Equal Rights? Get it together!

Equal rights? Check.

Equal pay? Working on it.

Equal dedication as employees? Well, that’s where things get... complicated.

Modern motherhood is basically trying to win the "equal rights and equal pay" game while also being the star player in the "mom duties championship." Employers want us to work like we don’t have kids, and kids want us to parent like we don’t have work. Men, meanwhile, are out here setting the standard for bosses by never being the ones called to school for a last-minute field trip or to soothe a feverish forehead at 2 a.m. If multitasking were an Olympic sport, moms would win gold, silver, and bronze—right after packing lunches and making sure everyone gets to soccer practice on time.

Making the Bed is my Muse

Every Saturday morning, without fail, I begin my epic quest—making the bed. And every Saturday morning, as if on cue, my brain becomes a fountain of groundbreaking ideas. We're talking world-changing revelations here. The kind of brilliance that could inspire books, resolve global warming, and finally crack the mystery of where all the missing socks go. Nobel-worthy stuff.

Naturally, I reach for my phone, poised to immortalize these flashes of genius. But the moment my thumb hovers over the record button? Boom. Total mental blackout. It’s as if the mere act of recording has a kill switch directly connected to my brain. One second I’m Einstein mid-equation, and the next, my brain is a empty as the toilet paper shelfs at your local walmart during a pandemic

There I stand, fists full of bedsheets, looking down at my phone like it just ate the last donut. I whisper to it, “Please, just one coherent thought.” Spoiler alert: my phone isn’t listening. The ideas are gone, evaporated, like a dream where you almost found the answer to life but then woke up to your cat walking on your face.

So there I am, mid-bed-making, staring at my phone, waiting for a thought—any... single... coherent thought... Spoiler alert: it doesn’t happen. I sigh and go back to fluffing the pillows, surrendering my creative genius to the void. Curtains close until next Saturday.

It used to be your cup of tea... but now you want wine

What happens when you discover new interests and leave the old ones behind, still half-finished? It’s a little like ending a relationship—not because you stopped caring...but because it used to be your cup of tea but now you want wine! Nothing wrong with wine! You’ve grown and changed. Evolved. Sometimes, you just have to admit that your stamp-collecting days are over (unless you're into that, in which case, live your best life).

That’s not to say I don’t still enjoy the things I once loved—I do. But life, like me, refuses to stay in one place. Interests shift, habits morph, and suddenly, you’re swapping binge-watching your favorite sitcom for attempting to bake sourdough... badly. But isn’t that what keeps things spicy?

And oh, the thrill of chasing something new without knowing where it’ll lead! Maybe I’ll become a world-famous blogger—or, more realistically, I’ll blog into the void while convincing myself the algorithm is just “warming up.” Either way, that’s the magic of it. It’s not about perfection, it’s about leaning into the messiness of it all—

—because the mess is where the beauty hides. Who wants a spotless, predictable life anyway? It’s in the chaos of new hobbies, fleeting passions, and daring mistakes that we find the stories worth retelling. Like the time I attempted yoga and toppled over mid-warrior pose, only to laugh so hard I scared my cat out of the room. Or that week I convinced myself I could learn the ukulele, despite my complete lack of rhythm or coordination. Spoiler alert: I can now play two and a half chords. Barely.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? To lean into the tumble, to taste the sweetness of trying, and to fall flat on your face—gracefully, of course. I’d rather have a journal filled with scribbles and crossed-out plans than one with blank pages. Logic has its place, but life? Life deserves a bit of delightful absurdity.

Words to live by

The workforce—a carnival we all bought tickets to but didn’t exactly plan on attending. Whether you’re reigning at the top of the corporate food chain or hanging tentatively from the lowest branch, the vibe often feels oddly similar. And yet, here we all are, punching clocks and perfecting our “active listening” faces in meetings like wandering flocks of geese unsure if it's fall or spring.

Now, don’t get me wrong—it’s a little soul-crushing to see employees feeling unappreciated. But, dare I add an unexpected plot twist? It’s just as heart-wrenching when you’re the boss and feel like wallpaper in your own office. Picture this—you hire people, dole out a paycheck, and offer training for jobs that don’t exactly require a Ph.D. You know, positions that mostly rely on common sense and a pulse. Essentially, I deliver two things—experience and a paycheck. Yet, some folks make it clear they’d rather not need either.

Look, I get it—ambition calls, and the grass is always greener on literally any lawn other than the one you're mowing. But here’s the kicker—those of us cutting the payroll checks? We're fully aware that this might not be your “forever job.” Still, it might do a soul some good to occasionally say, “Hey, thanks for helping me keep the lights on while I chase my dreams.” Instead, I hear things like, “Man, I hope I’m not stuck here in two years.” Same, Thelma! Same! I, too, hope my next hire knows how to tell a Phillips head from a flathead screwdriver without a 10-minute staring contest.

Here’s the thing—if the fit isn’t right on my side, I will absolutely make the call and find someone else. Cruel? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. At the end of the day, it’s not personal—it’s just business. You know, the kind of business paying to keep the air-conditioning running both at my office and at the apartment where your plants are thriving.

Here’s my two cents (and that’s after taxes):Take a moment to appreciate the stepping stones beneath your feet. Even if your boss isn’t your favorite Marvel character, remember the paycheck and experience they’re offering. Work is tough, yes—but mutual respect can go a long way. And who knows? Maybe we’ll all make something meaningful out of it yet. Like keeping your first born alive! Or, at the very least, fewer passive-aggressive watercooler comments!

Why do I write? And More Importantly.... Why do you read it?

Writing is my therapy, my guilty pleasure, and sometimes my excuse for dodging chores. There's just something magical about spilling thoughts onto a page—it’s like giving my overly dramatic brain its own stage. I jot down opinions no one asked for, document awkward moments I’ll cringe at later, and craft stories that might make someone laugh (or at least snort).

One day, my kids will probably find my collection of journals, roll their eyes, and dramatically declare, “Why did she write all this?” before chucking them into the trash. But until that day comes, I'll keep writing—because, let's face it, someone has to document this beautiful mess we call life for future generations. I'm basically doing humanity a public service... you're welcome.