Category: Lifestyle

Here we are: the night before going back to California, and I am officially so fucking tired of packing and unpacking my bags.

Yes, I went to California twice during my stay in Vegas because of the baby shower and everything surrounding it. But now that it’s actually time to go back and stay there, I’m not excited.

I’m not even going to pretend.

I don’t want to go back.

And I know that probably sounds selfish. Maybe it is. But life and marriage require sacrifices, and I understand that. I’ve made plenty of them.

But lately I keep asking myself:

When is it my turn to be selfish?

When do I get to say no?

When do I get to say, “Actually, I don’t want to do this”?

When do I get to be the one who doesn’t roll over, adjust, pack her bags, and do whatever needs to be done for the family?

Because right now, I’m stressed as hell.

I’m trying to find the bright side of this whole situation, and I genuinely can’t find it.

Yes, I’ll get to see my friends again. I’m happy about that. But just like being in Vegas, I won’t have a car and I won’t have an income.

So I’ll basically be stuck in the house.

Except this time, I won’t be stuck in the house with my parents.

I’ll be a stranger in someone else’s house.

And before anyone thinks I’m being ungrateful: I am grateful. I really am. I appreciate Hector’s parents letting me stay with them, especially because they absolutely do not have to.

But I’m also not going to lie and pretend this is some fun little family sleepover where everyone is thrilled about the arrangement.

It’s awkward.

It’s uncomfortable.

And I’m pretty sure it’s going to be uncomfortable for everyone.

I’m going to be wondering where I should sit. If I’m in the way. If I’m being a burden. If I should be doing something. If I’m making myself too comfortable. If I’m not comfortable enough.

Basically, my brain is preparing to turn “staying at my in-laws’ house” into a full-time anxiety internship.

And then, because apparently I needed another thing to worry about, there’s the pregnancy anxiety.

I’m trying not to stress myself out so much that I convince myself I’m going to send this baby into the world early.

I know I can’t control when she decides to show up. She clearly has her own schedule and, based on everything else about pregnancy, probably does not care about mine.

But I would really prefer that she waits.

Especially because, apparently, the insurance through Hector’s job hasn’t kicked in yet.

So if I go into labor early, I’ll have to go to the hospital with the 1.9-star review I mentioned before.

Which is honestly hilarious in the worst possible way.

Because apparently my biggest pregnancy fear isn’t just “What if I go into labor early?”

It’s also:

“What if I go into labor early AND have to give birth somewhere people apparently hate?”

Fantastic.

So here I am on my last night in Vegas, surrounded by bags that have been packed, unpacked, repacked, and questioned more times than I care to admit, trying to convince myself that everything is going to be okay.

Maybe once I’m there, things will feel different.

Maybe I’ll find a routine.

Maybe seeing my friends will make it better.

Maybe I’ll adjust.

Maybe I’ll surprise myself.

I hope I do.

But tonight?

I don’t want to go.

And I think I’m allowed to say that.

I can be grateful that Hector’s parents are giving me somewhere to stay and still hate the circumstances that put me there.

I can love my husband and be pissed that once again, I’m the one having to adjust.

I can understand that this is what we need to do right now and still wish I didn’t have to do it.

Because I’m tired.

I’m tired of packing.

I’m tired of being in limbo.

I’m tired of not having my own space.

And honestly?

I’m tired of always feeling like I’m the one who has to make the sacrifice because it’s what’s best for everyone else.

I’m doing what I need to do for my family.

But damn.

When does somebody get to take care of me, too?

Yes, the games technically started yesterday, but for me, football season started today because today was the first game for my 49ers. That’s when it really feels like the season has begun.

Also, I have to say: I think the 49ers Disney collaboration is the only one that actually makes perfect sense. Because Stinky Pete is a 49er!

And apparently, a lot of people don’t realize why. Stinky Pete is a gold miner, and a “49er” refers to the people who rushed to California in 1849 during the Gold Rush. So having a gold miner representing the 49ers? Honestly, that’s pretty spot-on.

So yes, everyone else can say football season started yesterday. But in my world, it officially started today. The 49ers have taken the field, and now we’re ready for football!

International Literacy Day has once again passed me, but it brought to mind something that really gets me down: the literacy crisis we’re facing with kids, teens, and young adults today.

Literacy is something we often take for granted. Being able to read, understand information, write clearly, and communicate confidently impacts almost every aspect of our lives. Yet, so many young people are struggling with skills that should have been honed years ago. What worries me most is that these aren’t just numbers. These are real people my age and younger who are trying to navigate school, work, relationships, technology, and adulthood without the literacy foundation they deserve.

