destinylaharris

Tag: gratitude

  • Sunday Things #16

    Well, Halloween is officially over, and I would like to know who I need to speak to about getting a refund on my sanity.

    Because Y’ALL.

    This week was something else.

    We’ve had flying objects, screaming children, a shattered glass table, a baby standoff involving a pocketknife and a Sharpie, and a suspicious noise in the middle of the night that had me considering grabbing a sword.

    Oh, and apparently everybody on the road is ugly.

    Everybody except me, of course.

    🤣

    I also spent Halloween chasing three tiny humans around the neighborhood, collecting enough candy to supply a small village, and carrying an exhausted Nemo home like a sack of potatoes.

    And somehow, between all the chaos, we managed to have some pretty wonderful moments.

    So, grab your leftover Halloween candy, get comfortable, and let me tell you about the week that apparently decided I hadn’t suffered enough this spooky season.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    I’m not going to lie.

    There wasn’t a whole lot of peace and quiet around here this week.

    Sunday started with the boys fighting ALL DAY LONG.

    Neither one wanted a nap.

    Neither one wanted to cooperate.

    And by the time the evening rolled around, I was already exhausted.

    Thankfully, I had a Halloween photoshoot to look forward to, and it was SO much fun!

    I love getting behind my camera, especially when I get to play around with something a little creepy.

    Unfortunately, my peaceful evening didn’t last long after I got home.

    We’ll get to that disaster in a minute.

    By Monday, I was already running on fumes.

    Work was absolutely ridiculous, and by the time I got home, I was so exhausted that I honestly couldn’t tell you what I did for the rest of the evening.

    I know I went to bed early.

    That’s about it.

    Tuesday wasn’t much better.

    Actually, that’s a lie.

    Tuesday was significantly worse.

    By the time I got off work, I was overstimulated, irritated, and ready to fight the entire population of Indianapolis.

    But first, I needed shoes.

    My work shoes were absolutely destroyed, and I had a $50 gift card to Finish Line.

    I found a pair for $65, and after using my gift card, I paid less than $20!

    WOO ME!

    🤗

    Now, here’s where things get a little ridiculous.

    My boyfriend and I were in the car, and I was still in a TERRIBLE mood.

    So, naturally, I decided everybody around me was ugly.

    Everybody.

    Except me.

    I’d point at a random car.

    “Ugly!”

    Another car.

    “See that car? Yeah, ugly!”

    A woman with a baby?

    “Ugly! Both of ’em!”

    ☠️🤣

    Y’ALL.

    I didn’t mean a single word of it.

    I was just being ridiculous because I was overstimulated and irritated, and my boyfriend was sitting in the passenger seat laughing his ass off.

    And the more he laughed, the more ridiculous I got.

    Eventually, I started feeling better.

    Sometimes you just need somebody who understands that you’re having a terrible day and lets you be a complete idiot until you’re laughing again.

    Afterward, we stopped to get cupcakes for my student, who was turning nine the next day.

    Yes, he’d been giving me absolute HELL all week.

    But everybody deserves cupcakes on their birthday.

    I don’t care how much of a little gremlin you’ve been.

    🤣

    By the time we got home, I realized something else.

    I WAS STARVING.

    Oh.

    That explains a few things.

    My boyfriend made dinner, and while I was eating, my sister called.

    Well, technically, Doodoo called.

    😂

    I talked to the kids while I ate and decided I’d go spend some time with them afterward.

    And honestly?

    That was exactly what I needed.

    We played, chased each other, and scared each other.

    Then the boys decided to team up and beat my ass.

    One was attacking me from the front while the other was climbing onto the couch and practically suplexing himself onto my head.

    SIR.

    I CAME OVER HERE TO LOVE YOU.

    NOT JOIN THE WWE.

    😭🤣

    But we had so much fun.

    When bedtime rolled around, I got Poohboy settled and asked who was next.

    Both Sissy and Doodoo immediately volunteered.

    “ME!”

    Doodoo threw himself into my lap while Sissy ran circles around the living room.

    Then we played a little game.

    THE FLOOR IS LAVA!

    FEET UP!

    FEET UP!

    My sister vacuumed while both kids sat on the couch with their feet held high in the air.

    Sissy even helped get her bed ready in the living room, putting the sheet on and everything.

    She stayed in bed, too.

    Well, except for one little visit to try a Snapchat filter on me.

    Naturally.

    🤣

    I stayed until everybody was settled, gave my hugs and kisses, and went home.

    After the kind of day I’d had, spending the evening laughing with those babies was exactly what I needed.

    Wednesday was another long day, and my sister’s babysitting situation fell apart.

    Her sitter wasn’t feeling well that morning, and by lunchtime, she’d quit altogether.

    Well.

    That’s wonderful.

    🥲

    So we rearranged everything.

    I picked up the boys after work, took a PTO day Thursday, and arranged to leave work at noon Friday so I could help with the kiddos.

    Wednesday evening was pretty quiet, at least compared to the rest of the week.

    Doodoo had gotten two shots at the doctor, and he was NOT in the mood to deal with Poohboy.

    Every time Poohboy got near him, Doodoo cried.

    So I spent the evening keeping them separated.

    My boyfriend made dinner, and I went to bed early with a headache.

    I fell asleep watching videos on my phone, and at some point, my boyfriend came to bed and put my phone away for me.

    It’s a little thing, but I appreciated it.

    And Friday?

    Friday gave us one of those rare, beautiful bedtimes that make you want to celebrate.

    Both boys were trying to go to sleep at SIX.

    Absolutely not.

    Stay awake for one more hour.

    Mawmaw Nesi made herself a BLT, and naturally, both boys decided they wanted one, too.

    So they had BLTs with her for dinner.

    Later, Doodoo crawled into my lap while my boyfriend was making our dinner.

    And just like that?

    Out.

    He was asleep by 7:45.

    I looked over at Poohboy, who was crying at the kitchen gate, and asked if he was ready for bed.

    He nodded.

    Went straight to the bedroom.

    AND WENT TO BED.

    Y’ALL.

    NO FIGHTING.

    NO SCREAMING.

    NO NEGOTIATIONS.

    WE WILL TAKE IT!

    🤣🖤

    📸 Through My Lens

    This was a particularly fun week for pictures.

    Sunday’s Halloween photoshoot was such a good time, and I loved getting to play around with the creepy atmosphere.

    There’s just something about Halloween photography that I absolutely adore.

    The costumes, the little details, the opportunity to make ordinary places feel a little unsettling.

    It’s right up my alley.

    Then Friday rolled around, and I got to dress up for work!

    I went as Ms. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus.

    🤣

    Every adult knew exactly who I was.

    The kids?

    Not a clue.

    BUT THEY LOVED MY DINOSAUR DRESS!

    And honestly, that’s good enough for me.

    I left work at noon to pick up the kiddos, and the moment they saw my dress, they were OBSESSED.

    They were even mad when I took it off after we got home.

    Y’ALL.

    CHILL.

    I’LL WEAR IT AGAIN TOMORROW!

    🤣

    And I did.

    Because Saturday was HALLOWEEN!

    I had all three babies for trick-or-treating this year.

    My mom wasn’t feeling well, so Sissy ended up joining me and the boys.

    My boyfriend and Mawmaw Nesi came with us, too.

    We had to wait for Poohboy to get home before we could get him changed and ready.

    And obviously, I had to get pictures.

    I mean, come on.

    Did you really think I was going to take three babies trick-or-treating without getting pictures first?

    Absolutely not.

    We finally headed out a little before 6:30 and stayed out until around 8:30.

    TWO HOURS.

    THREE BABIES.

    FOUR FULL BASKETS OF CANDY.

    AND NINE FULL-SIZED CANDY BARS!

    NINE!

    ALL DIFFERENT!

    FROM TWO HOUSES!

    Y’ALL.

    I DO NOT PLAY ABOUT TRICK-OR-TREATING!

    🤣🤣🤣

    And the babies had an absolute blast.

    Especially Doodoo.

    He was dressed as Nemo, and he decided pretty early on that he was DONE with the stroller.

    He wanted to walk.

    So he walked.

    And walked.

    AND WALKED.

    That little trooper spent practically the entire evening running behind me, giggling and yelling:

    “I GET YOU!”

    And he’d flap his little arm the whole time.

    HIS LITTLE NEMO FIN!

    😭🖤

    I swear, it was the cutest thing.

    But eventually, all that walking caught up with him.

    By the time we started heading home, Doodoo had officially run out of Halloween spirit.

    He was throwing himself on the ground.

    Kicking.

    Crying.

    He didn’t want the stroller.

    He didn’t want to walk.

    He wanted to be carried.

    Then he got mad because he was being carried.

    BRO.

    WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!

    😭🤣

    Eventually, I threw him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried my exhausted little Nemo home.

    And you know what?

    I’d do it all again.

    The pictures are wonderful, but it’s those little moments that make me love having a camera around.

    Doodoo flapping his fin.

    The kids showing off their costumes.

    Their excitement every time somebody handed them candy.

    Those are the things I want to remember.

    Even if one of those memories involves carrying a screaming fish down the street.

    🤣🖤

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    Saturday night scared the absolute hell out of me.

    And I don’t mean the costumes, the Halloween decorations, or the spooky things people had sitting in their yards.

    I mean genuinely scared me.

    After trick-or-treating, we got home with three exhausted children and enough candy to last until next Halloween.

    Sissy wanted some immediately.

    Ma’am.

    You are NOT eating an entire basket of candy tonight.

    You can have ONE piece.

    AFTER dinner.

    That’s it.

    🤣

    I got everybody out of their costumes, changed diapers, and started making dinner.

    Nothing fancy.

    Chicken nuggets and fries.

    Quick and easy.

    Doodoo was exhausted and having an absolute meltdown.

    He was hungry, too.

    While I was finishing the plates, he kept screaming:

    “I BITE! I BITE!”

    So I handed him a nugget.

    Here.

    Take a bite.

    Calm down for half a minute so I can finish getting these fries on the plates.

    And then everything changed.

    His head went back.

    His face started turning red.

    And he made a sound I’d never heard him make before.

    He was choking.

    Not coughing because something went down wrong.

    Actually choking.

    I dropped everything.

    I yelled his name, grabbed him, positioned him forward, and started giving him back blows.

    I’m trained for emergencies like this, and I have never been more grateful for that training than I was in that moment.

    I was hitting his back hard enough that my boyfriend thought something else was happening.

    No, sir.

    I’m over here trying to save this baby’s life.

    After five back blows, Doodoo brought the nugget back up.

    And he cried.

    Y’all.

    I have never been so happy to hear that child cry.

    I was terrified.

    One minute, I was irritated because everybody was tired, hungry, and screaming.

    The next, I was holding a one-year-old who couldn’t breathe.

    I cuddled him, comforted him, and tried to get both of us calmed down.

    Then I still had to finish making dinner.

    Because, of course, I did.

    I had a screaming baby on my hip, two other hungry children waiting, and plates that still needed to be finished.

    Doodoo eventually ate dinner sitting in my lap.

    He was hesitant about eating more nuggets.

    And honestly?

    So was I.

    I don’t blame him one bit.

    Poohboy decided he was ready for bed and went to Uncle.

    Sissy finished dinner, chose Sour Patch Kids as her one piece of Halloween candy, and called her mom.

    She talked to my sister until she fell asleep.

    And Doodoo?

    He crawled into my lap in the recliner and said:

    “I want monk monk.”

    Monkey.

    He wanted Curious George.

    So I put it on.

    He fell asleep before the theme song even finished.

    And I sat there holding him.

    I don’t think I can explain how relieved I felt.

    I’ve dealt with plenty of stressful situations with kids.

    I’ve had training.

    I know what to do.

    But knowing what to do doesn’t make it any less terrifying when it’s happening to a baby you love.

    And afterward, when everything settles down, you realize just how quickly an ordinary moment can turn into something serious.

    I’m not going to pretend I suddenly became some perfectly patient person who never gets irritated with these kids.

    I absolutely still get irritated.

    They were driving me insane again before the night was over.

    🤣

    But I was incredibly grateful that Doodoo was okay.

    That he was breathing.

    That he was able to eat his dinner, ask for his monkey, and fall asleep in my lap like nothing had happened.

    Because for a few seconds that night, I was genuinely terrified of what might happen next.

    And I don’t think I’ll forget that feeling anytime soon.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    Honestly?

    I’m grateful for the people who helped me get through this week.

    Because it was A LOT.

    My boyfriend made dinner for us several nights when I was exhausted, irritated, or dealing with the kids.

    He laughed with me when I was overstimulated and decided everybody on the road was ugly.

    He helped with the babies, came trick-or-treating with us, and dealt with my middle-of-the-night panic when I thought somebody might be inside the house.

    We’ll get to that in a minute.

    Because OH MY GOD.

    🤣

    I’m grateful for Mawmaw Nesi, too.

    She helped with the kids, came trick-or-treating, and was there for the everyday little things that make having three babies around a little easier.

    And I’m grateful that I was able to help my sister when her babysitting situation changed.

    Was it convenient?

    Absolutely not.

    Did it mean rearranging my work schedule and spending even more time being climbed on, screamed at, and occasionally used as a wrestling mat?

    Yes.

    Yes, it did.

    But I got to spend more time with the kids.

    And there were some really sweet moments this week.

    Thursday morning, all three of them were actually getting along.

    Sissy was sharing her candy.

    They were playing together.

    Giving each other hugs.

    I almost didn’t know what to do with myself.

    WHO ARE THESE CHILDREN?!

    AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE ONES WHO LIVE HERE?!

    🤣

    Of course, that peace didn’t last.

    But it was nice while we had it.

    Friday, Doodoo was still a little cranky, so I turned his crying into a game.

    I’d start fake crying.

    And crying.

    AND CRYING.

    Until he decided the only way to shut BlahBlah up was to put his binky in my mouth.

    🤣🤣🤣

    He’d get so serious about it, too.

    Like, ma’am, PLEASE.

    TAKE THE BINKY.

    I CANNOT LISTEN TO YOU ANYMORE.

    And then we’d both be laughing.

    Those are the moments I love.

    The little games.

    The random hugs.

    The way they want to sit in my lap even when there’s an entire couch available.

    The way Doodoo will wake up in the middle of the night, say “BlahBlah,” hand me his binky, and go right back to sleep.

    I don’t know what I was supposed to do with it.

    Apparently, I was just being entrusted with a very important possession.

    🤣

    I’m grateful for those moments.

    I’m grateful for the Halloween memories we made.

    And more than anything, I’m grateful that all three babies ended the night safe, loved, and tucked into bed.

    Even if nobody in that house was particularly interested in letting me sleep.

    🖤

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    Y’ALL.

    I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START.

    Actually, yes, I do.

    Let’s start with Sunday.

    I had just gotten home from the Halloween photoshoot and was on FaceTime with my sister.

    Both boys had been acting up all day, and apparently they weren’t finished.

    She’d gotten Poohboy down for bed and was getting Sissy ready.

    Then suddenly—

    CRASH.

    GLASS.

    A LOT OF GLASS.

    I hadn’t even changed out of my clothes yet.

    I immediately left my house and went over there.

    My sister had one of those glass side tables with a lamp attached to it.

    Well, Doodoo had apparently been trying to turn the lamp off.

    And instead?

    HE PULLED THE WHOLE THING OVER.

    SHATTERED THE TABLE.

    GLASS EVERYWHERE.

    INCLUDING ALL OVER THEIR TOYS.

    😭☠️

    Thankfully, nobody was hurt.

    But Doodoo and Sissy were both crying when I got there.

    So I cuddled up on the couch with them and put Frozen on while my sister cleaned everything up.

    Some toys had to be thrown away because tiny pieces of glass were stuck in them.

    Others had to be set aside to inspect later.

    By the time she carried the broken table and bags of glass outside, Doodoo had fallen asleep.

    So she saved one final vacuuming pass for the next morning rather than waking him.

    I finally got home, exhausted, and almost skipped dinner.

    But I made myself a baked potato.

    Because apparently a baked potato can fix just about anything around here.

    At least temporarily.

    🤣

    Then Monday happened.

    Now, listen.

    I’ve worked with autistic children long enough to have my own opinions about the full moon.

    And I swear, whenever the moon starts acting suspicious, the classroom gets WILD.

    Monday was no exception.

