Today, we celebrate Mary — sister‑in‑law, friend, culinary wizard, and the only person I know who can listen to your problems, solve them, and feed you a five‑star meal all before noon. Turning 30 has never looked so confident.
Let’s start with the obvious:
Mary is a good listener. Not the “uh‑huh, yeah, totally” kind of listener — the real deal. The kind who remembers details you forgot you told her. The kind who asks follow‑up questions. The kind who makes you feel like your story about the weird thing your dog did is actually riveting.
If you ever need help? Mary is already there. You don’t even have to finish the sentence. “Hey Mary, could you—”
“Yes.”
Now, let’s talk about her cooking. Mary doesn’t just cook meals. She summons them. She conjures them. She channels some ancient grandmother energy and produces dishes that make you question every life choice that led you to eating boxed mac and cheese (though I will definitely keep doing this). If she ever opened a restaurant, the rest of us would simply give up.
But don’t let her warm, nurturing energy fool you — Mary is strong‑willed. She has opinions. She has standards. She has a backbone made of steel and possibly reinforced with scripture. Which brings me to her unwavering faith.
Mary’s faith is steady, grounding, and deeply inspiring — the kind of faith that doesn’t need to be announced because it’s lived.
She’s also extremely smart, in that quiet, unassuming way where she’ll casually solve a problem you’ve been spiraling about for three days. She’s the person you want on your team for trivia, life decisions, and any situation involving paperwork.
And then there’s her beauty. Mary is a natural beauty, the kind who wakes up looking like she’s starring in a skincare commercial. Meanwhile, I wake up looking like a raccoon who lost a fight with a pillow. It’s fine. I’m fine.
But perhaps the most magical thing about Mary is how naturally she stepped into motherhood. She is a natural mother — patient, intuitive, loving, and somehow always prepared with snacks. Watching her with her son is like watching someone do exactly what they were meant to do.
And speaking of her son…
Mary gave James and I our first nephew — our Godson — the tiny human who instantly became the family’s favorite. (We all know it. It’s okay. We’ve accepted it.)
So here’s to Mary at 30:
To her heart, her humor, her strength, her meals, her faith, her beauty, her brain, and her ability to make all of us better just by being in the room.
Happy birthday, Mary. You make 30 look effortless — which is rude, honestly, but we love you anyway.
Category: Uncategorized
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I like to think of myself as a calm, reasonable adult. I drink water. I color inside the lines. I love my poodles. I mind my business. But there are certain things — tiny, microscopic, atom-sized things — that flip a switch in my brain so fast it’s like watching a cartoon character go from 🙂 to 😡 with steam shooting out of their ears.
These are my triggers. My icks. My personal red flags. My emotional landmines.
And yes, I know they’re irrational. That’s what makes them fun.
🎬 When People Don’t Know What Movie I’m Quoting
I drop a perfectly timed movie quote — a gift, really — and you stare at me like I’ve just recited ancient runes? My soul packs its bags and leaves my body. The joke dies. The moment dies. I die. Now I’m explaining the quote, which is the comedic equivalent of explaining why a joke is funny. Spoiler: it’s not anymore.
🧊 When People Use My Ice Machine and Don’t Refill the Water
My ice machine is my emotional support appliance. If you use it and don’t refill the water, you have personally wronged me on a spiritual level. I go to get ice, and instead it makes that sad, gasping noise like it’s reenacting its final scene. Now I’m the one doing CPR on the appliance you emotionally neglected.
🎨 When People Color Outside the Lines
I know it’s “creative expression.” I know it’s “relaxing.” But when I see someone casually scribble across the lines like they’re rebelling against society, my eyelid twitches. I may tell you to fix it.
🖍️ When People Don’t Color a Picture the Way I Would
This is different. This is when someone stays inside the lines but chooses colors that make NO SENSE. A purple tree? A neon orange cat? A sky that looks like radioactive pea soup? I have to look away like I’ve witnessed a felony.
📚 Slow Readers
If we’re reading something together and I finish and you’re still on the first paragraph, I start aging. I’m suddenly 97 years old, sitting in a rocking chair, telling stories about “back in my day.”
