Cant Make This Crap Take Up

Real Life. Raw Moments. No Filters.

Author: Josie Mac

  • The Mom-I-Nator

    Filed under: Real Life, Kids, Neurodivergence, Humor

    This morning, as my youngest sat doing his treatments and watching The Amazing World of Gumball—(yeah, I know, not exactly award-winning content)—I overheard a line that made me snort my coffee.

    Gumball’s mom says, dead serious:

    “If you don’t do your chores… I’ll turn into the Mom-I-Nator.”

    I. Lost. It.

    Cackled. Out loud. Alone. Like a lunatic.

    Because YES—that’s the freakin’ ENERGY.

    I’ve tried gentle parenting.

    I’ve tried sticker charts and chore charts and let’s-express-our-feelings-while-I-trip-over-legos parenting.

    But sometimes? Sometimes you need to channel your inner cyborg-mom-beast who’s done being nice.

    The Mom-I-Nator doesn’t nag.

    She scans. She locks in.

    She executes.

    Trash bag in one hand.

    Chore list in the other.

    And the emotional resolve of a woman who just found moldy Tupperware under her kid’s bed.

    Now, in this house, we call that “Mom-I-Nator Mode.”

    It activates when:

    • You’ve asked for something 87 times
    • No one has clean underwear
    • Or someone dares utter “What’s for dinner?” while sitting in a pile of their own crumbs

    There’s a time for nurturing.

    And there’s a time to sweep through the house like a warrior in Target leggings.

    Because we’re not just moms.

    We are warriors of structure.

    Queens of chaos control.

    Tyrants of tidying.

    And yes… we are The Mom-I-Nator.

    So today, I popped my head around the corner and asked my son, nebulizer mask still on:

    “Do you think that would work? If I said ‘Clean your room’—in my Mom-I-Nator voice?”

    He paused. Big blue eyes locked on me.

    He smirked. Rolled his eyes.

    And shook his head slowly.

    Which is kid-code for: “She’s at it again.”

    Yup. I am.

    Because around here?

    We deal with chaos using love, laughter…

    …and just a hint of mild intimidation.

  • Straws. Spills. Side of Chaos.

    Because some days, the universe tests your patience before the coffee’s even done brewing — proof that parenting is equal parts love, laughter, and damage control, all before 7:30 AM. ☕❤️

    Ever have one of those days where you just want to crawl back into bed?

    Yeah… yesterday was one of those days.

    It started off fine—until it was time to leave.

    My son drinks hot chocolate most mornings on the way to school. I handed him his straw (a hard plastic one), thinking he’d just put it in his cup.

    Yeah… nah.

    Instead, he sticks it in his mouth, walks to the stairs, jumps down a few, then back up them—and bam—hits the straw into the roof of his mouth. Gouges it. Chokes himself. 😳👀🤦🏻‍♀️

    He comes running at me, freaking out, mouth full of blood. Open mouth, mind you.

    I’m like, “Dude, what in the world? Spit in the sink so I can see where that’s coming from.”

    Yup. Nice big chunk out of the roof of his mouth.

    So I make some salt water and have him swish. Not fun, but it stops the bleeding. Definitely going to take some time to heal. 🤦🏻‍♀️

    Lesson learned?

    My son: “I don’t like straws anymore!”

    Me: “Uh, no. The lesson is: we don’t walk with objects in our mouth, we don’t jump with objects in our mouth, and we definitely don’t jump on the stairs with objects in our mouth.”

    My son: “Oh yeah… that.” 😅

    So then we finally get in the car. The cup holders suck, so he’s supposed to hold his hot chocolate.

    Except… he forgets. 🙃

    I’m turning off our road on to the main drive when I hear from the back seat:

    “I hate this car! It’s so annoying! Momma! I can’t go to school like this!”

    I turn around—and it’s everywhere.

    Hot chocolate all over him, all over the seat, all over the cup holders. 😩

    So I pull back into the driveway. He runs inside, strips, I grab random clothes from the dryer (no clue if they even match), he throws them on, and we’re off again.

    We were a hot mess yesterday.

    Parenting isn’t for the faint of heart—it’s for those who can handle blood, chocolate, and chaos before 7:30 AM. ☕💪

  • Motherhood

     Motherhood, Mayhem, and Microwave Dinners:

    A Love Story

    I burned dinner again.
    Not like crispy edges and still edible burned.

