I met Matt when I was 16 years old.

He was 21.

Before some of you start clutching your pearls and making that face, calm down. Nothing happened. In fact, I absolutely could not stand the man.

We met downtown in York, Nebraska on a Friday night while we were both doing what all respectable small-town teenagers and young adults did back then: cruising the strip, hanging out in parking lots, and generally participating in what can only be described as York Hoodrat Activities.

Matt was dating one of my friends at the time, and for whatever reason, I didn’t like him.

At all.

If I saw him somewhere, I would literally hide so I didn’t have to talk to him.

I’d duck behind people.

I’d suddenly need to go somewhere else.

I’d become invisible if necessary.

I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

Then three years later, in March of 2005, I got a message online.

“Hey! I remember you! Weren’t you friends with Becky?”

UGHHHHHH.

He found me, peeps.

“Oh hey. Yeah. I remember you. Yes, I’m still friends with her.”

And that’s how it started.

One random message.

One conversation.

One giant pain in my ass that somehow became my husband.

And thank the Gods he did.

Because somewhere along the way, this man became my best friend.

I don’t just love my husband.

I genuinely like my husband.

He’s my favorite person.

He’s my rock. The steady hand in our family. The one who keeps me grounded when I’m spiraling and reminds me that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t tell every person exactly what I think of them.

Honestly, Matt has prevented several arrests simply by physically picking me up and placing me back into the truck and telling me to shut up when my Aries personality decides someone needs their attitude adjusted.

People can say whatever they want about him, but if you’re in the group that doesn’t like my husband, I hope your pillow is hot on both sides for the rest of your life you f*cking a$$hole!

Matt has ADHD, a form of Tourette’s, and the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.

People don’t understand him, how he communicates, they think he is mean,grumpy,an asshole.

People are mean to him.

Not in front of me, because that would be a poor life choice.

But regardless, I love him.

He’s mine.

And quite frankly, he’s stuck with me whether he likes it or not! (The lucky f*cker!)

Now don’t get me wrong.

The man drives me absolutely insane!

If you’ve met Matt, you already know! (I’m sure he has driven you insane too!)

He’s ALWAYS talking.

Always moving.

Always doing SOMETHING.

I, on the other hand, would prefer to sit quietly, observe people from a safe distance, and silently judge everyone’s life choices and admire how pretty you are from a distance.

Matt?

Matt attracts people!

He talks to everyone!

I don’t care where we are in the world.

Matt WILL find someone he knows.

I swear someday we’ll be standing in line in some random corner of hell and I’ll hear:

“HOLY SHIT! MATT MILLER! IS THAT YOU?!”

And somehow he’ll know them.

He always does.

I love him.

I genuinely don’t know how I’d do life without him.

But let’s be honest.

The man snores impossibly loud.

He gets brilliant ideas at 1:00 in the morning like, “You know what we should do? Paint the bathroom.”

No, Matthew JOPHUS…

No, we should not!

He is also permanently banned from being the navigator on road trips.

Because somehow every trip turns into:

“Well according to the GPS…”

Followed by us being an hour out of our way!

Every. Single. Time.

And while we’re discussing his flaws, the man can’t drive.

I said what I said… he knows how I feel.

But after all these years, all the chaos, all the adventures, all the wrong turns, all the late-night projects, all the endless talking, and all the moments where he’s driven me completely insane…

I’d still choose him.

Every single time.

Even if I do have to listen to him explain directions while we’re lost.

Where he goes I go (not always happily…but we go)!

I have obviously never been a 13-year-old boy.

Or, well… a boy or man ever.

Which means I have approximately zero things in common with my son.

Except that’s not actually true.

We both thoroughly enjoy playing pranks on people. We enjoy hiding around corners waiting to scare unsuspecting family members. We enjoy randomly screaming things just to see what happens. We both understand that one day this behavior will probably result in one of us getting punched directly in the face.

But until then?

The tradition continues.

We also enjoy the same types of games (Fallout,Red Dead etc). He got my cool, chill, laid-back beach vibes personality. He just always goes with the flow no worries no big deal. He somehow also inherited my quick temper and short fuse though.

Sorry about that, buddy.

The rest of him is all Matt.

He is Matt’s mini-me in every possible way. Same determination. Same stubbornness. Same ability to decide he’s going to do something and then immediately make it happen. Same running into people he knows literally EVERYWHERE we go…

He just happens to have my face. 

One thing he definitely inherited from me is our shared love of food.

Not healthy food.

Not vegetables.

Desserts.

Cookies.

Cake.

Brownies.

Ice cream.

Watching videos about desserts.

Making desserts.

Talking about desserts.

Planning future desserts.

We are what the kids call “Big Backs.”

We are the little fat kids of the family, peeps.

If there is a dessert table at an event, we are both already mentally ranking our favorites before we even sit down.

