Birthday Weekend Carnage

Last week was Squeaks’ birthday (see my nauseatingly sentimental post below,) and we had overnight guests and parties and Buzz took off and it turned into a several day Bachanalia that taught me that a.) I am not 25 anymore with regards to the drinking, b.) cards against humanity is amazing, and c.) my family are horrible people. But funny. Horrible and funny.

And then I spent all day Saturday cleaning. Literally. All day.

And honestly, it was glorious. I really enjoyed myself.

I am old.

We woke up and the birthday girl got dressed exclusively in Rainbow Dash’s spring 2017 line.

The house was decorated for her, as per her specific requests.

She received presents from us (makeup, natch) and was given chocolate chip pancakes. 

We had barely finished digesting when she requested Culver’s for lunch, and well, you can’t say no. 

Catboy accompanied us and also enjoyed himself.

Catboy also got into the cupcakes and we had a very stern talk about licking things and putting them back. 

She had a wonderful party with literally everyone we know.

Then things got real. Hilariously real.

The next morning she and her friend played with glitter and paint and succeeded in getting it in between each and every floorboard! I know! Impressive!

Buddy was done.

We had another party.

Buddy was super done.

Then after I basically burned the house clean, I was able to relax with a book while other people watched football.

It was lovely.


Dear Eva,

Today you turn seven years old, baby girl. I can’t believe it. Seven is not a toddler. It’s not a preschooler. It’s not even a small kid. It’s a verifiable big kid who can go places and do things all on their own. 

This is insane to me. In my head, you’re still the little girl I saw for the first time on Holy Thursday. You’re still the baby that handed me her doll when I came over for the first time. You’re still the sweet little one I would hug that summer and to whom I would whisper how much I would always love you because even if I wasn’t around forever I wanted you to maybe have a flash of a memory of how much I loved you.

But things worked out and you’re my seven-year-old now. And I have never been given a more precious gift than when God and Daddy gave me the chance to be your mommy.

I have had six birthdays with you, made six cakes, blown up six million balloons, thrown six parties. I have gotten you up and sung happy birthday to you six times. I have cuddled you a little bit longer for six years because on today of all days the years seem to be going faster. 

I wrote last week about how I try to be thankful for my life, just being here, and your birthday makes me renew that pledge. Your mama only got to spend one birthday with you, the one where she gave you life and welcomed you into the world. I am forever  cogniscent of each and every precious birthday I get to celebrate with you, my beautiful daughter. 

Being your (and your brother’s, but this is your day) mommy is the best thing I’ve ever gotten to do. Watching you grow into a beautiful daughter of God is the greatest thing I will ever do. Your soul is my greatest jewel and honor, and I am so thankful that I get to be here to help get you to heaven. 

I can’t wait to see what you do this year, precious one. 



My Daily Schedule, According to My Six-Year-Old. And also my thoughts on mercy. 

As told to her grandmother, who is probably calling social services as we speak. 

“Well. First she lets us cuddle in bed with her while she sleeps in the morning. Sometimes she snores a LOT. Then we get up and stay in our pajamas and we eat breakfast and watch TV.

Then we go to Grandma Susan’s and play. Mommy sits on the couch with her coffee and reads.

During the afternoon, Mommy naps EVERY DAY ALL AFTERNOON and I just lay next to her and play on my tablet.

Then Mommy makes dinner and she has wine and after we go to bed she and Daddy watch grownup shows and have more wine. Sometimes they read books together too. ”

*blink* *blink*


Meals? Grocery shopping? Running our household? Laundry? Other chores? FREAKING HOMESCHOOLING? NOT BEING AN ALCOHOLIC WITH A THYROID DISORDER???

Any of that, sweet pea???

Nope. Just a lot of napping and reading and coffee and wine. And the occasional TV show.

Just for comparison’s sake, here’s what she thinks Daddy’s schedule is like:

“Daddy gets up REALLY early, and he goes to work and he works and he works and he works ALL DAY to take care of us. When he gets home, he plays with us ALL night and even helps Mommy make dinner and then he gives us tubbies and puts us to bed. And then he sits down with Mommy.”

Where is Mommy during the tubbies and bedtime? Presumably sitting with my wine and book.

You know what my actual schedule looks like?

“Mommy gets up with Daddy at some ungodly hour and TAKES CARE OF UNGRATEFUL PEOPLE ALL DAY LONG GAAAHHHHHH.”

