Spending my life savings at the Scholastic Book Fair

Posted on November 19, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

The Scholastic Book Fair. I thought I must’ve already posted about it at some point, but after a not-so-thorough search of my blog, it appears I haven’t.

It has taken five years of overpriced, fluffy, animal-faced journals for me to reach a breaking point.

Multiple times a year the Scholastic book fair has arrived at BB’s school.

The first year I sent BB with $20. Apparently that was enough for 1.5 books. Or toys disguised as books.

The next time I sent her with $30. It’s hard to remember, but I’m pretty sure she came home with no books.

The next time I gave her $40 and said,

“You can buy one non-book item and the rest must be for books. You should also buy a book for your classroom.”

BB came home with two books and another furry journal to join our animal, notebook family. They’re all still waiting for someone to write in them.

BB would try to tell you that she needs the matching fluffy pen for $7.99.

Now it’s RB’s turn. I can’t remember if BB had the Scholastic Book Fair in kindergarten. Those were odd, end of COVID days. But either way, it was not a memorable moment.

This week I gave RB $30 and told her she could buy one non-book item and the rest should be for books.

RB is renowned for making terrible choices, so really it’s on me for giving her $30 and expecting a decent outcome.

Months ago I found nail polish painted all over the downstairs bathroom sink. I took away all of RB’s nail polish. She was unbothered. Warning sign NUMERO UNO.

Meanwhile if I take anything away from BB she’s heartbroken, never mind that she wouldn’t in a million years do something she knows she’s not supposed to do.

So imagine my surprise when I asked RB about the odd sparkly stuff in her doll’s hair.

She looked at me. I asked again,

“What did you put in your doll’s hair?!”

“Nail polish.”

“NAIL POLISH?!?!!”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I took away all of your nail polish?!!!”

“I still had some in my room.”

Shame on me for letting this happen again!

I may now have eliminated RB’s access to nail polish, but only time will tell, because you sure as heck can’t take her word for it.

This Monday I gave RB $30 and off she went. I gave BB $40 so she could also buy a book for her classroom.

I did not give that additional $10 to RB because that was one too many instructions for someone who’s not prone to following any instructions.

BB, not happy with $40, tried to make the case for more money, she said,

“So-and-so gets $100.”

“REALLY?!?”

“Yes.”

That’s a lot of stuffy journals. I stood my ground,

“You can have $30 or $40. Or add your own money.”

Guess what amount she went with.

Meanwhile RB came home very pleased with herself. The good news is that she stretched the $30 a lot further than I’ve seen BB do. She got five books! Only problem is two of them are chapter books with no pictures and one is a board book with a total of ten words.

I’d still say this was a win if she were happy with them. She ran to the couch excited to “read” and yelled out in anger,

“THIS BOOK HAS NO PICTURES!!!”

Good grief! She rushed around, picked books because she liked their covers, and didn’t even bother to look inside.

If anyone needs a Bluey board book, let me know. It does have pictures and is a quick read.

Did someone say Belize?!?

Posted on October 17, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I don’t know what’s happening. I just bought a plane ticket and I’m leaving for Belize in two weeks.

Yesterday the owner of my agency said a colleague could no longer take the trip, so the spot was open if anyone wanted it.

I watched as one advisor after another said they wished they could go, but couldn’t.

I looked at my calendar. Nothing there aside from a MILLION kids’ activities.

I reached out to our family childcare support. They were a go.

Now I needed to run it by Captain when he got home from work. I wrote on our white board on the fridge: “???BELIZE???” With that many question marks. As if I’d forget to talk about it.

I was on the fence. I just got home from Italy and I’m headed to the Swiss/Austrian Alps the beginning of December. I don’t want to burden my family too much.

Captain thought I should go.

That’s all I needed to hear!

Just when I thought my body was settling into winter-sweatsuit mode, we are back in a bikini, headed for the second largest barrier reef in the world and the best diving in the western hemisphere.