Another thing we have in common is that we are incredibly mean to each other in the most loving way possible.

We roast each other constantly.

We call each other names.

We exchange insults that would probably concern people who don’t understand our relationship.

But at the end of the day, I’m still the person he looks for in the crowd.

Whether it’s baseball, basketball, football, or some other sporting event his ass somehow convinced me to attend, I always catch him scanning the stands.

Looking for me. Followed by a Smirk and a little wave and a huge grin!

And every time, my heart does that stupid little thing where it melts.

Because for all the name-calling and sarcasm, I’m still Mom.

He is one of the most dedicated people I have ever met.

And he’s only 13.

If he says he’s going to do something, he does it.

Period.

Now focused?

Absolutely not.

The child is the physical embodiment of ADHD.

Around our house we simply call it “Squirrel!”

One minute we’re discussing something important.

The next minute he’s talking about sports, YouTube, video games, some random fact he learned, a weird noise the dog made, and asking if we have cookies.

All simultaneously.

His brain moves at approximately the speed of light.

He was born at the end of October during my favorite season and right before my favorite holiday.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always had a soft spot for the little turd.

The older my kids get, the more I realize that the love you have for each child is different.

Not more.

Not less.

Just different.

The bond between a mom and a son feels different than the bond between a mom and a daughter. And even my daughters are completely different from one another.

Each relationship has its own personality.

Its own memories.

Its own inside jokes.

Its own special place in my heart.

What never changes is how fiercely I love them.

I love all three of my kids more than anything in this entire universe.

I live and breathe for those assholes.

And honestly, that’s what’s been hitting me so hard lately.

I’ve spent the last week writing these sappy posts because I am struggling to comprehend how fast time is moving.

How did the babies who used to fit on my hip become teenagers?

How did I blink and suddenly have a senior, a sophomore, and an eighth grader?

How is that even possible?

Because in five short years, all three of them will be adults.

Adults.

Not kids.

Not teenagers.

Adults.

Five years feels like forever until you realize the last five years disappeared in about seventeen minutes.

The thought of them no longer living in my house someday is knocking me for an absolute fucking loop, peeps.

I know that’s the goal.

I know we’re supposed to raise independent humans who go out into the world and build lives of their own.

I know all of that! I understand that!

But that doesn’t mean I have to like it!

So for now, I’ll keep showing up to the sporting events.

I’ll keep buying the snacks.

I’ll keep listening to the endless stories, random facts, and squirrel moments!

I’ll keep laughing at the insults and dishing them right back.

Because one day impossibly soon these noisy, messy, chaotic years are going to be gone.

And I have a feeling I’m going to miss every single second of them.

For those of you who have ever wondered why I call Savannah Lynn “Vern,” allow me to explain.

Back in the late 80s and 90s, there was a man named Ernest P. Worrell. If you know who I’m talking about, congratulations—you are old with me! If you don’t know who I’m talking about, go watch Ernest Goes to Camp and thank me later!

Ernest’s famous catchphrase was:

“KnowhutImean, Vern?”

And because I was absolutely obsessed with Ernest movies as a kid, my poor middle child ended up with the nickname “Vern.”

(i dont honestly even remember why, one day i said to her “knowhutimean, Vern?” and it has stuck…poor Vern!)

I was a strange child, peeps.

Honestly, the more stories I tell about my childhood to you all, the more I’m realizing my parents probably deserved a hazard pay for putting up with me!

But today’s post isn’t about me. (I can tell you a million funny Heather kid stories another time!)

It’s about my middle kiddo.

My wild child.

My chaos gremlin.

My beautiful little force of nature. (she is quite literally my twin)

Savannah is the kid that keeps life interesting.

You know how every family has that one child that makes you question whether they’re going to cure cancer or accidentally start a small revolution?

That’s Vern.

She is fiercely loyal to the people she loves. If someone hurts her family, friends, or one of her animals, there is a very real possibility she would “help” them disappear and then ask what everyone wanted for supper.

Again…

Not because she’s mean.

Because she’s protective.

And because she inherited my temper.

Lord help us all.

This child asks more questions than anyone I have ever met in my entire life.

Every.

Single.

Question.

If she doesn’t understand something, she wants to know why.

Then she wants to know how.

Then she wants to know who invented it.

Then she wants to know what would happen if we changed it.

Then she wants to know if raccoons understand the concept of taxes.

Her brain never stops.

She loves learning. She loves animals. She loves anime. She loves gaming. She loves her family.

She is an outstanding artist and she creates so many cool things!!

And she loves with her whole heart.

What breaks my heart sometimes is that the world hasn’t always been kind to her.

She’s struggled to fit in.

She’s struggled to find her people.

She’s been made fun of.

People have been cruel.

Kids can be downright awful sometimes.

But what amazes me is that she keeps showing up anyway.

Every day.

She keeps smiling.

She keeps being kind.