And yeah, sometimes there is wine. And coffee. And sometimes I even have five minutes to myself when you’re working on the school work that I’ve spent the last WHOLE SUMMER preparing. And then I do read like half a page of a book. I know. SELFISH.

But no. My kid thinks we have magical elves who also do elementary education.


So. I wrote this yesterday in a lull, like I usually do. I was just going to publish it.

But we had a really hard night. We needed to be up with one kid and deal with a lot of stuff and then the other woke up and this all happened at 3:00 so we got like a lovely hour and a half nap before leaving for work/starting the day. And frankly it seemed fitting with the post I had written.

But then I thought of our engaged enrichment day. I know, right? Stay with me. One of the speakers mentioned the exact situation we were in last night just totally in passing, and how honored he felt to be there for his daughter like that becuase while helping her through the night he was able to do something for her that no one else ever could.

As parents, we are so blessed that we are able to be required to take care of our children. They come to us for everything. They don’t understand that they should be grateful that we literally sacrifice ourselves for them, because they’re little and we’re their parents and that’s how it should be.

I was at a meeting last night and we were discussing the spiritual and corporal works of mercy, and how parents in particular can experience those while parenting literally ALMOST CONSTANTLY and not even notice it becuse most of what we do is SUPER ANNOYING.

But it is filled with grace. It allows us to build a domestic church, and sanctify our homes in a way that no one else has a chance to do. And that’s amazing.

We are so lucky to get to experience mercy and sanctification like that.


Lady Poppyseed is Having a Birthday!

So my niece turned one last week. (I made her apple roses in the last post that I’m too lazy to link to.) And my mom and sister went…well, nuts.

My sister is a Pinterest go-getter, someone who genuinely enjoys decoupaging random crap onto other random crap. She’s not trying to be impressive, she just really is all by herself. All natural like. And my mother never turned down an opportunity to put some grandkid’s face on something.

So obviously, this most hallowed of occasions was going to be a blow out affair.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. Not as fancy as Buddy’s first birthday. Here is a picture of his cakes.


It’s falling apart.

I know. I’m impressed too.

Starting about two months ago, I began recording the stuff that my mom and sister said to each other in complete seriousness abut Poppyseed’s birthday. If you follow me on twitter (And why not? I’m awesome.) you can see it under the hashtag “shitformyniecesbirthday.”

Because I’m classy like that.

Here are some of my favorites.

“I’m looking into posters.” (Why be subtle? Go with the wallpaper! You haven’t updated the dining room lately!)

“But WHERE are we going to put the time capsule?” (I hid mine behind the craptastic cake. Oh wait. That’s right. I didn’t even let him open his presents I just literally shipped them to the other house. I must have lost the time capsule in moving.)

“I’m not sure we can fit any more pictures on the burlap.” (I have that problem too. So many pictures, so little burlap. Because my amount of burlap is no burlap. But then, so are my number of pictures for display. So I guess I planned that one perfectly!)

“I’m going to make a mix CD with songs that have been significant for her first year.” (My list for Buddy’s first year would be a lot of Evanescence and a few songs about how I will never be happy again.)

“Huh. I don’t have the professional pictures of Poppyseed’s baptism.” (Huh. I don’t remember Buddy’s baptism.)

“I needed to pay extra for the postage because her invitations are four pages long.” (My “shit his birthday is coming up why don’t y’all come over around 5ish” email blast just seems paltry now.)



“I ran out of mod podge!” (That happens to me all the time! Oh wait. I mean never. That happens to me never.)

“The pink for the poster is a little strippery don’t you think?” (Yes. We wouldn’t want to be tacky.)

“Oh yeah, I like that better. There’s texture and dimension.” (All things a one-year-old cares about in party decorations, amiright people?)

“I missed the promotion to make coasters!” (I literally have nothing for this one. Coasters?)

“I had to mail her invitations as packages! They were too big to be letters!” (Brb, dying over here.)

“They’re for the photo wreath!” (Oh! The tiny decoupaged pictures of your daughter’s face make sense now!)

“I decided to go with the abbreviated family tree, I couldn’t fit the one that goes back to 1790 on the windowseat.” (I mean, I always have major geneological research at my kids’ parties. It’s just fun explaining why Theresa Rimmele was probably murdered at the hands of some Austrian who was invading her village in Bavaria. Another cookie anyone?)

