DVDs, Smoothies, & the Soft Refusal of a Monday

Ugh, it’s Monday.

That sentence alone could stand in for the entire morning. The light came through the blinds too gray, too early. Like the sky forgot to turn itself on. I put on a sweater and a purple V-neck, layering comfort like armor. Shuffled toward the kitchen in my husband’s sweatshirt—the one with the stretched-out cuffs and a coffee stain from some argument we’ve already forgotten.

Second day of this 21-day diet. My reward? Another green smoothie that tastes like grass blended with guilt and a hint of optimism. I sip it anyway, staring out the window, chewing on kale fibers and the thought of quitting.

Something About DVDs and Forgotten Joy

I don’t know why, but DVDs feel cool again. Not in a nostalgic, ironic way—but like a secret door back to a version of myself that wasn’t always online. The crack of the case, the way the disc clicks into place. Tangible. Chosen.

There’s comfort in rewinding. In pressing play. In not being offered seven other things to watch “next.”

We just bought 130 DVDs off Facebook Marketplace. A little rebellion against streaming culture. A decision rooted in a craving for simplicity, for media that doesn’t shift while you’re trying to hold onto it.

We stacked them on a shelf this weekend—130 DVDs from a stranger on Facebook Marketplace, now part of our daily rebellion against streaming algorithms. Titles I hadn’t thought about in years. Movies that once shaped entire evenings. Holding them again felt like remembering a version of myself who once had the energy to press pause.

Bean and the Battle of the Belly

Bean’s diet needs to change too. Her digestion has been off—again. Something about her system just isn’t syncing right now. We’ve tried everything but surrender. And still, her little body is doing its best to make sense of the world it was given.

Pitt Hopkins is a thief. It steals ease, it steals sleep, it steals the luxury of certainty. But Bean is resilient. She walks into every day like it’s hers to conquer—even when her belly won’t settle and I’m counting ounces and logging diaper changes like I’m filing reports for an invisible boss.

More on that soon. Once I sort through the notes. Once I figure out how to write about her without sounding like I’m apologizing.

Cadence Owens, House in Habit, and the Carnival of the Absurd

I’ve been watching Candace Owens’ new YouTube series, the one about her clash with House in Habit. It’s messy. Personal. Like watching a knife sharpen itself in real time. I don’t know why I care, but I do. Maybe it’s the distraction. Maybe it’s the drama. Maybe it’s just nice to see someone else be the main character in their own collapse for once.

The internet feels like a coliseum some days. Blood sport disguised as commentary. And I? I’ve stepped off the stage. Mostly. I’ve taken a break from posting on Bluesky. For mental health reasons, sure—but also because I got tired of performing stability in a world that only rewards spectacle.

Mundane Objects, Small Messages

There’s a stack of bowls in the sink. One has the outline of Bean’s favorite sticker stuck to the side—faded, peeling. Another bears the ghost of something microwaved and forgotten.

My water bottle sits full and untouched.

The dishwasher hums like it’s keeping secrets.

Even my socks feel off today—mismatched, loose at the ankle, like they’ve given up holding it together.

I Miss Myself, Sometimes

I used to love mornings. Used to rise early, journal, stretch, plan. Now I open my eyes and immediately feel behind. Like I slept through something important. Like life is on page 47 and I’m still trying to get past the prologue.

Motherhood did that. Caregiving made it louder. Pitt Hopkins turned it into a full-blown orchestra of unmet expectations.

I’m tired in ways that don’t show. My bones carry stories that never made it to Instagram.

And Yet

Bean laughed today.

Full-bodied, wild, unruly joy. The kind of laugh that makes you forget how complicated it all is. The kind that reminds you she is not a list of symptoms, but a soul in motion. A girl who deserves softness and sun and people who try.

I put down the smoothie. I press play on a scratched-up DVD. I sit on the floor with her while the dishes wait.

Because sometimes healing looks like choosing to be present. Even on a Monday. Even when you’re unraveling.

Even when the smoothie still tastes like regret.

Final Notes From the Edge of the Week

I’m starting over. Again. With food. With routines. With showing up. With rest. And I’m trying not to mock myself for it.

Bean’s belly needs fixing.

My heart needs softening.

And the world? Well, it needs fewer takes and more truth.

Maybe today isn’t for productivity. Maybe it’s for DVDs and dignity. For remembering who I am beneath the mom, the advocate, the exhausted woman drinking her chlorophyll through a reusable straw.

Maybe it’s for breathing.

And maybe that’s enough.