“Grace meets us where we are, but it does not leave us where it found us.” -Anne Lamott

My Interpretation: Grace does not show up when life looks pretty – it meets us in the overwhelm, in the mess, in the moments where we swear the universe is stress-testing our spirit like a lab rat. & somehow, even in the chaos, something in us still rises. Maybe it is love. Maybe it is stubbornness. Maybe it is the tiny flicker of magic that keeps showing up in ordinary moments. But whatever it is, it lifts us. It reshapes us. It refuses to leave us the same.

---

A Hybrid of Chaos & Quiet Resilience

(Multi-Weeks Late)

I do not know who I pissed off in the universe lately,

but someone up there has been playing Jenga with my sanity –

& honestly, they are winning.

 

It all started about three weeks ago, right after I got back from North Carolina.

Because of course the unraveling would begin the minute I returned home to be a responsible mother preparing for Rowan’s birthday.

 

That Monday, I did what all moms do:

I launched myself straight into Birthday Party War Mode.

 

Invites? Handcrafted by yours truly.

Menu? Built with the precision of a Michelin chef having a breakdown.

To-do lists? Stacked like a government file folder.

Decorations & presents? Ordered at lightning speed.

 

& then Amazon said, “Let’s have a little fun.”

 

Half my orders arrived.

Half wandered off like they found better homes.

A few evaporated into the void like offerings to the gods of bad timing.

 

Meanwhile, RSVPs became their own side quest.

People acted like clicking “yes” was the emotional equivalent of signing a mortgage.

Adults turned into skittish woodland creatures dodging simple questions.

 

I was one unanswered message away from sending carrier pigeons.

Like… is winter coming? Should I start rationing? What are we DOING here?

---

Last Friday: The Shingles Plot Twist

Friday night, while I was blissfully asleep, Lorraine texted me the words every party-planning parent dreads:

 

“I have shingles.”

 

I opened it Saturday morning, blinking at my phone like it had handed me a live grenade.

 

She did not have open sores yet – which meant she would absolutely attempt to show up.

& here is the thing about Lorraine: when she gets quiet about her symptoms?

She is planning to sneak into an event like it is Coachella.

 

But shingles cannot RSVP “yes.”

Not because I am dramatic –

but because this is not 1989 –  

when people held chickenpox parties like they were concerts.

 

I have never had chickenpox.

Rowan has never had chickenpox.

 

His daycare has an immune-compromised baby who recently had heart surgery.

& we have cancer survivors attending who are still navigating recovery.

 

We are not risking that.

It is not just about one person –

it is about every life that one person could affect.

 

So, no. Shingles are staying home.

---

Weekend Chaos: Shopping, Scheduling, Zero Peace

Saturday, I went shopping for Rowan’s presents.

 

Sunday, I reorganized my lists like Santa Claus –

if Santa was stressed, caffeinated, & teetering on the edge.

 

Monday, Rowan’s daycare was closed.

Because Mondays hate peace.

 

& Rowan being home means I accomplish nothing. At all.

 

Tuesday, I wrapped every single present like a feral Christmas elf who has seen too much darkness.

 

Tuesday is also the day the universe decided to remove the tiny bit of comfort I still had left:

my Starbies lady was not there.

 

No straw.

No sugar cookie syrup.

Just me & a cold drink that tasted like betrayal wrapped in caramel brûlée.

---

Wednesday: The Fall Heard Around the Midwest

Today actually started hopeful.

My Starbies angel was there.

She handed me a straw before I even said a word.

 

I felt seen.

I felt loved.

I felt like maybe – just maybe – the day would be kind to me.

 

Then I dropped Rowan off at daycare.

 

Let me paint this picture:

Foggy.

29 degrees.

Damp.

Midwest weather giving “haunted refrigerator.”

 

I stepped out onto the platform, ready to face the day.

 

& then?

 

My foot slipped.

My life flashed.

I grabbed the railing like a desperate Victorian governess.

 

My middle fingernail broke – the queen of all nails.

WHY.

 

Then my body hit

every.

single.

step.

on the way down

as if fate had put me on mute

& wanted my attention.

 

My tailbone lit up like a cursed Christmas tree.

My jaw hurt like I clenched it mid-air.

My hoodie sleeve was soaked.

My dignity left the chat.

 

I sat at the bottom for ten full seconds, praying no one saw me, because

I refuse to be in my 30s falling down stairs like one of those fainting goats on YouTube.

 

As I drove home, a black cat crossed my path.

Because of course it did.

 

Then my gas light came on.

Naturally.

Why not add a ticking clock to the disaster movie soundtrack of my life?

 

At this point, I am one slippery step away from blaming Mercury retrograde –

even though I do not actually know what the fuck Mercury retrograde even is.

---

Thursday: Rowan’s Actual Birthday

Thursday is all about Rowan –

keeping him home,

celebrating him,

giving him the undiluted attention his little soul deserves.

 

Because apparently Monday was not enough.

Because apparently Saturday will not be enough.

Because this is mom life, & love multiplies whether you have energy or not.

 

Also?

It is Elf on the Shelf time.

Yes, I caved.

Yes, I am enabling this little felt narc for the next month.

 

& because I do not have enough going on,

I am also getting a Christmas tree that day.

Because why not pile the chaos high enough to block out the sun?

 

But honestly?

Seeing his magic switch back on is worth every ounce of exhaustion.

---

Friday: The Cupcake Pilgrimage

Friday, I drive several hours – yes, hours –

to Nadia Cakes.

Abby Jimenez’s cupcake temple of joy.

 

I will pick up Rowan’s cupcakes,

protect them like sacred relics,

& pray I am home by early afternoon.

 

Then I am prepping birria tacos.

Then pizza dough – if Cade drops Rowan off on time.

 

If not?

Papa Murphy’s is about to become my emotional support system.

---

Saturday: The Big Day

Rowan’s birthday party.

The culmination of three weeks of chaos, kindness, catastrophes, & caffeine.

 

By Saturday, I will have survived:

• Amazon fuckery
• grown adults refusing to RSVP
• shingles infiltration attempts
• daycare closures
• exhaustion
• supply chain sabotage
• my first stair-related near-death experience
• a sugar cookie syrup blackout

 

& you know what?

 

Rowan will smile.

He will blow out those candles.

He will feel loved.

He will feel celebrated.

He will have cupcakes worth a multi-hour pilgrimage.

 

& somehow… that makes every chaotic moment worth it.

 

Even if my tailbone never forgives me.

Even if I am currently sitting on a heating pad as I write this, questioning my life choices & my bone structure.

 

Xoxo ♡