🧠 Stupid People
Not people who don’t know things — that’s fine. I mean the confidently wrong people. The “I Googled one sentence and now I’m an expert” people. The “I don’t believe in facts” people. My brain just… shuts down for self-preservation.
🗣️ When I Get Interrupted
If I’m mid-story and someone cuts me off, the story is dead. I’m not finishing it. The moment has passed. The vibe has evaporated. I am now silent and thinking about plotting your death.
🧺 Dirty Clothes Left on the Floor
The hamper is RIGHT THERE. Inches away. Practically begging to be used. And yet… the floor becomes the chosen one. Why? For what purpose? What did the floor do to deserve this burden?
🧠 When People Don’t Think the Way I Do About Stuff
I’m not saying I’m always right. I’m just saying I’m rarely wrong. And when someone has an opinion that is objectively incorrect (according to me), I have to take a deep breath and remember that “different perspectives” are a thing we’re supposed to appreciate.
🍎 Loud Smacking or Apple Crunching
If you chew with your mouth open, I will hear it in my bones. If you crunch an apple like you’re trying to break the sound barrier, I will ascend out of my body in pure rage and haunt you.
⏰ People Who Are Late
If you’re late, I’m already mentally writing you out of my will. I operate on “if you’re not early, you’re late,” so when someone strolls in 15 minutes past the agreed time with a casual “sorry,” I have to resist the urge to rage.
👣 People Dragging Their Feet When They Walk
Pick. Up. Your. Feet. The shuffle-shuffle sound makes me feel like I’m being followed by a bored ghost who wants attention.
🍽️ When I Am Hungry
This one is self-explanatory. Hunger turns me into a tiny, irritable gremlin who cannot be reasoned with. Feed me or flee.
In Summary: I Am Delicate
These things shouldn’t ruin my mood. They absolutely do. But honestly? They’re part of my charm. They’re the seasoning on the dish that is my personality — a little spice, a little chaos, a little “why am I like this?”
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It’s happening.
Like… actually happening.
After what feels like 47 years of talking, planning, Googling, and me dramatically sighing into the void, we’re officially starting the IUI process.I always imagined this moment would feel cinematic — soft lighting, inspirational music, maybe a gentle breeze blowing my hair like I’m in a fertility-themed shampoo commercial. Instead, I’m a chaotic blend of terrified, excited, hopeful, nauseous, and “did I leave the stove on?” energy.
Apparently, when something truly matters, your brain throws a surprise party and invites every emotion you’ve ever had.
💛 The Weight of “Finally” (It’s Heavy, Okay?)
“Finally” is such a tiny word for something that carries so much.
It holds every appointment, every month of “maybe?”, every moment I wondered if my body got the memo about the assignment. It holds the quiet fears I didn’t always say out loud, and the hope I kept tucked away like a fragile little secret.
But “finally” also feels like a door cracking open.
Like the universe shrugging and saying, Alright, girl. Let’s give this a shot.🤍 Doing This Together
One thing keeping me grounded is my husband — the human equivalent of a weighted blanket.
He’s calm where I’m spiraling, steady where I’m vibrating with nerves, and somehow manages to make me laugh even when I’m clutching a fertility clinic pamphlet like it’s a hostage situation.
We’re walking into this as a team:
- Me: emotional raccoon with a planner
- Him: supportive golden retriever with a driver’s license
Honestly? It works.
🌈 Holding Two Feelings at Once (Apparently That’s Allowed)
I used to think fear meant doubt.
Now I’m learning fear can also mean this is important. That excitement and anxiety can sit together like two toddlers fighting over the same toy. That hope doesn’t have to be neat or tidy — it can be messy, loud, and a little sweaty.So yes, I’m scared.
But I’m also excited in a way that feels electric — like the good kind of roller coaster, not the kind that makes you question your life choices.✨ What Comes Next (Besides Me Stress-Eating)
I don’t know how this journey will unfold.
I don’t know how many twists or turns are ahead. But I do know this: we’re moving forward. We’re trying. We’re giving ourselves a chance.And that feels brave.
And hopeful.
And a little miraculous. -
🎵 This Week’s Pick: Home – Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
🗂 The Ratings
Lyrics: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
They’re delightfully unhinged in that “we met at a music festival (not really) and now we raise chickens together” way. Somehow both silly and soul‑level sincere — which, honestly, is the exact emotional range of marriage.
