destinylaharris

Tag: Sunday things

  • 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 #14

    Another week, another reminder that apparently I am not allowed to have a normal, peaceful existence.

    😂

    I’m on fall break, which sounds lovely in theory.

    In reality, I’ve spent most of it battling a sinus headache that refuses to leave, dealing with an upset stomach, chasing toddlers, and wondering how three children can make more noise than an entire classroom.

    And somehow, in the middle of all of that, I’ve had some pretty wonderful moments.

    I’ve had a date day, watched some good television, gotten some exciting news, and spent a ridiculous amount of time laughing at the tiny humans who seem determined to drive me absolutely insane.

    So, let’s talk about it.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    Sunday was date day!

    We went to Texas Roadhouse and then to see The Other Mommy.

    There were two separate moments during that movie when I said:

    “That was terrifying.”

    Followed a little later by:

    “I lied. THAT was terrifying.”

    🤣

    Overall, though? It was decent.

    I had a few lingering questions afterward, and it was incredibly predictable. I had the whole thing figured out before we were even halfway through it.

    We’ve definitely seen better.

    Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love our date days. I love getting out of the house with my boyfriend and spending time together.

    Sometimes, though, I wish we’d change things up a little.

    It’s always Texas Roadhouse and a movie.

    And while I’m certainly not complaining about getting steak and watching horror movies with my favorite person, I wouldn’t mind doing something different every now and then.

    Speaking of movies—

    Y’ALL.

    I HAVE NOT ONE, BUT TWO JOHNNY DEPP MOVIES TO LOOK FORWARD TO!!!!

    TWO!

    Do you understand how happy this makes me?!

    I LOVE THAT MAN!

    🫠🫠🫠

    Unfortunately, I spent most of Sunday fighting a sinus headache. I even had to stop for Sudafed before the movie.

    And that headache?

    It decided to move in and make itself comfortable for the rest of the week.

    By Monday, I was still feeling awful, so the boys and I spent the day in our pajamas.

    That evening, my boyfriend decided to cook steak and baked potatoes for dinner.

    Now, listen.

    When I’m not feeling well, a baked potato is one of my favorite comfort foods.

    I was SO excited about that damn potato.

    He fixed my plate and was bringing it to me when somehow—

    The entire plate ended up on the floor.

    Broken.

    Food everywhere.

    Y’all.

    MY POTATO.

    😭

    Of course, I immediately jumped up and started reassuring him.

    “It’s okay! It’s fine! We’ll clean it up. Are you okay? What happened? It’s just food. I’ll eat something else.”

    And I meant every word.

    Was I secretly mourning that baked potato?

    Absolutely.

    Was I going to make him feel worse about it?

    Absolutely not.

    He felt terrible.

    He even offered me his steak and said he’d eat the one that had fallen on the floor.

    Sir.

    There are pieces of a broken plate down there.

    Absolutely not.

    He ended up cutting his steak in half and offering me some, but by then I’d already ordered White Castle.

    Chicken rings and mozzarella sticks.

    I’d been craving them for about a week anyway, so I figured this was as good an excuse as any.

    😂

    Friday, however, was a different kind of comfort.

    I slept until 8:30!

    I know that doesn’t sound particularly impressive, but around here?

    That’s sleeping in.

    I took a shower, put my hair in my bonnet, and planted myself in the recliner for a day of television.

    I finished Carrie and ASH13, then started watching The Buccaneers.

    And since I finished Carrie, can we talk about Josie Totah for a minute?!

    Because MY GIRL ABSOLUTELY KILLED IT AS TINA BLAKE!

    🤗🖤

    Honestly, everybody did a wonderful job.

    And I’m not even going to get started on Matthew Lillard, because we ALL know how I feel about that god of a man.

    🥵🫠

    ANYHOW.

    BACK TO JOSIE!

    What I loved about her performance was that she didn’t just play a stereotypical mean girl.

    She gave Tina so much personality.

    The attitude. The facial expressions. The comedic timing.

    She could make me laugh one minute and want to reach through the screen and shake her the next.

    And underneath all that attitude, you could see how insecure Tina was. How desperately she wanted to fit in.

    Josie managed to bring that out without making it feel forced.

    THAT is good acting.

    But here’s the funniest part.

    The ENTIRE time I was watching the show, I kept thinking about how gorgeous this woman was.

    And I could NOT figure out why she looked so familiar.

    Y’all.

    Y’ALL!!!!

    THAT’S LITTLE STUART FROM DISNEY CHANNEL’S JESSIE!!!!

    😭🤣

    EXCUSE ME?!

    Can we please take a moment to appreciate this woman’s glow-up?!

    Seriously, though. She looks so happy, and I love seeing how far she’s come in her career.

    From making us laugh on Disney Channel to absolutely rocking a role in a Stephen King adaptation?

    LOOK AT HER NOW!

    I’m here for ALL OF IT!

    And with the wind blowing, the rain coming down, and a cup of tea waiting for me?

    Friday was the perfect cozy autumn day.

    Sometimes comfort really is just a recliner, a good show, and absolutely nobody asking you for anything.

    Even if it only lasts a little while.

    📸 Through My Lens

    I don’t think my camera has ever had quite as much competition for my attention as it did this week.

    Tuesday, I took Sissy and Doodoo outside to play.

    We were having a perfectly lovely time on the big circular swing when I happened to look down.

    Jumping spider.

    NOPE.

    I jumped off that swing so fast.

    Unfortunately, I apparently didn’t jump far enough, because the metal bar swung around and smacked me right in the ass.

    I swear I bruised my entire ass trying to get away from a spider.

    🥲

    So we moved over to the teeter-totter.

    Surely we’d be safe there.

    WRONG.

    ANOTHER JUMPING SPIDER.

    And this little asshole was running straight toward Doodoo.

    Absolutely not!

    I snatched that baby off the swing so fast.

    Then, because apparently I enjoy making questionable decisions, I decided I wanted to get a video of the spider to send to my sister.

    Except every time I tried, it would run and hide.

    BRO.

    JUST SIT STILL SO I CAN SEND A VIDEO OF YOU TO MY DAMN SISTER!

    🤣

    The little shit acted like we were playing hide-and-seek.

    My other camera-related entertainment this week was significantly less traumatic.

    Thursday, I taught all three kiddos a viral TikTok dance.

    And for about thirty minutes, that was our entertainment.

    Same song.

    Over and over.

    And over.

    And yes.

    I have videos.

    🤣

    I love photography, but I also love having those silly little videos to look back on.

    The dancing.

    The laughter.

    The completely ridiculous things these kids do.

    Those are the moments I know I’m going to want to remember.

    Even if the soundtrack occasionally makes me question my sanity.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    Tuesday, my boyfriend and I were texting, and he brought up the idea of a destination elopement.

    Now, don’t get me wrong.

    That sounds absolutely wonderful.

    Getting married somewhere beautiful, just the two of us, without having to worry about planning a big wedding?

    I understand the appeal.

    But can we be realistic for a minute?

    I have over $3,000 in surgery bills that I haven’t even started paying yet.

    That’s on top of everything else.

    And now we’re getting ready to start this whole IVF journey.

    Which brings me to another bit of news from this week.

    My first official appointment with the fertility clinic is scheduled for next month!

    It’s virtual.

    And it’s going to cost me $324.

    For a phone call.

    😅

    Listen, I knew this wasn’t going to be cheap.

    But seeing an actual appointment on the calendar makes everything feel a whole lot more real.

    We’re actually doing this.

    We’re taking the next step.

    And while I’m excited, I’m also very aware that we’re about to spend a ridiculous amount of money trying to have a baby.

    Which brings me right back to the wedding conversation.

    I cannot afford a destination elopement.

    I can afford a $200 wedding.

    And you know what?

    I’m perfectly fine with that.

    Let’s go get our marriage license.

    Let’s go to Eagle Creek Park.

    It’s six dollars per car to get in.

    And if somebody can’t afford the six dollars to come celebrate with us, then they don’t deserve to celebrate with us.

    I’m just saying.

    🤣

    I know a few people who could officiate for us for free.

    We can get some cupcakes.

    My sister has even offered to help us with food using her SNAP benefits.

    We could invite the twenty-five or so people we actually want there, have a small ceremony, eat some food, and call it a day.

    Nothing extravagant.

    Nothing that puts us thousands of dollars further into debt.

    Just us and the people we love.

    Would it be some elaborate dream wedding?

    No.

    But I’ve never needed that.

    I don’t need a destination wedding to feel married.

    I don’t need an expensive dress, an enormous cake, or a venue that costs more than my car.

    I want to marry the man I love.

    I want our families there.

