mood.

january has the shortest days of the year. sometimes short, dark days and seasonal depression is managed only by good drugs.

so Julie andrews may have had good intentions to start at the very beginning. but this is the middle. middle age. middle class. children in middle school. in the middle of closing a door to a career I miss and opening another.

i’ve never been one for new year’s resolutions. but i guess this is a very good place to start.

vintage catholic songs are kind of bangers.

when we were little my sister and i were parked in the very first pew at st. patrick’s catholic church on saturday nights while our mom jammed away on the guitar a few feet away. other very normal childhood activities included taking white bread and smashing it into a full moon host and taking turns giving each other communion complete with red kool-aid wine.

my church habit largely dissolved in a pool of catholic guilt as a grown up that is best processed in therapy with a licensed professional. but the nostalgia of a catholic banger will forever be part of me. taste and see? banger. eye has not seen? classic. sing of the lord’s goodness? yes, please.

love you. love me.

i’ve been married for 16 years. i’ve saved every card we’ve ever exchanged (and I now collect all my kids’ cards and childhood keepsakes thinking one day I will absolutely hand them over in a box to my children even when they say please no).

i know i am my own audience in my hoarding exercise. but my hoard holds happiness. so my collection will grow. like our prophet taytay, i’d marry him all over again with paper rings. and alas… i too like shiny things. when my husband asks if i have any valentine gifts in mind, i usually say, “you got me this lovely item thank you very much i love it.”

but something small and thoughtful will get you brownie points.

make your bed.

i love being in bed. laying is one of my favorite hobbies. the first obstacle of the day is leaving my duvet and feather pillow, squishy memory foam topper and stupid expensive parachute sheets (ugh they are so good… and so expensive). but making the bed is my first chore. my brain will remain parked here until i’ve fluffed my pillows. so i will get up.

once my husband told me from a conversation with his therapist there’s not a right way to make the bed (yass I’m so proud of you my emotionally evolving king), but i did have to choke back an “oh yeah?” face. I hope to pass on my love of a hospital corner as part of my legacy. but really it’s probably trauma around the phrase, “go make your bed… ack, no not like that.”