Hey, Remember Me?

Greetings, squadlings, remember me?

Yes, yes, I know, I’m a horrible person. I haven’t posted a blog in a very long time. Honestly, I have no excuse, I’m just super lazy.


I’ve been home from school for over a month now, and have done absolutely nothing. I’ve applied for hella jobs, but no one wants to hire someone who is leaving in two months, so I’m screwed.

Earlier in the summer, I lost a high school friend to suicide. I’d rather not get into that.

My older brother got his tonsils out, and on the same day, my little brother broke his collarbone. Lil bro was sitting on a bench in a locker room at swim lessons that was wobbly, and when someone else sat on it, lil bro started to fall forward. He tried to pull himself back up and flipped over the back of the bench, thus snapping his collarbone. Both brothers are doing well. Probably lil bro more so than older bro. Older bro is miserable.

My friends and I did a Bubble Run (Google it) and it went well!…Until Rachel had an allergic reaction to the dye in the bubbles and ended up in the emergency room…All is well!

I’m taking an online math class this summer, too. HAHAHAHAHA KILL ME.

So, yeah, I’ve pretty much been laying in bed playing Sims all day (which I’m definitely not doing at 12:15pm on a Monday right now…) 

I’ll update you if anything interesting happens, but don’t count on it.

Until we meet again, squadlings.



Welcome to Adulting

Greetings, squadlings!

I’m sorry for the lack of posts the last few weeks. I finally wrapped up finals this past week.

Yes, I’ve officially finished my first semester at a four-year university. It’s very different from community college. The classes are a lot bigger, so it’s harder to get one-on-one time with a teacher if you’re struggling. Essentially, it was exactly what I expected it to be. So far, I’ve got two semester grades in: a B and a B-. I’ll take it.

With the end of the semester, that means one thing: I turned 20.

I’m officially no longer a teenager, which means I have to start adulting. No thank you.

The most adulty thing I’ve done in my life was booking my own flight and flying by myself when I went to Washington D.C. this past April. That’s it. I do not know how, nor do I want, to adult.

If you don’t know what adulting is, it’s basically being an adult. At school, though my friends and I are all legal adults, we said that our hall director was the “adultiest adult”, who we could go to if we needed help with something. For example, I had some roommate issues this semester (don’t ask), and though my roommate and I were both adults, we went to our hall director because she was a real adult and we are adults in training.

That being said, I don’t have much else to give you with this post. My life is pretty boring.

I will update as I do things this summer.

Until we meet again, squadlings.

Brace Yourselves, Here Comes Finals…

Greetings, squadlings!

Apologies for the lack of posts. I really don’t have anything interesting to say.

We’re coming to the end of my first semester at a four-year university. All I can say is YIKES.

Saying I got my ass kicked this semester would be an understatement. Saying that this semester beat the living hell out of me and then threw my lifeless carcass into the engine of a plane would be more like it.

This was my first semester away from home, EVER. This was my first time being away from home for more than two days, EVER. Were there good parts? Sure. Were there parts that made me want to slam my head in a car door? Absolutely.

That being said, finals week is approaching.




My schedule for finals isn’t too bad, but that doesn’t make it any more enjoyable. My last day of finals is Friday, May 19th, and mark my words, I will be hauling ass to get home. I have no way of getting home for the next three weeks, meaning I WON’T SEE MY DOGS FOR THREE WEEKS. I know, I’m sure Montee wouldn’t even recognize me at this point.

So, yes, I have 22 days left until I go home and work my ass off for three months.

Apologies for the lack of posts these next few weeks, squadlings. I’ll try my best.

Here’s That D.C. Story I Promised

Greetings, squadlings!

As I mentioned in my last post, I did end up going to D.C. to my mother’s friend’s memorial service. Let’s talk about that, shall we?

The memorial was last Friday. Up until last Tuesday, my mom and I had pretty much accepted the fact that we weren’t going to make it to D.C. in time for the memorial. Then, Tuesday night, I get a text from my mom… unnamed.jpg

Yep, that’s the ACTUAL message from my mom, received at 5:12pm on Tuesday night.