    And I want to be able to enjoy the day without thinking about how long it’s going to take me to pay for it afterward.

    Especially when we’re already preparing for something as expensive and important to us as IVF.

    I think sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in how wonderful an idea sounds without stopping to consider whether it actually makes sense for your life.

    A destination elopement sounds amazing.

    But so does getting married in a park and going home without another few thousand dollars in debt.

    And right now?

    That second option sounds pretty damn good to me.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    Honestly?

    I’m grateful that I got to spend my fall break with the kiddos.

    Yes.

    Those same kiddos who have spent the better part of this week making me question every decision I’ve ever made.

    😂

    Listen.

    They’ve been loud.

    They’ve been fighting.

    They’ve been crying.

    They’ve been throwing things.

    Somehow, there’s Sprite on my CEILING.

    And I have heard “BLAHBLAH!” approximately nine million times.

    But you know what?

    I wouldn’t trade this time with them.

    I got to help my sister out this week, too.

    She didn’t have to worry about paying somebody to watch the kids while I was off work, and I got to spend some extra time with my niece and nephews.

    That’s a win for everybody.

    And somewhere between the tantrums and the absolute chaos, there were some pretty damn cute moments.

    I got to teach them a dance.

    We invented a new game.

    We watched movies.

    We played outside.

    And even when Doodoo couldn’t decide whether he wanted Momma or BlahBlah, he still wanted his BlahBlah.

    Even if he changed his mind seventeen times before we made it to the car.

    🤣

    I think that’s what I’m most grateful for.

    Being somebody these kids want around.

    Being the person they call when they want to come over.

    Being somebody they feel comfortable asking for things, whether that’s a bath, a movie, or just somebody to hold them.

    I know these days won’t last forever.

    One day, they won’t be this little.

    They won’t be calling me every five minutes or demanding that I come pick them up.

    And I’m sure there will come a day when I’ll miss hearing “BLAHBLAH!” shouted across my house.

    Probably.

    Maybe.

    Ask me again after I’ve had a full night’s sleep.

    😂🖤

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

    Oh, I have OPTIONS this week.

    First of all, let’s talk about Monday.

    Doodoo wasn’t feeling well, and this child could not decide what he wanted.

    He wanted me to hold him.

    So I picked him up.

    Then he wanted down.

    So I put him down.

    Then he cried because I’d put him down.

    Then he wanted picked up again.

    BRO.

    I GET IT.

    YOU DON’T FEEL GOOD.

    BUT CAN I CRY BECAUSE I WANT SOMEBODY TO HOLD ME TOO?!

    😭☠️

    Meanwhile, Pooh Boy apparently decided Uncle’s PS5 needed to learn how to fly.

    Absolutely not.

    Nap time.

    Immediately.

    Wednesday and Thursday weren’t much better.

    Sissy was bullying the boys.

    The boys were fighting each other.

    Everybody was yelling.

    Nobody wanted to listen.

    At one point, I got so tired of the noise that I sent the boys to take a nap and told Sissy to go play with her clay in the kitchen.

    And suddenly?

    Peace.

    Beautiful, beautiful peace.

    Unfortunately, Thursday’s naps lasted approximately thirty minutes because Sissy kept waking the boys up.

    Then somebody dropped a Sprite.

    And by somebody, I mean Sissy.

    And by dropped, I mean apparently detonated.

    Because that Sprite ended up on the carpet, the toys, across the room—

    AND ON MY CEILING.

    HOW?!

    HOW DO YOU GET SPRITE ON THE CEILING?!

    😭

    I spent so much of that day telling somebody to stop doing something that I was sick of hearing my own voice.

    But then?

    I had an idea.

    A BRILLIANT idea.

    I invented a game.

    It’s called Toy Store.

    Here’s how it works.

    I give Sissy a plastic bag.

    She goes around collecting all the toys off the floor.

    Then she brings them to me.

    I pretend to scan everything like I’m working at a checkout counter.

    And the boys take turns putting the toys into the toy box.

    Y’ALL.

    THEY LOVE IT.

    They’re cleaning.

    They’re taking turns.

    Nobody is fighting.

    Nobody is screaming.

    And I don’t even have to get out of my chair.

    I’m not saying I’m a genius or anything.

    Buuuutttt…

    🤣

    I’m pretty sure Toy Store is here to stay.

    And then Saturday happened.

    Doodoo called me.

    “BLAHBLAH! UP!”

    Say less, little man.

    I’m on my way.

    I got to my sister’s house, picked him up, and took him out to the car.

    Immediately, he started crying.

    He wanted Momma.

    Okay.

    Back inside we go.

    Then he started crying because he wanted BlahBlah.

    So I took him back outside.

    And he started crying because he wanted Momma.

    AGAIN.

    Back inside.

    At this point, I decided he obviously wasn’t feeling well, so I’d just leave him at home.

    I drove all the way back to my house.

    Sat down in my recliner.

    And my phone rang.

    My sister.

    Doodoo was standing at the window yelling for BlahBlah.

    SIR.

    YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE.

    🤣

    So I told him if I came back over there, he was absolutely coming home with me.

    He agreed.

    I went back.

    And the moment I tried to get him?

    He threw himself on the floor.

    “I WANT MOMMA!”

    Nope.

    We made a deal, little baby.

    You’re coming with me.

    Then Pooh Boy saw us leaving and threw HIMSELF on the floor.

    “I GO!”

    Y’all.

    I hadn’t even gotten them in the car yet, and they were already on my nerves.

    😮‍💨

    Fine.

    Get your diaper changed.

    Get in the car seat.

    I finally got Doodoo settled, handed him my car keys to play with, and he stopped crying before we’d even left the house.

    We got home.

    I carried the boys onto the porch.

    Asked Doodoo for my keys so I could unlock the door.

    And he immediately started crying again.

    OF COURSE.

    I unlocked the door, handed him the keys back, and gave both boys a Hershey’s Kiss.

    Peace restored.

    For approximately twelve seconds.

    Because Doodoo immediately ran to Mawmaw Nesi’s bedroom door, started knocking, and began yelling for her.

    🤣

    Later, I put Finding Nemo on for him.

    He laid on the floor in front of the recliner and watched it.

    Then, before dinner, he looked up at me.

    “BLAHBLAH!”

    And started singing Let It Go.

    Oh!

    You want Frozen?

    Okay!

    I put it on, and he sat there watching it.

    After dinner, he came up to me and said:

    “I bath.”

    And started signing bath.

    So I got the boys ready for their bath.

    My boyfriend apparently took that as an opportunity to change the movie.

    Absolutely not.

    Doodoo had specifically asked to watch Frozen.

    He’d been sitting there watching it and singing along.

    Just because he was getting a bath didn’t mean he was finished watching it.

    My boyfriend said:

    “He’s not even two. He’s not going to care.”

    YES.

    THE.

    FUCK.

    HE.

    WILL.

    He asked for that movie.

    He was watching that movie.

    And when he got out of the bath, he was going to finish that movie.

    My boyfriend got irritated and said he’d turn it back on.

    Then he put his headphones in and decided he wasn’t talking to anybody.

    Okay.

    Have your big boy feelings.

    I don’t care.

    😂

    After their bath, Doodoo climbed into my lap, asked for a blanket, and settled in to finish Frozen.

    And eventually?

    He fell asleep.

    Once he was asleep, I told my boyfriend he could change the television.

    He said he was listening to his music now.

    Okay.

    Cool.

    Guess I’ll watch what I want to watch.

    So I put The Buccaneers on.

    I had two and a half episodes left, and I was determined to finish the show.

    And here’s where things get funny.

    Apparently, somewhere along the way, my boyfriend started paying attention.

    Because by the time I got to the last episode, I had to PAUSE THE SHOW.

    Why?

    Because he had so many questions about what was happening!

    SIR.

    I THOUGHT YOU WERE LISTENING TO YOUR MUSIC?!

    🤣

    By the time we went to bed, this man had his own opinions about the characters AND his own conspiracy theories about what’s going to happen in season three.

    I cannot make this shit up.

    And speaking of season three—

    PAUL WESLEY IS JOINING THE CAST!

    Y’ALL!

    I CANNOT WAIT!

    🤣🖤

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

    Not because everything went smoothly.

    Clearly, it didn’t.

    And not because I managed to get everything done that I wanted to do.

    I absolutely did not.

    But I’m starting to realize that I don’t need every day to be productive, exciting, or even particularly peaceful for it to be a good day.

    Some days, I accomplish absolutely nothing.

    Some days, I accomplish a whole lot and somehow still feel like I’ve done nothing.