    NOPE! We’re talking smoke alarm symphony and dog hiding under the couch level disaster.
    This wasn’t even some fancy Pinterest recipe. It was a freezer meal. A MICROWAVABLE one. And NEVER make a simple dinner! Usually, it’s as healthy as can be. We are a fully organic, gluten and dairy free- no dye- no GMO – no preservative family! So, if I’m making a microwave dinner- it’s been a DAY! You have to try to fail that hard. And yet — here I am, overachieving in all the wrong categories.
    Motherhood isn’t always magical. Sometimes it’s a scavenger hunt for socks that match. Sometimes it’s refereeing a full-blown WWE match over who looked at who sideways. Sometimes it’s screaming “WE’RE NOT SCREAMING” while silently questioning every life choice since 1995.
    And yet, we love these tiny humans so much it physically hurts.
    We cry over their school pictures. We’d fight a bear for them. We survive “Mom” being shouted at us 47 times before we’ve even peed.
    This isn’t a guide. It’s a confession.
    I don’t have it all together. I duct-tape my schedule together with caffeine and stubbornness. Some nights I hide in the furnace room just to breathe — and maybe snack (or do a shot!). Don’t judge me.
    If you’re in the trenches too…Welcome. Grab a blanket. I saved you a microwave meal — just don’t ask me to cook it.
    ⸻
    We’ll never be “that mom” — but we’re the real ones. And honestly? That’s the best kind

  • B.I.T.C.H.

    It’s MY Turn (And I’m taking the Damn Mic)

    For YEARS, I’ve poured everything I had into everyone else.

    THEIR CHOAS. THEIR NEEDS. THEIR DREAMS. THEIR DAMN EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE.

    I became the fixer, the helper, the background hero- and somehow, along the way, I forgot I had my own life to live.

    Let me be crystal clear: I’m not bitter… I’M FINALLY AWAKE.

    Because somewhere between wiping noses, butts, (in one way or another) holding space, holding back tears, I realized – I never gave myself permission to take up space.

    To be LOUD. To be SEEN. But now… oh sweet cheeks, it’s my turn.

    And if reclaiming my time, my energy, and self-worth makes me a BITCH…

    WELL then hand me a crown, and a box of extras for the ladies who can proclaim this:

    B– Beautiful

    I-Inspired

    T-Talented

    C-Caring

    H-Healer

    I’ll own it! Every BOLD

    BRILLIANT

    Piece of it!

    And to the critics, the haters, the peanut gallery of passive-aggressiveness? They can B-I-T-C-H right

    B-Back I-Into T-The C-Crotch H-Hole they came from.

    mic drop

    This blog isn’t for people who want sugarcoated self-help and fake positivity. It’s for the women who are finally choosing themselves after a lifetime of being last. For the ones who are done dimming their light to keep the peace. For the ones rising- messy, real, powerful.

    Because when you stop apologizing for existing, for being too much, too intense…. THAT is when your real magic starts!

    So go ahead…

    TAKE THE DAMN MIC

    if the mic fits, embrace it – and allow yourself to the be the royalty you were meant to be…

  • About Me

    Meet Josie Mac

    When I first started this blog, I thought, “Yup… my life could be a book.” But not the kind of Oprah recommends- more like a sitcom that accidentally turned into a drama, sprinkled with a few bad decision, good intentions and WAY too much caffeine.

    Not the kind of polished story with the “happily-ever-after” more like the kind where you’re rooting for the character even when she’s eating cookie dough for dinner.

    Either way — you can’t make this crap up.

    I’m Josie. Single mom to more kids than anyone can ever imagine (and no I didn’t birth them all). I juggle chaos, drop the balls and somehow show up – most of the time late. I’m also known as the woman Googling “is this normal” at 2 a.m..

    I’ve got a sense of humor that keeps me sane, and a coffee cup (sometimes not filled with coffee) that mysteriously empties itself. OFTEN.

    This isn’t the sugar-coated, highlight reel version of life. This is where the messy stuff lives. The midnight breakdowns, the wins that no one sees, the coffee-fueled resilience, and yes — the moments that make you say,

    “Did that seriously just happen?”

    You won’t find Pinterest- perfect here. But you will find

    Truth. Laughter. and

    Maybe. Just maybe healing… and knowing you’re not alone.

    This space is for the beautifully chaotic souls who are tired of pretending everything’s fine. The ones trying to just hold it all together while falling apart. Who want to laugh a little, cry when they need to.

