Life lately feels like one of those sitcom episodes where everything that can go wrong does—but with fewer laugh tracks and more medical bills. Between navigating chemo, toddler tantrums, teacher appreciation marathons, and a surprise cameo from a man who ghosted faster than my willpower in a bookstore, I’ve been riding the rollercoaster with no seatbelt and a cup of lukewarm coffee.
Some days I feel like Supermom, crafting Pinterest-worthy gift baskets with a sparkle in my eye. Other days, I feel like a human puddle just trying to survive another round of chemo and maybe get around to brushing my teeth.
But through the chaos, there’s also been beauty—little victories, big blessings, and people showing up in ways that genuinely bring me to tears. So buckle up, friends. I’ve got financial adventures, cancer confessions, dating drama, and a mobile bookstore that nearly healed my soul.
Let’s dive in.
💰 Finance: In Which I Spend Like Oprah, but With a Budget
Let’s talk money—but not the “buying crypto and manifesting wealth” kind. I mean the kind where I intentionally blew my Fun Money cash envelope and still feel zero regret.
First up: Teacher Appreciation Week, otherwise known as “How I Turned into a One-Woman Etsy Boutique.” I went all out, y’all. Each day, my daughter’s teacher got a themed basket—think snacks, spa goodies, and things so Pinterest-worthy even Pinterest was like, “Chill, girl.” And not to be outdone, my toddler’s preschool teachers received luxurious spa day gift baskets, because if you’ve ever met a toddler, you know that anyone willingly spending six hours a day with a room full of them deserves a Nobel Peace Prize and some bath bombs.
Was it expensive? Yes. Was it budgeted for? Also yes. Because these teachers have been absolute angels on Earth for my children this year, and I’d buy them all matching Teslas if I could. But instead, they got lavender-scented lotions and heartfelt notes. Same vibe.
But don’t worry, I balanced my Oprah tendencies with some classic freebie magic. In a thrilling turn of suburban fate, I scored a stunning entertainment center for zero dollars from a local Buy Nothing Facebook page. I’d been on the hunt for something to make my living room look less like a daycare explosion and more like, well, a living room. This piece fits perfectly with my décor and let me relocate my toddler’s toy shelves to a proper play nook. Bonus twist? The original owner turned out to be my dad’s literal next-door neighbor. Pick-up was faster than Amazon Prime and cost me nothing but a thank-you wave.
And then came the vendor markets. (Cue ominous spending music.) Listen, I was finally feeling well enough to get out of the house and engage with the world, and this is where destiny took me.
Touch-a-Truck was a free city event where kids climbed in various community vehicles and honked horns while I briefly remembered what fresh air feels like. But then I saw it: a mobile bookstore parked at the edge of the event like a siren singing to my book-loving soul. Half the books were either old favorites or on my TBR list. And don’t even get me started on the accessories. I dropped $100 like I was on an episode of Supermarket Sweep, and let me tell you—I regret nothing.
The next day we hit another vendor market, and… another $100 flew out the window. Food, home décor, toddler t-shirts, and yes, more books. At this point, my Fun Money envelope is dead. Flatlined. But I didn’t go over budget. Not even a little.
Now—here’s where it gets sweet.
I had originally planned to spend that $200 Fun Money on an iPad. Lately, I’ve had more and more days where I’m stuck in bed, barely able to lift my head, much less chase a toddler. I thought an iPad might let me read eBooks, play mindless games, or watch shows without having to squint at my tiny phone screen. I mentioned it to a few friends, expecting a “Treat yourself!” pep talk. Instead, they all went full Dave Ramsey on me: “You don’t need it. It’s not necessary.”
So I sighed… and then the next day, one of those same friends showed up at my door with an old iPad no one in her house was using anymore.
A total, unexpected, heartfelt blessing. Not just the device, but the thoughtfulness. That moment reminded me: sometimes, what you need shows up without a receipt.
💉 Cancer: Pain, Patience, and an Army of Angels
Chemotherapy is not for the faint of heart, y’all. Lately, the days I feel well enough to leave the house—or even the bed—are getting fewer and farther between. I recently spent almost two full weeks doing my best impression of a leftover casserole: curled up in bed, emotionally gooey, and starting to smell a little off.