    And some days, just getting everybody fed, bathed, and settled down feels like a personal achievement.

    I’m learning to appreciate all of them.

    I’m also learning that it’s perfectly okay to love your life and still occasionally want everybody in it to leave you the hell alone for five minutes.

    Both things can be true.

    😂

    And I think that’s where I’m at right now.

    I’m tired.

    I’m happy.

    I’m excited about what’s ahead.

    And I’m trying not to get so caught up in everything I still want to do that I forget to enjoy what I already have.

    Because even with all the noise, the messes, the frustrations, and the occasional complete lack of personal space—

    I really do love my little life.

    And I hope I never get so busy chasing the next big thing that I forget how much the little things matter.

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. What’s one completely ordinary thing about your life that you’ve learned to appreciate? Something you might not have thought twice about a few years ago, but now you wouldn’t trade for anything? 🖤

  • Sunday Things #13

    Some weeks give you stories to tell.

    Some weeks give you little moments worth remembering.

    And some weeks leave you sitting there wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

    This was one of those weeks.

    Sunday Things is going to look a little different this time. Not because I planned it that way, but because I genuinely don’t remember enough of this week to tell you about it the way I normally would.

    And honestly?

    I’m not entirely sure I want to remember it.

    💭 The Days I Can’t Account For

    Monday morning started with an asthma attack.

    I woke up struggling to breathe, called off work, and made an appointment with my doctor. She prescribed a steroid and a new medication called Singulair to help manage my asthma and allergies, particularly the nighttime symptoms that were contributing to my morning attacks.

    I took my first dose Monday night.

    Tuesday morning?

    I felt phenomenal.

    I could breathe. I wasn’t waking up fighting for air. I genuinely thought we’d finally found something that was going to help me.

    Oh, how wrong I was.

    Tuesday night, I barely slept. I was waking up every two hours, and my period had decided to make an appearance with absolutely no consideration for anything else happening in my life.

    By Wednesday, I was exhausted.

    I forced myself to go to work because I needed to complete a recertification, but I spent most of the morning lying on the floor with my heating pad until I absolutely had to get up.

    I eventually told my manager I needed to leave.

    And that’s when things got really fucking weird.

    I got home around 9 AM and settled into my recliner.

    What felt like fifteen minutes later, my boyfriend’s mom was walking through the door.

    It was 3:30 in the afternoon.

    Six and a half hours had passed.

    I hadn’t been sleeping.

    I hadn’t gone anywhere.

    I’d just been sitting there.

    And I couldn’t account for the time.

    Apparently, I video-called my sister five different times that day. I remember two of those calls, and I couldn’t tell you what we talked about.

    I do remember looking at my own face on the screen during one of them.

    And watching it turn into a skeleton.

    Not a filter.

    Not something I was imagining for fun.

    I was genuinely watching my face change in front of me.

    And somehow, in my completely exhausted state, I decided I was probably just tired and needed to get off the phone.

    Looking back, that’s terrifying.

    At the time, I was too confused to recognize just how wrong things had gotten.

    I was losing track of time, forgetting conversations, and barely functioning. I was so out of it that I wasn’t even properly taking care of myself while dealing with an incredibly heavy period.

    That night, I couldn’t sleep.

    Again.

    At 3:30 in the morning, I messaged my doctor because I genuinely didn’t understand what was happening to me.

    I’d slept approximately one hour in two days.

    And when I finally did fall asleep?

    I had one of the worst night terrors I’ve ever experienced.

    I woke up absolutely terrified, ran straight into my boyfriend’s arms, and begged him not to go to work.

    I was shaking. My heart was racing. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath.

    I was scared.

    Really fucking scared.

    Thursday morning, I contacted my doctor’s office.

    I explained what had been happening, and they wanted me to come in.

    Great. When?

    October 20.

    Almost two weeks away.

    I made the appointment, but I also made it very clear that I wasn’t taking another dose of Singulair while waiting.

    I’d learned that the medication carries an FDA boxed warning for serious mental health side effects, and what I was experiencing was frightening enough that I wasn’t willing to continue taking it.

    The worsening depression, anxiety, insomnia, confusion, and hallucinations were more than I could handle.

    And I still had no idea how much of my week I’d lost.

    🖤 Finding My Way Back

    Friday morning, I slept straight through my alarm.

    Apparently, my boyfriend woke me up to turn it off.

    I don’t remember that.

    Apparently, I’d also promised my mom that I’d take my niece to school.

    Don’t remember that either.

    Needless to say, J was a little late. 😅

    Thankfully, my manager was incredibly understanding about everything happening.

    I finally got myself into the shower, changed out of the clothes I’d practically been living in all week, and started feeling a little more human.

    And then I called my sister.

    Immediately, I heard two familiar little voices yelling:

    “BLAHBLAH, UP!”

    Well.

    There went my child-free weekend. 😂

    I’d originally planned to attend a concert Saturday and have a date night with my boyfriend Sunday.

    But after the week I’d had, I decided the concert wasn’t happening.

    And since I was feeling considerably better than I had been, I went and picked up Doodoo and Pooh Boy.

    My boyfriend’s mom was off work Friday, so thankfully, I had plenty of help.

    Saturday has been wonderfully uneventful.

    We’ve stayed inside in our pajamas.

    The boys have played.

    I’ve occupied my usual spot on the couch.

    And I somehow convinced both toddlers to take a nap simply because I wanted a nap.

    Pooh Boy slept in the bedroom, and Doodoo curled up with me on the couch.

    No big adventures.

    No running around.

    No plans.

    Just a quiet day at home.

    And after everything that happened this week?

    I’ll take it.

    I usually end Sunday Things with some kind of reflection.

    Something I’ve learned. Something I’m grateful for. Some little moment that made the chaos worthwhile.

    But I don’t have one of those this week.

    I don’t think every awful experience needs to become a lesson.

    Sometimes things are just awful.

    And this week was.

    There are entire conversations I don’t remember having. Hours I can’t account for. Moments that frightened me more than I realized at the time.

    I’m still not feeling completely like myself, but I’m getting a little better every day.

    And right now, that’s enough.

    Some weeks are worth remembering.

    This is one I’d rather forget.

    Until next time,

    — Destiny

  • Sunday Things #12

    This week started with me getting completely ready for work—

    and then immediately throwing up my dinner from the night before.

    Cool.

    Fantastic.

    Love that for me.

    😂

    On top of that, my body had apparently decided one problem wasn’t enough, so I was dealing with something else incredibly uncomfortable too.

    I took the day off.

    Took a long soak.

    And planted myself in the recliner with Scream Queens for basically the entire day.

    Honestly?

    There are worse ways to spend a sick day.

    There are also significantly better ways.

    But we survived.

    😂

    Sissy called and asked me to come over because she missed me, which broke my heart a little, but considering I had spent the morning puking, I decided maybe bringing whatever the hell was happening with me around a house full of children was a bad idea.

    Look at me.

    Making responsible adult decisions.

    Gross.

    One of my kiddos from work also called me that day because it was his last day with us.

    He’s moving on to a different school, which is so exciting for him, but apparently he asked for me as soon as he got there that morning.

    😭

    I had already been upset that I wasn’t going to get to tell him goodbye or wish him luck.

    Then he called me.

    And told me he was going to miss me.

    Y’all.

    My whole fucking heart.

    I better get updates.

    That’s all I’m saying.

    Later, I picked my oldest niece up from school.

    She started telling me about a book she wanted from the book fair.

    Her grades are up.

    Her work is turned in.

    She’s doing really well.

    So after figuring out what she still needed for it, I stopped at the ATM and made sure she had enough.

    It’s a book.

    She’s doing well in school.

    Of course I’m going to help her buy the damn book.

    😂

    And speaking of spending money—

    apparently I’m going to see Scene Queen next weekend.

    My friend’s daughter called me and asked if I would take her.

    Her dad overheard the conversation and basically went:

    I’ll buy the tickets.

    Well.

    Okay then.

    😂

    This will be our second outing together in about a month, though, which means now I need to plan two things with her brother.

    I don’t make the rules.

    Actually, I do.

    And apparently the rule is:

    EVERYBODY GETS ACTIVITIES.

    🕷️ Nature and I Are No Longer Speaking

    Tuesday.

    Oh, Tuesday.

    I got off work and Doodoo called me.

    “BlahBlah, up!”

    Say less, baby.

    I’m coming.

    Naturally, Pooh Boy also decided he was coming home with me.

    Then Sissy very politely asked:

    “NeeNee, can I come to your house for just a little bit?”

    Of course.

    “Can I come home after?”

    Absolutely.

    😂

    So now I have three children.

    We spent about two and a half hours outside.