    My student tried to BITE me.

    HE DOESN’T EVEN BITE!

    WHAT?!

    I thought Monday was bad.

    Then Tuesday showed up and said:

    “HOLD MY BEER.”

    Because apparently my student has learned how to use his words as weapons.

    And I mean that quite literally.

    He has a speaking device.

    I call it his voice.

    Well, he got upset because I wouldn’t let him disrupt another student’s activity.

    So he tossed his device toward me.

    Nope.

    Time to sit down.

    He started getting more upset, and I figured we’d better take a bathroom break before things got any worse.

    I went to unlock the bathroom door and noticed he wasn’t behind me.

    So I peeked back into the classroom.

    He was bending down to pick up his device.

    Oh!

    Look at you!

    Picking up after yourself!

    That’s something we’ve been working on.

    HOW WONDERFUL!

    Except—

    NOPE.

    HE STOOD UP.

    LOOKED ME DEAD IN THE FACE.

    AND THREW HIS WORDS AT MY HEAD.

    SIR!

    EXCUSE THE FUCK OUT OF ME?!

    😭☠️

    Thank goodness I was standing in the hallway because that thing would’ve hit me right between the eyes.

    I managed to dodge it and got some help.

    But the story doesn’t end there.

    Oh, no.

    While all this was happening, somebody else had made it into the restroom.

    So now we had to wait.

    And while we were waiting?

    HE TRIED TO BITE ME.

    AGAIN.

    BRO.

    WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

    IT’S ONLY TUESDAY!

    😭😭😭

    Eventually, we had to focus on calming down and getting through the rest of the day.

    And yes, there were plenty of other behaviors.

    But those were the highlights.

    I did a little research afterward because I needed to know what was happening in the universe.

    And apparently, according to what I was looking at, there were FIVE planets in microwave.

    FIVE.

    NOT ONE.

    NOT TWO.

    FIVE.

    I don’t even know what that means.

    But somebody needs to get these planets out of the microwave because I CANNOT.

    ☠️🤣

    Then Thursday came along.

    Remember how I said all three kids were getting along?

    Sharing candy?

    Giving hugs?

    Being sweet little angels?

    Yeah.

    That lasted until lunchtime.

    I was making myself a hot ham and cheese sandwich when I noticed the boys had gotten suspiciously quiet.

    And then I saw them.

    Doodoo had found a CLOSED pocketknife that we thought was put away.

    Poohboy had a Sharpie.

    And somehow, these two tiny humans had arranged themselves into a full-blown standoff in my living room.

    Doodoo had Poohboy backed into the corner, pointing the closed knife at him.

    Poohboy was LAUGHING and pointing the Sharpie right back.

    Y’ALL.

    WHAT KIND OF WESTERN MOVIE DID I JUST WALK INTO?!

    😭☠️

    Obviously, I took the knife immediately.

    Doodoo was NOT happy about losing his newly discovered “toy.”

    So what did he do?

    He pushed Mawmaw Nesi’s plant off the living room table.

    OF COURSE HE DID.

    Meanwhile, my sandwich was burning.

    MY DAMN SANDWICH.

    I still ate it.

    I wasn’t about to waste perfectly good food just because two babies decided to reenact a showdown at high noon.

    🤣

    After lunch, both boys were screaming and rubbing their eyes.

    Exhausted.

    Clearly exhausted.

    Would they take another nap?

    Absolutely not.

    Fine.

    I guess we’re ALL going to be cranky.

    By the time my sister got off work, I told her to take a shower and relax for a little while before I brought the kids home.

    And when she was ready?

    I CLOCKED OUT.

    Your turn, ma’am.

    I LOVE YOU.

    GOOD LUCK.

    🤣

    Friday was a little less dramatic.

    The kids spent a good portion of the day running around the house yelling for Mawmaw.

    And somehow, we survived.

    Which brings us to Saturday.

    HALLOWEEN!

    And the aftermath of our very successful candy expedition.

    After the choking scare, everybody finally got settled.

    My boyfriend and I even managed to eat dinner in peace.

    Watching Curious George.

    Because apparently that’s what we’re watching now.

    🤣

    Eventually, I went to move Sissy to bed.

    I picked her up, and she lifted her head.

    “I want Kase.”

    You want Kase?

    “No.”

    Okay.

    What do you want?

    She looked me right in the eyes.

    “I want. I want. I want…”

    Yes, baby?

    You want what?

    “I want the cat.”

    And then she closed her eyes and laid her head back down.

    OH.

    OKAY.

    GLAD WE CLEARED THAT UP.

    🤣🤣🤣

    I absolutely love when that child sleep talks.

    But the night wasn’t over.

    Not even close.

    Doodoo was tossing and turning all night.

    Sitting up.

    Moving around.

    Occasionally handing me his binky for reasons known only to him.

    Then, at some point, I heard a loud THUD from somewhere outside the bedroom.

    I immediately thought:

    What the fuck?

    Then I remembered Mawmaw Nesi wasn’t home.

    WHAT THE FUCK?!

    I moved Doodoo between me and my boyfriend and sat up.

    I listened.

    No footsteps.

    No more thuds.

    Nothing.

    And naturally, my brain immediately started developing a plan.

    Should I grab the sword behind the closet door?

    Should I go investigate?

    Should I move all three babies into the bed?

    What if somebody’s in the house?

    What if—

    WAIT.

    MY BOYFRIEND IS LITERALLY ASLEEP BESIDE ME.

    DUH.

    WHY AM I PLANNING A SOLO MISSION?!

    😭🤣

    So I woke him up.

    Told him what I’d heard.

    And he went to investigate.

    He checked the house.

    The front yard.

    The backyard.

    EVERYTHING.

    And he was gone for what felt like FOREVER.

    Y’all.

    We don’t even have a big house.

    WHERE IS THIS MAN?!

    I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, listening, debating whether I need to grab that sword after all.

    Then I hear him go into the bathroom.

    Thank goodness.

    He comes back into the bedroom.

    And tells me what happened.

    Y’all.

    I FEEL SO DAMN STUPID.

    IT WAS THE BABY SHAMPOO.

    THE BABY SHAMPOO FELL INTO THE BATHTUB.

    ☠️☠️☠️

    I WAS PREPARING TO DEFEND MY ENTIRE HOUSEHOLD AGAINST A BOTTLE OF BABY SHAMPOO.

    😭🤣

    In my defense, I had all three babies in the house.

    If it had just been me, I probably would’ve gone to investigate myself without thinking much about it.

    But with the kids there?

    Absolutely not.

    I wasn’t taking chances.

    Still.

    BABY SHAMPOO.

    I’m never living that one down.

    And would you believe me if I told you the night STILL wasn’t over?

    Because at 4:25 in the morning, Sissy woke up.

    She wanted to come cuddle.

    No, ma’am.

    It’s bedtime.

    Go back to sleep.

    Before anybody thinks I’m being mean, her doctor has given us specific instructions about how to handle her nighttime waking because she struggles with sleep.

    So we were sticking to the routine.

    Unfortunately, Sissy did NOT appreciate that.

    She wanted her phone.

    And she was prepared to protest.

    FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF.

    GIRL.

    PLEASE.

    GO.

    TO.

    SLEEP.

    😭

    I’d already been up practically every hour.

    And because the clocks went back, I got to experience 2 AM TWICE.

    TWICE!

    AS IF ONE 2 AM WASN’T ENOUGH!

    ☠️

    At one point, I got up to use the bathroom.

    And naturally, Doodoo woke up.

    Because apparently I am not allowed to pee without an audience.

    He HAD to come with me.

    While I was up, I realized the lullabies had stopped playing on the television, so I put them back on.

    Eventually, Sissy settled down.

    And at 5:47 AM, I FINALLY got to go back to sleep.

    Y’ALL.

    I SURVIVED HALLOWEEN.

    BARELY.

    🤣🖤

    I think that’s a pretty good place to leave this week.

    Not because it was peaceful.

    It absolutely was not.

    Not because everything went according to plan.

    Clearly, we abandoned that idea somewhere around the shattered glass table.

    But because somewhere between the tantrums, the exhaustion, the flying objects, and the four baskets of Halloween candy, we made some really good memories.

    I got to spend time behind my camera.

    I got to dress up as Ms. Frizzle.

    I got to watch three babies enjoy Halloween, including one very determined little Nemo who walked until his legs apparently decided they were finished participating.

    I got to laugh with my boyfriend after a terrible day.

    I got to spend extra time with the kids and help my sister when she needed it.

    And even after a genuinely frightening moment Saturday night, I got to tuck three babies into bed knowing they were safe.

    I’m exhausted.

    My sleep schedule is a disaster.

    I’m pretty sure I’ve heard somebody yell “BLAHBLAH!” in my dreams.

    And I’m going to need approximately seventeen business days to recover from Halloween.

    But I wouldn’t trade those little memories for anything.

    Well.

    Maybe I’d trade the baby shampoo incident for a full night’s sleep.

    Just that one.

    🤣

    I think that’s something I’m learning to appreciate more and more.

    Life doesn’t have to be peaceful to be good.

    Sometimes it’s loud, messy, exhausting, and completely ridiculous.

    Sometimes you spend your evening laughing until your stomach hurts.

    Sometimes you spend it wondering how you’re going to get everybody fed, bathed, and into bed without losing your mind.

    And sometimes you spend the middle of the night preparing to fight an intruder who turns out to be a bottle of shampoo.

    Apparently, all of those things can happen in the same week.

    So here’s to another Halloween in the books.

    To the costumes, the candy, the laughter, and the tiny humans who made it memorable.

    And here’s to hoping November brings a little more peace.

    Although, knowing my life?

    I wouldn’t bet on it.

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. How was your Halloween? Did you dress up, take the kiddos trick-or-treating, stay home handing out candy, or spend the evening watching scary movies? And more importantly, what’s the most ridiculous thing that happened to you this week? Because I could really use some reassurance that I’m not the only person living in a sitcom. 😂🖤

  • Sunday Things #15

    Well, another week has come and gone.

    And I have officially decided that Frozen is no longer a movie.

    It’s a permanent member of this household.

    🤣

    Seriously, y’all.

    I think I’ve heard Let It Go more times this week than I’ve heard my own thoughts.

    Between the boys, work, headaches, television marathons, and a few things that genuinely caught me off guard, it’s been an interesting seven days.

    Some parts were wonderful.

    Some parts were exhausting.

    And a couple of them?

    I’d really rather not repeat.

    But that’s life, I guess.

    So, let’s get into it.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Sunday morning started with one of my favorite little weekend traditions.

    The boys got up, and Mawmaw Nesi made them their coffee.

    Y’ALL.

    The way these two little boys love their coffee is absolutely diabolical.

    🤣🤣

    But watching them sit there drinking coffee with Mawmaw Nesi always makes me think about my Mawmaw Sug.

    And I love that.

    There’s something about those little routines that sticks with you.

    The things you don’t necessarily think are important when you’re little, but years later, you find yourself remembering them.

    I hope that’s what this becomes for the boys.

    I hope one day, when they’re older, they’ll think back to their weekends with Mawmaw Nesi and remember drinking coffee with her.

    Because those are some of the memories that mean the most to me when I think about my own mawmaw.

    🥰🖤

    The rest of Sunday?

    Frozen.

    So much Frozen.

    Doodoo has been teething, and the poor little guy just hasn’t been feeling well.

    All he wanted was cuddles and Elsa.

    And honestly?

    That’s what he got.

    By 3:55 that afternoon, he was on his second nap, asleep in my arms.

    Pooh Boy was down for his second nap, too.

    Uncle was in the recliner playing his game.

    And me?

    I was still sitting there, holding a sleeping toddler and watching—

    You guessed it.

    FROZEN.

    AGAIN.

    😭🤣

    Meanwhile, I was waiting for my sister to wake up from what was apparently going to be an all-day nap.

    But listen.

    All three of her kids were out of the house.

    If anybody deserved to catch up on some sleep, it was that woman.

    Monday brought a different kind of comfort.

    I got home from work, took a shower, started some laundry, and made myself a cup of hot cocoa.

    Then, when my boyfriend got home, we cuddled up and started watching Crystal Lake.

    We made it through the first four episodes.

    And I wanted to keep going.

    RIGHT THEN.

    Unfortunately, my boyfriend decided we should finish the rest on Tuesday since he didn’t have to work and I’d be home by three.

    Sir.

    We have a perfectly good television.

    We have perfectly good eyeballs.

    WHY ARE WE WAITING?!

    🤣

    But fine.

    Tuesday afternoon, I got home from work, and we finished the show.

    Doodoo even called and asked me to come pick him up.

    Not today, baby.

    BlahBlah has plans.

    I’ll get you tomorrow.

    I love you, though!

    😂🖤

    Sometimes I just want to spend an afternoon cuddled up with my boyfriend, watching a show without having to worry about anything else.

    And that’s exactly what we did.

    📸 Through My Lens

    This week, some of my favorite little moments weren’t even things I planned to photograph.

    They were just things I wanted to remember.

    Like Wednesday afternoon.

    After a pretty rough day at work, I picked Doodoo up from the sitter’s.

    And, naturally, Sissy wanted to come too.

    So I brought them both home.

    We went outside to play, and for once—

    THEY WERE ACTUALLY GETTING ALONG.

    Y’ALL.

    No fighting.

    No crying.

    No pushing each other.

    No somebody suddenly deciding the other person was breathing too close to them.

    They were just running around the yard, chasing each other, laughing, and singing.

    I almost didn’t know what to do with myself.

    🤣

    It was one of those afternoons where I could just sit back and enjoy watching them have fun.

    And after the way my workday had gone?

    I needed that.

    Saturday brought another little moment I want to remember.

    I went over to my sister’s house to touch up the red in my hair.

    And when it was time to wash everything out, I let Sissy help me.

    I handed her the showerhead and let her help rinse my hair.

    Then I let her help put the conditioner in.

    Y’ALL.

    SHE LOVED IT.

    🤣🖤

    She was having the time of her life.

    And I was just sitting there letting her help me.

    It’s funny how something as simple as washing somebody’s hair can become an exciting little adventure when you’re a kid.

    I love getting to have those moments with her.

    And speaking of hair—

    I’m getting ready for my Halloween photoshoot!

    I have one coming up Sunday, and I’m so excited!

    I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of having an excuse to pull out my camera and do something creative.

    Especially when it’s something creepy.

    Y’all know how I am.

    👀🖤

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    I’ve been thinking a lot this week about how much it means to feel supported.

    Not just when things are going well.

    But when things are uncertain.

    Monday, I was talking to some of my coworkers about my first appointment with the fertility clinic.

    It’s officially scheduled for next month.

    And every time I talk about it, everything starts feeling a little more real.

    Which is exciting.

    But also?

    A little terrifying.

    Because there’s this part of me that wonders whether I should even be talking about it yet.

    What if things don’t go the way we’re hoping?

    What if I get everybody excited, and then we end up with news that isn’t so exciting?

    I don’t know.

    I know I can’t predict what’s going to happen.

    But sometimes I wonder if keeping things to myself would make it easier if they don’t work out.

    And then something happened Monday that I genuinely wasn’t expecting.

    After lunch, two of my coworkers came up to me.

    These are two women I’ve known for less than a month.

    LESS THAN A MONTH, Y’ALL.

    And they told me that if I end up not being able to get pregnant, they’d be willing to carry our baby for us.

    🥲🫶🏻🖤

    I don’t even know how to explain what that meant to me.

    I’m not saying that’s something we’re planning.

    We’re not even at that point.

    We haven’t had our first appointment yet.

    But the fact that these two women would even offer something that significant?

    That they care enough to want to help us have a family?

    I don’t have the words.

    And y’all know I usually have plenty of those.

    🤣

    I think that’s what I’ve been carrying with me since Monday.

    Sometimes people surprise you.

    And sometimes those surprises remind you that there are people rooting for you, even when they haven’t known you very long.

    I still don’t know how much of this journey I’m going to share.

    I’m excited.

    I’m nervous.

    And I have absolutely no idea how any of it is going to turn out.

    But I think I’m allowed to be excited about taking the next step without pretending I know where the road is going to lead.

    For now, I’m just grateful that there are people willing to walk beside me while we figure it out.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    My gynecologist.

    Seriously.

    I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to have a doctor who actually listens to me.

