random experiences

Bright Lights, Bad Timing

Leave a Comment / Life Comes at You Fast / By

I started my morning at the eye doctor, dealing with the ongoing drama that is my cataract surgery recovery on my “funky eye” — the one that’s been permanently damaged since childhood. They dilated it, scanned it, tested it, shined lights into it… the whole trauma experience. By the time I left, I felt like I’d been emotionally tortured.

I rushed home to meet the electrician who was installing pendant lights over my kitchen island. The second he walked in, I remembered — with the clarity of a woman who is absolutely not winning today — that I forgot to buy lightbulbs.

Of course I did.

So off I went to Home Depot, stumbling into the lighting aisle like a vampire who’d taken a wrong turn.

It was so bright in there that a normal person would’ve needed sunglasses. Me? With my freshly‑dilated, battle‑worn eye?

The light was so piercing I genuinely thought I might start shouting out confessions. Isn’t this how CIA interrogations start? A single bulb. A metal chair. A broken woman.

I stood there, blinking like I had just been shot with a taser, laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of my life. Because honestly — who else ends up in Home Depot, half‑blind, post‑surgery, trying to buy lightbulbs?

Ahoy F⚓ckers

Leave a Comment / Parent Chronicles / By

It was supposed to be one of those easy summer days — warm, bright, spontaneous — so naturally, with zero preparation and absolutely no plan, I decided Jack and I were going to the beach. Westport. A quick road trip. A vibe.

Thankfully I keep sunscreen in the car, because that was the only responsible decision I made.

No towels.

No bathing suits.

No change of clothes.

Just us, vibes, and a questionable amount of confidence.

We got to the beach and Jack launches himself toward the water like he’s been training for this moment his entire life. I call out the classic parent’s last words:

“Don’t get wet!”

What does a Viking do at the ocean? He dove right in, straight into the waves, no hesitation.

I just stood there thinking, Yep. This tracks.

Because I already knew what was coming: the soggy, sandy, car‑ruining aftermath. And since I didn’t bring bungee cords, strapping him to the roof wasn’t an option. He was getting in my car exactly as he was — dripping, gritty, and thrilled with himself.

So we drove into downtown Westport in search of clothes. It’s a beach town — surely someone sells dry fabric.

I rushed into the first shop I saw, grabbed a shirt and the only pair of sweatpants available. They were a size M. I asked the woman behind the counter if they had a size L because my son is enormous now.

She laughed. “You’re buying those for your son?”

I was already annoyed with myself, so her laugh hit harder than it should have. “Um… yes,” I said, paid, and left.

Jack changed. We walked the strip. He got ice cream, I got coffee, and somehow the day softened into something really sweet.

When we got home, I finally looked closely at the sweatpants I’d bought in my panic.

Printed down the leg, in bold white letters:

AHOY F⚓ckers

Of course. Of course that’s what I dressed my child in to stroll around a quaint little beach town.

Suddenly the woman’s laughter made perfect sense.