So, I was sitting outside feeding my colony of cats, when the wind picked up and blew a Sonic bag across my yard. I spent the next 20 minutes convincing myself not to order delivery for a drink – I am addicted to the Dirty Diet Coke at Sonic. Here’s what I made instead… And it’s Keto Friendly!!!
I used grapefruit flavored unsweetened sparkling water.
I added a splash of heavy cream and one squirt of liquid sucralose.
It’s absolutely delicious. It kicked my craving right out the door. I assume this would work with any citrus flavored sparkling water and maybe with any sparkling water if you want to just want add the lime or lemon juice. The dirty part of the Sonic beverage is lime, heavy cream and coconut syrup.
I don’t have any kind of coconut flavored sweetener that’s keto friendly. I don’t really mind not having the coconut flavor. I don’t ever taste it anyway. This just hits the spot for me and thought I would share in case someone is in a similar craving spiral !
Let me know what you think and send me variation ideas!
Update: The Coconut Citrus Version
So I kept experimenting (because of course I did), and I found something even better. Instead of plain grapefruit sparkling water, I used half coconut sparkling water and half LaCroix Sunshine (which is this amazing citrusy blend). The Sunshine replaces the lime flavor from the Sonic version, and the coconut sparkling water stands in for the coconut syrup — no sugary syrups needed. Add the same splash of heavy cream and squirt of liquid sucralose, and oh my gosh. It’s SO good.
Zorro showed up in the summer of 2025, and he made sure everyone knew he was there.
He fought with every cat on the porch. He’d go after the females, start brawls inside the cat houses in the middle of the night, and send me running outside in my pajamas to chase him off. One of the outdoor cats had just had a litter and was trying to keep herself and her babies safe, and he made that as difficult as possible.
He had a chunk of fur missing from his side, a scar around his neck where a collar had once been — or maybe something worse — and he limped. Badly enough that we started calling him Limp. He also has a toenail on his back foot that sticks straight up at an odd angle. Between the limp, the scar, and that toenail, he was easy to spot.
He’d show up, cause problems, disappear for weeks, and then show up again like nothing happened. With his short little legs, tiny face, and compact body, I assumed he was a young cat — maybe not even a year old — just some scrappy teenage kitten with a bad attitude and nowhere to go.
Trapping him was going to be a nightmare. He was one of two cats in the colony that I knew would be nearly impossible to catch. But somehow, by some miracle, we got him. We tried to take him to the shelter first, but they were dealing with an illness in the cat room and couldn’t take anyone new. So we headed to PALS instead — and on the way there, I realized I couldn’t walk in and tell them this cat’s name was Limp. I’d decided a long time ago that all black cats get Z names — so I needed a Z name for him. And that’s how Limp became Zorro.
At PALS, they neutered him, checked him over, and looked at that weird toenail. Turns out he’d broken his toe at some point — probably in a fight — and it would always stick up like that. They checked out his limp too and said he’d be okay. The instructions were simple: keep him inside for 24 hours before releasing him.
I put the trap in my bathroom, and I left him in it. I was not opening that thing. I did feed him though — I’d lift the front of the trap just enough to slide a little plate of food in and a plastic lid with water. I took care of him, I just wasn’t about to stick my hands in there. Twenty-four hours later, I carried the whole trap outside to the driveway and released him from there — I was still afraid of him, and I didn’t want him anywhere near my cats. He bolted. Gone. I didn’t see him for weeks. I didn’t know if he was alive, if he’d left the area, if he was okay. Nothing.
And then one day, he just appeared again. But something was different. He climbed up on top of the cat house next to where I sit on the porch, and he started rubbing against me. Purring. Loving on me. Drooling everywhere. I mean everywhere — drool just pouring out of his mouth. I actually had to ask somebody if he was okay because I had never known a cat to drool like that. This was not the same cat. I started looking forward to seeing him out there. I was falling for him a little, if I’m being honest.
But I had three cats inside already. I didn’t need a fourth. I told myself I was just his porch friend, and that was going to be enough.
