I live in the middle of everyday chaos—balancing long work hours, family life, pets who think they run the house, and the endless to-do list that never really ends. Most days, I run on coffee, grit, and the ability to laugh at the madness when it all feels like too much. This blog is my place to be real about it—the messy, exhausting, funny, and heartfelt parts of life that don’t always make it onto social media. Here, I share the moments of overwhelm, the little victories, and the reminder that even when life feels overloaded, there’s still joy to be found in the cracks. If you’ve ever felt stretched thin but kept showing up anyway, you’ll feel right at home here.
Welcome to The Overbooked Life—pull up a chair, it’s crowded but there’s always room
Some days, the tired isn’t just tired—it’s the kind where coffee becomes a food group and I debate whether a nap in the car counts as self-care. I’m a mom, I work over 65 hours a week, and I juggle kids, pets, bills, and the thousand invisible tasks that never make it onto a to-do list. And while I talk a lot throughout the day, I don’t always feel heard. My voice gets lost somewhere between “What’s for dinner?” and “Did you sign this permission slip?”
Today, as I bounced from one customer to the next at work, the daily prompt “Why do you blog?” kept running through my head. And honestly, between sneaking cold bites of a DoorDash burger I ordered an hour before, I finally had an answer: I blog because I want to be heard.
But here’s the twist—I don’t necessarily want people I know to hear me. Crazy, right? If I write in a journal, it just sits there. If I wrote openly where family or friends might read it, the fear of being misunderstood would stop me cold. But here, in this little corner of the internet, I can write without that weight. I can let out the messy thoughts—the frustrations, the exhaustion, the little flickers of humor I cling to—without worrying if someone close to me will misread them.
There’s something freeing about writing for strangers. The people who stumble across my words don’t know me, don’t expect anything of me, and yet… maybe they’ll understand me. Maybe another tired mom who reheats her coffee three times and wonders if cereal qualifies as dinner will read this and think, oh, it’s not just me.
That’s why I keep showing up here. Because being heard isn’t always about shouting the loudest or gathering likes and comments. Sometimes it’s about whispering into the noise and knowing your words might land with someone who needed to hear them, too.
This blog is my space to be messy and real. To say I’m tired, to admit I sometimes laugh at the chaos just to keep from crying, to confess that yes, I do dream about a nap-filled getaway cabin with no Wi-Fi. It’s not polished, it’s not perfect—but it’s me.
So why do I blog? Because I want to be seen, even if it’s by people who don’t know my name. Because writing here feels safer than scribbling in a notebook I’ll hide in a drawer. Because in this space, I get to take up a little room in the world, and maybe—just maybe—someone else will feel less alone when they find it.
And if nothing else, it’s cheaper than therapy and pairs well with reheated coffee.
Until then, keep the coffee hot and the chaos (somewhat) managed.
Husky Glitter, Chewed Shoes, and a Whole Lot of Love
Some people collect hobbies. I collect husky hair. Between zoomies, dramatic howls, and a furniture casualty or two, living with huskies is equal parts chaos and comedy—and I’ve learned a lot along the way.
I know I’ll end up posting plenty about the kids, family, and work, but why not about the dogs themselves? After all, they’re as much a part of the daily chaos as anyone else. I like to joke that I thought I knew what I was getting into when we adopted a husky—one that brought love, laughs, and more hair than I ever imagined, plus the fun of me being the one taken for a walk. But then we adopted a second.
Because when you adopt one husky… you quickly realize they do best with a friend.
I learned quickly that if you only have one (at least for ours), he’ll find ways to entertain himself—usually at your expense. At first, I refused to crate him. I thought crating was cruel. Would you want to be stuffed into a box for 6+ hours? Neither would I, so why would I do that to a high-energy pup? I’d seen videos of huskies trying to break out of crates, and I wanted no part of that heartbreak.
Yes, they’re crate trained now—for emergencies—but they don’t live in crates. I work hard so they can have the good life they deserve. In fact, I even have a coffee mug that says: “I work this hard so my dog can have a better life.” It sits on my desk at work and always gets people talking.
So instead of crating, I did what any slightly sleep-deprived, over-committed, soft-hearted dog parent would do: I adopted him a friend. Yes, that meant double the fluff, double the zoomies, and double the howls, but it also meant my shoes survived. And honestly, don’t we all do better with a friend to “ruff house” with? Sure, we had to sacrifice a chair (RIP chair legs), but for the most part, keeping them gated in dog-proof areas has worked.