    Everything was fine.

    Until I walked toward the back steps to grab bug spray and saw something move.

    I looked down.

    Jumped backward.

    And immediately thought:

    What the FUCK kind of spider-looking shit is THAT!?

    Absolutely.

    Fucking.

    Not.

    😭

    I called my sister.

    Turns out this giant nightmare creature was an orb-weaving garden spider.

    A female.

    And apparently the reason I had never seen one this terrifying before is because I had only noticed the smaller ones.

    Cool.

    New fear unlocked.

    Except my sister wanted her.

    At her house.

    And asked me to catch her.

    …

    I need everyone to understand something.

    I have arachnophobia.

    Not “ew, spiders are gross.”

    Not “haha, get it away from me.”

    My heart was racing.

    My palms were sweating.

    I couldn’t breathe properly.

    By the time it was over, my entire body was shaking so badly that I had to squat down and remind myself how the fuck to breathe.

    This is not a game for me.

    😂😭

    And yet—

    I caught that big-ass spider.

    Why?

    Because my sister wanted it.

    If anybody ever questions how much I love that woman again, I would like this entered into evidence.

    Because if ANYBODY ELSE asked me to catch a spider that damn big for them, I would’ve told them they had lost their fucking mind.

    Afterward, while trying to recover from my near-death experience, I told my sister:

    “I’m glad you didn’t record that.”

    …

    She recorded it.

    SHE RECORDED THE WHOLE FUCKING THING.

    😭😂

    Apparently she was laughing so hard while watching me fight for my life that she gave herself a migraine.

    Glad one of us had fun.

    We delivered the spider to her new home.

    My sister put her on the mailbox.

    The spider was pissed.

    A praying mantis was offered as tribute.

    The spider declined.

    The praying mantis took one look at her and basically said:

    Actually, I have somewhere else to be.

    Same, little buddy.

    Same.

    By the time I got home, I could still feel imaginary spiders crawling all over my body.

    I sat in the recliner repeating:

    I don’t have spiders on me.

    Ate dinner.

    I don’t have spiders on me.

    Boyfriend said it was time for bed.

    Absolutely not.

    I am not taking these imaginary spiders into my sheets.

    I took a shower.

    The spiders finally went away.

    😮‍💨

    Nature and I were officially done.

    Or so I thought.

    🍀 Apparently Nature Felt Bad

    Wednesday morning, I was walking back from breakfast when something on the ground caught my eye.

    I stopped.

    Looked down.

    And—

    A FOUR-LEAF CLOVER.

    Y’ALL.

    I have never found one before.

    I am in my 30s.

    I have looked.

    Nothing.

    I actually already own a five-leaf clover that a friend found in my front yard and gave me, but I had never found a four-leaf one myself.

    Until now.

    So Tuesday, nature gave me a giant nightmare spider.

    Wednesday, nature gave me my first four-leaf clover.

    …

    Fine.

    Apology accepted.

    But nature is still on thin fucking ice.

    😂🍀

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    I said no this week.

    Nothing dramatic.

    Nobody was mad at me.

    Nobody’s feelings were hurt.

    My sister asked if we wanted the kids, and I said:

    Absolutely not.

    😂

    I love those babies more than anything.

    If Doodoo calls me and says, “BlahBlah, up!” nine times out of ten, I’m already looking for my shoes.

    But Wednesday?

    I wanted to go home.

    Sit on my couch.

    Have absolutely nobody need anything from me.

    And do nothing.

    So that’s what I did.

    And I’ve been thinking about that more than I probably should.

    Because sometimes I think we accidentally convince ourselves that loving people means always being available to them.

    That if we can show up, we should.

    That saying no means we’re letting somebody down.

    But I don’t think that’s true.

    Sometimes loving the people in my life looks like dropping everything when they need me.

    Sometimes it looks like three kids taking over my house for an entire weekend.

    And sometimes it looks like:

    Not today. I’ll see you tomorrow.

    😂

    I don’t love them any less on the days I choose myself.

    And considering I spent basically the entire weekend being climbed on, cried at, cuddled, pooped near, asked for snacks, and informed that somebody had, in fact, shit—

    I think taking Wednesday off was an excellent fucking decision.

    😂

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

    Honestly?

    There were options.

    At work, we started working on a new routine with one of my kiddos.

    It has been an adjustment.

    For both of us.

    😂

    There were some rough moments.

    There were also some really good ones.

    He sat longer than I expected him to.

    We worked on communication.

    He used his device more.

    And at one point, he managed to communicate basically:

    Destiny. Frustrated. Bathroom.

    …

    Sir.

    Correct.

    You read the room beautifully.

    😂

    Progress is progress.

    I’ll take it.

    Then I got my flu shot after work Thursday.

    I walked up to a group of nurses, held out my paperwork and said:

    “Who wants to poke me?”

    I have never seen that many nurses look at me that quickly in my life.

    😂

    A couple smiled.

    Two raised their hands.

    One went:

    “Get over here!”

    DAMN.

    Okay.

    Apparently everybody wants a turn.

    I got my shot and received my annual $5 Starbucks gift card.

    Which means I now have four of those things sitting in my wallet because I don’t drink coffee and apparently refuse to give them away.

    I posted them on Facebook.

    Several people immediately volunteered to take them off my hands.

    Excuse me?

    I got poked for those.

    They’re mine.

    I don’t know what I’m eventually going to do with $20 worth of Starbucks gift cards.

    But that’s not the point.

    😂

    Thursday evening also gave me the perfect start to October.

    I thought I was going to have the house to myself for a while.

    Boyfriend was supposed to work late.

    Kids were elsewhere.

    I was going to shower, get comfortable, and watch whatever the hell I wanted.

    Then he walked through the door.

    …

    Oh.

    There goes my remote.

    😂

    Except he wanted to watch a horror movie I’d been wanting to see too.

    So never mind.

    You may stay.

    We watched Monkey’s Magic Merry Go Round, and y’all—

    I am not spoiling it.

    Just know that it was weird.

    Creepy.

    Completely unhinged.

    And somehow exactly what I wanted from the first horror movie of October.

    Perfect.

    Friday night, I had all three kids again.

    There were Dino nuggets.

    Cookies.

    Baths.

    Tears.

    Children passing out one by one.

    And one very important discovery:

    the milk was BAD.

    Sissy took one sip and immediately went:

    “NeeNee, what is wrong with this milk?”

    Nothing. It’s the same milk Mommy buys.

    “It tastes sour.”

    …

    Excuse me?

    Boyfriend brought me the jug.

    It was swollen.

    It hissed when I opened it.

    There was stuff around the rim.

    It smelled like death.

    Absolutely the fuck not.

    🤢

    I looked at him.

    He looked at me.

    I looked at the milk.

    I looked back at him.

    You gave this to her!?

    Sir.

    Straight to jail.

    😂

    Sissy got juice.

    Then she called her mom.

    At one point, while trying to watch YouTube at the same time, she told my sister:

    “Mommy, I can’t hear my YouTube.”

    My sister apparently asked if she wanted to get off the phone.

    “No, I think you just need to quiet down is all.”

    😭😭😭

    My sister MUTED HERSELF.

    Five minutes later, Sissy decided she was finished with the conversation.

    Absolutely ruthless.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    Saturday was a birthday party.

    And somehow, I think my gratitude this week is just—

    getting to be part of all this.

    The chaos.

    The little voices.

    The ridiculous conversations.

    The fact that Doodoo can be completely inconsolable, and I can ask:

    “Do you hear that?”

    “Yeah.”

    “What is it?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Do you see that?”

    “Yeah.”

    “What is it?”

    “I don’t know.”

    And by the time we’re finished, he’s calm enough to tell me where he got hurt.

    The fact that Sissy and I apparently become professional athletes the second a piñata breaks.

    Because when that candy hit the ground?

    Y’ALL.

    We went IN.

    😂

    I was on my hands and knees.

    Another adult was on the ground with us.

    Arms and legs were being used to drag candy into our territory.

    There was no dignity.

    There was only victory.

    Sissy walked away with one bag practically bursting at the seams and another more than halfway full.

    We won piñata.

    I don’t care if that’s not technically a thing.

    We won.

    😂

    And then there are the tiny moments.

    The boys crying because Uncle came home and they both wanted him.

    Doodoo choosing Finding Nemo over CaseOh at dinner.

    Pooh Boy waking up Sunday morning yelling:

    “Guncle!”

    Doodoo climbing over me and lightly smacking Uncle in the face:

    “Uncle! Wake wake!”

    😂

    And this morning, after breakfast, Doodoo crawled into my lap.

