Barking Dogs, Prom Tuxes, and Biscuit Hustles – Just Another Week in the Circus

Welcome back to the glitter-fueled, dog-barking, prom-prepping, order-slinging chaos I lovingly call life. If you came here for peace and Pinterest mom vibes, you’re in the wrong damn place. But if you like your blogs with caffeine, cuss words, and questionable parenting moments—buckle up, babe.

Let’s start with 207 Customs. Orders are flying in faster than I can pretend to have my shit together. Tumblers? Flying. Tees? Sassier than my mood after two hours of sleep. Glitter? In places glitter should never be. And if one more person says, “I wish I was that crafty,” I’m gonna craft a custom shirt that says ‘Wish granted—now do it yourself.’

Meanwhile, I’ve become the accidental CEO of my 13-year-old’s pet treat empire: Critter Biscuits. Because apparently, when you birth tiny humans, they eventually start side hustles and drag you in for branding, baking, labeling, shipping, and social media management. Hunter’s been testing recipes like a pint-sized Gordon Ramsay, and our house smells like a pumpkin, peanut butter, and dehydrated fish explosion. You’re welcome, neighbors.

Speaking of neighbors… Oh, honey.

Nothing says fuck around and find out like a noise complaint over my dogs barking… outside… during legal hours… on a farm property. Yes, Karen, they bark. They’re dogs. That’s literally in the job description. They protect my damn chickens, alert me to sketchy noises, and sometimes they just bark to talk shit about you. Don’t like it? Invest in noise-canceling headphones and some business of your own.

As if all that wasn’t enough, we’re in full-blown prom mode for Jonah. We’re tux shopping, shoe hunting, and boutonniere browsing like it’s a red carpet event. He’s got the vibe, I’ve got the receipts, and my bank account has nothing but trauma. Every fitting has me sobbing like I just watched a Sarah McLachlan commercial. My boy’s a whole-ass man now and I am not okay.

And then… there are the chicks.

Not my friends, not my kids—literal baby chickens who are turning my house into a damn dust storm. I sweep, they fluff. I mop, they scratch. They’re cute, they’re loud, and I am counting down the seconds until their fluffy butts are OUTSIDE. Every day they’re inside, I lose one more piece of my sanity and probably a lung to dander.

So yeah. Between running 207 Customs, launching Critter Biscuits, surviving prom prep, battling the Bark Police, and breathing in poultry dust like it’s my side hustle—I’m somewhere between thriving and needs wine in an IV.

But hey—this chaos is mine. And if nothing else, it makes for a damn good blog post.

Thanks for reading my shit show and see you again soon! Bye bye bitches!