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.

About Me


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.

About Me


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.

About Me


The baby and the toddler have joined forces to ensure that neither my husband nor I are getting anywhere near enough sleep. >.<

However, in a fit of madness, I made Halloween cookies for the kids to decorate with royal icing (to which I add a splash of almond extract for extra deliciousness), and we all had a lot of fun — it went better than I expected. Normally any activities involving sugar quickly devolve into chaos, but this time around the kids took it more seriously than usual.

Halloween is my favorite holiday, so while most people spend one night partying, I’ve managed to turn it into a three-day-long extravaganza. We do homemade donuts, carve jack-o-lanterns, costumes and trick-or-treating, and end on serious notes of Samhain. Then I collapse with exhaustion and call it good until Thanksgiving, lmao.

Thank the heavens for coffee.

Have a happy Halloween. I’m going to be too busy/sleep deprived to check in for the next few days.

About Me


It’s been two weeks since we brought our cat home from the vet after her back leg was amputated.

The stitches are out and the cone is off, but she has to stay in the kennel for another two weeks because of her broken front leg. I’ve also used up all of the medications that she was prescribed, with the one exception being the pain killer. I’ve gotten pretty good at shoving pills down the cat’s throat without her spitting them out, but it’s a relief to not have to do that anymore.

I moved the cat out of the laundry room and into the living room, because she seemed like she was getting lonely. The two-year-old is being more respectful of the kennel than I had expected, which was a pleasant surprise, and I’ve been recruiting the older children to sit with the cat.

One of the vets at the emergency clinic had recommended that we use newspaper pellets litter, but when I looked it up, I said “no way” to the price — I’m too stingy. So, the kids and I put a bunch of newspaper through a shredder, and lo and behold, I like it better than cat litter. It doesn’t scatter everywhere, and clean up is as easy as sending a kid outside to dump the whole thing in the compost pile once a day. Who knew? I’m totally converting, lol.

I’m not feeling terribly secure about the upcoming dark months. Not in regards to the cat, but rather more of a “by the pricking of my thumb,” sort of way. What happened to her feels like a portend.

I am very grateful that the cat is healing so well.

About Me

Spirit Animal

I didn’t grow up in a supportive environment, and one of the things that I caught a lot of flak over was cats. Back then, pets were still only pets, and no one understood why I was so driven to befriend and care for cats. I’ve been called a “crazy cat lady” since childhood.

The other day, our now-three-legged cat accidentally made a mess on herself, since balancing is hard with her broken front leg (at the moment, she only has two usable limbs), so I took off her cone to let her go to work grooming while I gently dabbed at the smearing around her stitches with a warm washcloth. And, unbidden, one of those negative voices sprang into my head with, “Why would you spend that much money on a cat just to clean shit off of it?”

I’m not a “pet parent,” and this animal isn’t my “fur baby.” Heaven knows I’ve given birth to enough babies to quench any desires in that area, so that’s not my motivation at all.

Cats are my spirit animal — my familiars — and I’m bound by a geas.

It’s the sort of thing where I go outside and cats appear. My husband and I have had strange cats follow us around the neighborhood on our evening walks — alongside our own cats. They’re always nearby.

I can’t turn my back on a cat that dragged herself through all that pain to ask for our help, even when that means carefully cleaning up poop with a washcloth as she recovers. Besides, I’m not so self-absorbed that I resent every second spent caring for another creature; I quite enjoy being the nurturer.

I’m grateful to be married to someone who understands.