She keeps caring.

She keeps trying.

I don’t know that I would have handled some of the things she’s gone through with half the grace she has.

Truthfully, I could learn a thing or two from her.

Savannah is the perfect blend of Matt and me.

She got my fire.

My stubbornness.

My willingness to argue a point until the end of time.

But she got Matt’s heart.

His patience.

His ability to see the good in people.

It’s like we each donated half our personality and somehow the universe assembled them into one incredible human being.

She entered this world the same way she approaches everything else…

Dramatically.

It was a cold-as-hell February day when she decided she was ready to make her grand appearance.

And then, because apparently the universe likes to keep things exciting, she spent time in the NICU at St. Elizabeth’s for a few weeks.

The day after she was born, Matt and I learned another valuable lesson:

Lincoln streets and 11 inches of snow do not mix.

Trying to navigate snow packed and  icy streets after having a C-section while worrying about your baby in the NICU is an experience I would not recommend.

To anyone.

Ever.

If we’re going to get snow, I’d like it to kindly stay away from Lincoln Nebraska roads and hospitals.

Thank you for attending my TED Talk.

And now…

Now somehow she’s fifteen.

FIFTEEN.

How?

I swear she was just a baby.

I swear I just brought her home and Lily was soooo excited to have HER baby home.

I swear yesterday she was sitting beside me asking a million questions and carrying around stuffed animals everywhere she went.

Now she’s learning to drive this summer Peeps!

Soon she’ll have her own car.

Soon she’ll be driving herself to school.

Soon she’ll be making plans that don’t involve me.

Soon she’ll be growing up like her sister.

And while I am incredibly proud of the young woman she’s becoming, I’d also like to formally file a complaint about how fast time moves. Because this is bullshit!

One minute you’re changing diapers.

The next minute you’re teaching them how to use turn signals.

I am not emotionally prepared for any of this.

Not even a little. How does one get through one child graduating followed by another 2 years later and then the LAST one 2 years after THAT!?! I might actually not survive…

But here’s what I know.

Savannah is smart.

She’s compassionate.

She’s funny.

She’s curious.

She’s fiercely loyal.

She’s brave.

And despite every challenge she’s faced trying to fit into a world that sometimes doesn’t appreciate people who are different, she continues being exactly who she is.

And that’s one of the things I admire most about her.

So here’s to my Vern.

My wild child.

My question asker.

My animal lover.

My gamer.

My anime enthusiast.

My beautiful little weirdo.

Never stop asking questions.

Never stop caring.

Never stop being unapologetically yourself.

The world needs more people exactly like you.

KnowhutImean, Vern?

Lillian was born on December 4, 2008, at exactly 6:47 PM.

My first baby.

The tiny human who promoted me from regular person to someone’s mom.

And somehow—despite what I firmly believe should be illegal—she is turning 18 this December.

Eighteen.

An actual adult.

A grown-up.

A person who is actively making plans for her future while I am still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up!

The day she was born should have been my first clue that life with this child was going to be interesting.

It was unusually warm the day i went to the hospital like 60 degrees in Nebraska in December warm. The kind of weather that makes you wonder if Mother Nature accidentally clicked the wrong setting.

I experienced some SCARY issues and headed to the hospital thinking it was just another weird Nebraska weather day.

24 hours later after some super scary issues and labor not progressing the doctors finished my C-section and Lillian officially entered the world…

We were in the middle of a blizzard!

A full-on Nebraska snowstorm.

Honestly?

That pretty much sums up her entire personality.

One minute sunshine.

One minute snowstorm.

The next minute you’re wondering if you should grab sunglasses or seek shelter.

She has been keeping us on our toes since Day One.

And now she’s entering her senior year.

Her SENIOR year. WHAT?!

I don’t know who approved this timeline, but I’d like to file a formal complaint.

Lately she’s been talking nonstop about her future plans.

College ideas.

Career ideas.

Places she wants to go.

Things she wants to do.

Goals she wants to accomplish.

And I sit there listening, giving advice when she asks for it, trying to be supportive and encouraging like a good parent.

Meanwhile my internal dialogue sounds something like:

*”Excuse me, what do you mean you’re leaving someday? You arent old enough to do that bud!”*

Because every conversation about her future reminds me that she won’t live here forever.

I know that’s the point.

I know our job as parents is to raise independent humans who can go out into the world and build amazing lives.

I know that.

But knowing it and being emotionally prepared for it are apparently two very different things.

The older I get, the more I realize MY parents weren’t just making stuff up when I was younger.

You know all those annoying things parents and grandparents and great grandparents say?

“They don’t stay little forever.”

“Enjoy it while you can.”

“They’ll be grown before you know it.”

You know… those little “parentisms” that make you roll your eyes so hard you can practically see your own brain.

Turns out those jerks were right! (those bitches)

Every single one of them.