As you all know, I go to school three hours from home. If we were going to D.C., that meant I would need to catch a bus to Minneapolis (an hour and a half from my school), find a place to stay, and fly out to Chicago the next morning…AKA I had less than 24 hours to get my shit together.

Wednesday rolls around, and my mom and I have been going crazy trying to get everything together. I keep telling my mom “I need an answer here.” If I was going to catch a bus to Minneapolis, the bus leaves from my school at 3:30pm. As you all know, I’ve been staying with my grandmother, meaning I would have to find a way to get back to my grandma’s house, pack, find a way back to school, catch the bus, get to Minneapolis, and find a place to stay within the next six hours. So, of course, I’m freaking out and calling my mom, trying to figure out what the hell to do. Then, I get this: FullSizeRender.jpg

Again, the actual text from my mom. Yes, I call my mother “Woman” and her name in my phone is “Birthgiver.” Don’t judge me.

So, starting at 11AM, I went into frenzy-mode. I booked a one-way bus ticket from my college town to Minneapolis, a one-way ticket for a 5:00am Thursday morning flight from Minneapolis to Chicago, I called my aunt and uncle who live in Minneapolis, as well as my friend who goes to school there in an attempt to figure out where to stay, then called an Uber and took off towards my grandma’s house.

I managed to pack all my stuff and get back to campus in time to catch the bus. I actually emailed my teachers WHILE on the bus to tell them I wouldn’t be in my Wednesday afternoon or Friday classes (occasionally, I won’t have class on Thursdays, and luckily this was one of those weeks). 

I made it to Minneapolis in one piece, though I must admit, I almost got off the bus at the wrong stop, but I didn’t!

I should mention, my Pillow Pet giraffe, Gary, came along for the ride and his travel saga was documented on my SnapChat.

IMG_6323.JPG     IMG_6327.JPG  IMG_6330.JPG  IMG_6331.JPG

IMG_6332.JPG IMG_6333.JPG

Believe me, there are at least 20 more of those, but you get the point.

So, Gary and I spent the night at my aunt and uncle’s house. Can we get a round of applause for my aunt for driving me to the airport at 3:30 in the morning?

My aunt dropped me off outside the airport, and I went in by myself.

I’ve flown on planes a million times, but I have never bought a ticket, made it to the airport, and gone through the whole process all by myself before. It was slightly terrifying, but eventually, I made it past security and to my gate.

I had a window seat on the way to Chicago–behold:



The second picture is Chicago (if you look closely, you can see the skyline in the background), and that first picture is probably somewhere over Wisconsin.

ANYWAY, Gary and I got to Chicago around 7am and were stuck there until my mom showed up for our 11:50AM flight to Washington D.C.. Being in an airport with only the company of a Pillow Pet for four hours is very boring.

Eventually, my mom arrived, and OUR FREAKIN’ FLIGHT WAS DELAYED TWICE. There were some thunderstorms in D.C. that day, and the D.C. airport grounded all planes.





Eventually, three hours behind schedule, my mom, Gary and I made it to D.C.. We didn’t have much to do the first day, because it was already almost 8PM when we got there, but if you’ve ever wanted to see what I look like running on four hours of sleep, having been awake for almost 24 hours, while eating a french fries in Washington D.C., here you go:



The next day, Friday, we spent the morning at my mom’s friend’s memorial service. It only lasted about an hour, and since there were so many people at the reception afterward, we decided to go for a walk around Georgetown University’s campus because it was right up the street. Behold, Hogwarts’ baby: IMG_6353.JPG

After we walked around Georgetown (and had a very brief run-in with my friend who goes there), we went back to the memorial service, where we talked to the family of my mom’s friend.

After that, we went sightseeing. It was freezing and raining for part of it, but it was still cool!IMG_6360.JPG

We walked so much, I thought I was going to die. We also didn’t have lunch that day, and we were starving, but there are NO FREAKING RESTAURANTS IN WASHINGTON D.C.. SERIOUSLY, DO YOU PEOPLE NOT EAT?

Eventually we went back to our hotel for the night. I love sleeping.