    Monday, I filled out the paperwork to have sent over to his office for FMLA.

    For those who don’t know, I have endometriosis and fibroids.

    And when my period starts, the pain can be absolutely debilitating.

    I’m not talking about being a little uncomfortable.

    I’m talking about pain that can make it incredibly difficult to function normally, let alone go to work and do my job.

    My doctor understands that.

    He recognizes that I’m dealing with chronic pain, and he fully supports me pursuing FMLA for the days when my symptoms become too much.

    Y’ALL.

    A DOCTOR WHO SUPPORTS MY DECISIONS?!

    WHAT IS HAPPENING IN 2026?!

    🤣

    But seriously.

    I appreciate this man so much.

    And it’s not just because he’s supporting me with the paperwork.

    It’s the way he treats me as a patient.

    If I have a question, I can reach out.

    And when he answers, he doesn’t just throw a bunch of medical terminology at me and expect me to understand it.

    He explains things.

    He tells me what’s happening, what it means, and why it matters.

    He actually takes the time.

    And after dealing with medical issues for so long, I cannot begin to explain how much I appreciate that.

    I’m still dealing with the same conditions.

    I’m still dealing with the pain.

    But having a doctor who listens, explains things, and takes my concerns seriously?

    That makes a difference.

    A pretty damn big one.

    🥲🖤

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    Can we start with the fact that apparently the universe wanted me to eat Taco Bell on Monday?

    Because I had TWO separate conversations with TWO separate people about Taco Bell at work.

    And here’s the important part.

    I DID NOT START EITHER CONVERSATION.

    Y’all know how much I love Taco Bell.

    But I was completely innocent this time.

    🤣

    Then my boyfriend came home from work.

    With Taco Bell.

    FOR US.

    EXCUSE ME?!

    WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!

    I don’t know what kind of Taco Bell manifestation ritual I accidentally performed that day, but apparently it worked.

    And honestly?

    I’m not mad about it.

    😂

    Now, let’s talk about something else.

    Sunday night.

    I took the boys home, came back, and got a shower.

    And when I got out?

    I didn’t feel like brushing my hair.

    So naturally, I did what any completely reasonable person would do.

    I grabbed my hairbrush.

    Grabbed my hair-cutting scissors.

    And went BACK to my sister’s house.

    To have her cut my hair.

    🤣🤣🤣

    No elaborate planning.

    No appointment.

    Just me deciding that I was done dealing with it.

    Gang gang on some intrusive thoughts, I guess.

    LMFAO.

    Wednesday was considerably less entertaining.

    Work was a struggle.

    There was food flying.

    Chocolate milk flying.

    A whole lot of frustration.

    It was one of those days when absolutely nothing seemed to go smoothly.

    And Thursday?

    Somehow worse.

    By the time I got home, I didn’t even feel like taking a shower.

    And listen.

    I ALWAYS shower when I get home from work.

    Always.

    But that day?

    Nope.

    I went straight to the recliner and watched Euphoria until bedtime.

    Friday wasn’t any better.

    Something happened at work that was genuinely upsetting, and I ended up having to write an incident report.

    I’m not going into the details because it involves someone else’s privacy.

    But it was serious, and it was awful to witness.

    By the time everything was said and done, I just wanted to cry.

    I was ready to be home.

    I came home, got my shower, and settled into the recliner.

    I talked with my boyfriend’s mom for a while, and we watched some things together.

    And honestly?

    I needed that quiet time.

    But apparently, the universe wasn’t finished testing my patience.

    My neighbor asked me if I could drive him an hour and a half away and back on Saturday.

    No.

    I can’t.

    I don’t have the gas for that.

    And the gas I DO have needs to last me as long as possible.

    So I explained that.

    Later, I went to my sister’s house to help get the kiddos ready for trunk-or-treating.

    They were running behind, and I wanted to help.

    And y’all.

    THEY WERE SO CUTE.

    🥹🖤

    That was a nice little break from the day.

    But when I got back home?

    My neighbor walked up to me.

    With his dad on the phone.

    And had his dad ask me if I’d take him to the liquor store.

    SIR.

    😭

    I HAVE A HEADACHE.

    I HAVE ALREADY EXPLAINED THAT I NEED TO SAVE MY GAS.

    WHERE DO YOU THINK THE EXTRA GAS IS GOING TO COME FROM?!

    I told him to ask me tomorrow when I didn’t have a headache.

    Because by that point, my head was absolutely pounding.

    I ended up in a dark room, away from noise, at 7:30 in the evening.

    I didn’t even want dinner.

    I just wanted my head to stop hurting so I could go to sleep.

    My boyfriend brought me some ibuprofen, and I was really hoping it would kick in soon.

    And then Saturday rolled around.

    A fresh day.

    A new beginning.

    Surely things would be peaceful.

    HAHAHAHA.

    NO.

    🤣

    After getting my hair done at my sister’s, I brought Pooh Boy home with me.

    He laid down for a nap.

    Did he actually take one?

    Absolutely not.

    So naturally, he was cranky.

    Then Mom brought Doodoo over.

    Who was ALSO cranky.

    Wonderful.

    Two cranky toddlers.

    Exactly what everybody dreams of on a Saturday.

    😩

    I tried laying them both down for another nap.

    Doodoo slept for about thirty minutes.

    Pooh Boy?

    Screamed.

    Cried.

    Refused.

    FOR AN HOUR.

    Sir.

    JUST CLOSE YOUR EYEBALLS.

    PLEASE.

    😭

    And because apparently we hadn’t had enough fun yet?

    They BOTH peed through their diapers.

    OF COURSE THEY DID.

    At that point, I was ready to skip ahead to bedtime.

    Dinner.

    Baths.

    Bed.

    Let’s GO.

    Eventually, Pooh Boy finally went to sleep.

    And Doodoo?

    Well, he’s currently cuddled up in my lap.

    Watching Frozen.

    Again.

    He’s almost asleep.

    And honestly, after the day we’ve had?

    I’ll take it.

    😂🖤

    It’s Saturday night, and my house is finally getting quiet.

    Well, as quiet as a house with two little boys can get.

    I’m sitting here with Doodoo curled up in my lap, and I know I could probably find a dozen things around the house that need to be done.

    But they’re going to have to wait.

    Because right now, I have a sleepy little boy who wants his BlahBlah.

    And I don’t particularly feel like moving.

    I’ve been thinking about how short this weekend with the boys is going to be.

    They’re only staying one night, and I’ll be taking them home earlier than usual so I can get ready for my Halloween photoshoot.

    I’m excited about the photoshoot.

    Really excited.

    But I’m also a little sad that I won’t have my usual full weekend with them.

    Which is ridiculous when you consider how much time I spend complaining about how loud and exhausting they are.

    🤣

    I guess that’s the funny thing about loving people.

    They can drive you absolutely insane, and you can still wish you had a little more time with them.

    And right now, that’s exactly how I feel.

    So I’m going to sit here a little longer.

    Let him finish his movie.

    Let him fall asleep.

    And enjoy the fact that, for once, nobody is asking me for anything.

    Well.

    Except Elsa.

    She’s still singing.

    Of course she is.

    😭🤣🖤

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. What’s one little tradition or memory from your childhood that you hope the next generation gets to experience, too? 🖤

  • Sunday Things #11

    This week felt like somebody put my life on shuffle.

    There was absolutely no transition between anything.

    One minute I was sick.

    The next I was dancing.

    Then there were children.

    So many children.

    A brand-new baby entered the world.

    Somebody threw a desk.

    Somebody else refused to nap.

    And apparently my boyfriend can sleep through me falling on the floor but possesses some kind of supernatural boob-detection system.

    So.

    You know.

    A normal week.

    😂

    Monday started at 2:30 in the damn morning with another visit from the tummy goblin.

    I spent the next five hours running back and forth to the bathroom wondering what the actual fuck was happening to me.

    Again.

    By 7:30, I had officially accepted defeat.

    I called out of work.

    And I spent essentially the entire day in bed.

    That was Monday.

    Beautiful.

    Thriving.

    Living my best life.

    😮‍💨

    Wednesday, I absolutely took the day off too—but that one was planned.

    Listen.

    If I get home at 12:30 in the morning, I am NOT waking up at six to spend eight hours chasing an autistic baby around.

    Could I?

    Probably.

    Was I going to?

    Absolutely fucking not.

    😂

    Apparently my alarm still went off, though.

    My boyfriend told me he had to climb over me to turn it off.

    I did not wake up.

    Not once.

    I regret nothing.

    Later that evening, Mom called because she wanted to go shopping with the kiddos and her fibromyalgia was acting up, so I went with her.

    Then I came home, turned on Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story, and hid the remote from my boyfriend so he couldn’t change it.

    😂

    He walked in maybe three minutes after I started it, sat down, and actually watched the entire first episode with me.

    Then started asking questions.

    Lots of questions.

    Until eventually I realized something horrifying:

    this man did not know who Lizzie Borden was.

    😮🫣

    So apparently part of being in a relationship with me now includes mandatory historical true-crime education.

    I don’t make the rules.

    He went to bed after episode one because he was exhausted, and I stayed up for another episode like the responsible adult I am.

    Thursday was funny because when I first started writing my notes for the week, I genuinely wrote:

    I don’t remember Thursday.

    😂

    I thought maybe it had just been one of those completely average days where I worked, came home, showered, ate dinner, watched CaseOh, and went to bed.

    Then my brain slowly started handing me Thursday back.

    Oh yeah.

    I got my nails done.

    Then Doodoo called because he missed me, so I stopped at CVS to get the prenatal vitamins my doctor told me to start taking and went over to my sister’s house.

    I helped her feed the kids, do bath time, and get everybody ready for bed.

    Doodoo kept pointing at my watch saying:

    “Uncle.”

    So I video-called Uncle.

    I honestly didn’t expect him to answer because Thursdays are normally his late days.

    Except—

    he was home.

    He had the day off.

    Of course he did.

    😂

    Eventually I left my sister’s house, got all the way home, realized I forgot cat food, and had to leave AGAIN.

    Then I finally came home.

    Showered.

    Ate.

    Went to bed.

    Apparently Thursday wasn’t forgettable.

    Thursday was just long as hell.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Friday night, I came home from work, sat in my recliner for what felt like forever, took a shower…

    and realized something.

    The house didn’t feel right.

    The boys weren’t there.

    And apparently I have become so accustomed to spending my weekends surrounded by tiny people screaming, climbing on me, stealing my food, and demanding cartoons that silence now feels suspicious.

    😂

    So I went to my sister’s house and got them.

    We came home.

    We ate.

    And somehow—

    neither one fought sleep.

    Not even a little.

    They just went to bed.

    I almost checked their temperatures.

    😂

    But honestly?

    Having them there felt right.

    Even when they drive me absolutely insane, I notice when they aren’t around.

    Apparently my peaceful weekends have been permanently replaced by toddler chaos.

    And apparently—

    I’m okay with that.

    📷 Through My Lens

    Tuesday.

    Y’all.

    Tuesday.

    The Pretty Reckless is my favorite band.

    And my boyfriend made sure I got to see them.

    I have said this already and I will continue saying it forever:

    If that man never buys me another gift again, I am completely okay with that.

    Because he gave me that night.

    🥲🖤

    And I got to share it with someone I love dearly.

    One of my best friends trusted me enough to let his daughter come with me.

    I have watched her and her brother grow from little kids in booster seats who needed help bathing into teenagers with opinions and personalities approximately fourteen times larger than their actual bodies.

    😂

    And lately, she has been carrying some things.

    They are not my things to share.

    What people tell me in confidence stays with me.

    But watching her laugh?

    Dance?

    Cut loose?

    Forget everything else for a few hours and just enjoy herself?

    That meant more to me than I can explain.

    And somehow—

    we both got to touch Taylor Momsen.

    😭

    I still cannot believe that sentence is real.

    As for me?

    I was VIBING.

    That is genuinely the best description I have.

    I drank water all night and danced so hard that halfway through the show my hair was completely soaked.

    My friend’s daughter looked at me and started laughing.

    😂

    Afterward, people actually came up to me and told me they had fun watching me dance and enjoy myself.

    Apparently I became part of the entertainment.

    Whoops.

    I did have one man yell at me about where I was standing before The Pretty Reckless even came on.

    I apologized.

    Moved.

    And he proceeded to glare at me for the rest of the night.

    Okay.

    You do you, boo.

    We had shit to do.

    😂

    We were there to dance.

    Make memories.

    And scream songs we love at the top of our lungs.

    And that is exactly what we did.

    The next day, I went through all my pictures.

    And I got some really fucking good ones.

    My friend even told me I could tag him in my Facebook post.

    Which I hadn’t planned on doing because—

    well.

    Crazy ex-wife situations.

    😂

    Then he told me I could post some pictures of his daughter too, as long as her face wasn’t showing.

    Say less.

    I was ridiculously careful about which ones I chose, and he approved every single picture before I posted it.

    And I know that sounds like such a small thing.

    But it isn’t to me.

    Being trusted like that matters.

    A lot.

    I love photography.

    I love concerts.

    I love the weird little moments my camera catches.

    But I think some photographs become important because of everything happening outside the frame.

    And I think those pictures are going to be some of my favorites for a very long time.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    Friday afternoon, one of my friends sent me:

    “wyd.?”

    And immediately—

    I KNEW.

    😂

    I told my sister:

    “Hold on. I might have to come get the boys later.”

    Because—

    MY FRIEND HAD HER BABY.

    MY FRIEND HAD HER BABY!!!!

    😭🖤

    I was so excited.

    But then I thought about it.

    She had literally just had a human being.

    And I had just survived one of the longest workdays of my life.

    So I decided not to immediately show up at the hospital and insert myself into her first day with her baby.

    Growth.

    😂

    Don’t misunderstand me.

    I am absolutely going to be all in her business.

    But I can give the woman a minute first.

    Saturday got completely consumed by toddler chaos, so I stayed home again.

    Then today I texted her because I felt bad that I hadn’t made it up there yet.

    She asked if I wanted to come visit once they’re home.

    Baby boy just needed to pee so they could hopefully get discharged.

    😂

    And she sent me pictures.

    Y’ALL.

    That baby is beautiful.

    I haven’t seen a baby that gorgeous since Doodoo was born.

    And now I’m sitting here ridiculously excited because I get to meet him soon.

    But I think there’s something I’m learning as I get older:

    loving people doesn’t always mean immediately showing up.

    Sometimes it means giving them room.

    Letting them breathe.

    Letting them settle.

    And letting them know:

    I’m here whenever you’re ready.

    I’m still going to squeeze that baby as soon as I’m allowed, though.

    Obviously.

    😂

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    My boyfriend’s mom.

    Easy.

    Saturday?

    Those boys were ON ONE.

    Hitting.

    Headbutting.

    Throwing shit.

    Fighting each other.

    Crying.

    Just being complete little assholes to one another all day.

    😮‍💨

    At one point, Doodoo finally went down for another nap.

    Pooh Boy eventually crawled into the recliner with us and passed out too.

    And when Mawmaw Nesi came through the door, I was terrified she was going to wake him.

    Thankfully—

    she didn’t.

    Doodoo woke up a little later when he heard water running in the kitchen.

    He sat up.

    Looked me dead in my eyes.

    And said:

    “Where is she?”

    Where is who, bub?

    “Mawmaw.”

    She’s in the kitchen doing dishes.

    This half-asleep child launched himself off my lap and stumbled toward the kitchen like a tiny drunk person.

    “Mawmaw!”

    😂

    She picked him up.

    He changed his mind and wanted me again.

    Naturally.

    But after a cake pop, both boys wandered into the kitchen and started “helping” her with dishes.

    And suddenly?

    Nobody was climbing on me.

    Nobody was crying in my face.

    Nobody needed anything.

    For approximately half an hour.

    Y’all.

    Bless that woman.

    😂

    I will never not appreciate those little breaks.

    Especially on weekends when the children apparently wake up and collectively decide:

    Today, we choose violence.

    Sometimes gratitude is deep and meaningful.

    Sometimes gratitude is somebody taking the toddlers into another room for thirty minutes.

    Both count.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    I had OPTIONS this week.

    Friday at work deserves honorable mention.

    My kiddo was having an absolutely horrible day.

    And when I say horrible—

    I mean I got hit by him.

    Hit by two other kiddos.