I am legitimatley joking you guys. The party was absolutely gorgeous, and it was so much fun. I don’t have a ton of pictures, because she isn’t my kid and you don’t know her like that, but trust me, it was delightful.

Poppyseed’s birth was and is such an important moment for our family. It brought us all so close together and honestly redeemed childbirth as an experience for me. Okay. It came close. And the last year with her has been such a delight. I can’t believe we are lucky enough to have you in our lives, Lady Poppyseed. I can’t wait to watch you grow into a beautiful daughter of God.

We love you so much.




Five on Friday: Amusement Park Edition

Buzz is on vacation this week and we’re doing the typical Midwestern parent thing of NOT RELAXING AT ALL JUST HAVING FUN ALL THE TIME OMG. 

(So in case you were wondering, my transformation into my parents is almost complete. It should only be a week or two before I start going to Fleet Farm for fun on the weekends.)

Yesterday we went to Bay Beach with 1/3 of the extended family, and the following lessons were learned.

1.) Buddy could literally not control his excitement. 

When we pulled up, he started screeching like a howler monkey and literally did not have words for what he wanted to say. “Mommy! Mommy! More??!?” 

This is a kid who gets excited about being taken out of his car seat relatively quickly, so real live rides with real live trains and all sorts of other real live crap that appeals to crazy little boys? I was surprised he didn’t pass out from the excitement.

2.) I get sick on rides. This is a crying shame. I had no choice but to sit on a bench and read my tablet. (Also they had reasonably priced cheese fries. It’s basically heaven.)

3.) I am not an overprotective mother in the least. I let my kids play outside, I don’t scream “OH MY GOD WHAT’S WRONG??” Like my mom when one of them sneezes funny. 

But I have my limits. It was terrifying to put my kids on toy boats that were built 15 years before I was born.

4.) You can put kids on any number of incarnations of the same ride- various items on the ends of spokes coming out of a mechanical wheel- give them a non functioning steering wheel or a bell? And they will be happy for HOURS.

It’s delightful, really.

5.) Having your shoe break and having to shuffle across the park in a downpour isn’t so much fun.

But the joy on your kids’ faces will make up for it.

(Also they’ll sleep really well on the way home.)

Five Things I Want My Son to Know About Our Faith

This week’s five on Friday is a bit more philosophical and a little bit less stream of consciousness. And probably less swearing. Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see. Nothing gets me going like a good theological debate.

Buddy’s baptism was three years ago on July 20th. Baptism days are important in our family. Growing up, we always celebrated the day of our baptism or (in the case of us poor almost dead babies) our welcoming into the church after they hastily baptized us at birth hoping at least maybe we’d enjoy eternity with God because things weren’t looking so peachy for this world

It makes sense- our welcoming into the Catholic Church is a huge deal and fundamentally affects our souls. It makes sense that we should celebrate this with our children. And I love celebrating Squeaks’s. Every year on April 3rd, I show her pictures of the day, and tell her all about what baptism is and how important it is that she is a child of God and all that jazz. And frankly, for a woman who was chilling with a box of wine at a totally different parish that day, finding pictures is more difficult than you’d think. But I digress.

But I always, without fail, drop the ball on Buddy’s baptism day. I dropped the ball on his actual baptism to be honest, although it wasn’t really my fault. I was literally insane and I don’t remember anything about that day except I liked the way my shoes looked and we gave him his first real bath the morning of the day.

(Yes it had been 17 days since he was born. Yes I realize I should have bathed him before. Again with the insane.)

Anyway, I always forget the anniversary too. This year I forgot until my aunt posted a picture at 9pm and then I was like oh crap, there goes another one. So I made sure to make a big deal of him the next day and even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t understand what baptism is (or at least he can’t tell me because…well, he can barely tell me anything), I want him to understand that these things are important.

1.) Love is the most important thing in our faith.

That does not mean that there is no right and wrong. We believe there is, and I am doing everything in my power to raise you to feel that same way. But if we don’t love people no matter what, then there is no Christianity in us. If we pretend everything is fine and there is no evil in the world, then we are not loving people the way Christ loved them. If we allow our (however righteous) indignation at sin to stop us from loving people fully, then we are disobeying Christ’s primary commandment.

It’s not easy. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But it is the most important thing.