The next day, our last day in D.C. (yes, I’m serious, we were there for less than 48 hours), the weather was great! IMG_6376.JPG


We also went to the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, which was really cool! I won’t post all the pictures, because of course I took a ton:


Abraham Lincoln’s famous top hat. He was wearing this the night he was assassinated.


Archie and Edith Bunker’s chairs from the show All In The Family, the main reason I wanted to go to this museum.


You already know I had to take a picture of the first teddy bear.

After the Smithsonian, more sightseeing, and walking around D.C. with my friend from Georgetown that I mentioned earlier (we have a picture together, but I won’t post it because I don’t know if she wants her picture posted), we headed back to the airport for a 7:30pm flight back to Chicago. IMG_6400.JPG


I apologize for that second picture being blurry, I took it as we were landing.

We got back to my hometown at around 11:00pm, and then at 1:00pm the next day, I was on a bus back to my college town.

So, yes, I embarked on possibly the world’s shortest Washington D.C. trip ever. It was good! If I could do it again, I’d want to stay in D.C. longer. I didn’t get to the Lincoln Memorial or Arlington Cemetery, two places I’ve wanted to go to, but there’s always next time.

Other than the memorial, it was a swell time.

Thanks for reading, squadlings. Be well.

Inside My Mental Breakdown

Greetings, squadlings.

This past week has been…interesting, to say the least.

You may remember my last post mentioned that my mother’s friend’s memorial service was in Washington D.C. last Friday, and my mom and I couldn’t find a way to go.

Long story short, we did. But more on that later.

Let’s start with Monday.

Monday night, I had class. Every Monday and Wednesday, I have class from 5:00-5:50pm. This particular Monday, my professor asked us to do something a bit odd: He wanted us to draw how we were feeling. Why? He said he wanted to show us that most of us were in the same boat. So, I drew how I felt.

I drew a person with an anvil falling on their head.

As my professor went through our drawings, I realized something. I realized that I was miserable. 

I stood up and walked out of class, sitting in my own thoughts for a minute before calling my mom. Before my mom got two words in, I was sobbing and said, “I want to go home.” 

It’s true: I want to go home. I never thought I’d be saying those words, after I worked my ass off to get to where I am, but it’s true. I want to go home.

I actually spent my time out of class in a computer lab, looking up the application process for the giant university in my hometown. In that moment, I was 100% convinced that I was going home.

I don’t know what made me hit that point. Was it that three people I know had passed away in the past week? Was it because I was PMSing (sorry if there are any dudes who read this shit)? Was it that I was fed up with school? Why was I so suddenly desperate to get out of my school?

I ended up spending the night at my grandmother’s house. I couldn’t stay in my dorm. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with anything involving my college at that point.

To make a long story short, since that night, I have barely set foot in my dorm room (although, I must admit, I’m sitting on my beanbag chair in my dorm room as I write this). I’ve been staying with my grandmother, ten minutes from campus. She drops me off at school in the morning and picks me up at the end of the day. WHY have I been staying at her house?

There is something comforting, in the midst of a mental breakdown, to be away from the place that is causing said breakdown. I feel more relaxed at my grandmother’s house. Yes, I’m living with a 78-year-old woman instead of my friends, but I actually like staying at her house. I get good food, I can shower without wearing shoes, I get to sleep on a mattress that’s not made of plastic…I don’t know how long I’ll stay with my grandmother, honestly. Probably until she kicks me out.

Nothing interesting happened on Tuesday, so let’s skip ahead to Wednesday.

Wednesday morning: The day before my mother and I would have had to leave for Washington D.C. if we were going to her friend’s memorial. I get a text from my mother around 9am: Thinking about D.C. again. 


Believe me, I didn’t mind the thought of going to D.C.. What I minded was the fact that, if we were going to D.C., I needed to know AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I would have to buy a one-way plane ticket from Minneapolis to Chicago (my school is closer to Minneapolis and I would have no other way to get to Chicago on time), buy a bus ticket to GET TO MINNEAPOLIS, get back to my grandmother’s and pack, and get back to school to catch the bus, all before the bus left for Minneapolis at 3:30pm.

