About Me

Today is my “trauma-versary.”

The skinny of it is that I spent a few years trying to move on and forget it ever happened, until I realized that I was committed to acknowledging the day despite my best efforts. So, I baked a cake to celebrate instead.

This year I feel like having a jelly roll cake, with our homemade peach jam.

Twelve years ago, my fundamental assumptions about humanity were shattered. Innocence lost. Horrors revealed. I was torn apart, never to be the same again.

And I was reborn.


About Me


Seeing that made me oddly satisfied.

In case you suspected that all of my ranting against social media was hypocritical, I give you this screen shot as proof that I don’t engage with it at all.

0 social followers.


The weird part is the number of views I’ve gotten with Facebook as the referrer. It’s not my doing, and I have no clue who is posting links to my blog.

About Me

Christmas Culture

I grew up in the sort of community where the entire month of December was dedicated to giving and receiving Christmas goodies with the neighbors. Sometimes I miss the connection of having lots of people to share with, but these days I daren’t risk offending anyone by putting both gluten and sugar in the center of their awareness — I’d never hear the end of it.

Besides, the Mormons already dislike (hate?) me enormously, and giving out treats would only make it worse. I hold the honored distinction of having been lectured by them for being too old fashioned, and that was before I discovered the joys of spinning and weaving. It’s one of those situations where there’s no possible way of winning, so it’s better to pretend they don’t exist.

The culture I grew up in is dead.

Everyone was quick to trade it in for social media dieting trends, so it wasn’t worth that much to begin with.

I’m the sort that lives life on my own terms, so I don’t sit around feeling helpless over small things. I make plenty of Christmas desserts for ourselves, full of gluten, sugar, and fat — all of those naughty things people tut-tut over. We’re happy, and that’s what matters. (We’re also healthier and more energetic than those on restrictive diets, but we don’t talk about that)

I hope that my children grow up into a better world, but in the off-chance that it doesn’t improve, we’ll still have each other.

About Me

Winter Solstice

Happy solstice everyone!

Yule is in full swing around here, and shall continue through January 1st. And, just like every other year, there’s a list of activities that I wanted to do, but didn’t have enough time to get around to, ha ha. Such is life.

Maybe I’ll be able to sneak in making some hazelnut brittle and fudge somewhere. After all, that liminal week between Christmas and New Year is perfect for a variety of activities, especially for people like me who prefer to avoid crowds.

It always makes me a little sad when the festivities are over.

For now I’m cruising on coffee and sugar, going a little bit crazy, and having the time of my life.

I love holidays.

Photo by Jay Fauntleroy on Pexels.com


About Me


Here we are, inside the final countdown to Christmas.

And I am up to my eyeballs in sugar and hyperactive children.

I’ve been seeing an increasing number of blog posts and Christmas letters summarizing how the year has gone for others, so I asked myself, do I want to write about my own experiences?

No. No I don’t.

I will say that last night I watched a movie with my husband, snuggled under a soft blanket, with sleeping children, and a three-legged cat, so things could be worse.

I wish it would snow more. Watching big flakes drift lazily down outside the window is so cozy.

I might have enough time to try my hand at making fudge this year. How’s that for optimism?


About Me

idk i dont sleep

My baby has cut his first tooth. I can’t believe he’s gotten that big already … time is flying by waaaay to fast.

I’m putting more effort into writing fiction regularly, but since I’m still fairly sleep deprived, I’m having a hard time keeping the facts straight in my head. I worry about creating plot holes, inconsistencies, and redundancies, but I probably ought to let all that go and keep plowing ahead anyway. After all, there are plenty of other authors who obviously don’t care about such concerns, and it ain’t hurtin’ them none. Ha ha.

Crappy writing is better than no writing.

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I decided that I wanted to knit matching sweaters for my sons … and apparently, procuring wool for the project is impossible.

Not in terms of, “Oh my god the world is ending and there isn’t any fiber to be found!” But more like I keep getting sent the wrong thing, out of stock, didn’t actually ship, blah blah blah. Which maybe translates into the world is ending. IDK. I just wanted to knit matching sweaters for my babies. Le sigh.

I’m starting to wonder if there’s going to be enough time to finish them before Christmas.

It’s one of those periods.

Probably should have smudged ages ago. Meh, I’m tired.