And I absolutely hate that for me!

Because I swear summers lasted forever when I was a kid.

Summer break felt like an entire lifetime.

Now?

Summer lasts approximately seventeen minutes.

School gets out.

You blink twice.

Buy groceries.

Do a buttload of laundry.

Pay a thousand bills.

And suddenly Walmart has school supplies stacked to the ceiling.

How?

Who approved this?

Why is time moving at NASCAR speeds now?

I feel like just yesterday I was carrying around diaper bags and sippy cups and Goldfish crackers.

Now I’m discussing graduation plans and future careers.

I wasn’t emotionally prepared for this stage of parenting.

Nobody warns you that one day you’ll look at your kid and realize you’ve spent more years raising them than you have left before they leave home.

Nobody tells you that you’ll miss things while they’re still happening. (this fucking SUCKS folks! being sad in the middle of a happy moment!!)

The random conversations.

The late-night snack raids.

The constant chaos.

The laughter from another room.

The eye rolls.

The dramatic teenage sighs.

Even the things that currently drive you absolutely insane.

Because one day those things won’t be happening every day anymore.

So this year I’m making it a point to soak it all in.

Every family dinner.

Every random conversation.

Every road trip.

Every laugh.

Every eye roll.

Every memory.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from raising these three kids, it’s that time doesn’t slow down for anyone.

Not for exhausted parents.

Not for emotional moms.

Not even for moms who are clearly not ready to have an 18-year-old.

So if you happen to see my parents, I would appreciate it if you DID NOT tell them I admitted they were right!

Ever!

Not once!

Not under any circumstances!

Because if they find out I finally agree with all their parenting wisdom, I will never hear the end of it.

And if I find out YOU told them?!

I will donate you to Goodwill!

Right alongside Jaxin! Who has asked approximately 4,732 questions today and is hanging on by a thread.

For now, though, I’m going to spend this last year before graduation doing my best to enjoy every moment.

Even the messy ones.

Especially the messy ones.

Because apparently the old people knew exactly what they were talking about.

And I hate that they’re right!

Love you, Lily bug.

Even if you did arrive in a blizzard and spend the last eighteen years keeping me humble.

The Millers are going camping this weekend.

Now before any of you outdoorsy wilderness survival experts get too excited, you need to understand something very important about my family.

We are not camping people.

We are **indoorsy people.**

We enjoy air conditioning.

We enjoy comfortable mattresses.

We enjoy refrigerators.

We enjoy being able to charge our phones without needing a solar panel and a degree in engineering.

Yet somehow, this weekend, we will be voluntarily sleeping in tents.

Outside.

With bugs.

And the dog.

This should be interesting.

Before anyone starts picturing us completely roughing it, let me clarify that we do have access to modern bathrooms and showers. I may be camping, but I am not a savage. Our campsite has electricity, water, a picnic table, and a fire pit, which means we’re basically living in luxury by camping standards.

We’ll be gone from Friday until Monday morning.

This is my low-budget family vacation for the summer.

And honestly?

It’s not really about the camping.

It’s about time.

Because my oldest child is about to start her senior year of high school.

I don’t know if you remember your senior year, but I do.

It went by so incredibly fast.

One minute I was walking the halls of high school thinking I had my whole life figured out and sooooo much time ahead of me. The next minute I blinked a few times and somehow became a 40-year-old mother of three teenagers.

How the hell did that happen?

I have genuinely loved every stage of my kids growing up.

The toddler years.

The elementary years.

The awkward middle school years.

Even these moody teenage years that involve eye rolls, sarcasm, and the ability to consume enough groceries to bankrupt a small nation.

Every stage.

Because I know how quickly they disappear.

So before senior year starts , graduation plans, college applications, and all the chaos that comes with that final year, we’re loading up the family and disappearing into nature for a few days.

Well…

“Nature” with bathrooms.

Let’s not get crazy.

Preparations are currently underway.

I THINK I have enough food to get us through the weekend.

Hopefully.

I’ve got bug spray.

I’ve got sunscreen.

I’ve got enough non-electronic entertainment to remind my children that human beings survived for thousands of years without Wi-Fi.

Jaxin is excitedly organizing fishing gear like he’s preparing for the Bass Pro Tour. Asking every 3 minutes if we can actually leave today instead of Friday….no bruh i’m not insane!

Savannah has gone full scientist mode and is researching fishing poles, fishing line, fishing techniques, fish species, and probably fish psychology at this point. She also is researching the lake we are going to so she is in the know for where everything is at the lake!

Lily’s camping goals are significantly simpler.

She wants a tan.

And maybe some cute boys to look at.

Honestly, I respect her commitment to staying focused on what matters! ( I expect we will be playing dad or daddy with every single vehicle we see this weekend!)

As for me?

I have one goal.

One.

I want to sit in my hammock with a cup of coffee, a damn good book (send me your recommendations) , and absolute silence for at least two hours.