There is nothing the Catholic Church and all of our sacred experiences and sacramentals can do to help the world if we refuse to love people to the fullest.

2.) Study the faith, and the Catholic Church.

I spent most of my college and graduate school career studying the history of the Church, Buddy, and I have never been stronger in my faith than I was then. I thought it was because I had so much free time and  was able to go to daily Mass and was basically only concerned with myself.

But after reading something a year or so ago, I realized that that wasn’t it. Yes, I had loads of time. But it was really that I was in love with Christ and his Church. When you’re in love with someone, you want to know everything about them. You want to spend time with them. You want to have opinions about things important to them. I had to immerse myself in the Church by necessity of my studies and my career and it allowed me to fall in love with it.

I have never been happier than when I take you and your sister to Mass and see the recognition in your eyes as you grow in your faith. But having everything in my life- my free time, my family, my career path, the books in my bag, all of it- revolve around Christ and His Church was a close second.

3.) There will always be darkness.

Right now? Things are scary. Just in our own country, we have innocent people being killed, social unrest, a Presidential election that is basically a farce, a terrifying movement towards curbing religious liberty, and killing babies is basically a national past time.

That’s just our cushy little world. That is not counting the horrors in Syria, and Iraq, and countless other places where mothers have to watch their children die every day for reasons that we should be able to stop. The terror and evil in the world seems like it’s never been more influential.

But it’s not. There will always be evil. It might seem like things are lost. But if you’re feeling like that, thing about the Easter Vigil. We begin in darkness. Even our darkest moments are holy when viewed through the lens of the sacrifice of the Cross.

4.) The Eucharist is the biggest gift you will ever be given, and you should never take it for granted.

Seriously. Everything could change. (It won’t. But still.) It could be the worst time in the world. But because we believe that every single time we go to Mass, (and we can go basically whenever we want!) we get to become one with God through the Eucharist, it would be okay.

Really. Try super hard not to take it for granted. It is literally the most beautiful thing you ever get to do.

5.) The priesthood is a noble vocation.

Mostly because I don’t want to deal with a daughter-in-law.

But seriously, you should consider it.

So Buddy, that’s my seriously abbreviated guide to being Catholic. (Seriously. Get Mommy going on Vatican II or the Vatican policy towards the Soviet Union someday.)

I love you so much, precious Joseph Gregory.


The “Perks” of My Maternity Leave

If you have eyes and an internet connection you’ve undoubtedly seen Meghann Foye’s editorial and novel about wanting Me-ternity leave. And how much the world who has actually given birth or begun raising an adopted child HATES HER AND WANTS HER TO SUFFER AS MUCH AS WE HAVE. *ahem* Sorry. Got a little heated there.

You can’t really help but get UNBELIEVABLY IRATE at this woman, who calls maternity leave “a socially mandated time and space for self reflection.”





Anyway, that got me to thinking about those halcyon days of my own immediately postpartum period. What would have been my socially mandated time and space for self reflection had I been employed outside of the home. I bottle fed exclusively. I had a good sleeper (as much as a newborn can be.) I had a husband who was very supportive. I had family in town and emotional and psychological and physical help and all the positives I possibly could. I still almost died afterwards and honestly? Those months immediately following Buddy’s birth were by far the worst of my life and I literally throw up whenever I think about feeling like that again.

So here were some of the perks of MY maternity leave:

1.) Well, don’t forget, you’re usually recovering from either having major abdominal surgery or pushing a fully formed human being out of a hole that…well, you know. Either way, unpleasant! Super, super not fun. I had a relatively “easy” birth, in that I had an epidural, and minimal complications (who wants to hear about the degree of tears my vagina suffered? No one? Especially not my dad who reads this? Okay. Moving on…) and IT STILL HURT LIKE A MOTHERF—–. FOR SERIOUS.


That thing. IS HUGE.

And even if you’re not a biological parent, learning how to care for a new child is unbelievably difficult as well. I’ve done that as well, with Squeaks. It’s no picnic even though, granted, your vagina is less sore.

Also your boobs hurt less. Probably. I got pregnant like six minutes after my wedding so my boobs hurt a lot by the time I got home and was taking care of Squeaks all the time. So I guess I don’t know.


2.) You learn how to breastfeed or bottle feed all sorts of fun places.


I don’t know about this Meghann chick, but I did not find the dragging around of formula, water, bottles, and I don’t even remember what else constantly because babies are hungry ALL THE TIME terribly calming and lending itself to a lot of meditation on myself and my career path.