Then December came, and it got cold. Really cold. And Zorro kept showing up on my porch like he had nowhere else to go. I had winterized shelters out there, but I couldn’t stop worrying about him. A neighbor across the street had taken in a couple of the other outdoor cats when the cold hit, but Zorro didn’t make the cut. He was on my porch.
So I brought him in.
I put him in the spare bedroom and closed the door. When the cold snap passed, I opened the bedroom door, and he ran straight for the front door and back outside. We did this a few times over the next couple of weeks — cold snap, spare bedroom, warm up, back outside. But then one day, instead of running for the front door, he just… walked around my house. Explored. Settled in. And the weird thing was, none of my other cats were bothered. Zephyr had known him from outside, so maybe that helped. Zazu couldn’t have cared less. Zuri would hiss at him if he so much as looked at her — and honestly, she still does — but there were no real problems. He just fit.
Then, toward the end of February, he came out of his window seat and something looked off. He stopped in the middle of the living room and just stood there, and that’s when I saw it — ooze coming from behind his ear. I cleaned it up and found a nasty abscess. I got him into a carrier, called animal services, and they came and picked him up.
I was still telling myself I wasn’t keeping him. I sent him to the shelter hoping they’d fix him up and find him a good home.
About a week later, I called to check on him. They said he was better and had been put up for adoption. I tried to tell myself I was happy about that — that it would be better for him if someone with more resources adopted him. The shelter website said adoptions were $97, and I couldn’t afford that. Maybe somebody else could give him a better life.
I thought about it for maybe ten minutes.
Then I drove to the shelter. When I got there, they were doing a luck of the draw adoption event. I pulled a card out of a bucket and his adoption fee was $5. It was meant to be.
Also, turns out he wasn’t the kitten I thought he was. The shelter estimated he was around five years old — a full-grown adult who just happens to be built like a kitten. He’d been out there surviving on his own, fighting for everything, and carrying scars from a life I’ll never fully know about.
Now he’s a permanent indoor cat who chirps like a bird and demands to be held. He’s got broken and missing teeth, some of them crooked, which explains all that drool. He runs what I call the nap circuit — window, lap, couch, food, chirping, window — several times a day. When he wants to get to you, nothing is going to stop him. He’ll bulldoze and plow through whatever’s in his way, wobble, lose his balance, almost fall — and then just keep coming. He’s a cuddle bug with a collar scar, a crooked toenail, and the biggest personality in a very small body.
Long answer… Zuri has her own emotional support bedroom now. Zazu has decided walking is optional. Zorro is out here auditioning for Most Dramatic Cat. And Zephyr? Zephyr is just trying to cat peacefully in the middle of all this nonsense.
Meanwhile, I’m over here pretending to be a functioning adult.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I’ve been knitting, designing t-shirts, and absolutely not doing dishes. Priorities.
Zazu
Zazu kicked things off by deciding he didn’t feel good, which always scares me because he’s my OG. He went from being my loving little shadow to a sick little loaf, only moving if I carried him to food or water like the tiny king he is. He would only eat if I brought food to him, and drink if I held him over the sink and gave him bottled water, like the spoiled house panther that he is. At one point, I realized he wasn’t even getting up to use the litter box, so I was carrying him to the bathroom too.
The good news is, today he finally moved from the one spot he’s been laying in for a week to the window perch… so we’re calling that a win.
Zuri
Zuri is… a whole different situation. She’s set up in her own room right now, which honestly feels like her emotional support bunker. It’s quieter, safer, and she does better in there… as long as I don’t push it.
She’s never been a “people cat.” Whatever life she had before me left its mark, so we’ve learned to live at a distance. I let her exist in peace, and she lets me love her from afar. It works… until something like this happens.
She ended up with the same eye infection Zazu had, but without all the sinus stuff. It got bad really fast, and of course I couldn’t catch her, so I had to call in backup. My son came over and got her in the carrier for me so I could take her to the vet. The vet gave her an antibiotic shot, which I’m really hoping does most of the work, because getting close enough to treat her eye at home just isn’t realistic.
After everything she went through, she’s even more on edge than usual… and usual was already keeping her at arm’s length.
The Drive From Hell
I should also mention the drive to the vet, because that felt like a full stress test.
