My 13-year-old is addicted to green grapes. While the rest of her age bracket is vaping and having sex, my daughter Scarlett is happy OD’ing on nature’s candy. I am deeply grateful for this. Or should I say “grapeful”. Bwahahahaha.

I’ve haven’t written much lately. Been distracted I guess by other things. Minor to-do’s. Finding ways to save a little moola (cut out some subscriptions I really didn’t need and lowered my homeowner’s insurance by $1,000…. boo-yah)! Analyzed my stock portfolio and consolidated our investments. Began preparing our taxes and Gianna’s birthday book. I’ve worked on side projects for Vince’s door insert business. Made this snazzy catalog to showcase all the insert options to help customers choose what they want.

Hard adulting stuff over here. But writing has just taken a back seat for a while.

I haven’t really written too much about this up until now. But my oldest daughter Gianna has been in a serious relationship for some time. She’s been dating this boy for about a year, and they are quite sure that “this is it”.

This is a strange realm to be in for the first time as a parent. Having your baby slowly start to disappear into a relationship is extremely hard. It’s like you lose a part of them to that other person.

It used to be a Christmas Eve tradition in my husband’s massive Irish Catholic family. Before eating dinner on the night before Christmas, we would pray, and then these thin, tasteless wafers would get passed around to everyone. Literally everyone. If you could hold something in your hand, you got a piece of the wafer stack. I’d have to guess there was at one point close to 50 people in his Gram’s downstairs. It was crowded. And most of the guys were holiday sweater sweaty. But it didn’t matter. This was tradition. And this was family.

My oldest had all 4 of her wisdom teeth extracted last week. It was the first time any of my kids had to go under IV sedation and I was OK for the most part. In the weeks leading up to the surgery I wasn’t worried at all.

At the office though, filling out the release form, I started to get a little unnerved. As I read all the possible complications from the sedation or the surgery itself, anxiety crept in as I initialed on each line. You don’t think any of those effects could happen to you, but then seeing it in black and white and being asked to sign next to each statement makes you pause.

I’m excited to introduce “The Gobble Guide,” my Thanksgiving meal planning binder that started as a simple way to manage the chaos in the kitchen but quickly turned into something much more meaningful. What began as a practical tool has evolved into a deeply personal time capsule—and a future gift for my daughters.

Along the way, I’ve indulged in tangents about my habit of giving everything quirky names and the odd joy of adulting. This project reflects not just my love of organization but also my desire to create something lasting for my family. Equal parts cathartic and practical, The Gobble Guide is designed to keep Thanksgiving stress-free while preserving cherished memories for years to come.