    And my kiddo threw his desk—and himself—at me three separate times.

    Lunch was running behind because they ran out of fries, and apparently that was enough to trigger the apocalypse.

    He had two bathroom accidents too, which was really unusual because he hasn’t had those with me in almost a year.

    By the end of the day?

    We figured it out.

    He was constipated.

    🤦🏻‍♀️

    Sir.

    You terrorized an entire building because you needed to poop.

    And yes.

    Once he finally did—

    his mood improved dramatically.

    Of course it did.

    😂

    Then Saturday happened.

    Pooh Boy’s visit got canceled because the person picking him up had car trouble.

    Okay.

    Whatever.

    Except Pooh Boy then decided he was simply not going to nap.

    At all.

    So by late afternoon, this child was operating entirely on spite.

    Eventually he passed out for maybe thirty minutes.

    And honestly?

    I celebrated that thirty minutes like I had personally won the lottery.

    😂

    Later, Uncle got home and cooked dinner.

    Everybody sat down.

    Doodoo pointed at the television.

    “BLAHBLAH! I watch!”

    You watch what?

    “CaseOh!”

    I had seven minutes left in my show.

    Seven.

    So I asked:

    Can BlahBlah finish this first?

    “No! CaseOh!”

    …

    Fine.

    CaseOh it is.

    Apparently I no longer own the television in my own house.

    Cool.

    😂

    And then Sunday morning?

    Uncle accidentally woke Pooh Boy up early.

    Pooh Boy immediately started yelling:

    “Guncle! Guncle!”

    Which is how he says Uncle and I’m sorry, but Guncle is the cutest damn thing ever.

    You cannot change my mind.

    Unfortunately, the yelling woke Doodoo.

    So suddenly all four of us were awake.

    Early.

    On.

    A.

    Sunday.

    Absolutely not.

    I grabbed Pooh Boy and put him in our bed.

    Now listen to me, little boy.

    Do NOT make this a habit.

    He nodded.

    We are all going back to sleep.

    He nodded again.

    Everybody understood the assignment.

    Doodoo went back to sleep.

    Uncle went back to sleep.

    I went back to sleep.

    Eventually I woke up halfway off the bed with my entire right arm asleep.

    I very carefully rolled over.

    Pooh Boy?

    Still asleep.

    Thank goodness.

    😂

    Around eight, I realized he was awake only because his breathing changed.

    I kept my eyes closed because if he was going to be quiet—

    I was going to enjoy it.

    Eventually he started rubbing my arm.

    “BlahBlah.”

    “BlahBlah.”

    Fine.

    I’m awake.

    😂

    Honestly?

    If that’s how I have to wake up on a Sunday morning, I guess I can live with it.

    And now it’s Sunday afternoon.

    Doodoo had smoked sausage and a baked potato for lunch and apparently approved of my cooking.

    Uncle has been playing his game.

    I’ve been sitting on the couch.

    Doodoo has alternated between playing peacefully and crying about whatever injustice toddlers are experiencing at any given moment.

    😂

    He even squeezed in one last little nap.

    I’m about to take him home.

    Then I’m coming back here.

    Cleaning the living room.

    Finishing laundry.

    And after that?

    I am doing absolutely fucking nothing.

    🤗

    This week started with me stuck in bed while my stomach attempted to ruin my life.

    Somewhere in the middle, I danced until my hair was soaked, watched someone I love forget her worries for a few hours, learned my boyfriend has never received adequate Lizzie Borden education, celebrated a brand-new baby entering the world, and spent the weekend surrounded by tiny people who apparently believe peace is optional.

    And somehow?

    I’m ending the week tired—

    but really fucking happy.

    I keep saying it lately, but I mean it:

    I love my little life.

    It’s loud.

    It’s chaotic.

    It rarely goes according to plan.

    And somebody almost always needs something from me.

    But there are people here I love.

    People who trust me.

    Kids who miss me when I’m gone.

    A man who makes ridiculous things possible for me.

    Friends whose lives I get to witness.

    Babies I get to watch grow.

    And a house that somehow feels a little too quiet when certain tiny feet aren’t running through it.

    That’s a pretty damn good life.

    Even with the tummy goblins.

    😂

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. What’s one thing from your week—big or completely ordinary—that made you stop for a second and think, “I really love my little life”?

  • Sunday Things #10

    Some weeks make absolutely no sense while you’re living them.

    You just keep moving from one thing to the next, wondering what the hell could possibly happen now.

    And then Sunday gets here.

    You look back at everything that happened over the last seven days and realize…

    Oh.

    Apparently the answer was a lot.

    😂

    This week had some really good moments.

    Some really shitty ones.

    A few that were both.

    And several that I’m pretty sure could only happen to me.

    But somewhere in the middle of all of it, I kept finding these little moments that made everything else feel a little less heavy.

    A kid who’s getting way too big crawling into my lap like he still fits there perfectly.

    A friend who knew when I needed somebody to listen instead of give advice.

    A four-year-old noticing that one of my nails didn’t match and deciding she needed to fix it for me.

    Nothing huge.

    Just little things.

    And apparently those are the things I carried with me the most this week.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Monday, my kiddo at work crawled into my lap while I was sitting in the rocker.

    My immediate thought was:

    Awh! He wants cuddles! Sweet boy!

    Nope.

    Well…

    Kind of.

    He wrapped his hand around my throat—

    and fell asleep.

    🥲😂

    Literally put himself to sleep.

    This boy has not taken a nap at school in almost a year, aside from the occasional one when he’s sick.

    I don’t know if he missed me that much while I was gone.

    I don’t know if he was just exhausted.

    Maybe both.

    But he slept in my lap for about 45 minutes while I rocked him.

    I moved his hand from my throat because, you know…

    breathing.

    But other than that?

    I didn’t move him.

    My arm fell asleep.

    My legs fell asleep.

    I stayed exactly where I was.

    When he finally woke up, he started giggling, nuzzled into me, and stayed there for another half hour.

    And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I realized something.

    He’s gotten so big.

    Like…

    when the hell did that happen?

    I remember when holding him was easy.

    Picking him up was easy.

    Carrying him around was easy.

    Now this child is almost my height.

    Granted, I’m literally five feet tall and most fifth graders are probably going to tower over me soon, but STILL.

    😂

    He isn’t the little baby I originally started working with anymore.

    He’s growing up.

    Fast.

    And nobody really warns you about that part.

    Did I slowly watch him grow and somehow not notice?

    Did he hit some massive growth spurt while I was recovering from surgery?

    When exactly did this happen?

    I have questions.

    And I think the universe owes me some answers.

    Of course, the universe responded by making my muffler fall off my car as I was leaving work.

    ☠️

    Because apparently we couldn’t just have a sweet Monday.

    My friend from maintenance came and helped me tie it up well enough to get home, and I parked the car there for the night because my boyfriend worked late and I was NOT about to have that man crawling underneath my car at ten o’clock at night.

    Then came the game of:

    How the fuck am I getting to work tomorrow?

    Mom could take me, but I’d be two and a half hours late.

    My sister’s best friend couldn’t.

    Eventually, one of my coworkers texted me around ten that night and said he could pick me up.

    Problem solved.

    For approximately eight hours.

    Because then Tuesday happened.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    Tuesday morning started with my mom.

    I called to tell her I didn’t need the ride to work anymore.

    She huffed.

    “Okay.”

    And hung up.

    Welllllll…

    OKKKKAAAAYYYYY then.

    I called her back because I still needed a ride home, and she literally has to pass my house anyway.

    She huffed again.

    “Okay.”

    I asked what was wrong.

    And suddenly we were having an entire argument about me being a bad daughter, having an attitude, yelling at her…

    Meanwhile, my boyfriend was in the bathroom with the door closed and could hear every word she was yelling through the phone I was holding to my ear.

    Then she hung up on me.

    So I called her back.

    And apparently Tuesday’s theme became:

    MATCHING ENERGY.

    I told her if she wanted to be a rude ass bitch to me that morning, she didn’t have to worry about giving me a ride.

    I didn’t need her.

    Just because she’s my mom doesn’t mean she has to be part of my life.

    She started to say something.

    I told her I didn’t give a fuck what she had to say anymore.

    And I hung up.

    Yay me.

    🙃

    So naturally, I called my best friend to vent.

    “I don’t know what to tell you. I told you so.”

    …

    Ma’am.

    I did not call for an I-told-you-so.

    Click.

    😂

    She texted me afterward.

    I opened the messages.

    Didn’t read them.

    I had reached my quota.

    Then another friend called me.

    The first thing she said was:

    “Your mom?”

    YES.

    MY MOM.

    😂

    “What happened?”

    And I told her.

    She didn’t tell me what I should have done.

    She didn’t give me an “I told you so.”

    She just listened.

    By the end of the conversation, she had me smiling and giggling.

    And I was okay again.

    That stayed with me.

    Sometimes you don’t need somebody to solve anything.

    Sometimes you don’t even need advice.

    Sometimes you just need somebody to let you be pissed off for a minute.

    Unfortunately, the universe was not finished with Tuesday.

    My doctor’s office messaged me saying my medication had been denied by insurance and that the delay was because I gave them the wrong pharmacy.

    So.

    Again.

    MATCHING ENERGY.

    I called.

    I spent about an hour on the phone trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

    The woman who answered offered to transfer me to the nurse who had sent the message.

    I specifically said:

    Absolutely not.

    I was not in the mood to give that woman a piece of my mind.

    Guess who she transferred me to?

    That exact nurse.

    “Imagine that. She transferred me to the one nurse I told her I don’t want to talk to today.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “You heard me right.”

    She tried to apologize.

    At that point, I didn’t want an apology.

    I wanted to know what the hell was happening with my shots and what my options were now.

    Then I talked to another nurse who kept interrupting me.

    “Ma’am! Please do NOT interrupt me while I’m talking to you. That’s very rude.”

    And then—

    “Okay.”

    With a huff.

    THAT FUCKING HUFFED ‘OKAY.’

    Apparently that was just the sound of Tuesday.

    😭

    Then I found out my gynecologist quit to work closer to home.

    Which…

    I completely understand.

    Good for her.

    Terrible for me.

    Because I actually liked her.

    Now I’m apparently being passed between the other four doctors at the practice, and I’m sorry, but the idea of four different gynecologists taking turns looking at my vagina does NOT sit right with me.

    At all.

    By this point, I was at work, stressed, overstimulated, playing phone tag with the doctor’s office—

    and my kiddo had decided that because I was on my phone, obviously he needed to participate.

    Trying to take my phone.

    Putting his ear against mine.

    Trying to listen.

    Trying to talk.

    Sir.

    You are nonverbal.

    This is not FaceTime.

    What are you trying to accomplish here?

    😭😂

    I was DONE.

    And then my boyfriend texted me.

    I opened it.

    And immediately started crying.

    Happy tears this time.

    He bought me two tickets to see The Pretty Reckless.

    MY FAVORITE BAND.

    I had already accepted that I was probably going to miss them because my first paycheck since surgery comes the day after the concert.

    I’d been upset about it all month.

    And on one of the shittiest mornings I’d had in a while, that man bought the tickets.

    My entire fucking day changed.

    I can die happy now.

    Well.

    After the concert.

    Obviously.

    😂

    And if I don’t?

    That man might be getting an engagement ring for Christmas because apparently I have decided I’m marrying him ASAP.

    The rest of Tuesday?

    Completely different day.

    My kiddo was on his best behavior.

    No more drama at work.

    I gave him a free day, and we had fun.

    My sister’s best friend picked me up.

    I went home.

    Showered.

    Picked out my outfit for Breaking Benjamin AND my outfit for The Pretty Reckless.

    And then Sissy called me.

    We stayed on the phone for an hour and a half.

    We barely talked.

    Every once in a while, one of us would say:

    “I love you.”

    And then we’d go right back to whatever we were doing.

    😂

    She’s four.

    Apparently we have already reached the stage of our relationship where neither of us needs to actually contribute anything to the phone call.

    We just need to know the other one is still there.

    And honestly?

    I kind of love that.

    My boyfriend eventually got home, and we spent the next hour and a half underneath my car trying to pull the muffler up enough for me to drive.

    I had to take a second shower because I was covered in dirt.

    By 9:40, I was finally ready to eat dinner and take my ass to bed.

    For a crappy-ass morning?

    It ended pretty nicely.

    📷 Through My Lens

    Wednesday morning began with one of the most horrifying situations I have ever found myself in.

    You are not ready for this story.

    I slept naked Tuesday night.

    And when I say naked, I mean—

    booty-ass fucking naked.

    We did the deed.

    I rolled over.

    Passed the fuck out.

    Fantastic ending to the night.

    Then my alarm went off Wednesday morning.

    I snoozed it.

    And slowly…

    my stomach started rumbling.

    Not hunger.

    No.

    This was a goblin.

    Something inside of me was trying to escape.

    I tried to get out of bed.

    I COULDN’T.

    My belly ring was attached to the bed.

    I’m lying on my stomach.

    Ass in the air.

    Completely naked.

    A gastrointestinal demon is rapidly approaching the exit.

    And I am physically tethered to my fucking bed by my belly button.

    😭😭😭

    I’m squeezing muscles I didn’t know I had.

    Fighting the bed.

    Trying to determine whether ripping my belly ring out would be preferable to what was about to happen.

    And finally—

    THE BED RELEASED ME.

    I ran to the bathroom naked.

    Sat down.

    And…

    shit started flying.

    Actual shit.

    From my asshole.

    It wasn’t a goblin.

    It was diarrhea.

    😩

    My stomach hurt.

    I was nauseous.

    I was sweating.

    I didn’t know which end was going to betray me next.

    I sat on that toilet for about an hour.

    I never puked.

    But I was prepared for war.

    And somewhere in the middle of all of this, I had another horrifying realization.

    Imagine if that bed hadn’t let me go.

    Imagine being stuck by my belly ring while I shit all over myself.

    The blankets.

    The bed.

    MY SLEEPING BOYFRIEND.

    No.

    Absolutely not.

    There is no recovering from that.

    I would have had to break up with him.

    Move.

    Change my name.

    Start an entirely new life.

    😭☠️

    I called my mom—

    YES, I KNOW.

    —and asked if she had Pepto.

    She didn’t.

    Thankfully my boyfriend was off work, so once he woke up, he went to CVS and got me some.

    I chugged it in the car.

    And then I found out my niece and both nephews had the exact same stomach symptoms.

    Cool.

    So apparently the tummy goblin was contagious.

    I called off work.

    And yes.

    I still went to the Breaking Benjamin concert that night.

    I had disposable period underwear.

    That’s basically a diaper.

    We were going to be fine.

    🤣

    By the time we left, my stomach was still upset but nowhere near as bad.

    We went to Texas Roadhouse.

    I ate very little.

    And realized I had forgotten the Pepto at home.

    Good thing I had my diaper.

    ☠️😂

    And then?

    The concert was SO GOOD.

    Kami Kehoe was better than I expected.

    Starset?

    WOW.

    They put on such a good show. They kept my attention on that stage the entire time.

    Chevelle was basically a giant blast of childhood memories I didn’t know I needed.

    And, of course—

    Breaking Benjamin.

    Worth risking the tummy goblin.

    😂

    Getting home was considerably less fun.

    It took almost half an hour just to get out of the venue.

    We got rerouted.

    Drove in circles.

    And at one point my boyfriend turned into the wrong lane while another car was coming toward us.

    It barely missed us.

    That part was terrifying.

    Once we finally got onto the interstate, I could relax.

    Apparently I relaxed a little too much because I fell asleep before we got home.

    Thursday was considerably quieter.

    Thank fuck.

    My stomach still hurt, but it was more of a leftover hurt.

    No goblin.

    We spent the morning cuddled up in the living room, my boyfriend in the recliner and me on the couch, watching CaRtOoNz on YouTube.

    I stayed on that couch basically all day.

    Worked on my blog.

    Started researching my next History After Dark topic.

    Got a slight headache and tried lying down in the dark.

    Then my sister called.

    And somehow I discovered that I apparently live in an alternate universe.

    I told her:

    “I asked my boyfriend if he would take me to see Practical Magic 2, and do you know what he said?”

    “No?”

    “Nope.”

    “What’s that?”

    …

    WHAT’S THAT!?

    Practical Magic!

    🎶 You put the lime in the coconut… 🎶

    MIDNIGHT MARGARITAS!?