I was already a mess worrying about her eye, and then I realized there was a cop behind me, which is also when I remembered my tags were expired. The current ones sitting in an envelope at home, obviously.
And just to complete the picture, my neuralgia was flaring so bad I was driving with my left arm up over my head, holding onto the headrest behind me. So not only did I look guilty, I looked like I had an attitude about it.
Zorro
And then there’s Zorro… our resident bulldozer.
He doesn’t walk into a room, he storms it. If there’s food, it’s his. If there’s a spot, it’s his. If another cat is peacefully existing somewhere, he takes that as a personal invitation to go bother them. He’s not mean in a mastermind way… he’s just pushy, chaotic, and running purely on impulse with no real plan.
The problem is, he has the grace of a falling chair. Short, stubby legs, no sense of stealth, and absolutely zero finesse. So his attempts at intimidation usually look like a clumsy ambush followed by accidental chaos. He’ll charge in like a warrior and then immediately trip over himself, crash into something, or get distracted mid-bully mission. It’s like he never actually learned how to be a cat… he’s just improvising.
And yet… he is ridiculously adorable. Like, offensively cute. Big eyes with zero thoughts behind them, a fluffy, goofy face, and if you pet him long enough, he starts drooling like a leaky faucet. So now you’ve got this chaotic little menace, bulldozing through the house, leaving emotional damage and a trail of spit behind him… and somehow you still want to scoop him up and kiss his little face.
Zephyr
And then there’s Zephyr… my sweet middle child, just here existing.
While everything else in this house has gone completely off the rails, Zephyr is just… here. Watching it all with those big eyes like he knows something’s wrong, but also knows better than to get involved.
He still gets his wild, full-speed, tear-through-the-house zoomies like nothing is wrong at all, and honestly, I love that for him. Somebody in this house should be having a good time.
But mostly, he stays close. He’ll curl up in my lap or tuck himself under my chin like he belongs there, like he knows I’m stressed and he’s trying to help in the only way he knows how.
And somehow… it works.
As for me, I’ve been knitting on my daughter-in-law’s shawl whenever I get a chance, hoping I can finish it before winter lets up in North Dakota. I opened an Etsy shop, so I’ve been squeezing in t-shirt designs where I can, between everything else life keeps throwing at me.
Mostly, I’m just managing the stress and the pain the best I can… and avoiding the dishes like an absolute professional.
It’s not pretty, it’s not organized, but it’s my life right now.
I wasn’t planning to sort the entire alphabet, but you know how it goes. One minute you’re staring into a tube of glitter letters, trying to find a J, and the next you’re hunched over with tweezers, sorting out the entire English language like you’re prepping for glitter spelling bee season. And honestly? I didn’t hate it.
I saw the tube of alphabet glitter at Hobby Lobby—just one of those “Ooh, that would be fun in resin” moments. I decided to try using the letters to make earrings. Long rectangle molds, some resin, and little letters floating inside like magic. I made a pair for Sarah—one earring with her name, the other with Drue’s. They turned out so pretty.
So I thought, okay, let’s do another set: Aubrey on one, Jarod on the other.
Except… no J.
So I started sorting the alphabet to find one. It was actually kind of relaxing. I pulled out some little paper cups, grabbed my tweezers, and even after I found the J’s (little punks), I kept sorting. It became its own little project.
A few days later, my alphabet keychain molds came in—finally. I’d been wanting to make some, so the second I opened them, I sat down and got to work. I already had a bunch of the glitter letters sorted, and I had this idea ready to go. I started pouring, and everything just clicked. One of those rare sessions where nothing goes wrong and everything cures the way it’s supposed to.
I made an A for Amber and spelled my name inside with the glitter letters. It came out perfect. Then I made Sarah and Aubrey. I also made a letter M with pink heart glitter, and oh my God, it was beautiful. I even used some of the same pink hearts to make a pair of heart-shaped earrings—those turned out just as pretty.
And on the same mold tray, there was a paw print. So I made one of those too. Black resin, pink toe beans, and a letter Z in the center—for Zazu, Zuri, Zephyr, and Zorro. All black cats, all names starting with Z. The design worked exactly how I pictured it, and I stopped there. I didn’t want to mess up a perfectly good pour day.