I will continue to shave my legs.

I am not a last minute type of person. I’m a planner. Go figure.

I have been shocked by how many clients book last minute trips. This is great for them and I’m very happy to do it.

My ideal time frame for planning trips for my own family is six months to over a year away. I had my eye on the Galápagos two years before we took the trip. And right now I’ve got my eye on Africa 2027.

I have never in my life booked a flight for myself two weeks before I leave.

Here I am. Ticketed. I just need to shave my legs and repack my freshly put away summer wardrobe.

I’m in excited disbelief that I’m leaving the country again so soon. I said to Captain,

“Who am I? I’m some new version of Jessica.”

“No! You’re the old Jessica!”

That’s right! I AM the old Jessica. Past Jessica’s passport was so full she had to send it away for more pages.

The main difference is that twenty-something-year-old Jessica did not have the word “luxury” associated with any part of her travels. Although she did as a child and she was luxury adjacent during her summer as a deckhand/stewardess on a yacht in the south of France.

Present, middle-aged Jessica has adapted well to the change.

I’m still, as Captain would say, rugged. I can carry my own luggage. But if someone wants to carry it for me, who am I to say no? And there’s nothing wrong with a chocolate on my pillow at night.

BB is not pleased that I’m peacing out again, but the promise of a Belizean stuffie is helping my case.

Are you thinking about somewhere warm? Maybe the Caribbean or maybe somewhere else nearby? Do you want adventure, culture, beach, jungle and amazing sea life?

Yes please!

I leave the day after Halloween. It’s daylight savings weekend. We gain an hour. My kids will be complete, post-Halloween trash and not my problem.

See you soon Belize!

If you need me, I can plan your trip from here!

This is 43! My passport is renewed. I’m ready

Posted on July 24, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

What a birthday month!

I do not know how to have the kids home and be on vacation and be working and be sailing and be beaching and be blogging.

I got it all done except for the blogging. So here I am. I didn’t forget about you. I never would/could. Someone will have to claw the keyboard out of my old, withered hands.

It will be like taking away my car keys. Until then I’m clinging to my early forties.

A 38-year-old beach friend was surprised to learn I was turning 43. She looked me up and down and said,

“So there’s hope for me!”

Which I have 100% taken as a compliment, but also, how much aging does she expect to incur in five years?

BB turned nine! It’s her last year in single digits. She is quickly moving into her tween years. She’s still wearing a Rufflebutt swimsuit, but I was told this is the last year for that.

I’m still wearing a string bikini, someone can tell me when it’s my last year for that. Maybe my 5-year younger beach buddy.

As I put RB to bed she asked her usual litany of random unanswerable questions, like:

“Why is that calendar with the chickens still here?”

“I don’t know. This is my brother’s room.”

“Didn’t you play in here?”

“Yes, but mainly in my room with my barbies and American Girl doll.”

RB turns to me in shock,

“They had American Doll Girls in the OLD DAYS?”

The old days? Yup. They did.

RB shakes her head. She seems to have forgotten all about the perplexing chickens.

Captain is on the verge of turning 51, so he’s really from the old days.

He just bought a new pair of shoes and I said,

“Those look spiffy!”

“SPIFFY?!?”

“What’s wrong with spiffy?”

“Sounds like a compliment for a guy in his sixties.”

Oh. Hmmm.

He took his brand-new, white shoes and we went sailing for a week. The sibling fighting may have aged us more than a week, but other than that it was amazing.

One of their favorite fights to have is,

“She’s LOOKING AT ME!”

If they have this fight on a huge, wide-open beach, you can imagine how many looks there were on a contained sailboat.

Most looks were mitigated with a bag of potato chips.

This is the wisdom I’ve gained in old age, don’t underestimate the power of a snack.

I’ve also learned that I can beach and work. Sail and work. Parent and work is trickier. And apparently I cannot blog and do any other tasks.

I’ll talk to you in August, before or after Captain gets one year closer to being genuinely spiffy.