    I smelled something suspicious.

    Did you poop?

    “No. I farted.”

    Okay, well, your ass stinks, boy.

    A few minutes later:

    “BlahBlah?”

    Yeah?

    “I shit!”

    …

    You shit!?

    “Yup.”

    Great.

    Beautiful.

    This is the life I am grateful for.

    😂

    And now it’s Sunday night.

    I took Doodoo home.

    Cleaned the living room.

    Finished laundry.

    Finally went through a giant pile of clothes I have been ignoring for longer than I’m willing to admit.

    I am not discussing the rest of the laundry situation because my boyfriend managed to piss my entire soul off over it today.

    His clothes eventually ended up in a pile beside him.

    Handle your business, sir.

    😂

    Dinner is still frozen.

    This post is late.

    Again.

    And I think I may officially have to admit that Sunday Things and its current posting time are no longer compatible with my actual Sundays.

    We’ll figure that out later.

    I’m also coughing enough that I decided not to visit my friend and her new baby today.

    😭

    I am dying to meet him.

    But tiny brand-new humans do not need whatever bullshit my immune system may or may not be trying to pull right now.

    So I’ll wait.

    Impatiently.

    This week started with me sick in a recliner.

    Somewhere in the middle, I caught a spider despite every cell in my body screaming ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT, found my first four-leaf clover, watched a creepy movie, survived another week of tiny-human chaos, won a piñata war, and was informed very matter-of-factly:

    “I shit.”

    And now I’m sitting here tired.

    Possibly getting sick.

    Behind on dinner.

    Behind on this post.

    And surrounded by evidence that people live here.

    Honestly?

    I keep saying it lately, but I still mean it:

    I love my little life.

    It’s loud.

    It’s weird.

    Sometimes it has giant spiders.

    Sometimes it gives me four-leaf clovers the next morning as an apology.

    And apparently sometimes the milk hisses.

    But it’s mine.

    And that’s a pretty damn good life.

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. What’s one thing from your week that made you think, “Well…that definitely wasn’t on my bingo card”? 😂

  • 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 #9

    This week felt like my body and my life were operating on two completely different schedules.

    My body wanted heating pads, pain patches, hot baths, a recliner, and for everybody to leave me the hell alone.

    My life said:

    Cool. Anyway, you’re going back to work. The kids miss you. Your sister needs help. There are dinosaurs to watch. Somebody is going to walk UP a slide. And apparently you’re going to end the week at a spontaneous photoshoot.

    😅

    I started the week on my period, which is exhausting enough on its own, but now that I know I have both a fibroid and endometriosis, I’ve been doing what any curious person with access to Google does:

    Looking up all the weird shit my body does and going,

    Ohhhhh. So THAT’S why.

    😂

    The lower back pain.

    The constant urge to pee.

    The horrible cramping when I poop.

    The extra bleeding when I do.

    Apparently, my body has explanations for things I’ve just been suffering through for years.

    And listen—

    period poops are already the WORST.

    I do not need two separate medical conditions working together to make them worse. 😮‍💨

    Sunday was actually surprisingly good for day two of my period. I barely hurt all day, and I had even slept through the entire night before—which is WILD for me because I’m normally up and down for the first two or three nights because I’m hurting so badly.

    Then I pooped.

    And apparently that was enough to ruin everybody’s good time.

    😂

    By 4:30 Monday morning, I was hurting badly enough that I ended up taking an hour-long nap on the toilet so I could free bleed.

    Obviously.

    Nobody ever talks about how much passing period clots can fucking hurt, either.

    This period was super clotty, and whether that had anything to do with recently having surgery or not, I have no idea.

    I just know:

    boy, I was in pain.

    I finally fell back asleep around 7 and slept until 11:30.

    Thankfully, my sister had asked Mom to watch the kids that day because I really just could not.

    I remembered that the hysterectomy belt my boyfriend’s mom gave me had heating/cooling pads in it, popped those bad boys in the microwave for thirty seconds on each side, and discovered that I basically own a portable heating pad.

    Guess who’s taking that bitch to work?

    🤷🏻‍♀️😂

    Tuesday morning?

    4 AM.

    Again.

    More pain.

    More soaking in the bathtub.

    And eventually a PTO day because there was absolutely no way I was going back to work like that.

    At one point, I was so over the pain that I genuinely thought about asking my boyfriend if he would be okay with adopting because I just—

    cannot keep doing this.

    I’m ready for them to get this stuff taken care of.

    My periods are exhausting.

    Physically.

    Emotionally.

    All of it.

    But somewhere between all the heating pads, pain patches, baths, and me refusing to leave the recliner unless absolutely necessary…

    the rest of my life kept happening anyway.

    And somehow, by the end of the week, there was a whole lot of good mixed in with the hurting.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    This one is easy.

    My heating pad.

    😮‍💨

    That thing and I have been in a committed relationship all week.

    Monday, it was the heating pads from the hysterectomy belt.

    Tuesday, I basically lived in the recliner with my heating pad and only got up when I absolutely needed to.

    And then Doodoo showed up.

    He was asleep when Mom brought him over, and when he came inside, he looked at me, climbed into my lap, and immediately went right back to sleep.

    I sat him on my stomach.

    And somehow?

    His weight actually helped.

    So I leaned the recliner back with this sleeping baby sprawled across me and got maybe thirty or forty-five minutes where I wasn’t hurting much at all.

    I was almost asleep myself before the other two came inside.

    😂

    Apparently Doodoo is also a heating pad.

    A significantly heavier one.

    With legs.

    And opinions.

    But I’ll take what I can get.

    📷 Through My Lens

    I think my favorite part of this week happened today.

    I took Doodoo home early, came back, cleaned the living room, got myself ready, and headed to my friend’s house.

    And then we just drove around and took pictures.

    No real plan.

    Just a spontaneous photoshoot.

    She took me to 420 Road, which is apparently basically a mile of road where people go to spray paint.

    I had never been there before today.

    Then we went to take pictures with planes coming in.

    😂

    And it was actually really fucking fun.

    After spending the beginning of the week barely wanting to leave my recliner, ending it out driving around, finding weird places, and taking pictures felt good.

    I love photography.

    I love finding interesting things to photograph.

    And apparently I also love standing around waiting for airplanes to fly over me.

    Who knew?

    😂

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    I don’t think you always realize how much you’re part of somebody else’s routine until you disappear from it for a while.

    Wednesday was finally my first day back at work.

    And all morning I heard:

    “Welcome back.”

    “Where have you been?”

    “I thought you weren’t working here anymore.”

    “Are you okay now?”

    “What happened?”

    “You’ve been missed.”

    I didn’t tell everybody where I was going before I left.

    Honestly, I only really talk to maybe five people there anyway. The people who mattered knew I had surgery and knew I was going to be gone for a month.

    I wasn’t about to make some giant announcement or walk around campus telling everybody individually.

    😂

    But apparently people noticed.

    And then I got on my kiddo’s bus.

    He stood up.

    Looked at me.

    Looked at the bus monitor.

    Looked back at me.

    And just—

    smiled.

    This huge smile.

    🤣

    He genuinely looked flabbergasted for a second.

    Like his brain needed a minute to process:

    Wait.

    She’s back?!

    Then he finally remembered he was supposed to grab his bag and get off the bus.

    He spent the rest of the day running back over to me for hugs and back scratches.

    Although I’m pretty sure he missed my nails more than he actually missed me.

    😂

    And apparently he wasn’t the only one.

    Wednesday evening, Sissy and Doodoo called wanting apples.

    So obviously I grabbed my last three apples, a Fudge Round, and a Nutty Bar and went over there.

    We played.

    Had a little dance party.

    Snuggled.

    And at one point I had a kid on each hip while another one tried climbing up my leg, slipped on my pajama pants, and pulled my pants down with him.

    ☠️🤣

    My sister had to pull them back up for me.

    When I left, Pooh Boy threw a tantrum because he wanted to stay the night.

    Then Thursday morning my sister told me he’d been up crying because he wanted to stay with me.

    😭

    And Thursday night, after Doodoo and Pooh Boy spent the evening at my house, Mom took them home.

    I was still on the phone with my sister when they pulled up, and Doodoo was crying.

    He had been perfectly fine when he left my house, so I asked what happened.

    My sister opened his door.

    And there he was, crying:

    “Blah Blah!”

    🥲

    Baby.

    I told him I had to work the next day, but I could come get him afterward and he could stay with me all weekend.

    He stopped crying and said okay.

    My babies.

    😭

    It breaks my whole soul when they cry because they want to stay with me and I can’t keep them.

    But between them and my kiddo at work this week, I realized something:

    being missed is a really strange kind of love.