The next day, I decided to make some heart-shaped earrings—because Valentine’s Day is creeping up, and if I’m ever gonna get my stuff listed on Etsy, I’ve got to start somewhere. I mean, let’s be honest, I haven’t attached a single finding yet, but that’s a problem for Future Me. Present Me was feeling ambitious and full of glitter.
I’d used pink heart glitter the day before, and it came out really pretty. In the same container, there were also red heart glitters, so I thought, great—red hearts, Valentine’s, whole theme. Let’s go.
That’s when the glitter betrayed me.
As soon as the resin touched some of those red hearts, the dye started bleeding. Instantly. The red ran off the glitter like it was trying to escape, and it looked horrible—cloudy, streaky, weirdly bruised. Not the aesthetic I was going for.
So I got creative. I poured a super thin clear layer of resin and cured it. Then, one by one, I placed the red hearts with tweezers, added another thin layer of resin, and cured it again. Then I did it all over one more time.
It looked better—but it was taking forever. These earrings were shaping up to be about $400 a pair if we’re counting time and sanity. And the red still kept bleeding just enough to be annoying.
That was the moment I tapped out. That session officially went on pause. I’ll revisit it once I’ve forgiven the red hearts.
After the Great Bleeding Heart Incident, I needed a break. So I pulled out my gallon-sized bag of finished resin pieces—the ones I’ve been tossing in for weeks, fully intending to “deal with them later.” Well… later showed up.
First, I tossed the ones I knew I’d never actually use—the earliest pours and experiments that taught me what not to do. I originally saved them so I could look back one day and be proud of how far I’d come, but nope. Some things are better off in the trash.
Then I sorted through the rest. Some of it was just okay. Some of it was Etsy-worthy. I pulled out the decent ones, grabbed my stash of hooks, jump rings, and earring findings, and started finishing everything up. I got a bunch done and felt mildly accomplished. I didn’t pour anything new for a few days—just needed to regroup.
Then yesterday, I had a brilliant idea. Or at least it felt brilliant: red pepper flakes in resin. (Has this been done before?) I don’t have any dried flowers or pretty garden goodies over here, so I grabbed the pepper flakes and started looking around my kitchen for other leafy or interesting things to use.
That’s when I remembered the loose-leaf tea. I have so much tea, and some of it had been hiding in the back of the cabinet for a couple of years. The tea itself was perfect—beautiful little dried petals, herbs, and fruity bits. So I grabbed a few and pulled out my open-back bezels.
I decided to use hearts for the pepper flakes—seemed appropriate for Valentine’s Day. Everything looked great at first, until the bubbles started showing up. They’d been hiding under the tea and pepper flakes, then rose up under the UV lamp. One of the hearts came out near perfect—except when I tried to dome it, it overflowed. The second heart had a couple of bubbles—still beautiful—but when I domed that one, it overflowed just enough to fill the ring at the top. I’ll drill that out later.
The other piece was a diamond shape, and that’s the one I put the tea in. It had the most bubbles, but it’s still gorgeous. I just wish I’d caught those bubbles earlier, because that one’s a really beautiful pendant.
So yeah, that’s where I’m at in my resin journey right now. It’ll probably be a little while before I pour again—I’ve had a special request to do a cross-stitch project for Drue and Sarah’s wedding, and I’m also working on a knitting project for my other daughter-in-law. Resin might have to take a backseat for a bit… at least until I get tired of stitching and knitting.
Sooooo, I decided to try resin. Not because I needed a new hobby. Not because I could afford it. But because my brain said, “This looks fun and harmless.” My brain was… optimistic.
I watched a bunch of Daniel Cooper videos, nodded along, and decided I was ready. I already had a UV light from doing my nails, so UV resin felt like a reasonable place to start. I bought a couple of molds, silicone mats, mica powders, and some inks, fully convinced I was about to be a pro.
