If we were meeting in person, I would start by asking you all the questions. Where did you grow up? How old are your kids? Tell me about your job, your hobby, your childhood, your weekend plans. Then I’d have a connection, relatable story, if I’m feeling really confident I’d crack a joke and you’d politely laugh.

Author’s Note: “She thinks she’s funny” was a working title for this blog for a hot second.

Then, in my dream of dreams, we become friends. You come over to my house and I trust you and like you enough to not panic that it’s a mess, You sigh with relief when you see the cluttered counters and the dining room that has so much potential but instead remains a holding zone for projects big and small. “Thank God someone else lives like we do,” you think.

Then we sit at my wobbly kitchen table, I’ll wish I had some fresh scones for you but that’s just not the life I live at this moment in time so we have some tea, perhaps a glass of wine, and eat cheese and crackers and talk about… all of it.

The parenting, the working, the relationships, the politics, the tv shows, the podcasts, the soup recipe I must try (I’ll genuinely want to but it will take months), the home decor, the funny stories from growing up, the sad stories from growing up. All the stories from growing up.

Oh would you look at the time! Stay for dinner. I insist, I have…nothing in my fridge. Pizza anyone?

But here we are.

In a blog.

Like it’s 2003.

Am I talking into the void? Does this audience consist only of my best friend and my mother? No shade to you incredible women, but if that’s the case, I can just text you. Or you can, in fact, come over for pizza.

To everyone else, welcome to my virtual pizza party. The vibe is: I have a lot to say about a lot of things and I also have a lot to learn about a lot of things.

Please take a seat in my imperfect home, get yourself a beverage, and tell me about yourself.

Cheese or pepperoni?