Vibes: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
It’s giving barefoot wedding aisle, sunshine, and the kind of joy that makes your face hurt because you’ve been smiling for 47 consecutive minutes.
Cry-in-the-Car Potential:
😭 Full windshield blur
Because the moment the first “Alabama, Arkansas” hits, I’m no longer in the car — I’m back at our wedding, clutching James’ hand, trying not to trip, and thinking, “Wow, we really just did that.”Main-Character Energy:
Final scene montage
This is the song they’d play over clips of us doing life together — grocery shopping, laughing on the couch, wrangling the poodles, and dancing around like complete fools as we do.
Best Time to Listen:
While cooking dinner together or out on a deck on a quiet and peacful evening, sipping wine.
📊 Bonus Categories
Would I Skip It?
Never. Even if I’m in a mood.
Dog Walk Approved?
🐶 Yes — especially when Lenny and Gilbert are prancing around in an open field.
Would I Recommend It to My Sister?
Yes — but she should prepare for a sudden, unprovoked emotional flashback to our wedding and blame it on “dust.”
✍️ Mini Reflection
Listening to this song this week felt like opening a time capsule labeled “pure joy.” It pulled me right back to that moment when we walked down the aisle as newly married people — giddy, relieved, and trying not to ugly‑cry in front of everyone we know. It reminded me that home isn’t a place; it’s a person, a feeling, and always my dogs. -
At 18, I was convinced adulthood would arrive like a software update: overnight, automatic, and with new features like “financial literacy” and “emotional stability.” Instead, I got patch notes like: “Bug fix: learned not to microwave foil.” If I could sit down with that girl — the one who thought she’d have a mortgage by 23 — I’d offer her a few lovingly sarcastic truths.
🌱 You don’t need a five‑year plan (you need a snack and a nap)
Everyone around you looks like they know what they’re doing. They don’t. They’re just walking fast and carrying clipboards. Life is less “strategic blueprint” and more “choose your own adventure, but the pages are out of order and someone spilled coffee on the map.”
🧡 Some friendships expire (like yogurt, but less clearly labeled)
You’ll cling to people because you think longevity equals loyalty. It doesn’t. Some people are meant for a season, some for a plot twist, and some for the group chat you’ll mute in five years. It’s fine. Let it be fine.
🎨 Your creativity is not a quirky side quest
All the doodling, writing, coloring, and dramatic journaling? That’s not a phase. That’s your brain saying, “Hey, this is who we are.” Spoiler: future you will spend an alarming amount of money on art supplies and call it “self‑care.”
🐾 Love is less fireworks, more “did you eat today?”
You think love is grand gestures and cinematic kisses in the rain. Actually, it’s someone who brings you snacks, listens to your spirals, and doesn’t judge you for talking to your poodles like they’re real people.
💸 Money is confusing for everyone
You will spend years pretending you understand RRSPs/Taxes. You don’t. No one does. Just learn the basics, avoid the shame spiral, and stop buying the cheapest shampoo — your hair deserves rights.
🧘♀️ Rest is not a reward
You will try to earn rest like it’s a gold star. Please stop. Rest is not a prize for productivity; it’s the reason you don’t cry in grocery store parking lots.
🌧️ Hard moments are not personal failures
You’ll have days where everything feels heavy and you assume it’s because you’re doing adulthood wrong. You’re not. You’re just human. And sometimes humans need to lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling fan.
🌟 Reinvention is your birthright
You’re allowed to change your mind, your style, your dreams, your boundaries, your hair color, your entire personality if needed. You’re not inconsistent — you’re evolving. Pokémon do it. So can you.
What I’d want 18‑year‑old me to feel?
Not intimidated. Not scolded. Just… relieved. I’d want her to know she doesn’t have to sprint into adulthood with perfect form. She can stumble, laugh, pivot, cry, and still end up with a life full of love, creativity, and two poodles who think (know) they’re the main characters.
In my opinion? She turned out pretty great.