For my very first project, I went straight for a tiny monogram mold—an “S.” In my head, I was going to make earrings for my daughter-in-law as a gift. It was an ambitious choice for a first attempt. I tried coloring the letter with mica powder and then filled it with clear UV resin mixed with glitter. The mold itself worked fine, but my technique didn’t. I used too much glitter, the color choice was wrong, and the letter almost disappeared completely. It was a quick lesson in how unforgiving small, detailed molds can be when you’re brand new to resin.
For my second attempt, I made seashells. I brushed mica powder into the ridges and details, cured them, and was pleasantly surprised. They weren’t perfect, but they actually looked like seashells, which felt like a step in the right direction and a small win worth celebrating.
After that, I decided to try a technique I’d been curious about from the beginning. I had seen Daniel Cooper do this thing where he pours glue, swirls color into it, dips a cabochon into the pattern, lets it dry, and then seals the whole piece in resin. It looked simple enough.
My first attempt did not go so well. I poured the glue, added the color, swirled it around, and dunked the cabochon I had made—without thinking through the very important detail of how I was going to get it back out. The glue was wet, the cabochon was slippery, and I ended up with glue all over the place. By the time I got it out, parts of the pattern had been wiped away completely where my fingers had slid across the bottom. The whole thing was a sticky, smeared mess. I wiped it clean and moved on.
After rewatching the videos, I realized I had missed a very important step: letting the glue dry a bit before dipping anything into it. So I tried again. This time I poured the glue, added the colors, swirled them around, and then set everything aside until the next day. The results were better. The pattern transferred, although the colors were a little muddy in places. I liked it more than my first attempt, but not enough to keep it. Once the glue dried, I peeled it off the back, leaving me with a collection of clear cabochons waiting for me to get better at this resin thing before I try again.
Since then, I’ve experimented with all sorts of small projects. I made earrings for my other daughter-in-law, played around with charms from my jewelry-making supplies by clipping the loops off the top of them, and slowly figuring out what works and what absolutely does not. There have been accidents, there have been happy accidents, and there have been plenty of moments where something went straight into the trash without hesitation.
One major lesson came when I decided to make coasters. I bought coaster molds and a large amount of UV resin, fully intending to make them for everyone in the family for Christmas. What I didn’t know until after the fact is that UV resin and coasters are not friends. The pieces warped, didn’t cure properly on the bottom, and generally looked terrible, so there will be no resin coasters, but I do now own a generous supply of UV resin.
More recently, I’ve started experimenting with alcohol inks. I’m still learning how they behave, but more than anything, I’m learning patience. Resin is a craft that involves a lot of waiting—pour, wait, cure, wait, repeat. That’s something you don’t really see in videos, because all the waiting gets skipped or sped up. Learning to slow down has been part of the process.
I also made my first piece of resin paper, and I absolutely love it. I don’t know yet what I’ll use it for, but I know I’ll be making more.
This whole process has been about experimenting, adjusting expectations, and learning as I go. Not everything turns out well. Not everything gets kept. But I’m enjoying it—and that’s what makes me want to keep going.
I’ve decided to stick exclusively with UV resin. Epoxy isn’t a good fit for my space, airflow situation, or budget. UV resin works for what I want to do, and that’s enough.
Let’s kick this off with something I actually finished—a hat for me! That’s right, not for my brother, not for my son, just me for once.
I have no idea what yarns these are. I think I got them from KnitPicks years ago—maybe five or six? I don’t usually buy a lot of wool yarn since I live in Central Texas and honestly don’t need it most of the year. Most of my stash is acrylic, but this year it got cold early, and I wanted something warm.
I didn’t follow a pattern for this one. I cast on 104 stitches (I have a 24-inch head, in case you’re wondering). This is sock yarn, so holding two strands together, US 5 ChiaoGoo Red Lace needles were perfect. I used the magic loop method and worked one-by-one rib until I had about 9 inches of fabric, then started decreasing for the crown. Nothing fancy—just decreased until I got bored, then sewed it up. I love the look of one-by-one rib—it’s my favorite for hats. It’s stretchy, it fits great, and it just always looks good.