    You aren’t there to see the moment somebody notices you’re gone.

    You just come back and find the space they were holding for you.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    This week, I’m grateful that I got to come back.

    Back to work.

    Back to my kiddo.

    Back to some kind of normal routine.

    Even if my body isn’t completely caught up yet.

    Wednesday made that VERY clear.

    My hips and sides were killing me. I only made it two laps around the track before I needed to sit down.

    I don’t know how much of it was from being off my feet for so long, how much was from surgery and still healing, or how much my period was contributing.

    But my body definitely needs some time to get used to being back.

    Thursday, my lower back was in knots badly enough that Mom had to bring me a pain patch at work.

    I didn’t transition my kiddo nearly as much as I probably should have because I was hurting, and he was not thrilled about that.

    Which I understand.

    His routine changed because I couldn’t do what I normally do.

    And meanwhile, Wednesday he had thrown his only tantrum of the day because I told him to take a break from working and go play.

    🤣

    Apparently I returned to a tiny workaholic.

    But despite the pain and despite realizing that getting back to normal might take a little longer than I wanted—

    I got to go back.

    And overall?

    My first day back was really good.

    I’m grateful for that.

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

    I had options this week.

    So many options.

    Doodoo had a pull-up situation that very much justified why we call him Doodoo, while repeatedly announcing:

    “I SHIT!”

    Yes, sir.

    Yes, you did.

    And you stink.

    🤣

    Then there was Doodoo trying to manipulate Mawmaw Nesi into letting him go back outside after I already told him no.

    Me: “You trying to get Mawmaw in trouble?”

    Doodoo:

    “Yeah!”

    At least he’s honest.

    😂

    There was Pooh Boy climbing out of the bathtub by himself.

    There was my vacuum still sounding like a motorcycle until I finally got down on the floor and changed the brush.

    There was my sister dropping her vape into the bathtub.

    There was the return of the Medusa doorbell—which, apparently, I have now learned to weaponize against children.

    “Line up or I’ll push the button!”

    Everybody lined up.

    Somebody started crying in the car?

    I held up Medusa.

    Silence.

    ☠️🤣

    Last week that damn thing scared the absolute shit out of me.

    This week?

    I’m considering buying one.

    Character development.

    🤣

    But none of those win.

    Because Pooh Boy—

    my sweet little Pooh Boy—

    has apparently decided that walking normally is beneath him.

    Thursday, he was outside playing with the Frozen ride-on toy. Mawmaw Nesi had tied a rope around it because the boys can’t figure out how to scoot that particular one across the grass.

    Pooh Boy somehow got the rope wrapped around both arms and one leg.

    He wasn’t hurt.

    He wasn’t in danger.

    He was just tired, frustrated, and apparently convinced that the appropriate response was to roll around in the grass screaming.

    I kept telling him:

    “Pooh Boy, come here and I’ll help you.”

    He’d look at me.

    Reach toward me.

    Cry.

    And then—

    GO BACK TO ROLLING AROUND.

    ☠️

    Eventually, he got unstuck and went back to playing.

    Cool.

    Crisis over.

    I looked down at my phone for approximately two seconds to read a text from my sister.

    I looked back up.

    Mawmaw Nesi was running toward the slide.

    And Pooh Boy was standing—

    STANDING—

    at the top of it.

    Laughing his little ass off.

    He didn’t climb the ladder.

    Mawmaw Nesi watched him.

    HE WALKED STRAIGHT UP THE SLIDE.

    All the way.

    Without falling.

    Sir.

    You cannot take TWO STEPS across solid ground without randomly falling over.

    But you can apparently scale playground equipment like a fucking mountain goat?!

    IN TWO SECONDS?!

    ☠️☠️☠️

    I don’t understand him.

    I have stopped trying.

    And now it’s Sunday night.

    The boys stayed with us this weekend.

    There were a LOT of dinosaurs.

    Doodoo and I watched every Jurassic Park/Jurassic World movie Hulu had on Saturday because that baby loves his dinosaurs. 😂

    My sister touched up my hair.

    The boys got to stay up a little late.

    We all slept until nine this morning.

    Doodoo and I got one more dinosaur cuddle in before I took him home.

    Then I spent the afternoon with my friend taking pictures.

    And naturally, as soon as I got home, my sister called because she needed me to take her to get a new vape after dropping hers in the bathtub.

    😂

    She did get me one of those real-fruit TikTok ice creams, though.

    The mango one.

    And omggggg.

    DELICIOUS.

    Unfortunately, cold things trigger my asthma, so now I’m fighting an asthma attack because apparently even eating ice cream has to come with consequences.

    ☠️

    Stupid body.

    Stupid cold things.

    Stupid asthma.

    And now it’s after seven.

    Dinner still needs to be cooked.

    I’m exhausted.

    And I have work tomorrow.

    But compared with how this week started?

    I’ll take it.

    I started the week curled up in pain, wondering how much longer I can keep doing this.

    I’m ending it with freshly touched-up hair, a camera full of pictures, a weekend full of dinosaurs and babies, and the knowledge that apparently Medusa can control an entire group of children faster than any adult in this family.

    😂

    Not a bad ending.

    Now somebody please cook dinner for me.

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. What’s one completely ordinary thing from your week that ended up meaning more to you than you expected?

  • 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 #7

    Last Sunday, I ended Sunday Things by deciding that whatever needed me could become Monday’s problem.

    Apparently Monday took that personally.

    Because Monday arrived, took one look at me, and said:

    Fine.

    YOU can become Monday’s problem.

    😂

    I spent almost the entire beginning of this week sick.

    Not cute sick.

    Not curl up under a blanket with some tea and enjoy a cozy little sick day sick.

    I mean—

    can’t breathe through my nose.

    Ears blocked.

    Coughing.

    Constantly clearing my throat.

    Generally looking and feeling like something that should be quarantined from the public.

    So I did what any responsible adult would do.

    I stayed in bed and watched The Goldbergs.

    For two days.

    😮‍💨

    Monday night brought a not-so-great moment between my boyfriend and me involving NyQuil, hurt feelings, and one of those arguments where the actual problem becomes significantly larger than the thing that started it.

    We talked about it Tuesday.

    Really talked about it.

    And while conversations don’t magically erase hurt feelings, sometimes understanding each other a little better afterward is enough.

    By Wednesday, I still felt like shit.

    But my poor nose was no longer the biggest thing on my mind because my nephew was getting tubes put in his ears.

    He went back for surgery without his mom.

    And didn’t even cry.

    My poor Doodoo.

    Him so brave. 🥺

    Meanwhile, I was over here losing a fight with my own sinuses.

    So really, one of us handled the week with dignity.

    It was not me.

    By Thursday, I had apparently decided that being sick was no longer a valid excuse to avoid everything I had been putting off.

    I went through my clothes.

    Got rid of a ridiculous amount.

    Gave them to a friend who recently had a baby and needed clothes that actually fit her right now.

    Got to cuddle said adorable baby.

    Cleaned the bedroom.

    Put away most of the clothes.

    Made ribs.

    And somehow managed to feel productive while still breathing exclusively through approximately one nostril.

    Growth.

    😂

    And then Friday arrived.

    And with it—

    children.

    Of course.

    Because apparently my house remains an unlicensed daycare.

    At this point, I should probably just accept it.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    There was something weirdly comforting about television this week.

    Maybe because I spent so much time sick.

    Maybe because when you feel like shit, there is something particularly wonderful about putting on a show that asks absolutely nothing from you.

    Monday and Tuesday, it was The Goldbergs.

    Then Thursday morning, I was sitting there watching Full House.

    Baby Michelle.

    Or, as we called her when we were kids:

    Baby Michelle.

    😂

    And suddenly I remembered sitting around watching Full House before school when I was little.

    Waiting for the bus.

    It wasn’t some huge, important memory.

    Nothing particularly exciting happened in it.

    But for a second, I could almost feel what those mornings felt like.

    Then Saturday morning, I was curled up in the recliner with Doodoo watching Power Rangers Dino Charge.

    Which, by the way—

    I introduced him to it.

    And he LOVES it.

    You’re welcome, child.

    😂

    Then we watched Jurassic Park.

    And somewhere in there, the two of us fell asleep together in the recliner.

    It’s funny how comfort changes as you get older.

    Sometimes it’s watching the shows you loved when you were little.

    And sometimes it’s sitting with a little boy curled against you while you introduce him to things that might someday become part of his childhood memories.

    I like that.

    A lot.

    📸 Through My Lens

    If I could freeze one part of this week into a photograph, I think it would be Saturday evening.

    Not because anything extraordinary happened.

