Yesterday should’ve been simple.

But you know me…simplicity and I are not on speaking terms.

I spent 4.5 hours deep-cleaning my house for a mother-in-law visit that wasn’t even happening. Not because she’d care (she wouldn’t), but because there is a special level of clean that only appears when your brain whispers, “Pretend important company is coming.”

I organized, purged, dusted, and mopped my precious floors, my floors I love almost as much as coffee and definitely more than wine.

And then… the children.

Muddy-booted, 38-degree, misty-weather children.

Lynnlee and Harper marched their happy little selves from the front door through every square inch of my freshly mopped home, straight to the back closet like it was a runway.

So I re-mopped.

Three. Times.

Meanwhile, Kris was elbows-deep in Thomas’s Jeep you know the one we confidently told his dad we could fix in “an hour.”

Ha.

Cute, naïve us.

One “quick thermostat swap” turned into:

– thermostat

– housing

– coolant sensor

– pigtail connector

– apparently the radiator, too

– and now? We’re told we must burp the Jeep.

Yes. Burp it.

Like a giant metal infant with an attitude problem.

It idles like a saint and goes full diva the second you touch the gas. No signs it’s actually overheating~~it just wants the attention.

If this burping situation works and Kris survives the automotive spit-up, he can add “mechanic” to his resume. I, however, will stick to writing books and begging for reviews.

(Seriously. Review the books. Your girl is trying to get an agent.)

Speaking of books(drum roll please) we’ve got another one in final-draft mode that should be agent-ready by the end of the year, plus a couple of children’s books circling the runway. Illustrations are slowly evolving… meaning I’m pretty sure I’m aging in dog years trying to perfect them.

But the big announcement?

I’m giving you a cookbook.

Yup. Kitchen Magic is coming…hopefully by Mother’s Day. Thank you Teresa for the inspiration 

If I can wrestle motivation into submission, maybe Valentine’s Day.

But spouses, don’t you dare give your partner a cookbook unless cooking is their actual love language.

(Unless it’s mine. Then yes. Buy two.)

Reading Update: I just started Kingdom of the Wicked by Kerri Maniscalco and I’m hooked like a twelve-year-old on Wattpad. I want to write like that, where people ignore laundry, sleep, and their family just to finish a chapter.

The kids are bouncing between Christmas classics and The Creepy Crayon, which honestly feels like Harold and the Purple Crayon had a baby with Stephen King—but for children. It’s a vibe.

Now let’s talk Fortnite.

Listen…I have ten kids.

Screen time is survival. Sometimes for them, sometimes for me.

Kris and I play duos and, in my mind, we are elite tactical operators.

Do not ruin this for me by mentioning we’re probably playing against 12-year-olds with usernames like “Toilet_Torpedo.”

Our communication has improved, we laugh more, and yes, sometimes we finish each other’s… sandwiches (iykyk).

Even the kids squad up with us. Lynnlee and Kayson are tiny warriors. Justin and Thomas can’t be touched! 

Homeschool still happens… eventually.

And someone should remind me that laundry still exists.

We’ve also become a coffee-tasting household.

Sophia and I might love it the most, but we’ve turned into a generational caffeine cult at this point.

Today’s pick: Bones Coffee “Bikini Bottom Pineapple Upside Down Cake.”

Yes, it tastes exactly as insane as it sounds.

And now… the part I’ve been avoiding.

My nanny,  my rock, my soft place, my wisdom, my favorite phone call—is reaching the part of her journey where peace is coming. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She survived more than most people ever will and still taught me to garden, cook, bowl, and fish like life was meant to be lived, not endured.

She didn’t have GoFundMe or social media, just grit and willpower.

She was the light in every room.

She believed in good food, holistic healing, and making things from scratch. She raised four kids alone after her husband died while she was pregnant. She made something beautiful from heartbreak, over and over.

I want her to be free of suffering.

But the little girl in me wants to lay beside her, watch Bewitched reruns, and hear her remind me to shave my legs “just in case a fireman has to come.”

Don’t ask for the logic.

It was sacred grandmother wisdom, and franklyI still follow it.

Life is messy. It’s chaotic. It’s muddy-boot footprints and burping Jeeps and trying to homeschool while hiding in a video game.

It’s loud kids and tired hearts and the terrifying sweetness of knowing someone you love deeply is nearing their peace.

And somehow, it’s still beautiful.