No one talking to me.

No one asking questions.

No one yelling “Mom.” “babe” “Heather” “Heather Joleen” “Jamal”

No one informing me that the dog found something dead.

Just me.

Coffee.

A book.

And peace.

As for meals, I’ve planned this camping menu strategically.

Hot dogs.

Walking tacos.

Hamburgers.

Things I can throw on a fire and pretend I’m some kind of wilderness chef.

Quite honestly, I think we could survive entirely on s’mores if necessary.

Would it be nutritionally balanced?

Absolutely not.

Would anyone complain?

Also, absolutely not!

The only mystery remaining is Matt.

I have no idea what he hopes to accomplish this weekend.

Relaxation?

Fishing?

Napping?

Escaping work stress?

Avoiding all of us?

Your guess is as good as mine.

What I do know is this:

When we first decided to go camping, the conversation went something like this:

“We don’t need much.”

“It’ll be simple.”

“It’ll be cheap.”

And technically…

It IS cheap.

What nobody told me is that camping apparently requires bringing every possession you’ve accumulated since 2007.

How are we sleeping in tents but somehow packing enough equipment to survive a six-month expedition across the Oregon Trail?

There are coolers.

There are totes.

There are folding chairs.

There are blankets.

There are fishing supplies.

There are cooking supplies.

There are dog supplies.

There are emergency supplies.

There are backup supplies for the emergency supplies.

I swear if I find a covered wagon wheel in our garage, I’m not even going to be surprised.

At this point it feels less like we’re going camping and more like we’re moving.

But despite all the chaos, all the packing, all the bug spray, and all the inevitable moments where someone forgets something important…

I’m excited.

Because these moments matter.

My kids are growing up.

Life moves fast.

Way faster than any of us realize while we’re living it.

And years from now I probably won’t remember every detail about this camping trip.

But I’ll remember being together.

I’ll remember laughing around a campfire.

I’ll remember fishing stories.

I’ll remember s’mores.

I’ll remember the dog being ridiculous.

And hopefully…

I’ll remember getting at least two uninterrupted hours in that hammock peeps!!

Wish us luck, friends and family!!

If you hear someone yelling, “WHO’S IDEA WAS THIS TRIP!!!???”

It’s probably me.

I swear I am having fun and relaxing during this all!!!

Happy camping from The Millers.

Good MONDAY morning Home Skillets! I have been awake since 5 am and been thinking and writing and getting lost planning about 7 vacations and mini trips I have no money for. Plus looking at beach houses online all over the country….I need to focus bro! I need to figure my sh*t out and be an adult at least half the days this week!!!

Apparently turning 40 does not magically answer the question of what you want to be when you grow up.

I was under the impression that by this age I would have everything figured out. A career. A purpose. A five-year plan. Maybe even matching Tupperware lids.

Instead, I have seventeen different ideas about what I want to do with my life.

So here’s my current strategy.

I’m making a list of things I’m actually GOOD at and asking the internet what the hell I should do with them!

Because clearly my own decision-making process has led me to spending two hours researching beach houses in Jamaica and asking google things like the best beach tent camping spot at Lake Mac? I really should get diagnosed with whatever is wrong with me!!

**Things I Am Really Good At

1. (Y’all say) Writing

I can write about literally anything.

A grocery trip.

A baseball tournament.

A sink backing up.

A missing EBT card.

The emotional trauma of discovering the coffee maker is empty.

If it happens, I can turn it into a story.

2.Making People Laugh

Some people tell jokes.

I apparently turn every disaster into entertainment.

Financial struggles?

Funny.

Medical problems?

Funny.

The dog eating something she shouldn’t?

Funny.

My life is basically one long comedy special fueled by caffeine and poor decisions.

3. Storytelling

I can make a trip to Aldi sound like a high-stakes adventure.

I can make cleaning a garage sound like an Olympic event.

I can make standing in line at Costco feel like a survival documentary.

4. Cooking

Not just “I make supper.”

Professional cooking.

Menu planning.

Recipe development.

Food costing.

Kitchen operations.

Feeding large groups of people without anyone getting food poisoning.

You know… useful skills.

5. Teaching people skills (again other people tell me this)

I have a talent for explaining things in ways people actually understand.

Cooking.

How to survive on the random ingredients left in your pantry when payday is still six days away.

The important stuff.

6. Social Media Content

Apparently people enjoy reading the nonsense that falls out of my brain.

I don’t have a content strategy.

I don’t have a social media manager.

I don’t have a marketing degree.

I just type whatever chaos is happening and somehow y’all keep showing up.

7. Problem Solving

When things go wrong, I figure it out. (I am very good in an emergency and under pressure)

Maybe not immediately.

Maybe after a small nervous breakdown.

Maybe after a snack.

But eventually I figure it out.

