My son called me just to say nothing, my daughter may or may not be running a WWE fight club in the neighbor’s yard, and some random mom told my kid she deserved to get beat up. Also: I’m tired, I’m reflective, I’m probably low-key constipated from monk fruit, and I’m blaming it all on being a Taurus with too much fixed energy and not enough will to wash my hair.So join me for a sparkly little breakdown where I talk about parenting, poop, astrology, emotional burnout, and why being a functional adult should count as cardio.✨ Featuring:– Miscommunication nation (aka my family)– Fixed-sign fatigue– The revenge of the monk fruit– Callie’s inner Aries going full Smackdown– And a few soft moments of love, growth, and existential dread 💖Don’t worry—I’ll be back next Friday. Unless Mercury really goes retrograde.

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