    Actually, quite the opposite.

    Doodoo had already spent most of the day with us.

    We had watched Power Rangers.

    Watched dinosaurs.

    Napped.

    Played outside.

    Played outside some more when Mawmaw Nesi got home.

    Then Uncle came home and apparently looked around at the situation and thought:

    You know what this house needs?

    Another boy.

    😂

    So we went and got my other nephew for the night.

    After dinner, my boyfriend gave both boys a bath while I finished eating.

    Then all five of us ended up in the living room having a dance party while we waited for 8:30 so Doodoo could have his bedtime medicine.

    Nothing fancy.

    Nothing planned.

    Just music.

    Kids dancing.

    Adults being ridiculous.

    Everybody laughing.

    Eventually both boys went to sleep without much of a fight.

    Then my boyfriend and I took turns showering, curled up together, watched an episode of Full House, and went to bed ourselves.

    It had been a long day.

    A loud day.

    An exhausting day.

    And a really fucking good one.

    If I could have photographed the feeling instead of the moment, I think it would have looked something like that.

    A messy living room.

    Two sleepy little boys.

    Music playing.

    Everybody together.

    Home.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    I set a boundary with a friend this week.

    One I genuinely didn’t think I should have needed to say out loud.

    But apparently I did.

    So I did.

    He apologized.

    Then told me he was going to “shut up for a while.”

    And I haven’t heard from him since.

    I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about that.

    Because boundaries are weird.

    We talk about them like they’re these incredibly simple things.

    Just communicate.

    Tell people what you’re comfortable with.

    Set boundaries.

    And yes.

    Absolutely.

    But nobody really talks about what happens after you set one.

    Because sometimes you can communicate something calmly and clearly, and the other person can apologize—

    and somehow you’re still left sitting there wondering whether you just damaged the relationship by asking for something you needed.

    I don’t think setting a boundary should automatically create distance.

    And I don’t think telling someone, Hey, this made me uncomfortable, should translate into:

    Fine. Then I just won’t talk to you.

    Those are two very different things.

    Maybe he just needed a little space.

    Maybe I did, too.

    I don’t know yet.

    What I do know is that I don’t regret saying it.

    Because I think there comes a point where keeping the peace with someone else starts costing you peace with yourself.

    And I’m getting a little too old for that trade.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    This week’s gratitude is for the ordinary stuff.

    The kind of stuff that doesn’t feel important while it’s happening.

    My niece asking me to take her to the store because she wanted apples.

    So we went and bought apples.

    Then came home.

    And she didn’t want apples anymore.

    Naturally.

    ☠️

    My nephew refusing to sit properly on the couch, flipping off of it, and hitting his head on the table.

    Me calming him down.

    Checking for booboos.

    “Does it hurt?”

    Shakes head no.

    “Was it scary?”

    Nods yes.

    “Are you going to listen and sit your butt on the couch now?”

    Nods yes.

    Lesson learned.

    At least temporarily.

    😂

    Clifford the Big Red Dog.

    Two little kids sitting at the computer with Uncle while he begins the very important work of corrupting the next generation into gamers.

    Bubble baths.

    Ball-pit balls.

    A bowl.

    And an empty conditioner bottle I specifically saved because my niece was upset the last time I committed the unforgivable crime of throwing away an empty body-wash bottle.

    Running around outside until Doodoo was so exhausted that his tantrum about coming inside lasted approximately long enough for him to get into bed and pass out.

    Mawmaw Nesi trying to clean the kitchen and somehow acquiring two tiny assistants.

    Dance parties.

    Cartoons.

    Cuddles.

    Ribs.

    Laundry.

    Kids running through the house.

    My boyfriend on his game.

    Me on the couch.

    Nothing particularly extraordinary.

    Just life happening around me.

    And sometimes I think those are the weeks I’m most grateful for.

    Not because everything went perfectly.

    God knows it didn’t.

    But because there are people in my house.

    There’s noise.

    There’s laughter.

    There are tiny shoes somewhere they absolutely do not belong.

    There are cartoons playing.

    Someone is hungry even though they ate seventeen minutes ago.

    Someone needs something.

    Someone is laughing.

    Someone is yelling.

    Someone is probably getting into something they shouldn’t.

    And someday, I know I’m going to miss the noise.

    So for now?

    I’m grateful for it.

    Even when it’s loud.

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

    Apparently eggs have decided to become recurring characters in Sunday Things.

    I would like them written out of the show.

    Immediately.

    If you remember last week, I had a cake-related mental breakdown that required—

    among other things—

    TWENTY-TWO EGGS.

    I thought that was the end of my egg-related suffering.

    It was not.

    This morning, Doodoo got up coughing.

    Not unusual.

    He hasn’t been feeling great.

    His ears have probably been bothering him since getting his tubes put in, and the poor baby has been cranky.

    Then he started coughing harder.

    And harder.

    And harder.

    Until—

    HE PUKED.

    Okay.

    Fine.

    Kids puke.

    I can handle puke.

    Except he puked:

    On himself.

    On the couch.

    And—

    ON MY FUCKING PHONE.

    🤢

    And do you know what he had eaten?

    Eggs.

    Of course he had.

    FUCKING EGGS.

    😭😂

    I already hate eggs.

    The smell.

    The texture.

    All of it.

    And somehow—

    somehow—

    I have now discovered a version of eggs I hate significantly more.

    Regurgitated eggs.

    On my phone.

    There are experiences in life that change you as a person.

    Marriage.

    Having children.

    Buying your first home.

    Losing someone you love.

    And apparently—

    cleaning egg vomit out of your phone.

    I will never be the same.

    🤮

    Doodoo, meanwhile?

    Fine.

    Of course.

    Because children will violently expel the contents of their stomach onto your personal belongings and then approximately seventeen minutes later be like:

    Anyway, what are we doing today?

    😂

    We had originally talked about taking the boys to the splash pad.

    After the Great Egg Incident of 2026, we decided maybe a chill day inside was the better option.

    And honestly?

    Good call.

    Now it’s Sunday afternoon.

    The boys have napped.

    They’ve eaten.

    Doodoo seems to be feeling better as the day goes on.

    Mawmaw Nesi has somehow turned kitchen cleaning into a group activity.

    Uncle is on his game.

    I’m on the couch.

    The boys are running around the house playing.

    And after spending most of the beginning of this week lying in bed sick, I somehow ended it with two nephews, a niece, multiple sleepovers, Power Rangers, Jurassic Park, dance parties, ball-pit bubble baths, approximately forty-seven meals, and vomited eggs on my phone.

    So.

    Progress?

    😂

    It’s only 1:30 as I’m writing this, but I already know how I want the rest of today to go.

    Take the boys home.

    Come back.

    Put away the rest of the laundry.

    Maybe.

    Let’s not make promises we can’t keep.

    😂

    Update the blog.

    Sit on the couch.

    Watch my boyfriend and his friend play their game.

    Eat dinner.

    Go to bed.

    Nothing exciting.

    Nothing productive.

    Nothing that requires me to clean bodily fluids off an electronic device.

    Just a quiet Sunday evening.

    Because after this week?

    I think I’ve earned one.

    😮‍💨🍷

    Here’s to nice, relaxing Sundays.

    And to next week hopefully containing significantly fewer bodily fluids.

    And eggs.

    Please, for the love of God—

    no more fucking eggs.

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. Last week, eggs nearly broke me. This week, they came back for revenge. 😂

  • Sunday Things #6

    I think I accidentally opened a daycare this week.

    I don’t remember applying for a license.

    I don’t remember filling out any paperwork.

    But there were three children in my house for most of the week, somebody was always coughing, somebody was always pooping somewhere they weren’t supposed to, and at one point I had two children sitting in a bathtub full of ball-pit balls.

    So.

    I’m pretty sure that makes it official. 😂

    Last Sunday, I ended Sunday Things by deciding my dirty laundry could become Monday’s problem.

    Apparently Monday saw that and said:

    Oh, you think laundry is your biggest problem? Cute.

    Because this week had everything.

    Sick babies.

    A sick boyfriend.

    Very little sleep.

    Poop.

    Pee.

    Bubble baths.

    A friendship conversation that somehow lasted approximately four business days.

    And a cake that nearly broke me psychologically.

    But before we get to that—

    there was one very important development this week.

    One I have been waiting patiently for.

    Very.

    Patiently.

    ahem.

    SEX IS BACK ON THE TABLE.

    😂😂😂

    After surgery, recovery, restrictions, and my hoohoo essentially being placed on administrative leave, she has officially returned to active duty.

    Was I a little sore afterward?

    Yep.

    Was it worth it?