About Me


I like to think about how babies are the same cuddly, bouncy, black-holes-of-need (lawl) today that they were 1,000+ years ago.

I didn’t grow up feeling like I belonged with the family I was born into. I used to imagine that I was secretly adopted, switched at birth, fairy changeling — anything that could explain the void I felt surrounding me, really. Combined with a general sense of alienation from society, I’m kind of a neurotic mess.

But, a long, long time ago, my ancestors kissed their babies’ cheeks the same way I do. They tickled their babies’ tummies, changed their babies’ diapers, and snuggled their babies against their breasts, the same way I do.

I bet they even occasionally got up with headaches after spending the night consoling a fussy baby, just like I do.

And the thought makes me feel like I’m not such an outcast weirdo.

I think that birthing person fiction ought to be an actual genre. Something that others who feel similar to me can relate to.

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We’ve already had two beautiful, albeit ephemeral, snowstorms this month. It’s put me in the mood to get the house all warm and cozy for winter, and the flannel pajamas have officially been dug out from the bottom of the dresser drawer.

The three-legged cat is now out of the kennel, but she hides more often than not. I explained to the kids that healing is a process, and that she now has to adjust to having one of her legs missing, so they should be nice and give her plenty of space. Still, they’re really good at finding her hiding spots, yet I’m always at a loss with locating her. The thing is … I need to know where to put the litter box, lol.

And thus the days keep sliding by.

The hefty vet bill has made it prudent to tighten the belt, so to speak, and I confess that I’ve been enjoying the challenge of frugality. I took the kids to the thrift store to get cold-weather clothing, and I’ve asked them to plan out what sorts of Christmas gifts they can make for each other this year instead of buying anything. I love creative lateral thinking, and practicing stinginess. Win-win! Besides, it’s good to set the example of financial responsibility for the kids.

Also, celebrating 13 years with my husband this month. My how the world has changed in that time.

About Me, art


Halloween went very well, and the majority of the 6-month-old’s trick-or-treat candy was generously donated to me, the hardworking mother who made it all happen (aww, so thoughtful!)

And I’ve been working on crocheting socks ever since. I came to the conclusion that if I want to be serious as a yarn arteest, I need to reorient my hand movements so that I wrap the yarn around the hook, instead of holding the yarn still and hooking it. Some guy on youtube did it that way, lmao.

I also learned how to make hush puppies. Yum!

Anyway, at some point in the past, I came to the conclusion that youtube crochet tutorials were a blight on the craft. I have a reputation as someone who crochets — it’s pretty obvious when everyone in my family is running around with handmade items — so I occasionally get people asking me for help.

Cue phrase, “I was following a tutorial on youtube, and I don’t know where I went wrong.”

Which is how I got to learn how to troubleshoot without a written pattern or any sort of clue about what the designer’s original intent was.


The reason why I hate youtube tutorials so much is because the video creator is posturing as a teacher, but then they aren’t available to help their students with their problems. A huge part of properly teaching a skill is learning how to navigate beginner’s mistakes and misunderstandings, so you can explain everything more clearly and concisely in the future. These “teachers” however, care more about showing off their manicures than they do about actually helping someone learn a craft. They don’t reply to comments.

Unfortunately I’m a softie, and I have a hard time dismissing someone who invested time and money into a project — I know how emotionally involved people get with their crafting, and how frustrating it is when something goes wrong and you can’t figure it out. So, I help. I stare hard at what they’ve done thus far, figure out the basic stitch pattern, and ask some questions about what it’s supposed to be at the end. Then I make up something that will get them from here to there, and carefully explain the changes and why they fix the problem. I like to think that I’m helping them learn how to overcome problems in the future.

I mentioned that I’ve been crocheting socks (three pairs so far). I actually really like designing crocheted socks, especially with how pretty some of the stitches are, but there’s one thing stopping me from typing up a pattern: I’m still troubleshooting my own work on the fly.

Until I can properly explain every single last nitpicky detail, I’m going to refrain from writing any books on the topic.

What can I say, I have a conscience.

Now that my rant is out of the way, the one thing that limits the time I spend crocheting is fatigue in my hands. I’m curious if reorienting my movements so they are more evenly distributed will help. My feet get cold easily, and all the socks I made in the past are getting old and holey. It’s time to recharge my sock drawer.

Not to mention, I need something to do while that six-month-old is nursing.