8. Creativity

I can take a random idea and turn it into a project.

Or a blog post.

Or a business idea.

Or a completely unnecessary trip down an internet rabbit hole.

Results may vary.

******Things I Am Absolutely Terrible At

Networking.

Sales.

Corporate politics.

Pretending to enjoy small talk.

Answering phone calls.

Being in large crowds.

Acting normal.

I have accepted that “normal” is simply not in my skill set.

Ok, So What Does That Make Me?

Because when I look at this list, I don’t see one job.

I see about twelve.

Writer.

Chef.

Teacher.

Storyteller.

Content creator.

Professional problem solver.

Chaos coordinator.

And honestly?

Maybe that’s been my problem this whole time.

I’ve spent years trying to fit myself into one neat little box when I was never built for a box.

Maybe I’m not supposed to be just one thing.

Maybe I’m supposed to build something that combines all of the things I love.

A business.

A blog.

A brand.

A career that feels like ME.

Because I refuse to believe that my purpose in life is simply paying bills until I die.

There has to be something more.

There has to be something that gets me excited to get out of bed in the morning.

And if I don’t figure it out soon, I’ll probably just run away to Jamaica and become a professional beach bum. I did find a shack in the background of a house that is for sale that I am sure is close to my budget!

At this point, honestly, that still feels like a solid backup plan!

#family life

Dear Jamaica, Please Adopt Me

Somewhere in Jamaica there is a sandy spot with my name on it.

Literally.

A little patch of sand.

A beach chair.

A couple shots of tequila.

A steady supply of Lamb’s Bread and Jamaican Dream.

Absolutely zero responsibilities.

And most importantly…

NO CELL SERVICE.

None.

Not one text message.

Not one email.

Not one person asking me where their socks are, what’s for supper, where the remote is, or why the dog is making weird noises.

Just me, the ocean, and whatever tropical drink comes with a tiny umbrella in it.

The only flaw in this otherwise flawless life plan is that if I leave for Jamaica…

I probably won’t come back.

I will simply immigrate to the beach permanently.

At that point you’ll find me living in a shack by the water selling seashells and aggressively minding my own business.

Which leads me to a question that has haunted me for years:

How lucky does a person have to be to wake up in paradise every single day?

I’m talking about places like:

• Santorini, Greece

• The Maldives

• Hawaii

• Jamaica

How do people just… LIVE there?

How do they wake up, look outside, see crystal blue water and palm trees, and still go to work like that’s normal?

Meanwhile, I somehow got assigned to Nebraska.

Now don’t get me wrong.

I love Nebraska!

I love the endless prairie.

I love the sunsets.

I love watching the grass sway in the wind.

There is something peaceful and beautiful about this place that will always be home.

But.

And this is a very important but!

IT SNOWS HERE.

Why?

Whose idea was that?

Cold air literally falls from the sky and everyone just accepts this as a normal thing.

Disgusting!

Anyway.

Since my Jamaican escape plan currently lacks funding, I suppose I should focus on my actual plans for the next week.

Current Agenda:

1. Get my final check from YCC and pay bills like the responsible adult I occasionally pretend to be.

2. Buy MORE groceries because apparently my children consume food as a competitive sport. Why do they need to eat EVERY day?!

3. Tan. Because if I can’t go to Jamaica, I’m bringing Jamaica to Nebraska.

4. Take a few naps. By “a few” I mean every opportunity that presents itself.

5. Become a household dictator and force my children and husband to clean, organize, and do chores. Their complaints will be ignored.

6. Finalize Fourth of July plans.

7. Bake goodies because for the first time in forever… (who else sang that line with me!?! Iykyk!) I HAVE TIME.

8. Add more songs to my playlist because music is cheaper than therapy.

9. Think about running away.

Not actually running away.

Just thinking about it dramatically.

10. Figure out what I want to do for a job when I grow up. Which feels like an absolutely ridiculous question considering I’m 40 years old.

But here we are.

The truth is, for the first time in a long time, I have something I haven’t had much of lately:

Time.

Time to breathe.

Time to organize.

Time to rest.

Time to figure out what comes next.

And while I’m still daydreaming about beach bars and tropical islands, maybe this little pause in life is exactly what I needed.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have chores to assign, groceries to buy, cookies to bake, playlists to update, and an imaginary one-way flight to Jamaica to plan.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be sitting outside pretending Nebraska rain and humidity is ocean air.

I Accidentally Had a Great Day

Guys.

I did NOT go grocery shopping today.

That was the plan.

That was THE mission.

I was supposed to make my grocery list, put on real clothes, drive to Lincoln, fight for my life in Costco, Sam’s Club, and Aldi, and return home with enough food to feed my family of five and whatever bottomless pit has possessed my children.

Instead?

I went rogue.

I went to the library.

Now, before anyone gets too excited, I only left with one book.