    I don’t have all the answers, but I do have stories that will make you feel less alone. And maybe a few one-liners that’ll make you spit out your drink. So whether you’re here for solidarity, sarcasm, or soul work — welcome.

    Grab your coffee, (or wine /beer/or ?) get comfy, and stay awhile.
    This is your space too.

    No filters. No fluff. Just beautifully messy real life- one moment at a time.

  • Truth

    BECAUSE LIFE DOESN’T COME WITH FILTERS

    This is where life meets coffee, tea… or let’s be honest, sometimes wine – and when it really hits the fan, maybe even a shot or two. Welcome to the beautifully chaotic space where real talk lives. No Willy Wonka sugarcoating, no highlight reels- just the raw unfiltered journey of some stuff.

    Because if you’ve been through it-you know…. you can’t make this crap up.

    But you can write through it. Laugh through it. Cry at times and rise anyway.

  • When CRAP Hits The Fan – and You’re Out of Fre-bees

    Some mornings I wake up ready to conquer the world.   YES!!!  “Oh crap! It’s her again” the Devil says!  
    Other mornings… I’m already mentally done before my feet hit the floor.  You know the quick pretend you’re sick and pull the covers over your head, no one will know.. mornings.

    This isn’t one of those curated “rise and grind” stories.

    This is more like:

    I rose,

     I spilled my coffee,

    said a few choice words… not necessarily in my head…

    I stepped on a Lego,

     AND NOW

     I’m questioning my entire life while I’m brushing someone else’s hair with a fork? 

    Real Life.

    You know those days where the dog throws up, the 9-year-old is arguing like he’s a Supreme Court Justice, ( yup I got one too!) Your bank app has a warning flag, and the laundry is eyeballing you like it has something to say…

    Yeah. That was just this morning.

    I used to think I had to pretend it was all fine.

    SMILE. (insert eye roll)…  Keep the peace.

    But peace doesn’t live in pretending.  Peace lives in honesty. In chaos.  In admitting, “Actually, I’m not okay today-but I’m trying anyway.”

    And trying is enough.

    Trying is brave.

    I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re reading this while hiding in your bathroom with a mug of something hot (or strong), just know-you’re not alone.

    This space-this little corner of the internet-isn’t here to impress anyone.  It’s here to say, “Same. Me too. Let’s figure it out one meltdown at a time.”

    No Willy Wonka sugarcoating. 

    No fake positivity.

    Just real stories, real messes, and the sacred magic of showing up anyway.

    Even if the only thing you checked off today was surviving- I’m proud of you.  That counts.

  • Can’t Make This Crap Up: Travel Cleaning

    Are you a travel cleaner?

    IF you’re a mom, a single parent, or someone like me with ADHD and ADHD-who can’t sit still AND just goes all day long… you’ll get it.

    Sometimes I wonder if I was born this way or if it developed over time. I start in one room and, within minutes, I’m in another… yeah. That.

    Travel cleaner.

    It happens *quick.*

    One second I’m scrubbing the kitchen, the next I’m standing in the entryway…. And then I’m like “WAIT! What am I doing? How in the HELL did I get in here?

    Yeah.

    The travel cleaner.

    I even set a timer for each room. Not that it helps-I end up ignoring it so I can slide across the floor with the mop like I’m in an episode of TOP Gun. (Hey, don’t judge)

    I’ve tried putting boxes down to trip over… yup, fell flat on my face. Cue rough somersault, a sigh, a look around, and a laugh (without peeing myself- mom bladder) because THANK GOD— I’m home alone.

    My kids would’ve had a field day with that:

    1. Thought I fell with grace.
    2. They caught it on their phones
    3. Crossed their legs laughing so hard they almost peed too.
    4. all while we shuffling to the bathroom, legs crossed

    Don’t tell me YOU haven’t been there.

    I blame the kids… they caused me MOM BRAIN (and bladder).

    Hey it’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

    So yeah… I’m a travel cleaner.

    One room to the next. No memory of how I got there. A “cleaning strategy” that looks more like a low-budget action film than anything remotely productive.

    But hey- something always gets cleaned.

    Eventually.

    Probablly.

    Even though I clean like that, I still know exactly where everything is. I’m high-functioning in the chaos.

    Like…I know where the scissors are.

    (In the freezer. Next to the ice cream)

    Josie, just a woman trying to clean one room without ending up in a different zip code.