P.S. BB is now proofreading my posts… so that’s how old we really are.

I think the dolls are making him look younger, but it’s hard to say.

Brake pads, rotors and the itsy bitzee that went for a ride

Posted on June 6, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I rolled up to a family birthday party with the girls. It was Captain’s side of the family, but there was no Captain.

So where was he?

“He’s replacing the brake pads and rotors on my car.”

“He took it somewhere to get it done?”

“Nope, he’s doing it himself.”

Blank stares.

He’s in his happy place, under a car and I’m in mine, at a party, oblivious to how many juice boxes are being guzzled.

The drive to the party was uneventful. BB played with a new birthday present: a bitzee. And RB took a nap.

You may or may not be familiar with the bitzee mania. It is a small digital pet. The photo doesn’t really do it justice. It’s interactive. It moves, lights up and makes sounds. It’s digitally adorable and highly addictive, at least for the little people in my family.

On the drive home BB whipped out her bitzee. RB begged for a turn. Pleaded for a turn. Whined. Yelled. Grabbed. Tantrumed. Cried the most-heartbroken tears one can cry.

BB clung to her Precious.

She was worried RB would damage it and that I would not want to buy her another one.

Both valid concerns.

As we sat in stop and go traffic on 95 and World War III raged in my backseat, I made the game-time decision that BB did not have to share it, but she did have to put it away so she wasn’t taunting RB with it.

RB couldn’t stop crying. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks for the remainder of the ride.

Then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. I said,

“RB, if you want to spend your own money you can buy one for yourself.”

“I can buy my own itsy bitzee?!”

“If you have $25.”

The minute we pulled up to the house she made a mad dash for her wallet.

Captain was ready to show off his hard work. He told me,

“The back tires are done!”

“New rotors too?”

I have no idea what I’m talking about. I learned how to spell rotors today.

“Yup, performance ones. You can see them.”

“I can?”

Captain points out my new, shiny rotors.

“Performance?”

“Yes! See those lines and grooves there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what makes them performance”

Aha. I didn’t know I needed performance rotors.

I head inside. RB is trying to count her money. Ones, fives, tens, twenties are spread across her bed. They’re all being counted as one each. I count out $25. She bursts into tears,

“You’re going to take all of my tooth fairy money?”

“I don’t have to take any of it, only if you want to buy a bitzee.”

RB sobs and says,

“I do want to buy an itsy bitzee.”

And she did. She fell in love.

I tried to keep track of it and put it away when I didn’t want her to be using it. Turns out I failed.

I dropped her off at school and a teacher remarked,

“That’s a cool toy she brought in yesterday.”

“What did she bring in?”

RB is already hanging her head and refusing to make eye contact.

“That little blue box you open up.”

“I had no idea she brought that in! She wasn’t allowed to!”

RB’s bitzee is hidden away until further notice. I recount all of this to Captain.

Our child has always done whatever the heck she wants and couldn’t care less about anyone’s “rules.” Except apparently at school, where she’s mysteriously well-behaved.

At a playdate the other day, I overheard her tell her friend,

“This is my sister’s. Don’t tell her we’re using it. She doesn’t let me.”

If someday she’s climbing out of her bedroom window and sneaking off, I will not be surprised.

I will be jumping in my performance Toyota Highlander, finding my wild child and stopping on a dime, because I think that’s what my new fancy rotors are for?

And if anyone has an answer to the sibling fighting, please send help.

Here’s to my new favorite town

Posted on May 21, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I don’t have to move after all!

I didn’t know that I would cry tears of joy over a town election, but I did.

National politics may still be deplorable, but short of leaving the country, we’re not going anywhere.

We’re so committed to staying that we bought a new sactional for my home office. I do not think it’s deductible.

For Mother’s Day I received this note from five-year-old RB:

I’ll address this in chronological order:

There are people in my family with blue eyes; I am not one of them.