Physically, I’m depleted. The fatigue, nausea, and body aches have me down more often than not. And my chemo port site? That little demon has been a saga. First, the incision popped open—hospital trip. Then it split open again, so we had to do a full port replacement surgery. And then, because this port enjoys drama, I ended up with a minor infection. Thankfully, Neosporin did the trick, and I avoided a third surgery. But the pain remains, especially when my kids try to snuggle. One wrong head bump to the collarbone and I’m seeing constellations. It breaks my heart that I can’t pull them close the way I want to.
Because I’m spending so much time in bed, I’ve needed our nanny to work extra hours. It’s been a financial stretch, but here’s where the angels show up again: my mom, my grandmother, a sweet friend and her work crew—all stepped in to help cover the extra childcare costs. Their generosity is keeping our little world running.
I’d be lying if I said depression wasn’t creeping in. Being stuck in bed with the same four walls and the same existential thoughts gets heavy. I’m fighting back in small but meaningful ways: making lists of shows to binge, books to read, crafts to try. I even created a “Virtual Vacations” list on YouTube and started a sketchbook. My mom helped me deep-clean my back patio so I can lie outside and soak in some vitamin D when I feel too weak to move but desperately need to not be indoors.
And then there are days like this: One day, I was having an especially awful time. I knew that if I could just change my sheets, take a bath, and tidy my room, I’d feel better—but I couldn’t even sit up. A sweet friend came over, handled it all—including bathing my toddler—and brought me soup. I cried. Of course I cried. This kind of love and kindness… it leaves you speechless. Cancer sucks, but people are amazing.
💔 Personal: Tall, Dark, Handsome… and Suddenly Unavailable
Let’s pivot to dating, because apparently I’m still out here trying. Who am I to let cancer stop me, right?
For almost two months, I was talking to a man who, on paper, seemed like he’d walked straight out of a Hallmark movie—tall, dark, handsome, funny, emotionally aware, gainfully employed, and—most shocking of all—responsive to text messages in a timely manner. We were in that golden era of early connection: trading jokes, deep convos, flirty banter. The stuff rom-com montages are made of.
He lived three hours away, but he was adamant that it didn’t matter. “You’re worth the effort,” he said. “Distance is no big deal.”
Cue swoon.
Now, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as the date approached. Not just regular first-date nerves—oh no, I’m talking “dear God please don’t let me be a chemo zombie that day” kind of nerves. I prayed for weeks that my body would behave, that I’d have the energy to shower, wear pants with a zipper, and maybe even feel like myself for a few hours.
And wouldn’t you know it—on that one day, I did. I felt good. Not just “good-for-someone-on-chemo” good. I felt genuinely human. My pain levels were manageable, my energy was decent, and I didn’t need to lie down in the restaurant booth between appetizers and entrees. That’s a win in my book.
He drove the three hours. We went to dinner, then Painting with a Twist, where I may or may not have dipped my paintbrush in my drinking cup more than once. We laughed, we talked about real things, we had a vibe. He opened doors for me, he kissed me goodnight, and I went home feeling really good about things.
Then, two days later, he pulls the old switcheroo. “Actually, the distance is too much.”
Excuse me, what?
I blinked at my phone like it had personally betrayed me. I replied (very calmly, very maturely, with no trace of sarcasm… okay, maybe just a little) with something along the lines of:
“Are you sure? I thought we both agreed upfront that the distance was something we were willing to work with. I know it won’t be easy, but I really felt like there was potential here.”
And that, my friends, is when he pulled a full Casper the Inconsiderate Ghost. No reply. Just… poof. Gone. Like my Fun Money envelope. Like my faith in modern dating apps. Like my leftover fries I was saving for later—just disappeared.
Look, I wasn’t planning a wedding. I didn’t have his last name doodled in my journal. But I did have hope. For one lovely, laughter-filled evening, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while: lightness. Connection. Like I wasn’t just a tired mom or a sick body in a bed—I was me. A woman on a date, wearing mascara and everything.
And for that alone, it was still worth it.
(But also, RIP to my trust in men who say, “Distance isn’t a problem.” May they be forever haunted by spotty Wi-Fi and bad gas station coffee on every road trip.)
So here we are. I’m broke in the Fun Money department, sore in the collarbone, and blessed beyond measure. Cancer sucks. Ghosting sucks. But the people around me? The ones who show up with soup, iPads, extra nanny hours, clean patios, and compassion? They are the gold.
There are still days I don’t feel like myself. Still days I cry, ache, or can’t move. But there are also days I get to laugh at vendor markets, watch my toddler explore a firetruck, and cry happy tears over baskets of kindness and mobile bookstores.
And those days? They’re everything.
Until next time, friends. 💛