Whining, Wine-ing & Winning

Yesterday was another exciting day in my new blogging adventure — the kind full of chaos while preparing for family visitors for the weekend.

Surprisingly, even with the wild child running amok, I got a lot accomplished. The house got cleaned, everyone got bathed (including a quick dry-shampoo brush for the doggies), all mouths were fed, and then — because I clearly thrive on poor timing — I decided to upgrade my website.

That was an adventure in itself, and I’m honestly shocked technical support didn’t abandon me in the process.

I’m still very new to this adventure. Back when I used to write, it was in a journal with hidden dreams I never shared with the world. But let’s get back to today’s story.

Blogging 101: yesterday was humbling.

I wanted to crawl into a dark hole in the fetal position and hide what little knowledge I have about this mumbo jumbo.

Somewhere between adjusting fonts, choosing the exact shade of purple, and trying not to yell profanity at my computer (or the tech support team), I encountered… the hamburger.

WTF?

I don’t mean an actual hamburger.
I mean those three tiny horizontal lines that apparently every human on earth recognizes except me.

I won’t even get started on it beginning with something called “the header.”

Anyway, when my cheerful support said, “Just click the hamburger,” I paused.

First of all, I didn’t see a hamburger.
Second, if I’m putting a cute icon in the top right corner, can it be a glass of wine instead?

This is where I began to question the direction of my life.

Am I taking this seriously… or should I just give up and go to Whataburger?

Turns out, this was the navigation menu.

And tapping it revealed… nothing.

Not even a side of fries.

Just an empty panel and the phrase:

“Not Your Typical Dumpster Fire.”

To be fair, that felt extremely accurate at the time of this debacle.

Finally — after multiple refreshes, restarts, a few F-bombs, and nearly breaking my self-imposed rule of no adult beverages during the week — it all began to come together.

The purple was perfect.
The words appeared.
The hamburger was cooked perfectly.
And the toddler was finally napping instead of ninja-slapping my keyboard.

I sat there admiring the finished website while I could swear I heard a choir singing hallelujah in the background. I felt victorious… and in desperate need of electrolytes from sweating out shame and stress.

Looking back, I realized it all relates to the joys of motherhood.

Kids aren’t always going to do what you want them to do.
They won’t wear the clothes you pick out.
They definitely won’t wear matching shoes.

They will test whatever patience you have left.
They will ninja-slap keyboards.
They will send you into a shame spiral that rivals a tech support meltdown.

Because, honestly, they are your tech support.
They are the reason you argue with tech support.
They are the reason you try to be better, make better decisions, and bring forgotten hobbies back to life.

They are your everything. Always.

It’s the little absurd moments and crises you can’t undo:

• the menu icon that breaks your brain and makes you hangry
• the banana bread baked as emotional support
• the decision to redesign a website with a toddler in the house
• the strict “no wine on Thursdays” rule that was sadly broken
(excusable when guests are involved and hamburgers are not available)

If you ever find yourself arguing with technology, questioning your every move, and laughing at yourself by the end of the day…

you are my people.

So raise a glass tonight, wine-d down with me, and celebrate this victory.

Cheers.