Now, with age, my older husky has mellowed—well, husky-style mellowed. He’ll still hop the baby gate, stare into the puppy cam, and roll all over my sofa with the defiance of a teenager sneaking out past curfew. Which explains why I’m usually covered in “husky glitter.”
I write a lot about the pressures of family, work, and bills, but these two boys bring joy and chaos in equal measure. They frustrate me. They make me laugh harder than I thought possible. And they remind me, daily, not to take life too seriously.
Of course, huskies don’t forgive easily. They have long memories and a flair for revenge. If I don’t share breakfast, brush the “wrong” spot, give the wrong number of treats, or fail to dry the grass before they step outside, they’ll make their displeasure known. My sneakers have paid the ultimate price more than once.
But for every chewed heel or stolen snack, there’s a moment that makes it worth it. On nights when work is heavy on my mind, my older husky will leap the gate, sneak upstairs, and curl up between my husband and me. Sometimes I’ll even surrender the bed and head to the sofa, where he’ll flop beside me, a 60-pound weighted blanket of fur and warmth. The smell of dog breath may not be ideal, but the comfort is unmatched.
At the end of the day, life with huskies is messy, chaotic, and unpredictable. But it’s also full of laughter, love, and more loyalty than I ever expected. They test my patience, destroy my shoes, and cover me in hair—but I wouldn’t trade them for the world. Because when the house is quiet and the stress of the day lingers, nothing heals quite like a husky pressed up against you, reminding you that joy can be found in the simplest, fluffiest of packages.
Until next time, keep the coffee strong and the chaos manageable.
I have a belief: everyone should be required to work in sales for at least a year. Scratch that—everyone should definitely do customer service. Actually, let’s make it a year of both. Why? Because customer service is one of the most thankless jobs out there, and until you’ve done it, you don’t really understand just how much patience (and caffeine) it takes.
Yesterday reminded me of this. And to be clear, this isn’t a rant—I actually like my job. I work in the mattress and furniture industry, and most days, it’s fine. But every now and then, a few “special cases” show up.
For example:
The couple who walked in with one partner in a collar and the other holding the leash.
Or the man who spent ten solid minutes yelling at me over the phone about someone else’s mistake—while I was actively trying to fix it.
Here’s the thing: that old saying, “you catch more flies with honey,” is 100% true. I imagined hanging up on that man at least four times. But when you choose to scream at the person who’s trying to help you, you’ve just opted out of any “extras” you were hoping to demand. No bending over backward, no shortcuts. If anything, you just made the process harder for yourself. Maybe that’s petty. Or maybe it’s just human.
Plenty of people would say, “Just hang up.” And sure, I could. But then that same angry person usually shows up in the store, makes a scene, and ruins the day for everyone else. That not only makes my job harder—it drives good customers and employees right out the door. So sometimes it’s easier to just take the verbal beating, bite your tongue, and move on.
And then there are the other days. You know, the holiday-weekend-meets-back-to-school-meets-“I-need-it-tomorrow-because-company-is-coming” kind of days. The ones where every customer suddenly morphs into a toddler demanding a toy they can’t quite describe. Not that toy. No, not that one either. Try again. Still wrong. Five toys later, you give up. Except instead of toys, it’s furniture. And instead of toddlers, it’s grown adults.
Trying to explain delivery schedules and stock availability to someone who refuses to listen is about as successful as convincing a child to eat broccoli after they’ve already decided it’s poison.
In other words… unacceptable. Like a vegetable.
By the end of those days, you run through every option in your head to try to make people happy (most of the time, you can’t), and as they storm out the door calling you “stupid,” you’re left wondering what on earth just happened. During a holiday weekend, this repeats for hours on end, until you’re completely beaten down. And then—there’s still the long drive home.
Here’s my confession: I love my commute. That hour in the car each way gives me ten hours a week of solitude. Ten hours to breathe, reset, and just be me before walking through a door where more demands are waiting.
“Did you call about that bill yet?” Nope. I was busy juggling customers. I’ll handle it tomorrow. (Spoiler: I usually don’t. It waits until my next day off… if I even remember.)
“Did you prep meals for the week?” Do I look like I prepped meals at work? Can I at least pee first? Five kids later, the bladder isn’t what it used to be. I miss the pre-kid days when bathroom breaks weren’t a sprint against disaster.
“Did you know about this thing with our son?” Well, since you just found out, I’m gonna go with… no. Maybe let me put my bag down first.