In my view, the education system has let a lot of kids down. Programs like No Child Left Behind were created with the goal of improving education and ensuring students weren’t forgotten. However, I believe the focus on standardized testing and accountability sometimes made the problem worse. When schools are pressured to focus heavily on test scores, teaching can become more about passing an exam than developing a lifelong understanding and appreciation of reading and writing.

And when students fall behind, they don’t simply stop being behind as they get older. Those gaps can follow them into middle school, high school, college, and the workplace. Eventually, some young people may feel embarrassed to ask for help because everyone assumes they should already know how to read, write, or communicate effectively.

That’s why International Literacy Day matters to me. It should be more than just a day we mention once a year. It should remind us that literacy is a basic foundation for opportunity, independence, and participation in society.

I wish we would stop asking, “Why can’t this student keep up?” and start asking, “Why didn’t we give this student the support they needed?” Instead of blaming young people for falling behind, we need to look honestly at the systems that allowed them to fall through the cracks in the first place.

Literacy should never be treated as something only certain people are entitled to master. Every child and young person deserves the opportunity to read, write, learn, communicate, and feelconfident in their own voice. International Literacy Day is a reminder of that responsibility—and it’sa reminder that we still have a lot of work to do.

For some reason, I have become completely obsessed with Ina Garten again.

I don’t know what happened. There was no formal announcement. No one handed me a blue-and-white memo. I simply woke up one day and realized that I had made approximately five Ina Garten recipes in the last two months.

Five.

At this point, I feel like I should be hosting people for dinner in the Hamptons, even though I am mostly just standing in my kitchen wondering if I have enough room in the refrigerator.

There is something about Ina that has suddenly clicked for me again.

Maybe it’s the comfort of it all. The effortless-looking dinner parties. The roasted vegetables. The enormous salads. The casually tossed “good olive oil” into everything. The way she makes cooking feel less like a performance and more like an invitation to have a really nice evening.

And honestly? I think I needed that.

Because I am, and probably always will be, a Martha Stewart girl.

Martha is the icon to me. She is the blueprint. She is the reason I have spent an unreasonable amount of my life caring about tablescapes, crafts, cooking, flowers, entertaining, seasonal decorating, and the general idea that perhaps life can be made a little more beautiful if you just put some effort into it.

I grew up watching Martha and wanting to be Martha.

Not metaphorically.

I mean, I genuinely wanted to be the woman who had a beautifully organized pantry, knew how to arrange flowers properly, made elaborate holiday crafts, baked beautiful cakes from scratch, and somehow had a linen closet that looked like it belonged in a magazine.

But then I started thinking about my favorite recipe from each of them, and honestly, I think they explain the entire situation.

My favorite Ina Garten recipe is lemon pasta.

My favorite Martha Stewart recipe is poached pears in pastry with caramel filling.

Do you see the difference?

Ina is lemon pasta.

Martha is poached pears wrapped in pastry with caramel filling.

One is: Let’s make a really good dinner with some lemon, Parmesan, pasta, and good olive oil.

The other is: What if we poached a pear, wrapped it in pastry, filled it with caramel, and turned dessert into a tiny architectural project?

And unfortunately, I am both of these people.

I want the simple, comforting bowl of pasta.

I also want to spend an entire afternoon making an unnecessarily elaborate dessert because apparently a pear simply existing on a plate wasn’t dramatic enough.

Maybe that’s why my current Ina Garten obsession doesn’t feel like I’ve abandoned my Martha Stewart roots.

It feels more like I’ve unlocked another setting.

Martha is the part of me that wants to make everything beautiful.

Ina is the part of me that wants to make everything delicious and then actually sit down and enjoy it.

Martha makes me want to put together the perfect table.

Ina makes me want to invite people over and not stress if the table isn’t perfect.

And right now, I think I need a little more Ina.

I still want the pretty table.

I still want the seasonal decorations.

I still want to make ridiculous amounts of food from scratch for no reason.

But maybe sometimes I just want to make lemon pasta, pour myself something to drink, and call it dinner.

This isn’t even my first celebrity-chef phase.

I’ve had other eras over the years. I think I was in my Julia Child phase last year. Or maybe two years ago. Honestly, the timeline is blurry.

And trust me, I still want to make beurre blanc.

Because apparently I can never just have a normal relationship with cooking.

So for now, I’m in my Ina Garten era.

Ask me again in a year. I may be making something completely different and insisting that it is absolutely essential that I learn how to make it from scratch.