    NONE OF THIS!?

    She tells me she knows the song from Daddy Daycare.

    I add my best friend to the call.

    SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT PRACTICAL MAGIC IS EITHER.

    She adds one of her friends.

    HE DOESN’T KNOW.

    I add my sister’s best friend.

    Surely SHE knows.

    The movie came out in 1998.

    She’s older than me.

    SHE DIDN’T KNOW EITHER.

    WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!?

    Is this a glitch in the Matrix?

    Did I accidentally cross into another timeline?

    Am I the only person left who remembers midnight margaritas!?

    I have never felt so alone.

    😭😂

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    There were a lot of little things this week.

    People giving me rides when my car decided it no longer required a muffler.

    A friend letting me vent until I could laugh again.

    My boyfriend buying me concert tickets because he knew how badly I wanted to go.

    But one of my favorite little things happened Friday.

    I was roughhousing with my kiddo while we waited for his bus, and he turned just right and broke one of my nails basically in half.

    Now.

    I have really long nails.

    They are ALWAYS done.

    So when I say I broke it in half, I still technically had a fingernail.

    To some people?

    Normal nail.

    To me?

    THERE WAS NO NAIL.

    😭

    It was basically a nub.

    My finger hurt, and I’m getting a whole new set next week anyway, so I went to my nail tech and just had her cut it down.

    Later, I went to my sister’s house.

    Sissy saw my finger.

    She asked what happened.

    I told her.

    And that little girl decided she was going to fix it.

    She colored the nail green to match the rest.

    Then she looked at it and apparently decided:

    No.

    Too boring.

    So she added a little pink paw print.

    🥹

    And I know that sounds like such a tiny thing.

    But my nails are always done.

    They’re never just plain.

    And she noticed.

    She wanted it to match.

    Then she wanted to give it a little extra something because she knows NeeNee’s nails aren’t boring.

    She’s four.

    And she noticed.

    I love that kid.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    Oh, I have options.

    SO MANY OPTIONS.

    Friday morning, my kiddo came into work and immediately chose chaos.

    Looked at the teacher.

    Started throwing things.

    Tantrum.

    Cool.

    It’s going to be one of those days.

    Turns out?

    He was tired.

    Of course he was.

    Later, I was playing Monopoly Go on my phone.

    Yes, I was at work.

    No, I’m not supposed to be on my phone.

    It was Fun Friday, my kiddo was running around the classroom, and I knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.

    Don’t worry about me.

    😂

    He came over and touched my phone.

    “No.”

    He walked away.

    Got his speaking device.

    Came back.

    Pressed:

    “I play.”

    And looked at me.

    At first I told him, “Yes, you can go play.”

    Then I looked at him.

    He looked at me.

    …

    OH.

    You want to play MY game.

    😂

    “Okay. Come here.”

    He climbed into my lap, and we played Monopoly Go together.

    “One finger. Press here.”

    Good job.

    “Now we wait.”

    Good.

    “One finger. Press this one.”

    Good job, buddy.

    You’re doing it.

    🥹

    After work, I called my sister to see if the boys still wanted to stay the night.

    She said yes, but Pooh Boy wouldn’t be home until around 6:30, so she asked if I wanted to wait and pick them both up together.

    Fine by me.

    Then I hear Doodoo in the background:

    “NOOOOO!”

    No?

    “NOW!”

    Now?

    “Yeah!”

    Okay.

    Say less. I’m on my way.

    🤣

    I get there.

    I’m barely through the door.

    This boy comes running at me with his shoes.

    I put them on.

    He climbs up my leg.

    Looks at his mother.

    “Bye!”

    Waves.

    Blows her a kiss.

    ☠️😂

    We stayed a little longer so I could love on Sissy after she finished painting her dad’s nails.

    Then Doodoo, Mawmaw Nesi, and I went outside.

    I looked down for approximately two seconds to text my sister.

    Looked back up.

    There was RED STUFF ALL OVER DOODOO’S LEG.

    Internally:

    OH MY GOD. BLOOD.

    How are you bleeding!?

    Where are you bleeding!?

    Why is there so much!?

    I’m investigating while trying to stay calm.

    Then I notice some hanging out of his mouth around his binky.

    …

    “Doodoo, did you puke?”

    “Puke.”

    Oh.

    Cool.

    He had been drinking red juice.

    So my nephew had apparently just spontaneously vomited all over himself outside.

    That’s enough outdoor time for today.

    Bath.

    Immediately.

    😭

    Later, Pooh Boy got home.

    I checked my boyfriend’s location.

    Work.

    I asked if he could grab Pooh Boy on the way home.

    Yep.

    My sister asked how far away he was.

    I checked.

    “Twenty-five minutes.”

    She sits down on the couch.

    “Cool. I can sit for a minute.”

    KNOCK KNOCK.

    She considers not answering because she JUST sat down and isn’t expecting anyone yet.

    Maybe Pooh Boy’s grandma forgot something.

    She answers.

    Looks back at me through the phone.

    “How long before Uncle gets here?”

    “Twenty-five minutes. I just checked.”

    She turns the phone toward the door.

    “Uncle is here now.”

    …

    WHAT!?

    🤣🤣🤣

    Apparently I didn’t give Maps enough time to update his actual location.

    My bad.

    That night I went to put Pooh Boy’s pajamas on him.

    First problem:

    His entire butt cheek was hanging out of his diaper.

    How?

    Apparently his grandma had changed him before bringing him home.

    This is also the woman who once put his diaper on BACKWARDS, so…

    There’s that.

    😂

    Second problem:

    The pajamas he wore at my house LAST WEEKEND no longer fit.

    His belly was hanging out.

    The pants didn’t cover his legs.

    BRO.

    You did NOT get that big in a week.

    My sister just laughed and said she’d send more pajamas for my house next weekend.

    They were both asleep by eight.

    We LOVE an easy bedtime.

    Then around two in the morning:

    DONK.

    Followed immediately by Pooh Boy screaming bloody murder.

    I flew out of bed.

    Checked his head.

    No blood.

    No bumps.

    No obvious injury.

    Apparently he had managed to headbutt the wall.

    I cuddled him.

    Calmed him down.

    Put him back to bed.

    Crisis over.

    For that night.

    Because Saturday night?

    Saturday night that child declared war on sleep.

    He didn’t go down easily to begin with.

    He was yelling and playing until ten.

    Then at ONE IN THE MORNING, he woke up.

    And from one until after four, it was:

    Up.

    Down.

    Spin.

    Spin.

    Spin.

    Yell.

    Giggle.

    Throw things.

    Smack the bed.

    Run around the pack-n-play.

    Headbutt the wall.

    Scream.

    Giggle some more.

    Climb underneath the pillows.

    Climb underneath the blankets.

    Climb underneath the MAT in the pack-n-play.

    Reach over and try to pull the blanket off of us.

    FROM ONE UNTIL AFTER FOUR IN THE FUCKING MORNING.

    I finally started dozing around four because he had managed to stay quiet for longer than three minutes.

    I could still hear him moving.

    Still giggling.

    I have no idea what time he actually went back to sleep.

    Do you know what time he woke up?

    EIGHT.

    WHY!?

    😩😩😩

    Meanwhile, Doodoo had been super clingy Saturday.

    He’d puked Friday.

    He slept for hours Saturday morning.

    And the rest of the day, he basically wanted to become part of my body.

    Arms around me.

    Legs around me.

    Holding on for dear life.

    If I put him down?

    Throw himself backward.

    Stomp.

    Run straight back at me.

    Cling again.

    Cry.

    Okay.

    Okay.

    Come here.

    🥲

    So we spent most of Saturday cuddled in the recliner watching Jurassic World.

    My best friend who moved out of state was also back for the weekend because she finally got an apartment and came with a U-Haul to get the rest of her things.

    Naturally, being the wonderful best friend she is, she came to visit me.

    Well…

    “Visit me” might be generous.

    🤣

    She’s gained a little weight, so we spent approximately an hour playing dress-up in my dresses.

    She LOVES my dresses, but most of them have always been too big on her.

    Because I have huge-ass boobs.

    And hers are basically nonexistent.

    Yes, I know you read these posts. Hi. Love you. 🤣

    But now she can fit some of them, so she finally got to try on a bunch she’s been wanting to wear.

    And every single time she came out in another dress, Doodoo was sitting there going:

    “BlahBlah! That’s pretty!”

    😭😂

    Maybe this is where it starts.

    Women spend their childhoods watching other women try on dresses while everyone around them goes:

    “Ooooooh! That’s so pretty!”

    Then adulthood arrives and we’re fully trained.

    Friend comes out of dressing room.

    Automatic response:

    “THAT’S SO PRETTY.”

    Doodoo is simply getting an early education.

    Sunday morning, after approximately seventeen minutes of sleep—

    Okay.

    Slight exaggeration.

    But that’s what it felt like.

    I got up with Pooh Boy and went to the bathroom.

    I had to poop.

    He decided I was not allowed to do that alone.

    Fine.

    Whatever.

    At least I was the only one awake.

    While I’m sitting there, I hear the bed moving.

    Then little feet running across the floor.

    Bedroom door opens.

    More little feet.

    I open the bathroom door.

    Doodoo comes running in.

    Stops.

    Smiles.

    “Hi!”

    “Were you a big boy?”

    “Yeah!”

    “Did you wake up, get off the bed, and come find me all by yourself?”

    “Yeah!”

    He spends the rest of my bathroom trip hugging and lying on my leg.

    Awh.

    My big boy.

    🥹

    We come out.

    Uncle is sitting in the recliner.

    “Uncle! Doodoo said he was a big boy and did all of that by himself this morning!”

    My boyfriend looks at me.

    “That little motherfucker lied!”

    ☠️☠️☠️

    Apparently Doodoo had woken him up by karate chopping him in the throat and yelling:

    “UNCLE!”

    Then:

    “UP!”

    My boyfriend got him out of bed.

    So the only thing this child actually accomplished independently that morning was assaulting his uncle.

    🤣🤣🤣

    Sir.

    Why did you lie directly to my face?

    Later, I took Doodoo home.

    Sissy was having a VERY difficult time listening to her mom.

    Like…

    at all.

    So I talked to her about listening and told her that if she couldn’t listen to her mom, I was taking all of the princess stuff she got that day home with me.

    She could earn it back.

    She apologized to her mom.

    And then immediately went back to not listening.

    🫠

    Okay.

    “Get your shoes on. You’re going home with me.”

    TEARS.

    Suddenly we remembered how listening works.

    😂

    She apologized again.

    I gave her one more chance.

    She was still listening when I left, so she didn’t have to come home with me.

    Princess privileges maintained.

    I finally got home.

    And my boyfriend was sitting in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by all of our clothes.

    Great.

    Laundry.

    I was going to shower first.

    Apparently not.

    😂

    We finished the laundry.

    I showered.

    He went to play PalWorld with his best friend.

    And I went into the bedroom.

    Then I sent him a text:

    “I know you’re gaming, but do you want to come see if I participated in No Shave September? lol”

    Y’all.

    That man came running into that bedroom so fucking fast.

    🤣🤣🤣

    I knew exactly what I was doing.

    🥵

    And now it’s Sunday evening.

    The kids are home.

    The laundry is done.

    I’m showered.

    My boyfriend is playing PalWorld with his friend.

    And I’m on the couch.

    Not moving.

    Not answering any summons.

    Not fixing anything.

    Not crawling underneath a car.

    And hopefully not being attacked by any more stomach goblins.

    😂

    I’m tired.

    Very tired.

    But it was a good week.

    Not an easy one.

    Definitely not a quiet one.

    But a good one.

    There were concerts and cuddles and dinosaurs and people who showed up when I needed them.

    There were also bodily fluids, broken car parts, a broken nail, approximately three hours of sleep, and a shocking number of incidents involving somebody’s throat.

    Balance.

    😂

    And right now?

    The couch is comfortable.

    Everybody is where they’re supposed to be.

    I have nowhere else I need to go.

    I’ll take it.

    Until next time,
    —Destiny

    P.S. What was the most completely unhinged thing that happened in your week? Because I feel like I’ve set the bar pretty high this time. 😂

    Some weeks make absolutely no sense while you’re living them.

    You just keep moving from one thing to the next, wondering what the hell could possibly happen now.

    And then Sunday gets here.

    You look back at everything that happened over the last seven days and realize…

    Oh.

    Apparently the answer was a lot.

    😂

    This week had some really good moments.

    Some really shitty ones.

    A few that were both.

    And several that I’m pretty sure could only happen to me.

    But somewhere in the middle of all of it, I kept finding these little moments that made everything else feel a little less heavy.

    A kid who’s getting way too big crawling into my lap like he still fits there perfectly.

    A friend who knew when I needed somebody to listen instead of give advice.

    A four-year-old noticing that one of my nails didn’t match and deciding she needed to fix it for me.

    Nothing huge.

    Just little things.

    And apparently those are the things I carried with me the most this week.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Monday, my kiddo at work crawled into my lap while I was sitting in the rocker.

    My immediate thought was:

    Awh! He wants cuddles! Sweet boy!

    Nope.

    Well…

    Kind of.

    He wrapped his hand around my throat—

    and fell asleep.

    🥲😂

    Literally put himself to sleep.

    This boy has not taken a nap at school in almost a year, aside from the occasional one when he’s sick.

    I don’t know if he missed me that much while I was gone.

    I don’t know if he was just exhausted.

    Maybe both.

    But he slept in my lap for about 45 minutes while I rocked him.

    I moved his hand from my throat because, you know…

    breathing.

    But other than that?

    I didn’t move him.

    My arm fell asleep.

    My legs fell asleep.

    I stayed exactly where I was.

    When he finally woke up, he started giggling, nuzzled into me, and stayed there for another half hour.

    And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I realized something.

    He’s gotten so big.

    Like…

    when the hell did that happen?

    I remember when holding him was easy.

    Picking him up was easy.

    Carrying him around was easy.

    Now this child is almost my height.

    Granted, I’m literally five feet tall and most fifth graders are probably going to tower over me soon, but STILL.

    😂

    He isn’t the little baby I originally started working with anymore.

    He’s growing up.

    Fast.

    And nobody really warns you about that part.

    Did I slowly watch him grow and somehow not notice?

    Did he hit some massive growth spurt while I was recovering from surgery?

    When exactly did this happen?

    I have questions.

    And I think the universe owes me some answers.

    Of course, the universe responded by making my muffler fall off my car as I was leaving work.

    ☠️

    Because apparently we couldn’t just have a sweet Monday.

    My friend from maintenance came and helped me tie it up well enough to get home, and I parked the car there for the night because my boyfriend worked late and I was NOT about to have that man crawling underneath my car at ten o’clock at night.

    Then came the game of:

    How the fuck am I getting to work tomorrow?

    Mom could take me, but I’d be two and a half hours late.

    My sister’s best friend couldn’t.

    Eventually, one of my coworkers texted me around ten that night and said he could pick me up.

    Problem solved.

    For approximately eight hours.

    Because then Tuesday happened.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    Tuesday morning started with my mom.

    I called to tell her I didn’t need the ride to work anymore.

    She huffed.

    “Okay.”

    And hung up.

    Welllllll…

    OKKKKAAAAYYYYY then.

    I called her back because I still needed a ride home, and she literally has to pass my house anyway.

    She huffed again.

    “Okay.”

    I asked what was wrong.

    And suddenly we were having an entire argument about me being a bad daughter, having an attitude, yelling at her…

    Meanwhile, my boyfriend was in the bathroom with the door closed and could hear every word she was yelling through the phone I was holding to my ear.

    Then she hung up on me.

    So I called her back.

    And apparently Tuesday’s theme became:

    MATCHING ENERGY.

    I told her if she wanted to be a rude ass bitch to me that morning, she didn’t have to worry about giving me a ride.

    I didn’t need her.

    Just because she’s my mom doesn’t mean she has to be part of my life.

    She started to say something.

    I told her I didn’t give a fuck what she had to say anymore.

    And I hung up.

    Yay me.

    🙃

    So naturally, I called my best friend to vent.

    “I don’t know what to tell you. I told you so.”

    …

    Ma’am.

    I did not call for an I-told-you-so.

    Click.

    😂

    She texted me afterward.

    I opened the messages.

    Didn’t read them.

    I had reached my quota.