But it is a trashy romance novel….and lemme say that ONE PAGE I happened to sample was spicy enough the book came home with me!!!!

After my literary adventure, I wandered through Goodwill because apparently that’s what middle age looks like.

Not clubs.

Not vacations.

Not luxury shopping.

Just wandering Goodwill looking at random kitchen gadgets and asking yourself if you need a ceramic goose wearing a bonnet and rain boots

The answer is always no.

The temptation is always yes.

Then I made a catastrophic life choice.

McDonald’s for supper.

My brain was thrilled!

My taste buds were delighted!

My gastric sleeve stomach, however, immediately called an emergency board meeting and voted unanimously to shut the entire operation down.

For those who have had weight loss surgery, you know exactly what I’m talking about!

There is a magical period of about fifteen minutes where you’re convinced everything is fine.

Then suddenly your stomach says:

“Oh no, sweetheart. We don’t do this anymore!”

I have spent the remainder of the day paying for my crimes. (I hate throwing up AND McDonald’s now!)

So now I am laying in my bed with a heating pad on my back and an electro-massage thing attached to my right leg, looking like a low-budget science experiment.

Honestly, if you walked into my room right now, you’d probably assume I was charging.

My evening plans consist of rewatching Degrassi because apparently I enjoy watching fictional teenagers make terrible decisions while actively avoiding my own responsibilities.

The soundtrack of my house is absolute chaos.

The dog and cat are engaged in what can only be described as a slap and bite each other’s face and neck fight at the foot of my bed. My money is on the cat!

My thirteen-year-old son is screaming random phrases at his Xbox friends that would sound completely insane to anyone not currently involved in online gaming. All i can say is I would like to speak to whoever invented the Italian brain rot shit!!!!

Vern is somewhere in the house either listening to music as loudly as possible (i mean if her dna cant feel it obviouslyit isnt loud enough), watching anime, playing her game on xbox, or somehow accomplishing all three simultaneously.

Meanwhile, Lillian has established permanent residency in MY bedroom.

“OoO are you laying in your room!?! Im comin up too hold up!” -Lillian Rae

She is usually found showing me TikToks, Instagram reels, memes, online shopping finds, her Shein cart, and approximately seven hundred things she absolutely NEEDS despite already owning enough stuff to open a small department store. Also planning and unplanning her senior year!

And honestly?

As chaotic as it sounds…

It’s kind of perfect.

For weeks it feels like life has been one giant stress ball.

Waiting on mail.

Waiting on answers.

Waiting on money.

Waiting on appointments.

Waiting on something—anything—to get easier.

Today I didn’t accomplish much of anything productive.

I didn’t grocery shop.

I didn’t solve any major life problems.

I didn’t suddenly become organized.

I didn’t discover the secret to financial freedom.

But I laughed.

I wandered around places I enjoy.

I spent time with my kids.

I survived McDonald’s. (Barely)

And tonight I’m laying in bed surrounded by the noise and chaos of the people I love most.

The groceries can wait until tomorrow.

And tomorrow?

Matt gets to come with me.

The lucky little duck.

Ladies and gents, we have found some financial relief.

Temporarily.

We’re still waiting on mail to arrive, BUT there is actual money available for groceries. REAL groceries. Not the “let’s see what culinary masterpiece I can create today” kind of groceries.

I am going grocery shopping TODAY, peeps.

As soon as I finish writing this.

After I take a shower.

After I find my damn cup of coffee that is currently missing somewhere between my bedroom and the living room!

Before I leave, I have to make an extensive grocery list because REMEMBER PEEPS I finally cleaned out three entire cupboards. THREE.

You know what happens when you clean out cupboards that haven’t been properly purged in a while?

You find things.

Things that expired during previous presidential administrations.

Things that have somehow become both stale and sticky.

Things that were once food but are now science experiments.

I threw away expired food, moldy food, stale food, and a few things that I wasn’t entirely convinced weren’t covered in some kind of tiny civilization.

The cupboards are beautiful now.

Empty.

Waiting.

Ready for groceries.

Which brings us to today’s dilemma.

Matt is working a double.

Lily is going to Addison’s house.

That leaves me with Jaxin and Vern.

So the question is:

Do I take Jaxin and Vern with me to Lincoln and tackle Costco, Sam’s Club, and Aldi?

Or…

Do I wait until tomorrow and take Matt?

Or…

And this is where things get dangerous…

Do I go TODAY.

BY MYSELF.

ME.

ALONE.

IN LINCOLN.

WITH OTHER PEOPLE.

IN PUBLIC.

Now let’s break this down.

Taking the kids means I have helpers.

By “helpers” I mean teenage humans who will somehow add seventeen unnecessary items to the cart while asking for snacks every 2 minutes.

“Mom, can we get this?”

“No.”

“What about this?”

“No.”

“What about this?”

“Still no.”

“But it’s on sale.”