I do not love to eat chicken. My family loves to eat chicken, so here we are.

One of my favorite drinks may be wine… just wondering why the daily coffee didn’t make the cut.

A box of instant mac ‘n cheese is one of my specialties.

I do dearly love to exercise.

I’m not sure what games she’s referring to, but piggy-back ride up to bed is a favorite of mine.

Snuggles are the best.

And snuggles on my new sactional are great too.

I don’t know who has put together a Lovesac sactional before, BUT it made me question all of my life choices.

I’m surprised there was no offer of white-glove service. Not that we would have paid extra for that. I know a guy. But still.

I ended up carrying in all fifteen boxes by myself, including six that weighed fifty-three pounds.

The boxes arrived at 1pm when Captain was at the office and I had dreams of having my coffee (2nd favorite drink) on my new sactional the next morning.

After blood, sweat, so much sweat, no tears, we hit 11:30pm and Captain pondered the pillows. He said,

“I’m wondering if that pillow should be switched with this one.”

I could not have finished the couch in nine hours without Captain, but I also couldn’t find any level of caring about the pillows.

They’re lucky to be stuffed into their cases and they may now go wherever they want.

“I have to go to bed.”

We are less than a week into our 60-day trial period with free returns, but it’s safe to say, she’s not going anywhere.

In part because she’s very comfortable, but also because I CAN’T IMAGINE BOXING THIS WHOLE THING UP.

As I struggled for hours to stuff cushions into washable covers. I said multiple times,

“I’m never washing this couch.”

Lies. All lies. Three days into the new couch, RB vomited all over it. Into the wash it went.

It came out perfect and putting one cushion back into its case is really not bad compared to upholstering twenty-seven different parts of the couch.

Come on over, have a seat, have a glass of wine, some chicken and mac ‘n cheese and some snuggles. I’m here.

On town election night I was at the Boston Ballet with a dear friend and the bathroom stall had this sign on the door. I don’t remember this from before, but maybe that’s because I’m always in a mad rush. It’s definitely worth holding onto your hopes and dreams. Overrides do happen.

Alexa? I know you’re listening. Goodbye

Posted on March 25, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

It started the way some three-way relationships must: Captain felt strongly in favor and I didn’t feel AS strongly NOT in favor.

Four years ago I wracked my brain for a good Hanukkah/Christmas gift for Captain. He’s into “smart” home features: lights, cameras, air quality controls. Things that all have a mind of their own.

He’d been wanting an Alexa. Kept talking about it. I kept saying,

“NO.”

Why would I voluntarily put something in the heart of our home that was listening to everything?

But then I reasoned, theoretically my phone can already do that. So I surprised Captain with an Amazon Echo.

As it turns out, it was really a gift to our small children who could now play fart sounds on request. Especially after they purchased the fart extension pack.

I’m still not sure I’ve turned off voice purchasing. Surprise surprise, the security settings are difficult to navigate. And some settings are on track to disappear altogether.

This email came over a week ago:

“We are reaching out to let you know that the Alexa feature ‘Do Not Send Voice Recordings’ that you enabled on your supported Echo device(s) will no longer be available beginning March 28th, 2025.”

Bozos wants our voice recordings and will take them.

As with most of the bad news these days, it doesn’t surprise me and I let it go. I’m trying to maintain some level of a peaceful life without being in a constant rage about current events.

The idea of saying goodbye to Alexa crosses my mind, but not only is she in our living room, she’s in our library and our bedroom too. Unless I’m willing to throttle Captain’s dreams for a “smart” home, I figure she’s here to stay.

As we’re snuggled in bed he asks,

“Did you see the email about Alexa?”

“YES. What are we going to do?”

“I unplugged the library and bedroom one.”

“OH! GOOD!!!”

And now all that’s left is to unplug the one in the living room… The one who so willingly plays Taylor Swift ALL DAY LONG.

Out of the blue, RB turned to me and in a tone of voice that melted my heart, she sighed,

“Mommy? I love you.”