    Then another friend called me.

    The first thing she said was:

    “Your mom?”

    YES.

    MY MOM.

    😂

    “What happened?”

    And I told her.

    She didn’t tell me what I should have done.

    She didn’t give me an “I told you so.”

    She just listened.

    By the end of the conversation, she had me smiling and giggling.

    And I was okay again.

    That stayed with me.

    Sometimes you don’t need somebody to solve anything.

    Sometimes you don’t even need advice.

    Sometimes you just need somebody to let you be pissed off for a minute.

    Unfortunately, the universe was not finished with Tuesday.

    My doctor’s office messaged me saying my medication had been denied by insurance and that the delay was because I gave them the wrong pharmacy.

    So.

    Again.

    MATCHING ENERGY.

    I called.

    I spent about an hour on the phone trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

    The woman who answered offered to transfer me to the nurse who had sent the message.

    I specifically said:

    Absolutely not.

    I was not in the mood to give that woman a piece of my mind.

    Guess who she transferred me to?

    That exact nurse.

    “Imagine that. She transferred me to the one nurse I told her I don’t want to talk to today.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “You heard me right.”

    She tried to apologize.

    At that point, I didn’t want an apology.

    I wanted to know what the hell was happening with my shots and what my options were now.

    Then I talked to another nurse who kept interrupting me.

    “Ma’am! Please do NOT interrupt me while I’m talking to you. That’s very rude.”

    And then—

    “Okay.”

    With a huff.

    THAT FUCKING HUFFED ‘OKAY.’

    Apparently that was just the sound of Tuesday.

    😭

    Then I found out my gynecologist quit to work closer to home.

    Which…

    I completely understand.

    Good for her.

    Terrible for me.

    Because I actually liked her.

    Now I’m apparently being passed between the other four doctors at the practice, and I’m sorry, but the idea of four different gynecologists taking turns looking at my vagina does NOT sit right with me.

    At all.

    By this point, I was at work, stressed, overstimulated, playing phone tag with the doctor’s office—

    and my kiddo had decided that because I was on my phone, obviously he needed to participate.

    Trying to take my phone.

    Putting his ear against mine.

    Trying to listen.

    Trying to talk.

    Sir.

    You are nonverbal.

    This is not FaceTime.

    What are you trying to accomplish here?

    😭😂

    I was DONE.

    And then my boyfriend texted me.

    I opened it.

    And immediately started crying.

    Happy tears this time.

    He bought me two tickets to see The Pretty Reckless.

    MY FAVORITE BAND.

    I had already accepted that I was probably going to miss them because my first paycheck since surgery comes the day after the concert.

    I’d been upset about it all month.

    And on one of the shittiest mornings I’d had in a while, that man bought the tickets.

    My entire fucking day changed.

    I can die happy now.

    Well.

    After the concert.

    Obviously.

    😂

    And if I don’t?

    That man might be getting an engagement ring for Christmas because apparently I have decided I’m marrying him ASAP.

    The rest of Tuesday?

    Completely different day.

    My kiddo was on his best behavior.

    No more drama at work.

    I gave him a free day, and we had fun.

    My sister’s best friend picked me up.

    I went home.

    Showered.

    Picked out my outfit for Breaking Benjamin AND my outfit for The Pretty Reckless.

    And then Sissy called me.

    We stayed on the phone for an hour and a half.

    We barely talked.

    Every once in a while, one of us would say:

    “I love you.”

    And then we’d go right back to whatever we were doing.

    😂

    She’s four.

    Apparently we have already reached the stage of our relationship where neither of us needs to actually contribute anything to the phone call.

    We just need to know the other one is still there.

    And honestly?

    I kind of love that.

    My boyfriend eventually got home, and we spent the next hour and a half underneath my car trying to pull the muffler up enough for me to drive.

    I had to take a second shower because I was covered in dirt.

    By 9:40, I was finally ready to eat dinner and take my ass to bed.

    For a crappy-ass morning?

    It ended pretty nicely.

    📷 Through My Lens

    Wednesday morning began with one of the most horrifying situations I have ever found myself in.

    You are not ready for this story.

    I slept naked Tuesday night.

    And when I say naked, I mean—

    booty-ass fucking naked.

    We did the deed.

    I rolled over.

    Passed the fuck out.

    Fantastic ending to the night.

    Then my alarm went off Wednesday morning.

    I snoozed it.

    And slowly…

    my stomach started rumbling.

    Not hunger.

    No.

    This was a goblin.

    Something inside of me was trying to escape.

    I tried to get out of bed.

    I COULDN’T.

    My belly ring was attached to the bed.

    I’m lying on my stomach.

    Ass in the air.

    Completely naked.

    A gastrointestinal demon is rapidly approaching the exit.

    And I am physically tethered to my fucking bed by my belly button.

    😭😭😭

    I’m squeezing muscles I didn’t know I had.

    Fighting the bed.

    Trying to determine whether ripping my belly ring out would be preferable to what was about to happen.

    And finally—

    THE BED RELEASED ME.

    I ran to the bathroom naked.

    Sat down.

    And…

    shit started flying.

    Actual shit.

    From my asshole.

    It wasn’t a goblin.

    It was diarrhea.

    😩

    My stomach hurt.

    I was nauseous.

    I was sweating.

    I didn’t know which end was going to betray me next.

    I sat on that toilet for about an hour.

    I never puked.

    But I was prepared for war.

    And somewhere in the middle of all of this, I had another horrifying realization.

    Imagine if that bed hadn’t let me go.

    Imagine being stuck by my belly ring while I shit all over myself.

    The blankets.

    The bed.

    MY SLEEPING BOYFRIEND.

    No.

    Absolutely not.

    There is no recovering from that.

    I would have had to break up with him.

    Move.

    Change my name.

    Start an entirely new life.

    😭☠️

    I called my mom—

    YES, I KNOW.

    —and asked if she had Pepto.

    She didn’t.

    Thankfully my boyfriend was off work, so once he woke up, he went to CVS and got me some.

    I chugged it in the car.

    And then I found out my niece and both nephews had the exact same stomach symptoms.

    Cool.

    So apparently the tummy goblin was contagious.

    I called off work.

    And yes.

    I still went to the Breaking Benjamin concert that night.

    I had disposable period underwear.

    That’s basically a diaper.

    We were going to be fine.

    🤣

    By the time we left, my stomach was still upset but nowhere near as bad.

    We went to Texas Roadhouse.

    I ate very little.

    And realized I had forgotten the Pepto at home.

    Good thing I had my diaper.

    ☠️😂

    And then?

    The concert was SO GOOD.

    Kami Kehoe was better than I expected.

    Starset?

    WOW.

    They put on such a good show. They kept my attention on that stage the entire time.

    Chevelle was basically a giant blast of childhood memories I didn’t know I needed.

    And, of course—

    Breaking Benjamin.

    Worth risking the tummy goblin.

    😂

    Getting home was considerably less fun.

    It took almost half an hour just to get out of the venue.

    We got rerouted.

    Drove in circles.

    And at one point my boyfriend turned into the wrong lane while another car was coming toward us.

    It barely missed us.

    That part was terrifying.

    Once we finally got onto the interstate, I could relax.

    Apparently I relaxed a little too much because I fell asleep before we got home.

    Thursday was considerably quieter.

    Thank fuck.

    My stomach still hurt, but it was more of a leftover hurt.

    No goblin.

    We spent the morning cuddled up in the living room, my boyfriend in the recliner and me on the couch, watching CaRtOoNz on YouTube.

    I stayed on that couch basically all day.

    Worked on my blog.

    Started researching my next History After Dark topic.

    Got a slight headache and tried lying down in the dark.

    Then my sister called.

    And somehow I discovered that I apparently live in an alternate universe.

    I told her:

    “I asked my boyfriend if he would take me to see Practical Magic 2, and do you know what he said?”

    “No?”

    “Nope.”

    “What’s that?”

    …

    WHAT’S THAT!?

    Practical Magic!

    🎶 You put the lime in the coconut… 🎶

    MIDNIGHT MARGARITAS!?

    NONE OF THIS!?

    She tells me she knows the song from Daddy Daycare.

    I add my best friend to the call.

    SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT PRACTICAL MAGIC IS EITHER.

    She adds one of her friends.

    HE DOESN’T KNOW.

    I add my sister’s best friend.

    Surely SHE knows.

    The movie came out in 1998.

    She’s older than me.

    SHE DIDN’T KNOW EITHER.

    WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!?

    Is this a glitch in the Matrix?

    Did I accidentally cross into another timeline?

    Am I the only person left who remembers midnight margaritas!?

    I have never felt so alone.

    😭😂

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    There were a lot of little things this week.

    People giving me rides when my car decided it no longer required a muffler.

    A friend letting me vent until I could laugh again.

    My boyfriend buying me concert tickets because he knew how badly I wanted to go.

    But one of my favorite little things happened Friday.

    I was roughhousing with my kiddo while we waited for his bus, and he turned just right and broke one of my nails basically in half.

    Now.

    I have really long nails.

    They are ALWAYS done.

    So when I say I broke it in half, I still technically had a fingernail.

    To some people?

    Normal nail.

    To me?

    THERE WAS NO NAIL.

    😭

    It was basically a nub.

    My finger hurt, and I’m getting a whole new set next week anyway, so I went to my nail tech and just had her cut it down.

    Later, I went to my sister’s house.

    Sissy saw my finger.

    She asked what happened.

    I told her.

    And that little girl decided she was going to fix it.

    She colored the nail green to match the rest.

    Then she looked at it and apparently decided:

    No.

    Too boring.

    So she added a little pink paw print.

    🥹

    And I know that sounds like such a tiny thing.

    But my nails are always done.

    They’re never just plain.

    And she noticed.

    She wanted it to match.

    Then she wanted to give it a little extra something because she knows NeeNee’s nails aren’t boring.

    She’s four.

    And she noticed.

    I love that kid.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    Oh, I have options.

    SO MANY OPTIONS.

    Friday morning, my kiddo came into work and immediately chose chaos.

    Looked at the teacher.

    Started throwing things.

    Tantrum.

    Cool.

    It’s going to be one of those days.

    Turns out?

    He was tired.

    Of course he was.

    Later, I was playing Monopoly Go on my phone.

    Yes, I was at work.

    No, I’m not supposed to be on my phone.

    It was Fun Friday, my kiddo was running around the classroom, and I knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.

    Don’t worry about me.

    😂

    He came over and touched my phone.

    “No.”

    He walked away.

    Got his speaking device.

    Came back.

    Pressed:

    “I play.”

    And looked at me.

    At first I told him, “Yes, you can go play.”

    Then I looked at him.

    He looked at me.

    …

    OH.

    You want to play MY game.

    😂

    “Okay. Come here.”

    He climbed into my lap, and we played Monopoly Go together.

    “One finger. Press here.”

    Good job.

    “Now we wait.”

    Good.

    “One finger. Press this one.”

    Good job, buddy.

    You’re doing it.

    🥹

    After work, I called my sister to see if the boys still wanted to stay the night.

    She said yes, but Pooh Boy wouldn’t be home until around 6:30, so she asked if I wanted to wait and pick them both up together.

    Fine by me.

    Then I hear Doodoo in the background:

    “NOOOOO!”

    No?

    “NOW!”

    Now?

    “Yeah!”

    Okay.

    Say less. I’m on my way.

    🤣

    I get there.

    I’m barely through the door.

    This boy comes running at me with his shoes.

    I put them on.

    He climbs up my leg.

    Looks at his mother.

    “Bye!”

    Waves.

    Blows her a kiss.

    ☠️😂

    We stayed a little longer so I could love on Sissy after she finished painting her dad’s nails.

    Then Doodoo, Mawmaw Nesi, and I went outside.

    I looked down for approximately two seconds to text my sister.

    Looked back up.

    There was RED STUFF ALL OVER DOODOO’S LEG.

    Internally:

    OH MY GOD. BLOOD.

    How are you bleeding!?

    Where are you bleeding!?

    Why is there so much!?

    I’m investigating while trying to stay calm.

    Then I notice some hanging out of his mouth around his binky.

    …

    “Doodoo, did you puke?”

    “Puke.”

    Oh.

    Cool.

    He had been drinking red juice.

    So my nephew had apparently just spontaneously vomited all over himself outside.

    That’s enough outdoor time for today.

    Bath.

    Immediately.

    😭

    Later, Pooh Boy got home.

    I checked my boyfriend’s location.

    Work.

    I asked if he could grab Pooh Boy on the way home.

    Yep.

    My sister asked how far away he was.

    I checked.

    “Twenty-five minutes.”

    She sits down on the couch.

    “Cool. I can sit for a minute.”

    KNOCK KNOCK.

    She considers not answering because she JUST sat down and isn’t expecting anyone yet.

    Maybe Pooh Boy’s grandma forgot something.

    She answers.

    Looks back at me through the phone.

    “How long before Uncle gets here?”

    “Twenty-five minutes. I just checked.”

    She turns the phone toward the door.

    “Uncle is here now.”

    …

    WHAT!?

    🤣🤣🤣

    Apparently I didn’t give Maps enough time to update his actual location.

    My bad.

    That night I went to put Pooh Boy’s pajamas on him.

    First problem:

    His entire butt cheek was hanging out of his diaper.

    How?

    Apparently his grandma had changed him before bringing him home.

    This is also the woman who once put his diaper on BACKWARDS, so…

    There’s that.

    😂

    Second problem:

    The pajamas he wore at my house LAST WEEKEND no longer fit.

    His belly was hanging out.

    The pants didn’t cover his legs.

    BRO.

    You did NOT get that big in a week.

    My sister just laughed and said she’d send more pajamas for my house next weekend.

    They were both asleep by eight.

    We LOVE an easy bedtime.

    Then around two in the morning:

    DONK.

    Followed immediately by Pooh Boy screaming bloody murder.

    I flew out of bed.

    Checked his head.

    No blood.

    No bumps.

    No obvious injury.

    Apparently he had managed to headbutt the wall.

    I cuddled him.

    Calmed him down.

    Put him back to bed.

    Crisis over.

    For that night.

    Because Saturday night?

    Saturday night that child declared war on sleep.

    He didn’t go down easily to begin with.

    He was yelling and playing until ten.

    Then at ONE IN THE MORNING, he woke up.

    And from one until after four, it was:

    Up.

    Down.

    Spin.

    Spin.

    Spin.

    Yell.

    Giggle.

    Throw things.

    Smack the bed.

    Run around the pack-n-play.

    Headbutt the wall.

    Scream.

    Giggle some more.

    Climb underneath the pillows.

    Climb underneath the blankets.

    Climb underneath the MAT in the pack-n-play.

    Reach over and try to pull the blanket off of us.

    FROM ONE UNTIL AFTER FOUR IN THE FUCKING MORNING.

    I finally started dozing around four because he had managed to stay quiet for longer than three minutes.

    I could still hear him moving.

    Still giggling.

    I have no idea what time he actually went back to sleep.

    Do you know what time he woke up?

    EIGHT.

    WHY!?

    😩😩😩

    Meanwhile, Doodoo had been super clingy Saturday.

    He’d puked Friday.

    He slept for hours Saturday morning.

    And the rest of the day, he basically wanted to become part of my body.

    Arms around me.

    Legs around me.

    Holding on for dear life.

    If I put him down?

    Throw himself backward.

    Stomp.

    Run straight back at me.

    Cling again.

    Cry.

    Okay.

    Okay.

    Come here.

    🥲

    So we spent most of Saturday cuddled in the recliner watching Jurassic World.

    My best friend who moved out of state was also back for the weekend because she finally got an apartment and came with a U-Haul to get the rest of her things.

    Naturally, being the wonderful best friend she is, she came to visit me.

    Well…

    “Visit me” might be generous.

    🤣

    She’s gained a little weight, so we spent approximately an hour playing dress-up in my dresses.

    She LOVES my dresses, but most of them have always been too big on her.

    Because I have huge-ass boobs.

    And hers are basically nonexistent.

    Yes, I know you read these posts. Hi. Love you. 🤣

    But now she can fit some of them, so she finally got to try on a bunch she’s been wanting to wear.

    And every single time she came out in another dress, Doodoo was sitting there going:

    “BlahBlah! That’s pretty!”

    😭😂

    Maybe this is where it starts.