Long story short, I did it.

I spent the night at my aunt and uncle’s house in Saint Paul, Minnesota, and, at 5:00 the next morning, caught a one-way flight from Minneapolis to Chicago. I landed in Chicago around 7am, and waited for my mother to arrive for our 11:50am flight to Washington D.C.. My mom showed up four hours after I did, and OUR FLIGHT TO WASHINGTON D.C. WAS DELAYED THREE HOURS. 

Eventually, some time on Thursday evening, we made it to D.C.

D.C. was really cool! We saw the White House, Washington Monument, Smithsonian Museum of American History, the U.S. Capitol building…I’d always wanted to go to D.C., and though I wasn’t there for a good reason, we still made the most of the trip, just me and my mom. I was glad my mom was able to go to her friend’s memorial and speak to some people from her childhood. (I’ll post the full story in another post soon, I promise). 

When we arrived back to my hometown, BOOM CUE MENTAL BREAKDOWN ROUND 2.

On Sunday, I had to catch yet another bus to get back to the town where my school is. Before I caught the bus, I had the world’s most obnoxious mental breakdown.

I started sobbing, screaming that I didn’t want to go back to school. I was telling my stepdad how much I hate my school (I don’t) and how I didn’t want to go back (that part was true). 

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have a choice: I had to go back. So, tears and all, I climbed onto the bus and went back to my school. When I got off the bus, as the driver handed me my suitcase, he smiled at me and said “Hang in there.” 

So, here we are: Tuesday night, sitting in my dark dorm room alone, wondering what the hell is up. Am I going to transfer home? I haven’t decided. Am I thinking about it? I hate myself for saying this, but…yes.

When I came up here, I never once considered that I would be thinking about going home. I do like my school. Do I love it? No. Was moving up here easy? No. It’s three hours away–for me, that was a big leap. It’s far, and I hate that. That’s truly the only part of it that I hate about it.

I’ll give you updates as they come.

Wish me luck, squadlings.


When You Want To Be There, But Just Can’t.

Greetings squadlings.

If you remember, last week I posted about how a childhood friend of my mother passed away. In said post, I mentioned that, while my mother was too sick (sinus infection, rip) to go to her funeral, there is a memorial taking place in Washington D.C. this Friday, and my mother and I wanted to go.

Plot twist, squadlings: We can’t. 

We tried, we really did. I spent hours upon hours sitting in front of my laptop, scrolling through every possible travel website, websites I haven’t even HEARD OF, to try to find a flight. I failed.

There were flights, lots of them. The problem was they were at least $500 a person. That’s $1,000 for flights alone, not to mention hotel, food, and transportation fees for a two-day trip to D.C.. I checked every nearby airport. Nothing. It just wasn’t possible.

I kept trying, spending at least four hours a day sitting in front of my laptop, desperately trying to find a way to get us to the memorial service. My mother used to have a job that required us to travel, and she had leftover frequent flyer miles…that expired in 2014. That would be a $600 bill just to get those miles back, not to mention 30,000 miles PER PERSON ONE WAY to get us to D.C.. It wasn’t going to work. I sat on the phone with that airline for over an hour, begging them to find some way to get us to D.C.. I messaged the airline on Twitter. I was desperate to find a way to get us there, and I failed.

In the midst of my desperation to get us to D.C., another family friend passed away unexpectedly on Thursday morning.

I’m not going to share who that person is, as their family are quite private, but when I got that news, more than anything, I wanted to go home. 

I wanted to go to D.C.. Not because my friend goes to Georgetown. I wanted to go to D.C. for my mom. For her friend. For her friend’s family. I wanted to get us there. I desperately wanted to get us there. Many frustrated tears, curse words, and harsh insults directed at many a different airline, I had to give up. I had to accept defeat–there was just no possible way I could get us there.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to drop everything and find a way to get home. I couldn’t. I have school. As shitty as that is, I have school. I can’t just up and leave, no matter how badly I want to. No matter what happens, I can’t just up and leave. And it sucks.