Here’s a second hat I finished This was for my soon-to-be daughter-in-law. This yarn is Caron Latte Cakes – Lovely Layers (in one of the purple shades), and it was so soft I had to switch to my KnitPicks rainbow wood needles to keep it from sliding around. I cast on 60 stitches (her head measured 22 inches) using size 8 circular needles and just worked one-by-one rib all the way to the top. Same basic pattern as mine, just fluffier and a bit smaller. Super cozy!
On the Needles 🧶
Here’s a pair of socks I’m currently working on, again, using some wool yarn I got from KnitPicks years ago. At one point I bought a bunch of wool yarn because I had never knit with it before, and I wanted to know what it was like. So I have a bunch of small 50-gram balls that I got from KnitPicks somewhere in my stash.
These socks are for my son who recently moved to North Dakota and is currently freezing his poor Texas-born tootsies off. I was aiming to have them finished by Christmas, but let’s be honest—that deadline has sailed. They’ll be done when they’re done, and his toes will just have to wait.
This is just a hat I’m working on using some acrylic yarn I’ve had forever. I think it’s Lion Brand, but I have no clue what the colorway is. It’s super squishy and soft, and I’ve tried using it for a bunch of different projects—shawls, gloves, hats—you name it. Nothing ever felt right.
Last week I tried making a plain stockinette hat that would roll at the brim, but it looked awful. It didn’t sit right or move right or something. Now I’m trying again with a 2×1 rib… and honestly? I still don’t think I’m going to like it. I just cannot find the right project for this yarn.
I’m keeping it in one of the first project bags I ever made. And that little flower stitch marker? I made it too! I love those beads and haven’t been able to find more like them. I got them in a random stash from a thrift store.
This is the Half + Half Triangle Wrap from Purl Soho. I started it a long time ago—probably a couple of years back. I finished the first triangle, started the second, and realized something was terribly wrong. So I actually went back and read the pattern… turns out, I didn’t finish the first triangle properly.
I tried to fix it by taking out just a few rows, but with the wrap-and-turns, I couldn’t figure it out. I’m not skilled enough for that yet, so I frogged the whole thing and started over. I’m almost done with the first triangle again now.
The yarn is Yarn Bee Soft & Sleek DK from Hobby Lobby. It’s a heathered gray and, sadly, no longer shows up in the app. This is hands-down my favorite yarn ever—soft, lovely to work with, and perfect for hats or wraps like this. It might not be a true DK weight, maybe more of a light DK, but it’s dreamy.
I keep this project close by all year round. It’s the one I reach for when I’m watching TV, bored, or just not feeling anything else. I can pick it up, knit a row or two, and put it back down.
The stitch marker I’m using is one I made using a little polymer clay butterfly bead that I got from Amazon. I love the clasp style because it’s round and fits over larger needles easily.
The project bag is also made by me using scrap fabric that I’ve had forever. It’s roomy, squishy, and perfect for this big wrap in progress.
I honestly can’t remember when I started cross-stitching—or even what my very first project was. The first one I do remember was “Jesus Knocking at the Door,” a Bucilla kit (from back in the 1990’s). I was probably 17 or 18 when I got the kit, finished it around age 19 or 20, and gave it to my mom. It’s hanging on her wall in her bedroom, still in a cheap frame with no glass, yellowed from age, and has knots all over the back. I had masking tape around the edges. It was done by a teenager who had no idea what she was doing… but I loved it.
Years later, I picked it back up again. Around 2014 or 2015, I bought a tiger kit for my son, who loved tigers at the time. It was on black Aida, and I learned the hard way that stitching on black fabric is not my happy place. It ended up in the UFO pile, where it still lives today.
Then one day, I stumbled onto a Flosstube video—Sarah from A Stitchin’ Mommy—and my mind was blown. I had no idea you could buy fabric in colors other than white or black. I didn’t know there were different types of fabric besides Aida. I didn’t know you could buy patterns without buying a kit, choose your own floss, stitch without a hoop or frame, or even dye your own fabric. My whole world opened up.
Like many, I got a little carried away. I found Heaven and Earth Designs, fell in love with massive full-coverage pieces, and bought way too many giant projects I’ll never finish in my lifetime (Boho Seaside Max Color, I’m looking at you). I eventually realized that smaller patterns can bring me just as much joy—and can actually get finished.
