It started when my husband would walk into the room to find me engaged in some sort of strange activity.

I’d walk in the door carrying a whole sheep’s worth of unwashed wool, despite not owning a sheep or spinning wheel. I’d stare at a bowl of icing, counting the passing seconds aloud. I’d stash a big bag of varying-sized wooden dowels behind the couch. He’d walk in to find me wearing heavy rubber gloves and safety goggles while stirring a lump of goo in the crock pot. I usually have my reasons, but nothing I can explain without sounding like a crazy person. And, thus, my life’s moto was born.

“What are you doing?”
“… I wouldn’t worry about it.”



I’m just another one of those lazy, irresponsible, entitled millennials you keep hearing about. *insert sarcastic eyeroll*

I’m a wife, mother, pharmacist, freelance writer, crafter, backyard chicken “farmer,” and small business owner.

My son, Emmett, is all about super heroes (especially Spider-Man) and Hamilton. A bit of an unusual combination for a 10 year old, but he loves it. He was also born with Down syndrome, but doesn’t let that hold him back. 

My daughter, Madeline, is “typical” compared to her brother, but she’d be the first to tell you that she’s as extra as they come. She’s all about glitter, poufy dresses, unicorns, and “accessories.” She may only be 9, but the girl can walk in heels better than I can. She’s a little bit too much like me (apparently, I “need to be right” all the time), which drives my husband crazy, but we make it work.

I like to write about anything and everything. So whether you’re interested in staring down an angry possum, making hot cocoa from scratch, navigating the dumpster fire of our nation’s health insurance industry, decorating sugar cookies, advocating for your differently-abled child, or despairing over how you’ll ever clean up all rice your child so kindly distributed to every corner of your house, stick around. I might not have all the answers (I’m somehow still picking up rice even though we’ve moved houses since the “incident”), but we can at least commiserate together. Welcome!


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