I guess I’m not used to being away when bad things happen yet. Maybe I never will be.

I still feel sick when I think of the fact that my mom and I won’t be able to be in D.C. on Friday. This morning, I checked flights, secretly hoping they had gone down at least $200 overnight. They hadn’t. They had gone up. If we couldn’t get there before, we’re sure as hell not gonna get there now.

Excuse me while I just….giphy



Be well, squadlings.


And Just Like That, She’s Gone.

Greetings, squadlings.

If you recall, I posted a few weeks back about a family friend of mine who was suffering from cancer and was given just weeks to live.

She lost her fight at around 1:00 this morning.

I did not know her personally. She was a childhood friend of my mother, who ended up living in Virginia and Kentucky. Because of that, I never met her.

When I woke up this morning, I went to turn off the alarm on my phone and saw a text from my mother: “She* died.” 

I stared at my phone for a while, trying to figure out how to process the news I’d just been given. My mind instantly went to her two children–fourteen year old twins. They have to go through the rest of their lives without their mother. I went to check her CaringBridge website, and sure enough, a post from her husband appeared explaining that, yes, she had died with her husband, parents, and children by her side.

Still trying to figure out how to process what had happened, I got up, got ready for class, and went to my 9:30AM lecture. I couldn’t focus in class. My mind was racing between thinking of her children, her husband, her parents, her family, and my mother. My mother is home, three hours away, sick with the flu. My brother isn’t exactly the emotional type, and since my stepdad is also sick, my mom is pretty much processing the news of the death of her childhood friend with just my dog. If I could find a way home, I would. Unfortunately, there’s one way in and out of this town for me to get home: a bus that leaves from my campus at 5:25pm on Friday night and returns at 4:00pm on Sunday. It comes once, it leaves once. That’s it. Today is Tuesday. I’m stuck here.

Eventually, somewhere in my bout of not paying any attention in class, I started crying. I made my way out to the hall and sat on a bench for a few minutes, before making my way into the bathroom, where, for some reason, I started crying harder.

I pulled it together eventually and made my way back to class, where I continued to pay no attention. I opened my laptop and started searching flights to Washington D.C., where a memorial service will take place next weekend. Her funeral is this Thursday, and my mom is way too sick to go. She may attend the memorial, and if she does, I want to be there.

That sounds strange, coming from someone who never met her, but I want to be there. For her, for her children, for her husband–for the family I feel I’ve come to know through CaringBridge updates. I want to be there for my mom, too.

After class, I headed back to my empty dorm where I continued to cry. I cried for at least an hour.  Eventually, I wandered around my dorm building, talking to some friends in the oh-so-famous lobby of our building, a hotspot for me and my friends, before I got up and just started walking.

I didn’t have a destination, I just needed to get out of my building. I HAD to. I walked across the infamous footbridge on my campus, over the river and over to a popular street in my college town. The street is filled with little shops, quite a few bars, restaurants, tattoo parlors…It’s all there.

I wandered and wandered, going into a few shops before eventually purchasing a teeshirt with my father’s high school logo on it for $5 from a small shop. Why? I don’t know. Why not? Truthfully, I also bought a small stuffed animal giraffe off Amazon today, a giraffe I plan on naming after her. I guess I drown my sorrows by spending money I don’t have.

I ate a quick lunch at Subway by myself, made my way back to campus, and now here I sit: alone in my dorm, skipping my afternoon class, writing a blog post while Ed Sheeran music plays quietly out of my Beats Pill in the background. It’s…calm. Something her family will not have for a while.

It’s strange, to have a reaction like this to the death of a woman I’ve never even met. I guess I feel the most sad for her children.

Why I’m telling you this, I don’t know. I’m not sure what the point of this post is, to be completely honest.

That being said, I hope you have a better week than I will, squadlings. Godspeed.

*The name of the deceased has been hidden out of privacy and respect for the family. 


Greetings, squadlings.

I don’t even know if I’m going to post this, but I felt the need to write it anyway.

People collect a lot of things. Some people collect dead bugs, leaves, stamps, postcards, video games…I collect stuffed animals. Being almost 20 years old, I get an endless amount of shit for that. One quote I hear all too often is “You need to spend your money on important things.” 