“I love you too my sweet baby!”

The warm, fuzzy feeling didn’t last long.

RB returned to the living room and resumed yelling at Alexa to play Taylor Swift. When RB finally managed to get the song she wanted, she said in the same adoring voice she had just used with me,

“Alexa? I love you.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

The super special feeling RB’s ‘I love you’ gave me a minute ago fizzled out.

Here I am, doing all the things, but I would be just as loved if I sat on a shelf, played Taylor Swift and farted.

So we can discuss the pros and cons of a smart speaker until it’s tired of listening to us, but the younger half of my household is still in love.

We’re waiting for the new gen Apple homepod. Because we might as well spread our voice recordings around to all the billionaires? I have no idea what the answer is.

Yes we could go back to turning on the lights ourselves and making our own fart noises. Sounds archaic.

Smart cameras keep your eyes open, April 1st is almost upon us.

Where do you want to go? Check with your nearest consultant

Posted on November 21, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

Bonjour mes amis! I started work in September and I wouldn’t say I’m coming up for air, but I am prioritizing writing today.

My post-election workout vibe has been vengeance cardio, but my post-election writing vibe is: I’M SO EXCITED TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY NEW JOB!

Toddler Jessica promised to be a hair dresser. Girlhood Jessica swore she was going to be a prima ballerina. Teenage Jessica realized that was not to be and floundered for new ideas.

College Jessica zeroed in on writing. Post-college Jessica realized she could write AND travel. Writing, traveling Jessica realized working on a yacht was not for the faint of heart and recommitted to bartending to fund her writing/traveling habit.

Writing/traveling/bartending Jessica met Captain. Thirty-year-old Jessica rediscovered how she’d rather die than be in an office.

Then I got knocked up.

The idea to stay home with our kids was always grounded in the idea that someday, I would also do something else. TBD.

I spent all of last year thinking about what TBD might be. In a pinch I’d go back to bartending, but I wracked my brain for other ideas.

I figured I might as well define what my dream job would be. That didn’t really get me anywhere. So then I defined the qualities that my dream job would have: work from home and flexible hours.

My morning yoga and zumba classes feel non-negotiable. For me they are the equivalent to going to therapy.

RB requires drop-off and pick-up this year and both kids need an afternoon chauffeur, which I’d like to be here for. We have a secondary chauffeur, but he’s not as flexible.

Travel agent was something that kept popping into my head. I’ve thought about it on and off for years. I wrote it off as a dying industry.

Turns out people still use them. Captain pointed out,

“Our neighbors are all very capable of mowing their lawns, but they don’t want to.”

So that’s it. People are busy, but they want to take trips. I can help.

I started to reconsider it a year ago. Didn’t see a solid way forward. I was still all talk.

And so I talked on the beach to my dear friend. Who said,

“My friend has her own travel agency.”

Hmmm? Tell me more. Can I talk to her? So it began.

And I know what you’re thinking,

“Aha! Jess is a travel agent.”

Nope. I’m a luxury travel advisor. Advisor is the new agent. And just yesterday I was introduced as a Travel Designer. So there’s that too. As well as Travel Consultant.

Agent/Advisor/Designer/Consultant/woman for hire, they all have one thing in common: TRAVEL! Which I love, which I’m good at and which, I’m somewhat surprised to find out, I LOVE planning for other people.

I’ve been dreaming about Mexico, Scandinavia, Greece, PARIS! All the places my clients are bound for. I’m so EXCITED for them.

That part of it has really been a surprise. I had no idea I’d like planning other people’s trips as much as I do.

PLUS I’m doing it all from my couch, in my jammies, with my coffee, still going to exercise classes, still dragging my kiddos around. Feels somewhat miraculous.

Never mind the subsidized trips I’m eligible for. Which may be worth it all on their own. The work trips would be solo travel, which is how this journey all began. So I’ll be getting back to my roots, minus the overstuffed backpack full of varying degrees of unwashed laundry.

