Hi!

Kitchen Chaos, Mom Moments & Gluten-Free Treats 🍌

Our house in the summer? It’s Grand Central Station with a snack bar and a guest list I don’t remember approving—but I’m *not mad about it.* From Pride weekend kid takeovers to a birthday celebration that somehow turned into a 10-day, two-state extravaganza (because why not?) and everything in between, it’s been chaotic, loud, and so full of love I could cry.

This is what I always wanted. A home where the kids want to hang out. And they DO. Which means I get to learn all the tea first hand when they do chat with me, hand out home-baked goods, and act like the cool mom (minus the heels and pearls or actually being cool).

Sure, I grew up with June Cleaver ideals—vacuuming in pumps and throwing dinner parties while wearing pearls—but real life? Closer to “One Day at a Time” vibes. Raised by a single mom who worked her tail off so we could live in a good neighborhood and grow up strong. She’s been my hero forever. But this summer hit a little different…

Because this summer, I realized my mom isn’t Wonder Woman anymore. She’s still amazing, but the cape’s a little wrinkled, and she needs us more than she used to. And y’all, that realization is a gut punch in slow motion.

Being a mom is already a full-contact sport. You’re expected to do *all the things*, with a smile, while staying calm during breaking news doomscrolls and summer drama. (Side note: the news? Still the worst. I swear my blood pressure goes up just walking past a TV.)

My mom watches the news like it’s her favorite soap opera. “I just want to check the weather,” she says. (Sure, Jan.) It’s definitely a generational thing—she leans in, I lean out. I want facts, not fear. I’d rather pretend I live in Canada, raise goats, and never hear about political scandals again.

But you know what? Spending this time with her—helping, laughing, watching the slow pace of aging in real-time—has been hard and sweet all at once. It’s a weird kind of heartbreak. The kind that makes you grateful.

Back at home, in between kid invasions and laundry avalanches, I’ve been doing what I do best: feeding people. With a smile. Not in pearls, but probably barefoot. Maybe with a cocktail.

In the last week alone, I’ve made:

• Homemade lasagna (yes, the real deal)
• Xmas Sausage Balls (normally made only during the holidays, but who doesn’t love Christmas in July?)
• Horchata from scratch
• Gluten-free Chex Mix (because even party snacks deserve to be safe)
• Banana bread so good it should be illegal
• Aebleskiver! (Google it. Or better yet, ask a Scandinavian grandma.)

I’ve lived in my kitchen lately, measuring out memories by the cup. I want my kids and their friends to feel *home* here. Because college is looming like a beautifully wrapped tornado—full of excitement, but still a total upheaval. (I will upload my version of those recipes soon!)

And yes, I bring treats to my mom’s too. She deserves banana bread therapy just as much as the next person. 

So yeah… I probably *should* go back to work full-time soon, I wish part-time was enough. Because feeding a small army of Gen Z humans and their friends isn’t exactly cheap. 😂 But until then, I’ll be in the kitchen, baking like it’s my love language. Because maybe it is.

Stay tuned—next up: how I figured out the laundromat is not just for when your machine is taking an expensive unplanned vacation to repairtown!