I look super meditative don’t I?

3.) You get to go out and about with your baby.


I’m trying to remember what I was doing here and I honestly can’t. I recognize the floor but I don’t even know where I was. And from the look on my face, I didn’t care.

Yep. I definitely wanted to kill myself by this point.

4.) Your husband may also do some self-reflection and develop a pathogenic staph infection on his chin that prevents you from even coming close to his face for a good month. From stress.

Yes. Having a baby with you is the most stressful thing your recently widowed husband has ever been through.

Reflect on that, bitch.

5.) Other people get to cuddle with your baby a lot. Mostly because you don’t want anything to do with them. I know this is not universal, but for me it totally was. My mom and my sister took care of Buddy most of the time because I literally could not care about anything in the world at all.


I mean, it’s not that I didn’t care, it’s just that I was having all that time for self reflection. I’m sure that was it. It only FELT like crushing depression.

6.) You get the chance to celebrate all of life’s celebrations in a totally normal way.


Here I am on my 26th birthday, about two months after Buddy was born. Yep. Party party party, am I right?

That dead look in my eyes and the fact that I don’t even notice that my baby is falling over is totally because of all of the self-reflection I was doing.

Overall, my maternity leave was mostly me looking like this:


Hemorrhaging, internal organs starting to seize, boobs leaking, feeling like death, trying to either feed or burp the child that totally did not want to do either on the anniversary of your husband’s wedding to someone else.

That’s what maternity leave felt like.

So many perks, right, ladies?

Honey, I’m good.


So Buddy was born with laryngomalacia, which is a super hard-to-spell way of saying that his larynx would collapse with every breath he took. Which led to a whole host of not-serious problems like he wouldn’t drink a bottle for more than five seconds, he couldn’t laugh the normal way, and his sleeping sounds were roughly akin to being across the street from an international airport.

Now as a toddler, he’s pretty much fine. He’s technically grown out of it, although between what the doctor told us and what I’ve figured out from observing him, he only eats when he’s distracted enough to relax. Given that his larynx is firm, I think (in all my medical expertise) that he was probably traumatized by feeling like he was drowning as an infant and tenses up, which engages my husband’s gag reflex, and, well, it ends with me doing a lot of laundry and him not consuming a lot of actual food.

So we distract him with videos on our phones while we feed him (please, save your parenting suggestions, unless you want to move in and raise him, I do not care). Because of this, I’ve become incredibly familiar with a whole host of Netflix shows and YouTube videos that catch his interest for three or four days before he starts ignoring them and realizes that we’re actually trying to feed him and then, well, we’re back to laundry.

George of the Jungle 2? The 2003 direct-to-video sequel to the already crappy George of the Jungle starring Brendan Fraser? I can recite it.

Downton Funk? The Downton Abbey parody of Uptown Funk? I’ve memorized the dance moves.

That one weird family’s video Christmas card? I feel like we’re bestest friends.

Our current favorite is Andy Grammer’s Honey, I’m Good. Buddy LOVES the beat. And he likes all the people on the video. And with the exception of one bad word for…ahem…bottom, I can play it with Squeaks around (I mute that part). But that means that I have to listen to it for a good forty-five minutes of my day. And I have a few thoughts.

What, exactly? Is this song supposed to be holding up? Because it sure as hell isn’t an actually good relationship.

We begin with the lyric “Nah nah honey, I’m good/ I could have another but I probably should not/ I got somebody at home and if I stay I might not leave alone.”

Um. Okay.

So. A.) Why are you calling her honey? and-

B.) Are you seriously telling me you cannot be held to a basic standard of monogamy after a drink? Because THIS IS HOW RAPE CULTURE STARTS. By just assuming that men are pigs who cannot control basic human impulses so we have to be in control for them and then your skirt is too short and oh, Lord, let’s not go down this road.

This is backed up by the verse. “Now better men, than me have failed/ Drinking from that unholy grail.”

Seriously. Alcohol (I don’t care how much.) does not give you the right to or an excuse for cheating on your girlfriend/fiancee/wife. Never. I’m not saying don’t be responsible and know your limits, because of course, but THIS IS NOT WORTH SINGING ABOUT.

Then we have “You look good, I will not lie/ But if you ask where I’m staying tonight/ I gotta be like oh, baby, no, baby, you got me all wrong, baby/ My baby’s already got all of my love.