To be fair, my husband isn’t trying to pile things on me—he’s trying to fill me in before he crashes for the night. He’s up at 2 a.m. for work, after all. And that’s another group of people who deserve kindness: your mail and delivery workers. They’re up much earlier than you think, and someone has to load those trucks before the drivers even start their routes. Most of the time, they’re doing it alone.
So here’s my plea: be kind. To the cashier, the server, the delivery driver, the sales associate. We’re all just trying to survive the day, same as you.
By the end of the night, I usually find myself in bed with an audiobook playing, replaying the weight of the day in my head. Customers, kids, husband—and of course, the mile-long walk with the huskies. If I skip that, they’ll find my shoes and add “extra ventilation” in retaliation. Trust me, huskies don’t forget.
Even as my eyes close, there’s no real stopping. Most nights, I end up dreaming that I’m still at work. I dream of customers, of paying bills, of phone calls to companies, of endless to-do lists. Always the things I have to do—never the things I want to do.
Some days, it feels like being an adult is just one long rat race of money and time. Is this really it? Where’s my day on the beach with a fruity drink and a little umbrella sticking out the top? I want to feel the sun on my skin (even if it’s not exactly the body you’d want to see overly exposed) and let the heat wrap around me like a weighted blanket.
I want so many things. But for now, it’s work, kids, and bills—fueled by coffee, questionable habits, and stubborn puppies—that get me through the day.
Remember the good moments—the happy ones—and don’t let the world chip away at the dreams you hold onto. I know, it’s easier said than done.
I keep reminding myself to actually use my vacation time. The challenge is finding that perfect alignment: kids out of school, husband off work, no blackout dates at my job, and maybe even a little extra cash scraped together for some family fun. Someday, that will all come together.
But for now, it’s Labor Day weekend, and I’m back in the thick of it—answering the endless chorus of “give me,” “I want,” and “I shouldn’t have to pay people to bring my furniture in for me.” Demands never really take a holiday.
Still, I know there will come a day when the schedule lines up, the stars align, and I finally get that stretch of time with nothing to do but breathe, laugh, and soak in the sun with my family. Maybe not today, maybe not this year—but someday soon.
Until next time, keep the coffee strong and the chaos manageable.
They say the first blog post is always the hardest. It’s the one that sets the tone, opens the door, and decides whether someone might want to linger a little longer—or click away. No pressure, right?
This isn’t going to be a gossip sheet or some juicy tell-all (sorry to disappoint). What you will find here is something more down-to-earth: me, working through my thoughts in real time. Maybe you’ll find something that resonates. Or maybe you’ll just be entertained watching me attempt to string words together while juggling life. Either way, welcome!
Sure, I could keep a private journal. But where’s the fun in that? Words are meant to be shared, to ripple out in unexpected ways. Maybe you’ll stumble across this post on a day when you need to know you’re not the only one going through “it”—whatever it is for you.
So, here we are. Let’s see where this goes.
I am a mother of five. Along with that title comes two dogs, a husband, two car payments, and a house—all in my name. Life is busy, noisy, and rarely dull.
Two of my kids are grown adults now, though they still live at home (apparently “empty nest” is just a myth… who knew?). One child, on the other hand, refuses to stay with me and prefers to let their dad—yes, I’m separated from him—call the shots. That’s a whole bag of nuts we won’t open just yet. Consider that a story for a future post. For now, let’s just say my family is… colorful.
On top of that, I probably work far too much—or at least it feels that way. Then again, doesn’t everyone think that sometimes? I work in sales, which means long hours and more time at the job than I’d like. The hardest part is missing out on moments with my younger two, who are still in elementary school.
Thankfully, my husband does his best to keep me in the loop. He sends videos, snaps pictures, and makes sure I still feel like part of the action. It’s not that I don’t want to be there for every event—I absolutely do. But bills have a way of calling louder than soccer games and school assemblies. Bills mean money, and money means work.
And between the two of us, I’m the one who brings home the bigger paycheck. So the responsibility of keeping things afloat usually lands on my shoulders. Some days it feels heavy, but it’s a weight I carry for the people I love.
So that’s me, in a nutshell—chaotic, overworked, a little sarcastic, but still standing. Stick around, and you’ll probably see me untangle more of this messy, funny, exhausting, wonderful thing I call life.
Until next time, keep the coffee strong and the chaos manageable.
The Overbooked Life 