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✨ A Time I Felt Beautiful: A Wedding Day Kind of Beautiful
There are moments in life when beauty isn’t something you try to create—it’s something that settles over you quietly, like light through a window. My wedding day was one of those moments. Not because everything was perfect (it was), or because I suddenly transformed into a bridal magazine cover (I didn’t), but because something inside me shifted. I felt beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with mirrors.
💍 The Morning Glow That Had Nothing to Do With Makeup
I woke up with that strange mix of calm and chaos that only a wedding morning can produce. My hair wasn’t done, my makeup wasn’t started, and yet there was this soft hum under my skin—like my body already knew it was a big day. I remember catching my reflection before anything glamorous happened. No lashes, no lipstick, just me. And I thought, Oh. There you are.
It wasn’t a “wow, I look amazing” moment. It was a “wow, I feel like myself” moment. And that felt beautiful.
There was something grounding about those early hours—the quiet rustle of people moving around, the smell of food cooking, the soft chatter of loved ones trying to pretend they weren’t emotional. I felt held by the day before it even began.
👗 The Dress That Became a Feeling
There’s something surreal about stepping into a wedding dress. It’s like the fabric carries every version of you—childhood daydreams, teenage Pinterest boards, adult hopes you didn’t even know you still had. When the zipper went up, I didn’t feel like I was putting on a costume. I felt like I was stepping into a chapter I’d been walking toward for years (10 years to be exact).
And yes, I did the classic bridal gasp. Not because the dress was perfect, but because I suddenly understood why people cry in fitting rooms. It wasn’t about the dress itself—it was about the moment it represented. It was the physical weight of a promise, the softness of a dream becoming real.
❤️ The Moment Beauty Became Something Bigger
But the real moment—the one that still lives in my chest—was when I saw James. Everything else blurred. The noise, the nerves, the timeline, the “don’t trip” reminders… gone (no they weren’t). He looked at me like I was the only person in the world, and in that instant, beauty wasn’t about appearance at all. It was about being seen. Fully. Softly. Without effort.
I felt beautiful because I felt loved. Because I felt chosen. Because I felt like myself, but somehow more.
There’s a kind of beauty that comes from being witnessed by someone who knows your whole heart—the messy parts, the funny parts, the stubborn parts—and loves you not in spite of them, but because of them. That’s the beauty I felt walking toward him.
📸 The Photos That Caught What I Didn’t Notice
Later, when I saw the photos, I realized something: the moments where I looked the most beautiful weren’t the posed ones. They were the in‑betweens—the laugh I didn’t hold back (open mouth and squinted eyes), the way my shoulders dropped when I relaxed into his arms, the sparkle in my eyes when someone said something ridiculous.
Beauty lived in the joy, not the angles.
There were photos where my hair was slightly out of place, or my dress wasn’t perfectly arranged, and yet those were the ones that made me pause. They captured the truth of the day—the warmth, the softness, the realness. They showed a woman who wasn’t trying to be beautiful. She just was.
🌿 What That Day Taught Me
My wedding day didn’t magically fix my insecurities or turn me into someone who always feels radiant. But it did give me a memory to return to—a reminder that beauty is something I feel most deeply when I’m present, loved, and unapologetically myself.
It taught me that beauty isn’t a performance. It’s a presence. It’s the quiet confidence that comes from being surrounded by people who love you, stepping into a moment you’ve chosen, and letting yourself be fully seen.
And that version of me? She’s still here. She just needs moments like that to remind her.
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1. Magic lives in the ordinary
I believe the universe hides its best moments in plain sight: the first sip of warm tea, the perfect pen stroke in a coloring book, or the soft thud of a poodle flopping dramatically beside me. Ordinary things are tiny spells in disguise.
2. Creativity is a muscle, not a mood
I believe inspiration is a diva who shows up whenever she wants, but routine is the reliable friend who actually helps you move apartments. Some days I’m a creative goddess; some days I’m a potato with a keyboard. Both are valid.
3. Dogs are emotional support everything
I believe Lenny and Gilbert are basically furry therapists with questionable boundaries. They sense emotions, steal snacks, and judge me lovingly from across the room. Honestly, they’re the only coworkers I trust.
4. Humor is a survival skill
I believe if I can laugh about it, I can survive it. And if I can’t laugh about it yet, give me 24 hours and chips.