Okay. “Baby” can’t have you that wrong if she even has an inkling that she’s going home with you. Like, for serious. My husband could consume a fifth of whiskey at a bar and I’m pretty certain that while his liver would explode, he would not give any young lady on the premises cause to ask him where he’s staying that night.

So no, baby, she doesn’t have you all wrong.

And. if your baby really has all of your love, why are you out getting all these drinks from these women who think you’re going home with them? What is she doing? Sitting at home decoupaging?

(I ask because that legit sounds like a good night to me.)

Finally, the thing that annoys me most is that the video is all happy couples proclaiming how long they’ve been together. Which, as we saw above, MEANS NOTHING TAKEN IN CONTEXT OF THE LYRICS.

Gah. It irks me. Buddy’s going to have to go back to Downton Funk.

Summertime! And the fails have already started!

Guys! It’s summer! My kid is finished with school! I don’t have to be up at crack thirty anymore!

(I totally will be, because I am incapable of getting anything finished after like, eh, maaaaybe 2pm, and if I don’t get up early we’ll be living in one pair of shorts and t-shirts all summer and then we’ll smell and ever fewer people will like us and eh, it’s just a bad idea.)

(But I don’t have to GO ANYWHERE. That’s the part that counts.)

Here is my kid being thrilled about finishing the school year.

photo 1 (1)

That face? Is one I’m expecting to see a lot of over the next twenty years.

(Also my lawn/shrubbery doesn’t look so unkempt now. Yay summer!)

Anyway, the beginning of summer always makes me want to organize and change my life and hack ALL THE THINGS.

So I have been (marginally) successful at cleaning the basement with Buzz and forcing both of us to go through things because I’m sorry, I know 1997 was a great year for all of us (that’s a lie, it was not a great year for me since I was 10, but you I’m sure enjoyed it because you were like married with a couple of kids, honey), but we don’t need to keep all the stuff that we accumulated and have dragged to various cities across the country.

And I can get rid of my ponchos. 2004 ain’t never coming back.

So there’s that. I’ve also decided to change up my breakfast routine. I’m not dieting (I refuse to) but I am not stupid and realize that that bowl of Cheerios is probably not as low in calories if it only keeps you full for an hour and by 10 am you’re baking brownies to  just eat the pan. I found an amazing post on overnight oats on pinterest and I’m all omg I love oatmeal! I used to eat it every day when I had loads of time!

And oatmeal is totally healthy! And while I’m not unhappy with my body (that’s a lie. I’m always unhappy with my body. I thought I looked fat in this picture:


You stupid whore you will never look better, 2010 Me.), Buddy definitely changed things. It’s not baby weight, because I lost all the weight I gained with pregnancy (thank you, preeclampsia and postpartum depression), but the OH MY GOD WHEN IS YOUR FATHER GETTING HOME cookies and wine haven’t exactly tightened things up if you know what I mean.

So! Overnight oats! Yes!

(Pause for a moment here as my father picks himself up off the floor because he has been present (and paid for) all of my previous attempts at fad diets. See: 2005 obsession with fresh fruit smoothies that ran him, oh, about $100 in produce that languished for a few weeks while I decided I didn’t really like smoothies.)

I found a recipe for ones that involved Greek yogurt and cocoa powder and they totally tasted like BROWNIE BATTER YOU GUYS!!! At least, according to Pinterest.

Except. Um. They didn’t. They tasted like Greek yogurt and unsweetened cocoa powder. And despair.

You know what tastes like brownie batter?


Brownie batter.

You know what doesn’t?


Yup. Overnight oatmeal with Greek yogurt and unsweetened cocoa powder.

I blame pinterest and mason jars. You’re supposed to make it in a mason jar, which confused me because I happen to usually drink alcohol out of mason jars and alcohol is tasty. Therefore, mason jars are a win. (Philosophy 211: Elementary Logic for the win, right?)

Except it turns out that even mason jars can’t make oatmeal taste like brownies.

But never fear. I will not give up on overnight oats. I’m going to try again and again until my credit card gets decline (aren’t you glad I got married, Daddy?)

At least I have a clean basement.

(And plans to replicated the Cheesecake Factory red velvet cheesecake for a dinner party I’m having later this month. I think it will turn out better than oatmeal soaked in yogurt.)