    Women spend their childhoods watching other women try on dresses while everyone around them goes:

    “Ooooooh! That’s so pretty!”

    Then adulthood arrives and we’re fully trained.

    Friend comes out of dressing room.

    Automatic response:

    “THAT’S SO PRETTY.”

    Doodoo is simply getting an early education.

    Sunday morning, after approximately seventeen minutes of sleep—

    Okay.

    Slight exaggeration.

    But that’s what it felt like.

    I got up with Pooh Boy and went to the bathroom.

    I had to poop.

    He decided I was not allowed to do that alone.

    Fine.

    Whatever.

    At least I was the only one awake.

    While I’m sitting there, I hear the bed moving.

    Then little feet running across the floor.

    Bedroom door opens.

    More little feet.

    I open the bathroom door.

    Doodoo comes running in.

    Stops.

    Smiles.

    “Hi!”

    “Were you a big boy?”

    “Yeah!”

    “Did you wake up, get off the bed, and come find me all by yourself?”

    “Yeah!”

    He spends the rest of my bathroom trip hugging and lying on my leg.

    Awh.

    My big boy.

    🥹

    We come out.

    Uncle is sitting in the recliner.

    “Uncle! Doodoo said he was a big boy and did all of that by himself this morning!”

    My boyfriend looks at me.

    “That little motherfucker lied!”

    ☠️☠️☠️

    Apparently Doodoo had woken him up by karate chopping him in the throat and yelling:

    “UNCLE!”

    Then:

    “UP!”

    My boyfriend got him out of bed.

    So the only thing this child actually accomplished independently that morning was assaulting his uncle.

    🤣🤣🤣

    Sir.

    Why did you lie directly to my face?

    Later, I took Doodoo home.

    Sissy was having a VERY difficult time listening to her mom.

    Like…

    at all.

    So I talked to her about listening and told her that if she couldn’t listen to her mom, I was taking all of the princess stuff she got that day home with me.

    She could earn it back.

    She apologized to her mom.

    And then immediately went back to not listening.

    🫠

    Okay.

    “Get your shoes on. You’re going home with me.”

    TEARS.

    Suddenly we remembered how listening works.

    😂

    She apologized again.

    I gave her one more chance.

    She was still listening when I left, so she didn’t have to come home with me.

    Princess privileges maintained.

    I finally got home.

    And my boyfriend was sitting in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by all of our clothes.

    Great.

    Laundry.

    I was going to shower first.

    Apparently not.

    😂

    We finished the laundry.

    I showered.

    He went to play PalWorld with his best friend.

    And I went into the bedroom.

    Then I sent him a text:

    “I know you’re gaming, but do you want to come see if I participated in No Shave September? lol”

    Y’all.

    That man came running into that bedroom so fucking fast.

    🤣🤣🤣

    I knew exactly what I was doing.

    🥵

    And now it’s Sunday evening.

    The kids are home.

    The laundry is done.

    I’m showered.

    My boyfriend is playing PalWorld with his friend.

    And I’m on the couch.

    Not moving.

    Not answering any summons.

    Not fixing anything.

    Not crawling underneath a car.

    And hopefully not being attacked by any more stomach goblins.

    😂

    I’m tired.

    Very tired.

    But it was a good week.

    Not an easy one.

    Definitely not a quiet one.

    But a good one.

    There were concerts and cuddles and dinosaurs and people who showed up when I needed them.

    There were also bodily fluids, broken car parts, a broken nail, approximately three hours of sleep, and a shocking number of incidents involving somebody’s throat.

    Balance.

    😂

    And right now?

    The couch is comfortable.

    Everybody is where they’re supposed to be.

    I have nowhere else I need to go.

    I’ll take it.

    Until next time,
    —Destiny

    P.S. What was the most completely unhinged thing that happened in your week? Because I feel like I’ve set the bar pretty high this time. 😂

  • Sunday Things #8

    Last Sunday, I ended Sunday Things by asking for one very simple thing:

    Significantly fewer bodily fluids.

    And eggs.

    Specifically—

    no more fucking eggs.

    😂

    I am pleased to report that nobody vomited eggs on my phone this week.

    So.

    Technically?

    The universe listened.

    Barely.

    Because there was still poop.

    There was pee.

    There were period cramps from the depths of hell.

    There was a four-year-old licking sprinkles directly off my kitchen counter.

    There was one toddler practically living inside my personal space.

    Another toddler choosing violence.

    A vacuum that somehow began sounding like a motorcycle.

    A Medusa doorbell that nearly killed me.

    A $115 grocery trip for macaroni and cheese—

    in which I did not buy macaroni and cheese.

    And somewhere in the middle of all that, I apparently opened the daycare again.

    😂

    The weird part?

    Monday and Tuesday started suspiciously well.

    Like—

    too well.

    All three kids behaved.

    Doodoo didn’t cry when my sister left.

    Pooh Boy listened.

    Sissy shared.

    Everybody ate breakfast without attempting to overthrow the government.

    There was one hitting incident, but Doodoo sat in timeout, eventually signed sorry, gave Pooh Boy a hug, climbed into my lap—

    and promptly took a nap.

    Apparently accountability is exhausting when you’re one.

    😂

    Tuesday was basically the same.

    Sissy punched Doodoo because his leg was interfering with her Twist and Twirl.

    Naturally.

    But after a quick conversation, she hugged him and apologized.

    Then Pooh Boy wanted a hug.

    Then Doodoo wanted another hug.

    And somehow discipline turned into a full-blown group hug.

    I was sitting there thinking:

    Who are these children?

    And what have you done with the tiny feral people I usually babysit?

    I should have known better than to ask.

    Because Wednesday arrived.

    And Sissy had apparently been awake since 3 A.M.

    Ah.

    There they are.

    😂

    Wednesday morning included her standing in a completely dark bathroom waiting for me to turn the light on despite the fact that she has a push-light specifically because she cannot reach the switch.

    A light she uses regularly.

    A light she knows how to use.

    A light she was apparently pretending had never existed before in her life.

    Then came breakfast.

    She ate a few baby pancakes.

    Declared herself full.

    Gave the rest to Pooh Boy.

    Pooh Boy took approximately one bite.

    Sissy looked directly at me and said:

    “I’m hungry.”

    Ma’am.

    😭

    I offered waffles.

    No.

    Smoked sausage?

    No.

    “What do you want?”

    “Chips.”

    It was eight o’clock in the morning.

    Absolutely fucking not.

    So she stopped speaking to me.

    Until, several minutes later, she suddenly yelled:

    “I DID answer you! I said I want baby waffles!”

    Girl.

    No, you did not.

    😂

    We eventually made the waffles.

    Everybody ate.

    Everybody survived.

    And I discovered the greatest childcare innovation of my adult life:

    Clay in the kitchen.

    Put Sissy in the kitchen.

    Give her some clay.

    Set the toy piano up as a tiny table.

    And suddenly?

    Peace.

    She loves it.

    I love it.

    The boys get to nap.

    Nobody needs to speak to anybody.

    Honestly, I should patent this.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    My recliner.

    Specifically—

    five quiet minutes in my recliner.

    Monday, after the kids left, I cleaned up the toys and sat down before dealing with the laundry.

    Just five minutes.

    No one climbing on me.

    No one asking for snacks.

    No one yelling:

    “NEENEE!”

    No one licking me.

    Yes.

    That happened later in the week.

    Apparently personal boundaries mean nothing when you are beloved by toddlers.

    😂

    I just sat there rocking.

    Listening to the little click of the recliner.

    And instead of changing the television after the kids left—

    I continued watching Cookie Monster’s Foodie Truck.

    By myself.

    Like a grown woman.

    ☠️

    It was 11:30 in the morning.

    And those five minutes were wonderful.

    Later in the week, the recliner became something else.

    Saturday, after spending basically the entire day dismantling, transporting, rebuilding, and installing a giant swing set while simultaneously starting my period—

    ON TIME.

    Let me repeat that.

    ON. FUCKING. TIME.

    Who even does that!?

    My period is never on time.

    Apparently she decided this month was the month to become punctual.

    While I was doing manual labor.

    Love that for me.

    🥲

    By that evening, my lower back hurt all the way down through my knees.

    A hot shower didn’t help.

    Pain medicine barely helped.

    I was crying.

    My sister came over, saw me, immediately knew what was wrong, and when I asked my boyfriend to hand me Sissy’s car seat so I could take it outside, she basically said:

    Absolutely not.

    She took both car seats.

    Carried them outside.

    Put them back in my car.

    And would not let me lift a finger.

    Doodoo wanted to stay the night again.

    And for once, I had to tell him no.

    Not because I didn’t want him.

    Because I hurt.

    And I needed one night where I wasn’t responsible for a baby.

    That sucked.

    But sometimes loving somebody also means knowing when you have absolutely nothing left to give them that night.

    So I made my boyfriend get out of the recliner.

    😂

    Blanket.

    Heating pad.

    Recliner.

    Done.

    And Sunday?

    When the kids finally went home after spending most of the day outside on their brand-new swing set, my boyfriend offered me the recliner before I even asked.

    So apparently this week’s comfort wasn’t just the chair.

    It was the little pocket of quiet I kept trying to find inside it.

    Sometimes five minutes.

    Sometimes an entire evening.

    But enough to hear myself think again.

    📸 Through My Lens

    If I could keep one photograph from this week, it would probably be the kids outside today.

    Because yesterday?

    That backyard looked like a construction site.

    😂

    We found a huge swing set online.

    Slide.

    Five different swings.

    The whole thing normally costs somewhere around $677.

    I paid:

    $25.

    TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS.

    And the woman threw in a little playhouse and a bouncy horse.

    Listen.

    I don’t know what kind of financial blessing descended upon me Saturday morning, but I was not asking questions.

    Load it up.

    😂

    Of course, getting it home was an entirely different story.

    Three trips.

    Another trip because we brought the wrong tools.

    Taking the thing apart.

    Loading it.

    Unloading it.

    Putting it back together.

    Cleaning the playhouse.

    My boyfriend.

    Mawmaw Nesi.

    Me.

    And, apparently, my uterus actively trying to escape my body in protest.

    But we got it done.

    And today?

    The kids played on it for hours.

    They had water bottles.

    I brought the hose out.

    They ran through the water.

    They swung.

    They climbed.

    They went down the slide.

    And somehow, after the absolute war zone that was Friday—

    Sissy and both boys played beautifully together.

    Sissy shared her food.

    They took turns.

    She went down the slide with Doodoo.

    They hugged each other.

    Nobody got dragged across the floor by their hair.

    Which, yes, is a sentence I have to specify after Friday.

    😂

    At one point I just stood there looking at them and thought:

    I should’ve gotten one of these a long time ago.

    There’s something about watching kids play outside until they’re filthy, exhausted, sweaty, wet from the hose, and completely happy.

    Doodoo refused to nap because apparently sleep was less important than the playground.

    He made it approximately one street away after my sister picked him up before passing out in the car.

    😂

    If I could photograph the feeling instead of the actual scene, though?

    It would probably be:

    Wet little clothes.

    Tiny bare feet.

    Kids taking turns.

    Someone laughing.

    Someone asking to go higher.

    A giant swing set we somehow got for twenty-five dollars.

    And three little people who played hard enough that tonight—

    hopefully—

    they sleep like the dead.

    😂

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    I spent a lot of this week asking for two minutes.

    Literally.

    Two.

    Minutes.

    Thursday morning, all three kids were on me at once.

    One tapping me.

    One nuzzling me.

    One licking me.

    Everybody saying:

    “NeeNee.”

    Over.

    And over.

    And over.

    At one point I seriously considered changing my name.

    😂

    Later, I tried to put Pooh Boy down for a nap.

    Sissy wanted to help.

    Sweet.

    Doodoo had his head practically lodged in my ass the entire time.

    Less sweet.

    I sat him in the recliner so I could take approximately two seconds to hand Sissy her clay.

    He acted like I had abandoned him on the side of the interstate.

    Then I finally got him calmed down in my lap.

    And immediately:

    “NeeNee?”

    “Yes, Sissy?”

    “I had an accident.”

    Poop.

    Of course.

    So now I have to put Doodoo down again.

    He’s screaming.

    Pooh Boy sounds like he’s headbutting the bedroom wall.

    I’m cleaning Sissy.

    We come back into the living room.

    Doodoo has somehow unplugged the Fire Stick and is smacking the television because, apparently, he was attempting to repair Jurassic Park.

    The remote has disappeared.

    Sissy’s panties need washed.

    Pooh Boy is still doing whatever demolition project he has started in the bedroom.

    And all I could think was:

    I just need two fucking minutes.

    That thought stuck with me.

    Because I love being needed.

    I really do.

    I love that Doodoo reaches for me.

    I love that Sissy wants to bake cakes with me.

    I love that Pooh Boy climbs all over everything I own and apparently believes gravity is merely a suggestion.

    I love feeding them.

    Bathing them.

    Watching movies with them.

    Taking them outside.

    Letting them destroy my house.

    Buying them a ridiculous swing set.

    I love that Doodoo will go home, spend ten minutes there, see me again, climb into my arms, look at his mother and say:

    “Bye-bye.”

    😂

    But being loved doesn’t magically mean you never get overwhelmed.

    Being needed doesn’t mean you never need space.

    And taking care of people does not mean you are supposed to keep giving until there is absolutely nothing left.

    Saturday reminded me of that.

    I was hurting.

    Really hurting.

    Doodoo wanted to stay.

    Normally?

    I probably would’ve said yes.

    But I couldn’t.

    And I hated telling him no.

    Still—

    I needed to.

    Because sometimes the two minutes you’ve been asking everybody else for eventually have to become:

    Not tonight.

    Sometimes you need somebody else to carry the car seat.

    Sometimes you need the recliner.

    Sometimes you need everybody to please stop touching you.

    Sometimes you need to admit:

    I love you very much, but I have reached my limit for today.

    And maybe that isn’t selfish.

    Maybe that’s just how you make sure there’s something left of you tomorrow.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    This week’s gratitude is for the people who step in.

    Not necessarily in huge dramatic ways.

    Just—

    step in.

    My sister taking those car seats from me because she could see I was hurting.

    Mawmaw Nesi helping me fix the vacuum after my mom couldn’t come back.

    Even though the vacuum then sounded like a motorcycle.

    😂

    My mom eventually coming over and helping us figure out that apparently the ancient clump of hair wrapped around the vacuum brush had been performing some kind of structural-support function.

    Yes.

    You read that correctly.

    I cleaned the vacuum—

    and made it worse.

    ☠️

    Apparently the vacuum is so old that the hair was holding one end of the brush together.

    So now we’ve bought it a new brush because my boyfriend refuses to replace the entire vacuum.

    Fine.

    We are apparently restoring a historical artifact.

    😂

    I’m grateful for my boyfriend coming home exhausted from work and still helping wherever he could.

    And for getting to return that care a little too.

    One night he came home filthy from tires, burned fingers, completely worn out, and said he needed a shower but didn’t even have the energy for one.

    So—

    princess treatment.

    Bubble bath.

    I washed him.

    The man basically had to do nothing except occasionally raise an arm.

    😂

    And somehow, in the same week, he made something completely new for dinner.

    Chicken sliders.

    Not one of his safe foods.

    NEW FOOD.

    AND HE LIKED THEM.

    I almost needed to document the date and time for historical records.

    😂

    I’m grateful for my sister calling.

    My mom helping when she can.

    Mawmaw Nesi magically retrieving Sissy’s phone from behind the couch and allowing us to convince a four-year-old that Mawmaw possesses supernatural abilities.

    My work kid getting on the phone long enough for me to say hi before I go back Tuesday after being gone for a month.

    And all the tiny ways people around here keep taking care of each other.

    Sometimes I’m the one doing it.

    Sometimes somebody else is.

    And this week reminded me that both matter.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    THE MEDUSA DOORBELL.

    There were a lot of contenders this week.

    The $115 macaroni-and-cheese trip where I forgot the macaroni and cheese.

    The vacuum motorcycle.

    Sissy licking sprinkles off the counter.

    The boys waking up Friday and apparently choosing organized crime.

    But no.

    The Medusa doorbell wins.

    My sister bought a Halloween doorbell.

    Cool.

    Cute.

    Festive.

    It’s this gray plastic Medusa face with snakes in her hair and a little red button underneath.