Today, I have close to (or maybe more than) 100 cross-stitch projects in progress, plus a dresser full of floss, fabric, and patterns. I don’t finish often, but I love every stitch. Some pieces I’ve given away, some I’ve kept but haven’t framed yet, and some… well, they’re still in time-out. Right now I’m taking a break to focus on a wedding quilt, but I still think about cross-stitch every single day. And someday soon, I’ll be back at it—probably starting another project I don’t need, but can’t resist.
Knitting is my happy place. Seriously — hand me some yarn and needles, and I’m good for hours. I mostly knit hats for my brother (he swears he loves them… probably has 100 by now) and occasionally for my youngest son (who also “loves” them). I’m great at starting projects, not so much at finishing them — except for a pair of socks I made for my dad, which he allegedly loves. Dad, if you’re reading this, I love you to pieces… but you’re never getting another pair. I hated every single minute of making them. Never again. Right now, besides working on Find Your Fade by Andrea Mowry, I’m knitting the Half + Half Triangle Wrap by Purl Soho, and loving it. Of course, in true hot mess fashion, I got all the way to the end of the first triangle, started the second, realized I hadn’t read the finishing instructions for the first one, and had to frog the whole thing. There was no way I was picking up those stitches with the wrap & turns. So here I am, halfway through triangle one… again.
Lately, I’ve been watching a show called A Taste of History with Max Miller. It’s meant to be a light food series, but it keeps pulling me into something deeper. As he walks through the historical context of each dish, I find myself thinking about how young so many of these people were—leading, building, changing the world. And how differently we’ve come to view youth today.
—
In my generation—Generation X—we were raised to believe that wisdom only came with age.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” they told us. And we believed them. We were taught to listen, not speak. Respect our elders. Wait our turn. Because we hadn’t lived as long, our voices were dismissed as inexperienced, invalid, even foolish. (Or female.)
We were meant to watch and learn until some invisible line was crossed, and then—someday—we’d finally be old enough to matter. But when is that day?
—
Looking back through history, it’s hard not to notice how often that idea just doesn’t hold.
Joan of Arc was only 17 when she led an army.
Alexander the Great became king at 20.
Phillis Wheatley was 20 when she became the first African-American woman to publish a book of poetry.
Even within our own American history, people in their 20s and 30s were founding nations:
Edward Rutledge, 26, was the youngest signer of the Declaration of Independence.
George Washington, 22, was commanding troops during the French and Indian War.
Mary Shelley, just 20, published Frankenstein—a work that shaped literature for centuries.
They didn’t wait their turn. They didn’t ask permission.
—
Did we break the cycle?
Did we teach the next generation to think for themselves? To speak up, to question what they’re told, to use their imagination? Did we give them the confidence to shape the world they’re inheriting?
Did we learn to listen to them?
Maybe the question isn’t how old you have to be to be wise.
Maybe it’s this: What if the age of wisdom isn’t an age at all?
One wedding, four dresses, three sleeping spots, two sick cats, a hole in my ceiling, and one exhausted mama.
Hey y’all. I’ve missed you.
If you’ve been wondering where I disappeared to, just know — I didn’t actually fall off the earth. I just got swallowed whole by real life. My son got married!! My ceiling caved in (literally). My cats got sick. And I stopped sleeping in one room like a normal human.
Let’s just say it’s been a season.
💃 The Great Dress Debacle
Let’s talk about the dress — or, more accurately… the dress situation.
The first one I ordered actually fit beautifully. But the jacket that came with it? Way too small. The company wouldn’t just replace the jacket — they said they had to replace the whole set. So in order to get a larger jacket, I would’ve had to get a larger dress that was going to be too big.
So I ordered two different jackets from another company, and a backup dress from Amazon. This was the week of the wedding, and I was stressed out of my mind. I just wanted to look nice for my son’s big day. I wasn’t worried about embarrassing myself — I was worried about embarrassing him. I didn’t want to be the awkward mom in the corner of every photo. I wanted to do this right. For him.
The two jackets I ordered actually fit beautifully — but they were totally the wrong color for the original dress.