Why do other people care what spend MY MONEY on? I earned it, I can do what I want with it. And, come on, “important things?” Yep, I’m sure those $150 Adidas shoes you’re wearing are SOOOO important. That being said…

Has it passed through your tiny brain that MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, stuffed animals are important to me? I’m not going to drop money on something if I don’t want it. Why would I spend money on something I don’t care about? Are you so dense that you really think I don’t realize I’m spending money on these things?

I don’t know how many stuffed animals I have. At home, A LOT. At school, maybe six or seven. I’ve had my friends at school tease me about my animals, and fine, whatever, I can take a joke. But when it becomes a constant thing where people are giving me shit for collecting stuffed animals, it gets real old, real fast. giphy

I’m almost 20. I like stuffed animals. Why do so many people who AREN’T ME care about that? I could be smoking crack or getting drunk every weekend, if you would prefer that. adorable-terrifying-stuffed-animals-plush-feisty-pets-9

I tried to limit how many animals I brought to college with me, but it wasn’t easy, honestly. I had reason for bringing all of them, believe it or not.

I have stuffed animals that look like my dogs. It’s comforting to see something that looks like them that I can sleep with, like I sleep with my dogs. I’m not going to pull their pictures off the wall and try to cuddle it.

I have stuffed animals that my mom and dad gave me; a giraffe from my mom, named Walter, and an armadillo from my dad, named Carl. My siblings know about Walter and Carl. My sisters think Carl is hilarious. Those came with because they make me think of my parents when I see them.

I have my old teddy bear, Squeezer, a giraffe Pillow Pet named Gary, and a monkey Build-A-Bear named Bruno that I made with my cousin…

There’s more than that, but you get the point. I brought all animals home for spring break because I plan on switching some out and bringing new ones for the remainder of the year, I just haven’t decided which ones yet. Next year, in my apartment, I’ll have my own full bed. You bet your ass I’ll be bringing more animals, BECAUSE I CAN.

So, talk shit all you want about me having so many stuffed animals. But believe it or not, if they didn’t mean something to me, I wouldn’t have them.



Why I Cried When I Left My Dogs (and not my siblings, lol sorry guys)

Greetings squadlings!

Considering I missed my 9:30 class yesterday morning because I was dealing with the nightmare that is college housing, I figured “Why not blog?” So here I am. (Yes, I started this post yesterday. Don’t hate me, I’m lazy)

This post, however, will not be about the nightmare that is college housing. That, I assure you, will come later. This post is about my favorite thing; doggos.

I have two doggos. Both Cockapoos (cocker spaniel and poodle mix). They are from different breeders, so they are not related to each other, but they are my sons. One of said doggos lives at my dad’s house, and one of said doggos lives at my mom’s house. Huzzah divorced parents. 

So, yes, my dogs are my sons, and I cried when I moved away and left them to go to college. I didn’t cry when I left my six brothers and sisters. No, not even the two-year-old one. I cried when I left my dogs. Yes, I am heartless.

For real though, I didn’t feel the need to cry when I left my brothers and sisters. Yes, I’m very close to all of them, but I didn’t really feel the need to cry when I left them. Why, you ask?

Because they can freakin’ talk.

I can still interact with my siblings; FaceTime, texting, calling, whatever. They know how to use a phone (yes, even the two year old). My dogs, however, don’t.

I can’t give all the pets to my doggos over FaceTime. I can’t lay in bed with my doggo and bitch to him about how hard life is over FaceTime. I can’t take my dogs for a walk over FaceTime. They stare at the phone, sure, but they have no idea what I’m saying to them. Louie is terrified of FaceTime, frankly. He has no idea how it works. Montee is just constantly confused about everything, so he doesn’t really pay attention. Montee is essentially me in dog form.

I’ve always loved dogs, since I was little and beyond. My mom has tons of pictures of me sprawled out on my floor, surrounded by my plethora of stuffed dogs. I always wanted a doggo, but it never seemed to work out when I was little.