    She’s holding it while I’m talking.

    She doesn’t interrupt me.

    Just kind of presents the button.

    So naturally, without stopping my story, I reach over and press it.

    I assumed it would play Halloween music.

    Maybe scream.

    Maybe say something spooky.

    I was wrong.

    Very wrong.

    Within approximately three seconds—

    Medusa’s little snake tongue SHOOTS OUT and licks my finger.

    The doorbell screams:

    DING DONG!

    Her eyes start flashing red.

    Then she starts EVIL LAUGHING.

    And apparently my body interpreted this as an actual venomous attack because my heart immediately relocated to my asshole, my soul exited through the ceiling, I jerked my hand back like I had been bitten and yelled:

    “OW! MOTHERFUCKER!”

    😭😂

    My sister is laughing so hard she can’t breathe.

    Pooh Boy is running for protection.

    Doodoo is hiding by the couch because he wants absolutely nothing to do with Medusa—

    but is also laughing at me for getting scared.

    Traitor.

    ☠️

    Poor Pooh Boy got so scared that he would not let me put him down afterward.

    So I eventually left my sister’s house carrying him.

    He stayed the night.

    All because I pushed a fucking doorbell.

    😂

    I would also like to point out that this happened during the same week that I spent an entire day watching true-crime documentaries.

    Monday afternoon, I ate cold mini ravioli straight from the can while watching Motherly Instinct show crime-scene photos involving the murder of a pregnant woman.

    Nothing says:

    bon appétit

    quite like homicide.

    Then that evening Mawmaw Nesi joined me for Worst Neighbor Ever.

    We’re sitting there watching it.

    Door cracked open.

    Both cars outside.

    Suddenly:

    knock knock.

    We pause.

    Look at each other.

    Look at the door.

    Look back at each other.

    There was an actual moment where we considered closing the already-open door and pretending nobody was home.

    Despite the fact that whoever was outside could literally watch us do it.

    😂

    She finally answered.

    It was a door-to-door salesman.

    Selling—

    HOME SECURITY.

    Sir.

    Your timing could not possibly be worse.

    Or better.

    I don’t know.

    😂

    Anyway.

    We declined.

    Closed the door.

    And went back to watching Worst Neighbor Ever.

    As one does.

    Now it’s Sunday evening.

    The kids are gone.

    Their wet clothes are in the washer.

    The giant swing set is standing in the backyard.

    My period is still here, although thankfully today has been much less painful than yesterday.

    I am curled up in the recliner.

    My boyfriend is playing Palworld with his best friend.

    And unlike last Sunday—

    nothing has been vomited onto my phone.

    So already?

    Improvement.

    😂

    This week somehow included:

    Three kids.

    A suspiciously peaceful Monday and Tuesday.

    A four-year-old running on approximately four hours of sleep.

    Potty victories.

    Potty accidents.

    Baby pancakes.

    Baby waffles.

    Clay.

    A pink, blue, and purple swirl cake.

    Sissy licking the counter.

    Bubble-bath ball pits.

    A broken vacuum.

    A replacement vacuum belt.

    A replacement vacuum brush.

    A vacuum that sounds like it belongs in a motorcycle gang.

    Princess-treatment bubble baths.

    Chicken sliders.

    McDonald’s.

    A magical Mawmaw.

    A tire.

    A busted jack.

    Big Bertha, the hundred-pound jack.

    A $25 playground.

    A playhouse.

    A bouncy horse.

    Sunburns.

    Period cramps.

    And approximately seven thousand repetitions of:

    “NeeNee.”

    At some point Friday, the boys completely lost their minds.

    Doodoo was climbing onto tables and digging through ashtrays.

    Pooh Boy grabbed Sissy by the hair and started dragging her across the floor.

    There was biting.

    Hitting.

    Headbutting.

    Kicking.

    Screaming.

    Things flying through the air.

    Me saying:

    “No.”

    “STOP.”

    “Put it down.”

    “Give it back.”

    “Leave her alone.”

    And in the middle of all this—

    Sissy was calmly singing:

    “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

    😭😂

    That may actually be the most accurate representation of this entire week.

    Chaos happening everywhere.

    And somebody in the middle of it just—

    singing.

    Maybe that’s what Sunday Things has always been, really.

    Not the huge moments.

    Not the perfect ones.

    Just life happening loudly around us.

    Someone needs something.

    Someone is hungry even though they ate twelve minutes ago.

    Someone is crying.

    Someone is laughing.

    Someone is probably doing something they absolutely should not be doing.

    There are toys everywhere.

    There are wet clothes in the washer.

    There is always another load of laundry coming.

    And sometimes I need everybody to stop touching me for two fucking minutes.

    😂

    But the house is full.

    And tonight, for a little while anyway—

    it’s quiet.

    So I’m staying right here.

    In my recliner.

    I am not cleaning anything else.

    I am not building anything else.

    I am not fixing anything else.

    I am absolutely not moving that playhouse tonight.

    And if somebody needs something?

    They can become Monday’s problem.

    Wait.

    No.

    We tried that already.

    😂

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. I asked for fewer bodily fluids this week. Technically, I got them. Apparently I should’ve also specified fewer headbutts, broken appliances, surprise Medusa attacks, and toddlers inside my personal space. 😂

  • Sunday Things #4

    It’s strange how quickly your definition of a good day can change.

    A couple of weeks ago, a good day probably wouldn’t have been defined by taking a shower without immediately needing to lie down afterward.

    Or being able to leave the house for a few hours.

    Or waking up and realizing the cramps that had been trying to kill me for three straight days were finally gone.

    But apparently, this is where we are now. 😂

    This week was my first full week of recovery, and I am learning that healing has absolutely no interest in being consistent.

    One day, I feel almost normal.

    The next, standing in the shower for a little too long makes me feel like I’ve run a marathon.

    And somewhere in the middle of all of that, my period decided this was the perfect time to show up and make everything approximately 700 times worse.

    My body has been through enough.

    She could’ve sat this month out. 😒

    Still, by the end of the week, things started feeling a little more normal.

    I left the house.

    I saw family.

    My nephews stayed the night.

    I went to a baby shower.

    I picked up my camera again.

    And for a few hours today, I wasn’t sitting around thinking about recovering from surgery.

    I was just…out.

    Doing something.

    Being around people.

    Feeling a little bit like myself again.

    Turns out, I missed her.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Movies in bed.

    My boyfriend renting the new Backrooms movie so we could watch it at home.

    Cuddling in the recliner while watching him play video games.

    My heating pad, even though it completely betrayed me when I actually needed it.

    Naps.

    Clean clothes.

    A long shower.

    And finally reaching the point where getting comfortable doesn’t require rearranging seventeen pillows and negotiating with my abdomen first.

    There is something deeply underrated about the first few days after surgery when ordinary things start feeling ordinary again.

    📷 Through My Lens

    I picked up my camera again this week.

    Not for long.

    Not for some planned photography adventure.

    I took it with me to my friend’s baby shower, and I ended up getting some really good pictures of her.

    And I think I needed that more than I realized.

    After spending so much time in bed or in the recliner, watching the world happen from one spot, it felt really good to look through my camera again.

    To notice light.

    Expressions.

    Little moments worth keeping.

    I’m still healing.

    I’m still limited.

    But apparently my creativity didn’t go anywhere.

    It was just waiting for me to get off the couch. 😂

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    There’s a weird point in recovery where you start feeling better before you’re actually better.

    And I think I’ve reached it.

    Friday, I had very little pain. After the week I’d had, I felt damn near fully recovered.

    Then I move around too much and my body very quickly reminds me:

    Ma’am.

    You literally just had surgery.

    I’m ready to do things again.

    I’m ready to go places.

    I’m ready to stop thinking about whether something is too heavy for me to lift.

    More than anything, I’m ready to be able to pick up my nephews again. 😭

    But feeling better and being healed aren’t the same thing.

    Unfortunately, my body seems to understand that better than my brain does.

    So, for now, I’m trying to listen when it tells me I’ve done enough.

    Even when I really, really don’t want to.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    My sister.

    Without question.

    This period hit me like a fucking freight train.

    Norco didn’t touch the cramps.

    Ibuprofen didn’t touch them.

    My heating pad basically looked at me and said, good luck though.

    Then my sister showed up with Midol and more disposable period panties because she knew I was miserable.

    I could have cried. 🥹

    There are grand gestures of love, and then there is somebody showing up with exactly what you need when you feel like absolute shit.

    I’ll take the second one every time.

    I’m also grateful for my boyfriend, who has spent another week taking care of me, keeping me company, watching movies with me, and generally making being stuck at home suck a little less.

    For my nephews coming over.

    For getting to see friends today.

    For being able to go to my friend’s baby shower, even if I did have to leave a little early when I started getting sore.

    And for my body.

    Even though I have complained about her approximately 4,762 times this week, she’s healing.

    I should probably give her a little credit for that.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    Where do I even begin?

    First:

    Today’s poop was easier.

    Listen.

    Post-surgery, you celebrate different milestones. 😂

    Second, I got my period immediately after abdominal surgery because apparently my uterus saw everything else happening down there and said,

    You know what this situation needs? More blood.

    And because I can’t use tampons right now, I have been introduced to the wonderful world of disposable period panties.

    I support free bleeding.

    I really do.

    But I prefer my free bleeding to happen while I am sitting on the toilet like God and plumbing intended.

    Feeling blood slowly leave your body while you’re wearing what is essentially a socially acceptable diaper?

    Absolutely fucking not.

    0/10.

    Hated the experience.

    And finally…

    Today at my friend’s baby shower, we played the game where you guess how big around the pregnant belly is.

    I won.

    I was only off by two inches.

    How did I estimate the measurement so accurately?

    Did I carefully study her belly?

    Use some sort of spatial reasoning?

    Possess an unexplained talent for estimating circumference?

    No.

    I measured my boobs. ☠️☠️☠️

    And apparently my boobs are an excellent unit of measurement.

    I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information now that I have it.

    But I won.

    So.

    Science. 😂

    Until next time.

    -Destiny

    P.s.- What’s one little thing that made you feel like yourself again this week?

  • Sunday Things #3

    There’s something about Sundays that makes me look back at the week a little differently.

    The little moments start connecting.

    The uncomfortable ones.

    The funny ones.

    The ones that seemed insignificant at the time but somehow became the story.

    This week wasn’t productive.

    It wasn’t exciting.

    It was slow.

    And maybe that’s exactly what I needed.

    For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have the option to keep moving.

    My body made that decision for me.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    A heating pad.

    King of the Hill playing in the background.

    Naps that happened whenever they happened.

    And finally being able to shower after surgery.

    Sometimes comfort isn’t exciting.

    Sometimes it’s simply finding one position that doesn’t hurt.

    📷 Through My Lens

    I didn’t pick up my camera this week.

    Instead, I spent a lot of time noticing things from the recliner.

    How quickly the days blurred together.

    How different every hour of recovery felt.

    And how healing can somehow feel painfully slow and surprisingly fast at the same time.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    This week reminded me that healing isn’t passive.

    It feels like you’re doing nothing…

    but your body is doing everything.

    I’ve spent so much of my life feeling guilty whenever I slowed down.

    This week, I didn’t have a choice.

    And maybe that’s okay.

    Maybe resting is still moving forward.

    Just in a different direction.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    I’m grateful the surgery went well.

    I’m grateful they finally found answers.

    I’m grateful for heating pads.

    For nurses who don’t wait for you to ask if you’re hurting.

    For pain medicine that worked faster than I thought was possible.

    For everyone who checked in on me.

    And especially for my boyfriend, who has spent the week making sure I haven’t had to worry about much of anything except getting better.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    I have become painfully aware of just how many things require your abdominal muscles.

    Shifting positions?

    Sore.

    Walking?

    Sore.

    Coughing?

    Absolutely not.

    Yawning?

    Apparently that’s an abdominal activity now, too.

    Even getting comfortable requires getting uncomfortable first.

    I knew I was going to be sore after surgery.

    I just didn’t realize my stomach was involved in approximately 97% of existing.

    And then, of course, there’s pooping after surgery.

    That’s an entire adventure of its own.

    I’ll leave it at that.

    🌱 This Week’s Small Joy

    My peanut butter pie finally arrived. 😅

    I knew it was coming.

    I’ve been waiting for it.

    And after spending several days snacking more than actually eating, I was VERY happy to finally see that pie.

    There were other little things, too.

    Video calls with my sister that kept me sane.

    My heating pad practically becoming another appendage.

    King of the Hill playing while I drifted in and out of naps.

    And noticing the bloating and gas finally starting to ease up.

    Nothing huge.

    But this wasn’t really a week for huge things.

    This was a week for finding something good in the small ones.

    Until next time.

    -Destiny

    P.S. What’s one small thing that made a hard day feel a little easier this week? I’d love to hear about it. 🖤

  • Sunday Things #2

    There’s something about Sundays that makes me look back at the week a little differently.

    The little moments start connecting.

    The random conversations, the small victories, the things that almost got forgotten somehow end up becoming the parts I remember the most.

    This week wasn’t loud.

    But it was full.

    For the first time in a while, I felt ahead instead of behind. I spent a lot of time writing, researching, and creating, and I realized how much I’ve missed having a project that genuinely excites me. History After Dark is quickly becoming one of my favorite things I’ve ever worked on.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Morning quiet.

    Writing before work.

    Watching Bailey Sarian while my nephews napped.

    And realizing one burned out bathroom light somehow made the room feel…cozier instead of darker.

    📷 Through My Lens

    Saturday’s photoshoot almost didn’t go as planned.

    The rain sent us downtown instead of out to the sunflower field, and honestly, I wouldn’t change it. We ended up with some of my favorite photos we’ve taken.

    Sometimes the backup plan ends up being the better story.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    I think creativity comes in seasons.

    Some weeks I struggle to write a paragraph.

    This week I finished my first History After Dark article, completed my second, finished all the research for my third, and somehow still found myself writing down ideas for novels after waking up from strange dreams.

    Maybe inspiration doesn’t disappear.

    Maybe it just waits until we’re paying attention again.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    I’m grateful my niece was okay.

    I’m grateful my little guy at work caught the ball and threw it back to me. It sounds like such a small thing, but for him, it was huge.

    I’m grateful for tiny milestones—whether it’s hearing my oldest nephew proudly say, “I want my bibi,” or watching another child take his first lunch outside.

    And I’m grateful that I finally found a series I can’t wait to keep writing.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    I somehow ended up having a serious conversation about cannibalism.

    I learned I apparently know far too much about the subject.

    I also accidentally corrected someone’s classification of human meat…

    …and they stopped texting me shortly after.

    I’m choosing to believe they just got busy.

    🌱 This Week’s Small Joy

    Feeding a squirrel out of my hand.

    She was tiny.

    She was brave.

    And she absolutely made my day.

    Here’s to another week.

    Hopefully one with fewer hiccups, fewer hospital visits, and fewer conversations where I accidentally sound like I belong on an FBI watchlist.

    Until next time,

    — Destiny

    P.S. What’s one unexpected thing that made you smile this week? I’d love to hear it.

  • Sunday Things #1

    There’s something about Sundays that feels different.

    The week slows down just enough to catch its breath, and for a little while, everything feels a little quieter.

    This week wasn’t the easiest.

    A sinus infection and a stomach bug forced me to slow down in ways I didn’t want to. I missed work, spent more time resting than doing, and was reminded that sometimes our bodies make the decisions for us. It wasn’t the week I had planned, but it was the week I needed.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Hot showers.

    Clean pajamas.

    A warm blanket.

    And Bailey Sarian playing in the background while I let myself finally relax.

    📷 Through My Lens

    This week reminded me that slowing down has its own kind of beauty.

    One of my favorite photographs I shared was a close-up of a sunflower covered in tiny droplets of water. It’s amazing what you notice when life forces you to stop rushing.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    I’m learning that rest isn’t something you have to earn.

    Sometimes your body whispers.

    Sometimes it shouts.

    Either way, it’s worth listening.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    I’m grateful for feeling a little better than I did a few days ago.

    I’m grateful for people who show kindness without being asked.

    And I’m grateful that this little blog finally exists after spending so long as “one day.”

    Here’s to a new week.

    I hope it’s gentle with all of us.

    Until next time,

    — Destiny

    P.S. What’s one small thing that made you smile this week? I’d love to hear about it.