    BABBBBBYYYYY.

    😂

    Unfortunately, the universe apparently decided once was enough.

    Because immediately afterward, my house became a plague ward full of sick children, sleepovers, coughing, snot, and eventually a sick boyfriend.

    So that was Monday.

    And that was also the end of that.

    😩😂

    Honestly, that pretty much establishes the tone for the entire week.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    The kids.

    Which is a ridiculous answer considering they were also responsible for approximately 87% of the chaos.

    But still.

    My niece and both nephews spent most of the week with me, and somehow my house became their house.

    There were sleepovers.

    Cartoons.

    Cuddles.

    Snot.

    A truly concerning amount of bodily fluids.

    And a ball-pit bubble bath.

    That one happened by accident.

    My niece was trying to poop.

    My nephew was annoying her.

    Naturally, I put him in the bathtub.

    As one does.

    He wanted water.

    Then she wanted in.

    Then she wanted bubbles.

    I didn’t have bath toys.

    But I did have an empty body-wash bottle, a bowl, and an entire bag of ball-pit balls.

    And that is how Ball-Pit Bubble Bath™ was born.

    They loved it.

    More importantly?

    They weren’t getting on my nerves.

    😂

    We did it again Friday.

    Apparently this is just something we do at NeeNee’s house now.

    We also watched The Fairly OddParents, Jurassic Park, and Rugrats.

    Or, more accurately, I watched The Rugrats Movie while one kid slept in the recliner, one slept in the playpen, and another sat on the potty.

    I looked around at one point and thought:

    Yep.

    This seems about right.

    There was also something really sweet about watching my boyfriend with them this week.

    At one point, he was curled up in the recliner with my niece and youngest nephew watching Gabby’s Dollhouse.

    Later, everybody was watching CaseOh.

    I love how much those kids love him.

    And how much he loves them right back.

    Even if one of them apparently infected him with the plague.

    Which brings me to something I still cannot get over.

    This man has survived me having COVID multiple times.

    Kissed me.

    Ate after me.

    Shared a bed with me.

    Nothing.

    A ONE-YEAR-OLD GETS A RUNNY NOSE?

    Man down.

    Absolutely defeated.

    I’m still salty about it.

    🤣

    📸 Through My Lens

    If I had taken one photograph that could somehow capture this entire week, it would probably look like this:

    One child headbutting something.

    Another biting someone.

    My niece yelling something wildly inappropriate.

    My boyfriend coughing in the background.

    Me holding a roll of paper towels wondering whose bodily fluid I am currently cleaning off my floor.

    And Rugrats playing somewhere in the distance.

    😂

    My one-year-old nephew spent Monday walking around saying:

    “Well, shit.”

    Meanwhile, my four-year-old niece has apparently expanded her vocabulary to include:

    “You mother fucker.”

    Beautiful.

    Educational.

    We’re doing great over here. 🥲

    Then came the poop.

    My niece has been battling constipation again, which eventually turned into her pooping twice in her panties, once in her pull-up, and once on my floor.

    My nephew peed on the floor.

    At that point I stopped asking questions.

    This house has seen things.

    But there were softer moments mixed into all of it.

    My best friend stopped by before moving to Tennessee to start a new career.

    The kids curled up everywhere.

    We watched old cartoons.

    We invented ridiculous bath-time traditions.

    And somewhere between the snot, potty accidents, and sleep deprivation, I realized how much I love having this kind of chaos in my house.

    Not permanently.

    Let’s not get carried away.

    😂

    But someday?

    Yeah.

    Someday.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    Sometimes clarity is weird.

    I had a conversation with a longtime friend Tuesday night that somehow managed to make things clearer and more confusing at the exact same time.

    Nothing was really said outright.

    Nothing was completely answered.

    And yet I walked away understanding certain parts of our friendship better than I had before.

    Then we talked Wednesday.

    And Thursday.

    And basically all day in between.

    At some point I realized:

    Sir.

    I think we have officially exceeded the recommended weekly dosage of one another.

    😂

    But I’ve been thinking about how strange long friendships are.

    Especially the ones that have changed shape a hundred times.

    There are people who knew versions of us that don’t exist anymore.

    People who remember things we’ve forgotten.

    People who can disappear for stretches of time and somehow return to a conversation that feels like it never completely ended.

    Sometimes you think you understand what someone has been to you.

    Then one conversation shifts the angle slightly.

    Nothing necessarily changes.

    You just see it differently.

    I don’t know that every relationship in our lives needs a perfect definition.

    Maybe some of them just need honesty.

    And occasionally—

    a little fucking space.

    😂

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    This week’s gratitude belongs to a hug.

    A very small hug.

    A side hug, actually.

    And it meant more to me than that kid will probably ever realize.

    Today was my friend’s son’s surprise birthday party.

    He isn’t a touchy kid.

    At all.

    Hugs aren’t really his thing.

    So when I was getting ready to leave and he asked me for a side hug, I threw that helium tank down so damn fast.

    😂

    His dad looked genuinely shocked.

    Then asked him if he was feeling sick.

    🤣

    But I got my hug.

    And after everything that went into this weekend—the planning, decorating, shopping, baking, failing, trying again, wanting to quit, and somehow eventually making everything work—that tiny moment was the thing that mattered most.

    The cake was almost gone before I left.

    The kids were asking me for the recipe.

    He had fun.

    But that hug?

    That’s the part I’m keeping.

    There are some moments that look incredibly small from the outside.

    You have to know the person to understand how big they really are.

    I knew.

    His dad knew.

    And I think he knew, too.

    That was enough.

    🥰

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

    THE FUCKING CAKE.

    Oh my God.

    The cake.

    What began as:

    I’m going to make a tornado picking up a dump truck!

    eventually became:

    I have made a terrible mistake.

    😂

    First, the cake wasn’t big enough.

    Fine.

    We need more cake mix.

    My mom went to the store.

    She came home with two boxes.

    I dumped everything into the bowl.

    Started mixing.

    Looked at it.

    Something wasn’t right.

    I looked at the box.

    Brownies.

    🥲

    So.

    Now we had brownies.

    My sister ordered actual cake mix.

    We checked the boxes this time.

    Because apparently that was necessary.

    Then came Saturday.

    My sister and the kids came over, and what should have been cake decorating became an all-day engineering crisis.

    We tried.

    Failed.

    Tried again.

    Failed.

    Tried AGAIN.

    Failed AGAIN.

    I got mad.

    I wanted to quit.

    We tried again.

    Failed again.

    I damn near cried.

    And then there was the fondant.

    Fuck fondant.

    The fondant made everything too heavy and literally crumbled BOTH CAKES.

    At this point, I was spiritually done.

    We went back to the store.

    Again.

    Bought two more boxes of cake mix.

    Bought more eggs.

    And I decided I would try one. more. fucking. time.

    I scrapped the dump-truck idea.

    Went back to the original idea I had before all of this started.

    And—

    IT WORKED.

    😭😂

    Six boxes of cake mix.

    Two boxes of brownie mix.

    Twenty-two eggs.

    Multiple failed cakes.

    One fondant-induced structural collapse.

    Several trips to the store.

    Approximately seventeen emotional breakdowns.

    And one woman who became increasingly hostile toward baked goods.

    But I made the fucking cake.

    And you know what?

    I was proud of it.

    Then came today’s final boss:

    the thirty-minute car ride to the party.

    I swear I spent the entire drive mentally preparing myself to watch this cake collapse in real time.

    But—

    THE CAKE FUCKING MADE THE TRIP.

    😭😂

    It survived.

    The birthday boy loved it.

    The kids nearly demolished the entire thing before I left.

    Some of them even asked me for the recipe.

    Kids, the recipe is:

    Six boxes of cake mix.

    Two boxes of brownies.

    Twenty-two eggs.

    Rage.

    Denial.

    Several trips to the grocery store.

    And the refusal to let a fucking cake win.

    Enjoy.

    😂

    Now it’s Sunday evening.

    The party is over.

    The cake survived.

    The birthday boy had fun.

    I got my hug.

    The kids are home.

    I’m home.

    And I am officially declaring this week over.

    I don’t care that there are technically several hours left in Sunday.

    Those hours no longer belong to society.

    They belong to me.

    I am putting my phone down.

    I am cuddling up.

    I am watching my boyfriend play Palworld.

    And I am doing absolutely fucking nothing else.

    Because apparently last week’s lesson did not stick, so I’m going to try it again:

    Whatever needs me now?

    Can become Monday’s problem.

    Until next time,

    —Destiny

    P.S. What is something that went completely, spectacularly wrong for you—but somehow worked out in the end anyway?