The Amazon dress fit, with a little room to spare — but not enough to worry about. The length was perfect. But there was a big black smudge right down the front of the cape-like overlay. I tried to clean it… and made it worse.
So I ordered the same exact dress again — hoping the replacement (of the replacement) would show up clean. And I threw one more dress into the cart, because I needed options. These dresses were arriving the day before the wedding. I had to have a backup plan in case something else went wrong.
Both dresses showed up just in time.
The new version of the smudged dress? Clean, beautiful, and ready to go.
The extra dress? Absolutely stunning — I loved it. But it was about a foot too long, and there just wasn’t time.
So I wore the replacement (of the replacement) Amazon dress. And after weeks of stress — and everything else going on (see: furry soap opera below) — I felt amazing. It wasn’t just about how the dress looked… it was about showing up for one of the most important days of my son’s life feeling confident and proud. Mission accomplished!
Pictures will be coming… as soon as I get them.
🐾 The Furry Soap Opera
As if wedding prep wasn’t enough, my house turned into a full-blown chaos zone. And not just because of the cats — although they definitely had starring roles.
Right in the middle of it all, I was having roof work done. One of the contractors actually stepped through my ceiling, and they temporarily patched the hole with a black trash bag and duct tape. I made them use hot pink duct tape — because at that point? I needed to feel like something was under my control. If I had to have a black trash bag taped to my ceiling, I wanted it to be pretty.
Zazu was absolutely mortified. The banging, the noise, the hole in the ceiling — it stressed him out so badly he got sick. And when Zazu gets sick, I panic. I got him to the vet quickly and thankfully we caught it early. He got meds and started to feel better.
But then Zuri got it… and it hit her so much worse.
I took her to an emergency hospital. They kept her overnight, gave her IV fluids, and syringe-fed her. Every time I called for an update, I got a different doctor — four total — and every one of them said, “I don’t know, I’m just getting to know her.” No one could tell me if she was improving or not, and I was furious.
She didn’t get better. In fact, she got worse. So I took her to a different emergency vet for another opinion. They suspected FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis), which is hard to diagnose and extremely serious. They gave me a prescription for custom-compounded medication. I had to syringe it into her mouth twice a day.
It was awful. Zuri is my quiet, fearful girl. In the four years I’ve had her, she never let me touch her. And now, I had to catch her, hold her, and give her meds. I was also syringing water and food because she wasn’t eating or drinking. I even ran hot showers just to steam her sinuses — I had frizzy hair for days.
Meanwhile… sleep? I didn’t even know her.
Every night, I rotated between two or three rooms. I’d start in Jarod’s room with Zeus, my newest rescue, who was recovering and separated from the others. Around 2 AM, I’d get up, go to the living room to love on Zazu and Zephyr, and then move to my room with Zuri. Some nights, I even napped on the couch in between. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. It was a nightmare.
But we made it. Somehow. Zazu recovered. Zuri recovered. And she looks part poodle now thanks to her little shaved arm where they had the IV — it’s kind of cute.
Zephyr, for his part, had no idea what was going on. He was still new to the family — just recently let out of Jarod’s room before all of this started — and was walking around like a goofy big brother trying to figure out the house rules. And then I brought in Zeus.
Zeus was never meant to be a permanent part of the family — just a rescue I was helping after he got kicked out of his colony, badly injured, and clearly confused about where he belonged. He had a wound across his nose and didn’t seem to know how to protect himself. I took him to the vet, got him treated and neutered, and gave him a safe place to heal while trying to find him a home.
But Zephyr wouldn’t accept him. And after weeks of rotating rooms, constant stress, and everyone’s routines falling apart, I hit my limit. I had to take Zeus to PAWS to find him a new home — somewhere safe where he could be loved and not feared. It broke my heart, but I couldn’t do it anymore.
So here we are. The chaos has quieted. The cats are healing. I’m back to sleeping in one bed again.
Stay tuned for part two of the ceiling saga — because the contractor still has to come back and fix the terrible patch. I’m just hoping Zazu doesn’t get sick again when he does.
Also, my other son is getting married in June! Stay tuned for that adventure!
A Stitchin’ Hot Mess 