5. Cozy is a lifestyle
I believe blankets should be considered a personality trait. I believe lighting should be warm enough to hide my sins. I believe in candles that smell like “mysterious forest witch” or “freshly baked emotional stability.”
6. Family is chosen, chaotic, and essential
I believe in the group chats that never sleep, the inside jokes that make no sense to outsiders, and the people who hype you up even when they don’t understand what a blog is but are proud anyway. (Looking at you, Jasmine and Mom.)
7. Love is built in the small gestures
I believe love is snacks delivered without asking, someone listening to your rambling ideas, and a partner who says, “You should post that,” even when you’re spiraling. James, you’re the real MVP.
8. Organization is a love language
I believe lists are tiny life rafts. I believe color-coding is a form of self-care. I believe a well-organized template can fix at least 40% of my problems (maybe 60%).
9. Stories connect us
I believe writing is basically emotional telepathy. You send a piece of your heart into the world and hope someone goes, “Oh wow, same.” It’s magic, but with more typos.
10. Joy deserves to be celebrated loudly
I believe in leaning into the things that make you light up — even if they’re quirky, colorful, or slightly ridiculous. Life is too short not to love peacocks, poodles, playlists, Harry Potter, and all the things that make your world feel like yours.
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My 30s have turned out to be less about adding things to my life and more about gently setting things down. Not in a dramatic, “reinvent yourself” way—more like cleaning out a closet (not good at it) and realizing half the stuff in there never fit me anyway. My 20s were loud—full of striving, proving, performing. My 30s feel quieter, but in a way that feels like truth instead of retreat. I’m unlearning the parts of myself that were built for survival instead of joy.
Here are the things I’m unlearning, one tender, stubborn layer at a time:
- That productivity equals worth — I’m slowly releasing the idea that rest is something you earn. Rest is a right. Rest is a rhythm. Rest is a full-body exhale that makes everything else possible.
- That saying “no” is rude — I’m learning that “no” is actually a boundary-shaped “yes”: yes to my energy, yes to my peace, yes to the things that matter. Plus it’s my favorite word.
- That I need to be easygoing all the time — Spoiler: I am not. I have preferences, opinions, and a deep emotional attachment to my routines. And that’s allowed.
- That I have to be the strong one — Turns out vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s connection. And letting people show up for me doesn’t make me a burden—it makes me human.
- That growing up means growing harder — I’m unlearning the idea that adulthood is all grit and no softness. My softness is not a liability. It’s a compass.
- Being “chill” — I’m not chill. I have strong feelings about throw blankets, grocery store layouts, and how many notifications should exist in a group chat (zero). I’m done pretending otherwise.
- Finishing books I’m not enjoying — Life is short and my TBR pile is tall. Next.
- Apologizing for everything — I’m replacing “sorry” with “thanks for your patience,” “no,” and “that doesn’t work for me.” Revolutionary.
- Trying to be liked by everyone — If someone doesn’t vibe with me, that’s fine. I don’t vibe with me before caffeine either.
- Ignoring my own needs — I’m learning to listen to the tiny voice inside me that says “hey, maybe we don’t need to be overwhelmed all the time.”
- The belief that I must earn love — I’m learning that love isn’t a performance review. It’s presence. It’s consistency. It’s being known.
- The instinct to shrink — I’m unlearning the habit of making myself smaller to make others comfortable. I’m allowed to take up space—emotionally, creatively, physically, spiritually.
- The fear of disappointing people — Disappointment is not a catastrophe. It’s a normal part of being a person with boundaries.
- The idea that healing is linear — Healing loops, spirals, circles back on itself. And that’s okay. I’m allowed to be a work in progress without being a failure.
- The pressure to have everything figured out — I’m unlearning the myth of the “right timeline.” My life is not late. My life is mine.
Unlearning isn’t glamorous. It’s messy, repetitive, and sometimes uncomfortable. But it’s also freeing. It feels like coming home to myself—finally, fully, without apology.