“I don’t care if they’re giving it away for free playa….i said no!”

Meanwhile, the other kid has disappeared into the electronics section because she lost the battle trying to convince me that a fifty-five gallon drum of cheese balls is a household necessity.

Waiting for Matt sounds logical.

He’s another adult.

A cart pusher.

A heavy lifter.

A voice of reason.

Someone who can help wrangle the teenagers and tell them no while I compare the prices of giant bags of chicken nuggets.

But then I’d have to wait. and I have no patience.

And after staring at mostly empty cupboards for a week, waiting feels rude.

Which leaves Option Three.

Going alone.

Just me.

No children.

No interruptions.

No arguments.

No one asking for snacks.

No one touching EVERYTHING!!!! (why do they touch everything?!)

No one asking if we can get a trampoline from Costco. (that requires you to get off the xbox and go OUTSIDE! So why do you want one anyway?)

Just me, wandering through giant warehouse stores and my favorite Aldi like a majestic feral skittish woodland creature.

ME,ALONE in the ALDI isle of shame?! with NO one else to tell me NO?! NOT a good finacial decision honestly.

Sampling every free sample station without having to split it with anybody.

Browsing aisles at my own pace.

Listening to music.

Making grocery decisions without a committee meeting.

The downside?

People. looking at me.

The public. wondering why i am a sad person buying all this food ALONE.

Cashiers.

Conversations.

The possibility of making eye contact with strangers.

Carrying the stuff all alone… (eww)

Also, for those who don’t know me very well…

I say “fuck” a lot.

Online.

In person.

While grocery shopping.

While cooking.

While looking for my keys.

While looking for my coffee. (seriously where the fuck is that cup!!)

If that offends you…

Well…

Fuck! (go away then)

So that’s where we’re at today.

Heather Joleen.

A grocery list.

Three clean cupboards and an empty freezer and fridge.

A missing cup of coffee. (for FUCKS sake i left it ON THE COFFEE Machine…i am an idiot you guys)

And one very important question.

Do I take the children?

Do I wait for my husband?

Or do I boldly venture into civilization alone and see what happens?

If you don’t hear from me for several hours, assume I got lost in Costco and am currently living in the seasonal aisle. Hell MAYBE i will come back with a JOB folks!!!

I know. I KNOW.

I have friends.

You all exist.

I see your Facebook posts. I react to your memes. I occasionally comment “OMG SAME” under your complaints about life, children, and the cost of groceries. AND sometimes I randomly see you like IN THE WILD!

But where, exactly, are the adult friends who actually leave their houses and do things?

Because somehow my husband has an entire ecosystem of friends.

Not one friend.

Not two friends.

A whole damn network.

At any given moment Matt can:

Meet someone for lunch.

Run into a friend at the gas station.

Have a random phone call.

Get invited to a barbecue.

Know a guy who knows a guy who can fix literally anything.

Meanwhile, I’m over here hiding in the car while the husbands gather watching the game and the wives sit in the bleachers making normal human conversation.

And I’m just…

existing awkwardly.

The wives are lovely.

I am the problem.

I don’t know how to join conversations. I don’t know what the rules are. Do I just walk up and say, “Hello fellow adults. I, too, have paid an electric bill recently?”

I feel like a social experiment.

Like someone dropped me into a group and said:

“Let’s see if she assimilates.”

Narrator:

She did not assimilate.

The thing is, I love my kids.

I genuinely do.

They’re funny. They’re smart. They’re chaos goblins that I created and somehow keep alive.

But sweet baby Jesus.

I need adult time.

Not “running errands alone” adult time.

Not “grocery shopping without children” adult time.

Not “sitting in the car for ten minutes pretending I forgot something” adult time.

I mean REAL adult time.

The kind where you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

The kind where nobody asks for snacks.

The kind where nobody yells “MOM!” from another room.

The kind where conversations don’t involve me reminding them to do the chores, school schedules, or whether someone remembered to feed the pets.

I want to know where are the friends who say:

“Hey, we’re doing something Friday.”

And then we actually do the thing.

Not six months of:

“We should totally get together sometime!”

Yes.

We should.

And yet somehow we never do.

Meanwhile Matt can walk into a random town in another state and somehow find someone he knows.

I’m convinced this man could get stranded on a deserted island and within thirty minutes he’d be grilling burgers with a former coworker’s cousins roommate who he knew from job corps or boys town!

I don’t understand it.

At this point I think he could be dropped into the Arctic Circle and hear:

“MATT?! Is that you? Holy shit how the hell are ya!?”

And somehow the answer would be yes. It is indeed Matthew…. he knows I love him people! I promise!

So if anyone has figured out the secret to finding adult friends who actually hang out, please share your wisdom.

Because I’m one more awkward social gathering away from becoming the weird sits in her car lady permanently.

And honestly?

The car lady is getting lonely. 😂