No school since Friday.


At first you think, This could be cozy.
You light a candle.
You wear socks you normally reserve for emotional emergencies.
You tell yourself, We’ll make memories.


That was a lie you told yourself while you still had caffeine and hope.


It has now been over a week.


The house is full.
Not “full” like laughter and connection.
Full like a clown car of needs, all honking at once.


The teens are here.
The husband is here.
Everyone is here all the time.


There is no silence.
There is no hallway without footsteps.
There is no doorway I can pass through without triggering an emotional alert system.


If I stand up, someone needs me.
If I sit down, someone finds me.
If I try to pee, a child suddenly develops a deep personal crisis.


The stores are out of wine and Twizzlers, which feels illegal.
Like FEMA should be involved.
Like this violates the Geneva Convention for women in perimenopause.


My coffee stock is officially in ration mode.
I am making coffee filters out of materials I found in a drawer and refuse to describe.
If this coffee tastes like regret, mind your business.


I can’t hide in the garage… it’s too cold.
I can’t hide in the bathroom because I am apparently a public restroom attendant.


I can’t even shower without someone pounding on the door like I’ve been gone for three business days.


“Mom?”
“MOM?”
“MOM I JUST NEED…”


You don’t need.
You want.
And I want silence.


I cannot send Kris or the kids outside for peace because the outside is hostile.
It is ice.
It is betrayal.
It is the opposite of “go play.”


So here we all remain.
Together.
Breathing each other’s air.
Slowly unraveling.


Time has lost meaning.
Meals are vibes.
The coffee is weak.
My patience is weaker.


If this goes on much longer, I will start naming the appliances and asking them for emotional support.


Unhinged survival advice (Week Two Edition):
• Drink the coffee anyway
• Hide in a closet and say you’re “looking for something important”
• Whisper affirmations directly into the Keurig
• Count alone time in seconds, celebrate it like a holiday
• When someone asks “what’s for dinner,” simply blink until they retreat


There is no lesson here.
No silver lining.
No “making the best of it.”


Just me.
Sending out long-distance coffee vibes like a distress signal.


If you’ve survived an ice storm with your sanity even partially intact, drop your tips below.


I’ll be reading them from the corner of a room, pretending I was just about to do something important.