Then, my parents got divorced. Rest in peace parents marriage August 28th, 1993-March 11th, 2007.

ANYWHO, when my dad moved out, I stopped in my quest to get a dog. My mom was at work all day, and my dad starts work at 3:00 in the morning and ends at noon, so I figured he’d be too tired to get a doggo.

So, my dad ended up getting married again in 2011, which landed me with a younger stepsister. Stepsister ALSO wanted a doggo. I was back in business.

Basically, Stepsister and I created the world’s cheesiest PowerPoint presentation on why we needed a doggo. Father and Wife were not convinced, but said they would “think about it.” Any child knows that when a parent says “think about it”, that means no.

But alas, Stepsister and I were not about to give up in our quest to get “Peter” (yes, Montee’s screen name was Peter…) I remember sitting in front of my laptop, constantly refreshing the page of puppies from Montee’s breeder. Then, one moment when I hit Refresh, a giant red SOLD appeared next to “Peter’s” name. I called my dad, hella upset, and he said we would “find another dog.”

Long story short, I was so upset that I made Stepdad call the breeder and ask who had adopted “Peter” and where he was going. Unfortunately, we ended up talking to the one person at the damn business who didn’t take care of records.

So, eventually, I gave up on my quest for “Peter.” However, I knew the breeder would post about puppies and where they were going on Facebook, and one day, my dad told me “check the Facebook, maybe she posted about him.” 

To make an incredibly long, probably boring story, short, “Peter” was my and Stepsister’s Christmas present.


Louie, on the other hand, was a different story. I wasn’t fighting to get Louie like I was with Montee. In fact, I didn’t want to get Louie. I was worried that I would love him more than Montee, and I made a point of constantly saying “he’s fine, but I like Montee better.” 

Louie was a birthday present from Stepdad to my mom. He’s two years younger than Montee.

ANYWHOOOO, if you’ve actually stuck with me throughout this obnoxiously long post, I thank you. My point is, I always wanted doggos. I was just kind of handed siblings.


That was a joke.


Doggo sons. Louie (left) and Montee (right)


Louie j chillin’.


How Do You React To Something Like That?

Greetings, squadlings!

Yesterday, my family got some rough news. A childhood friend of my mother’s, let’s call her Anna, has had cancer for a while. Yesterday, we got word that they had stopped treatment of Anna’s cancer because it would “only delay the inevitable.” Long story short, Anna is going to die. Her doctor gave her “weeks to months.”

I have never met Anna. She was the granddaughter of my mother’s neighbors while they were growing up, and Anna would spend her summers at her grandparents house. Over the years, Anna and my mother became very close friends.

Anna was from Virginia-now she lives in Kentucky, because it’s closer to her doctors. As I said earlier, I’ve never met Anna. I follow her CaringBridge account, updated by her husband. That’s about the extent of my relationship with her and her family.

Anna has two children; twins, freshmen in high school. Fourteen years old, a boy and a girl, and last week, they found out their mother is officially dying.

How do you react to something like that? How do you react to a doctor telling you that the most important person in your life is going to die, and doesn’t have much time left?

I have a friend who lost her mother a few years back. I don’t talk to her about it much, I’m just assuming it’s not something she would like to discuss, and I’m not going to force her to tell me about it. I’m assuming that wound is still pretty raw.

I’ve always been very close to my mom. Even now that I live three hours from home, I still make a point to FaceTime my mom every day. Soon, Anna’s kids won’t be able to talk to their mom every day, and I can’t even imagine what must be going through their heads right now.

Over the years, I’ve been exposed to death a few times. My uncle, my grandfathers, family friends…But I can’t even imagine losing a parent. I don’t even know what I would do.

All we can do now is wait. We know Anna’s going to die, we know it’s coming, and now we just have to wait for it to come.

All I can say at this point is thank you to Anna’s doctors. Thank you to the teams of doctors, surgeons, anyone who made Anna’s journey easier. To her husband and her children, her parents, her family…I’m sending you all the love and positive energy I can from Wisconsin. You’re in our thoughts.

Talk to you soon, squadlings.