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🎵 This Week’s Pick: Wayfaring Stranger – Johnny Cash
🗂 The Ratings
Lyrics: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Spare, haunting, and heavy in that way only Johnny Cash can pull off. The words feel like they’re carved out of old wood—simple on the surface, but carrying generations of ache and hope underneath.Vibes: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Dusty‑road melancholy with a side of spiritual yearning. It’s the soundtrack of a slow walk through fog, or the moment you stare out a window and suddenly understand every grandparent you’ve ever had.Cry‑in‑the‑Car Potential:
😭 Full windshield blur
There’s something about the combination of Cash’s voice and the song’s inevitability that hits right in the sternum. Even if you’re fine, you won’t be fine for the next three minutes.Main‑Character Energy:
🎬 Final scene montage
This is the song that plays when the protagonist has finally accepted something—loss, change, growth—and the camera pans out as they keep moving forward anyway.Best Time to Listen:
While driving home at dusk on a day that felt heavier than it should’ve, letting the last bit of sunlight catch on the dashboard as you breathe out something you didn’t realize you were holding.📊 Bonus Categories
Dog Walk Approved?
🐶 Only in dramatic weather
Rain, fog, or that weird warm‑in‑winter wind that makes you feel like you’re in a Southern Gothic novel.Book Genre Match:
📚 Self‑discovery memoir
The kind written by someone who didn’t mean to go on a journey but ended up on one anyway.✍️ Mini Reflection
This song is my ALL TIME favorite. It matches the mood of trying to sort through thoughts that feel older than the moment I’m in, the kind that surface when life slows down just enough. Listening to it feels grounding, like acknowledging the harder parts without letting them take over. If anything, it reminded me that moving forward counts, even when the steps are small.
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Sundays in our house begin not with peace, but with Lenny bringing his favorite toy onto the bed and Gilbert pawing me in the face. I open my eyes and immediately regret being conscious. The boys, however, are thrilled. They believe every day is about them (they’re not wrong).
☕ Tea/Iced-Coffee, or Whatever You Call Survival Juice
The first cup of tea is less “morning ritual” and more “medical intervention.” I shuffle to the kitchen like a ghost haunting her own home. I stare out the window dramatically, as if pondering the meaning of life, but really I’m just waiting for the caffeine to hit before I attempt anything requiring hand‑eye coordination.
Sometimes I read a book. Sometimes I scroll my phone. Sometimes I just stand there like a Sims character whose action queue is empty.
🧺 The Illusion of Productivity
Sunday cleaning is not real cleaning. It’s performance art.
- I fluff pillows so it looks like we don’t sit on them aggressively all week.
- I fold blankets that Gilbert has turned into abstract sculptures.
- I light a candle that claims to smell like “Enchanted Woodland Retreat” but mostly smells like books and ambition.
- I put things in little piles that my husband leaves laying around. Smaller piles makes it seem more doable.
- Also, all the laundry in the worrld gets chaotically washed – maybe folded… likely not.
This is the kind of tidying that says, “I tried,” and honestly, that’s enough.
✏️ Creative Hour (Where Chaos Meets Crayons)
This is the part of the day where I convince myself I’m a whimsical creative woodland creature. I open my notebook, stare at a blank page, and wait for inspiration to strike. Sometimes it does. Sometimes I end up reading someone else’s writing – helps clear the writer’s block.
Either way, I clap for myself like a toddler who drew a circle. Growth is growth.
🐾 The Mandatory Poodle Play
Eventually, Lenny and Gilbert stage a coup. They stand in front of me with the intensity of two creatures who believe I have forgotten their existence entirely. Play time must happen now, or the world will end.
Headgehogs, balls, cterpillars, bones, and vaarios other toys line the halls and crowd the floor.
🍲 The Evening Wind‑Down (Featuring Snacks and Denial)
As the sun sets, the house shifts into cozy mode. Lights dim. Music softens. I pretend I’m the kind of person who meal‑preps, but really I’m just stirring something and hoping it tastes good.
James and I settle in with Len & Gib, who snore like tiny lumberjacks. We watch a show, chat, or simply exist in the same room like two people who have accepted that Sunday is for rest, snacks, and ignoring the looming threat of Monday.
🌙 The Real Reason I Love Sundays
It’s the one day where the bar is on the floor and I still feel accomplished. I drank tea. I walked/played with the dogs. I lit a candle. I survived. That’s enough.
Wandering in the Woods 