Seafaring snail dudes summer at the Cape

Posted on June 30, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

I’ve had many pets in my life: three dogs, one parrot, two chickens, one rabbit, one cat and several fish.

Much to BB’s consternation, all she’s had is one dog who died when she was two.

She’s desperate for a pet.

The family decision is that two years from now, when all our extra money isn’t going toward pre-k or kindergarten, we’ll get a dog.

Two years is a long time. BB found me in the kitchen and presented a large caterpillar.

“I’m keeping him for a pet.”

If by keeping him, you mean keeping him outside.

Then yesterday she fell in love with two garden snails: Swirly and Speedy. She begged and begged and begged to keep them.

Speedy is not a name you might expect for a snail, but Speedy has proven themselves worthy.

Speedy prefers they/them pronouns considering they’re hermaphroditic. Put any two snails together and you can get baby snails. Or so says Google. Yes I’ve been doing my snail research.

I haven’t seen any snail hanky panky yet, but there’s still time.

BB presented her sand pail with her snails and pleaded her case. My initial reaction was,

Absolutely not! They belong in the wild and we’re not buying a terrarium.

Then it turned out we already had a terrarium, with dirt in it nonetheless. It became impossible to say no.

Next thing I knew I was cutting up strawberries for Swirly and Speedy and misting their habitat with water.

I wouldn’t think twice about them out in the wild, but now I fear for their life. I would like to say no pet snail has ever died on my watch.

And that’s why we’ll be releasing them in a week.

It’s either that or take them sailing to Martha’s Vineyard.

As excited as my in-laws would be for us to show up on their boat with the addition of a terrarium, I’m not convinced these are seafaring snails.

Don’t even talk to me about looking into snail-sitting.

If Swirly and Speedy want to stay close by, then maybe we’ll see them again. If not, I wish them the best and pray for whatever new wild animal BB gets her hands on next.

There really are a lot of great snail images. It was hard to choose.

April Fools!

Posted on April 3, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

I stole Captain’s car.

You know I’m committed to this holiday when I set my alarm for 5:00am April 1st to achieve my dreams.

Several months ago some cars in our area were stolen from driveways. Captain, who had been meaning to install an outdoor camera security system, went all in.

Except, as with many projects, it’s not quite finished. The driveway camera is up and running. It’s recording and notifying Captain the minute anyone makes any movement in the driveway.

Daily notifications of children getting their bikes out of the garage are high priority.

Another camera is not plugged in yet. Something about running the wiring through the attic. If you want a timeline on when that’ll get done, it’s anyone’s guess, but if it’s still not done next year, then the world is my oyster.

With one camera out of service, I was able to sneak out of the house undetected.

At 5:00am I slipped on black sweatpants, black combat boots, Captain’s long black shirt OVER my fleece. I thought it made me look a little beefy, offset with my slender, black leather gloves. I sealed the deal with a black face sock.

I clutched Captain’s long black crowbar and headed out the surveillanceless exit. I made a bee line for the back of our property. I jumped a mile as every motion detector light went off. They terrified me, but not the deer Captain was hoping to deter.

I escaped out the back corner of the yard. I felt scary and was also concerned that if anyone saw me, I looked like real trouble.

I reentered our yard from the street, came down the driveway. I had rehearsed a charade in my head of what I would do. I got under the car in the back and banged my crowbar around on the ground.

The security camera records sound. As I lay on the ground under the car. I stared up at the spare tire and thought to myself,

“What would a car thief be doing here under the spare tire?” Proof I came up with this charade without googling: ‘how to steal a car.’

Although I did google: “tools to steal a car.” My trusted crowbar was not listed, but I decided that between the crowbar and the key fob, it would be a good combo.

I moved to the driver door and pretended to use my crowbar. I successfully “broke” in.

I tried to embody my best car-thief self, I resisted the ingrained habit of buckling. I’d like to say I peeled out of the driveway.

