I am not sure what is happening or why it is happening but I feel like I am drowning in everything so here you go

Just when I thought laundry day was going smooth, my dryer decided it was done working for the week. Guess who’s hanging clothes like it’s the 80s again?

Sometimes the weather just has other plans — like reminding me that thunder and showers don’t mix! One loud boom, one power flicker, and I was out of that shower faster than an Olympic sprinter. Lesson learned: when the sky grumbles, the shampoo waits till morning.

When I was 3 or 4, I started a full-blown hotdog meltdown over something no one could understand—“No Chewy!” My poor brother-in-law was lost until my sister translated: no chili. Once the crisis was solved, I rocked my pink curlers, ate my cheese puffs, and proudly declared victory. No Chewy, no problem. 🌭😂

Mt. Trumpmore as a crucial element within the political allegory Hairball, positioning it as a central metaphor and symbol for Donald Trump's ego and desire for monumental recognition. This fictional landmark serves as the foundational setting where the protagonist awakens, immediately establishing the pervasive influence of Trump's self-perception on the chaotic political landscape being satirized. Furthermore, the source highlights that Mt. Trumpmore is just one of several symbolic devices used in the play, alongside others like "The Elevator" and the concept of a "Trump monster," all of which deepen the play's political commentary by visually and conceptually grounding the allegory in themes of unchecked ego and public adoration. Ultimately, Mt. Trumpmore functions as a powerful visual concept emphasizing that the entire satirized political environment is shaped by the central figure's colossal self-image.

"Daddy's Little Engine" is a surreal and highly satirical narrative, presented as events unfolding in "Ronald's mind after his shower and frontal lobotomy." The story serves as a scathing critique of contemporary political and social discourse, particularly targeting figures resembling Donald Trump and Elon Musk, and their perceived followers. The narrative employs grotesque imagery, absurd situations, and distorted language to highlight themes of narcissism, irrationality, manipulation, and the commodification of national identity. The fragmented, dream-like structure, marked by frequent scene changes and non-sequiturs, underscores a sense of mental instability and societal decay.

When I was about 9 or 10, I had just joined soccer and finally found my perfect spot as a midfielder. During practice, I got my cleat stuck in the net, flipped backward, and landed right on my left arm — the same one I had already broken before. Sure enough, it was broken again in the exact same three places. My mom couldn’t believe it, and I wasn’t even scared of the cast saw this time. I still wanted to play, so I showed up at games with my arm wrapped in bubble wrap and a trash bag. Lesson learned? Nope — cleats, nets, and my poor arm just don’t mix!

I thought making coleslaw would be easy—until I turned it into cabbage soup with a blender. 🥬😂 Luckily, my husband swooped in to save dinner. Turns out, I’m banned from coleslaw duty forever…

Please forgive the absence lately, momma got a new jawb whatever that is and we went on two trips one to the woods which I liked and one to the real big water in North Meownisotah. I was not fond of that one, too much water. Yuck.

When I was 6, I tried to copy the older kids on the playground by jumping off a swing. Later at home, I gave it a go on my own swing set — but my shirt and leg got caught, and I landed on my arm, breaking it in three places. Getting a cast felt like a medal of honor because everyone signed it, but nothing prepared me for the day they removed it. I walked into the room expecting a simple cut-off, only to see a giant saw hanging over me. Terrified they’d cut my arm off, I panicked until the nurses calmed me down. In the end, it was painless — but little me was absolutely sure I’d leave with fewer limbs than I arrived with!

When I was 14, I developed a secret crush I thought I could keep hidden forever. I nicknamed him “Mr. Coolman” (and secretly “Mr. Sexy”), convinced no one would ever find out. But my younger sister had other plans—she waited for the perfect moment to blurt it out in front of our parents. My face turned red, my secret was exposed, and I ran outside not knowing if I should laugh or cry. Lesson learned: never trust your little sister with your biggest secret crush.

When I was six, I proudly inherited my dad’s old “billfold” on Father’s Day and strutted around like I owned the world—until I crashed my bike and learned wallets can bruise more than egos. Later that evening, I embarrassed my dad in a crowded restaurant by asking if his wallet hurt his butt. His legendary comeback about wallets only hurting when they’re empty brought the house down.

Back in the 90s, little me thought I ran into Jeff Gordon at the grocery store. 🏎️ #24 fan for life! Too shy to ask for an autograph, my mom and I searched the aisles like detectives—only to miss our chance. To this day, I’ll never know if it was really him or just a lookalike.

Puddles the stuffed puppy went from beloved toy to one-eared survivor—and we still can’t stop laughing about it.

At 3 years old, I was convinced my dad had superpowers when he walked across freshly poured concrete without sinking like quicksand.

A blown lightbulb, a jokester dad, and one dramatic toddler exit—welcome to the chaos of my childhood.

Evening dog feeding turns into a battle against the neighborhood spiders. Armed with my trusty spider stick, I dodge webs, knock down silk, and perform the ultimate “spider dance,” all while the dogs watch in amusement. Morning feedings are easy—evening feedings are pure chaos.

A simple dental checkup with my 15-year-old son turned into a two-hour ordeal. Called back after 10 minutes, we still waited forever while he perfected dramatic sighs, ceiling-staring, bib-fiddling, and flopping in the chair. A hilarious reminder that teenagers can survive almost anything…except boredom.

A simple dinner turned into a chaotic kitchen adventure when my pressure cooker decided to hiss, rattle, and drain itself like it was done with life. Between visions of lima beans exploding across the room and debating whether to unplug it or run, this daily disaster proves one thing—never trust a moody appliance.

This is my first post on Daily Disasters, where I share why I started blogging. Life has thrown me some tough challenges—loss, accidents, and everyday chaos—but I’ve learned to cope through storytelling and humor. From pressure cooker mishaps to parenting fails, this blog is about finding laughter in life’s messy moments and reminding each other that none of us have it all figured out.