And I am officially declaring this week over.
I don’t care that there are technically several hours left in Sunday.
Those hours no longer belong to society.
They belong to me.
I am putting my phone down.
I am cuddling up.
I am watching my boyfriend play Palworld.
And I am doing absolutely fucking nothing else.
Because apparently last week’s lesson did not stick, so I’m going to try it again:
Whatever needs me now?
Can become Monday’s problem.
Until next time,
—Destiny
P.S. What is something that went completely, spectacularly wrong for you—but somehow worked out in the end anyway?
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