I did not. I sat there for awhile and wondered how long a car thief would wait for the windshield to defrost.

I decided not long. So because I couldn’t really see and it wasn’t my car with all its battle scars, I made a slow cautious exit, squeaking by our trash bins.

I was about to come to a full stop at the stop sign, but I saw our neighbor pulling out. I didn’t want to scare the bejeezus out of them with my black sock covered head, I turned and headed around the block.

I buckled. I don’t care how hardcore a car thief you are, who wants to listen to that beeping?

I parked down the street from our house and headed back inside.

It was such a relief to be back in my jammies, on the couch with my coffee. I’m really not cut out for car thievery.

I checked the driveway footage. There I was! Around 7am Captain headed for the shower, I glanced at his phone. The security notification was there! Movement in the driveway detected and recorded.

I paced the kitchen and tried not to act like I just stole a car.

Captain came out for breakfast, drank his coffee, perused his phone. NOTHING.

I walked BB part of the way to the bus stop. I saw her look down the street. At which point I thought she was going to shout and ask what Dad’s car was doing in the street. She didn’t.

That was a relief. Later I asked BB if she noticed Captain’s car. She said she thought it was her grandparents’ car. Which it was, but also all the more reason to ask about it. Seven-year-old brains are mysterious things.

I came back in the house and took the risk of yelling to Captain in the other room,

“Hey! Where did you put your car?”

He looked out the window and said,

“Nice try, April Fools.”

I have never been more crushed in my life. But I wasn’t convinced the jig was up.

I had been counting on Captain being oblivious to the date, but I’ve fooled him almost every year, so for once he was trying to be ready.

He started looking out all the windows of the house for his car. I asked,

“Did you check the driveway video footage?”

“No. Should I?”

“Well I don’t know anything about your car, so we should check it.”

He reviews the video, zooms in on the masked robber and screeches,

“WHO IS THAT?!?!?!”

I inspect myself. I note the time stamp,

“5:30am! I don’t know! You know I don’t get up until 6am.”

“I need to call the police. Should I call the police?”

“YES! Not 911, just the regular number.”

“The regular number?”

“Yeah, google it.”

His hands are shaking, he keeps muttering,

“Who was that?! I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this.”

As he’s about to press send on the call to the police, I pop out with the black mask on my face.

April Fools victory is sweet.

Writing about writing makes for a short post

Posted on August 16, 2022 by Good Times with Jess

I want to write more than a biweekly blog post. I’ve thought or said something similar since I graduated college.

Putting my desire down in writing may be helpful. Or it may not. If I can procrastinate for 20 years, anything is possible.

Yes I have valid demands on my time. Refer to children mentioned in previous posts.

Somehow I find enough time to do post-grad level research on how to treat whatever the heck allergic reaction is happening around my eyes.

There’s time to search and give up on what jeans I want to be wearing. There’s always time for a news doom scroll. And if in doubt, I just refresh social media, the weather, my photos, my calendar, my email, my period app.

Sounds like a phone issue. I’ve tried disconnecting from my phone. I’ve hidden it away in a kitchen cabinet. Which was more helpful than I thought it would be, considering I knew where it was.

It’s also an internet issue, because I LOVE to write on my computer, but it’s very easy to switch from google docs to TripAdvisor.

So no phone and no internet, then no excuses? Nope. Cause then I resort to the very last thing in the world I want to do: cleaning.

It starts to sound like I don’t want to write if I’d rather scour toilets. Writing is harder than scrubbing, scrolling or basic minding of RB so she stays alive.

I’ll be handing that over soon. Partially. My baby is starting school this fall! Three days a week. My excuses keep dwindling.

Three days a week will go quick. I could write or I could go grocery shopping BY MYSELF. I already have a feeling which one it’ll be.

I’m going to sign up for some generative writing classes. It may be helpful to be held accountable. By them and maybe you.

I could write more about this or I could go to the beach…