Breakfast in bed prepared and served by your lovely children. Oh and by the way, sorry about the mess in the kitchen. Were we supposed to clean up after ourselves?
it’s the thought that counts. Love you Mom! Happy Mother’s Day!
For all that you every day of the year, hope your Mother’s Day is special and someone else cleans the kitchen!
Today is National Cat Lady Day, which is really just a polite way of saying “the cats were already in charge, but now it’s official.”
Banner and Balboa have graciously allowed me to observe the holiday by:
If you, too, have ever canceled plans because a cat fell asleep on you, congratulations — you’re celebrating correctly.
Long live the Cat Ladies.
Endorsed by the Feline Nap Authority.
In Massachusetts, “grabbing a coffee” is basically code for “heading to Dunks.” We don’t even bother with the full name anymore — it’s just Dunks, like it’s a cousin we see every day. And with close to 1,100 Dunkin’ locations across the state, outnumbering Starbucks 4‑to‑1, it’s not exactly hard to find one. Honestly, you could blindfold someone, spin them around, and they’d still bump into a Dunkin’ before they hit a mailbox.
Starbucks? That’s for VisitorsLook, Starbucks has its place… mostly in airports and places where people say “cof-fee” instead of “caw-fee.” But here? In Boston? Walking into a Starbucks feels like announcing you think Tom Brady was “pretty good, I guess.” It’s not wrong, but it’s definitely suspicious.
Starbucks drinks come with names longer than the Mass Pike. Meanwhile, Dunkin’ gives you a medium regular and sends you on your way. No dissertations required.
Dunkin’ is woven into the daily rhythm of New England life — early‑morning commutes, post‑game pick‑me‑ups, and that comforting moment when the person behind the counter knows your order before you open your mouth. It’s the only drive‑thru where you’ll see someone in pajama pants, a Bruins hoodie, and flip‑flops in January, and no one bats an eye.
And the ads? Pure gold.
We’ve got Gronk and Big Papi singing like they’re auditioning for a musical nobody asked for.
We’ve got Ben Affleck showing up like the unofficial mayor of Dunkin’, running the drive‑thru, handing out orders, and looking like he’s living his best life. And yes, yes that is Tom Brady. These aren’t commercials — they’re documentaries of the Boston soul.
So… Who Wants a Dunks Run
Starbucks may have its fans, but here in Massachusetts, Dunkin’ isn’t just coffee. It’s identity. It’s culture. It’s home.
And now I kinda want a donut.
I knew I’d never complete the AARP decluttering challenge in the 30 days they promised. So far, the only room that moved at their suggested pace was the bathroom. The kitchen? That beast took me two full weeks. It’s technically “finished” now only because I’m assigning the cupboards that open into the dining room to the dining room. They really belong to the kitchen, but at this point I’ll take any help I can get.
I’ve sold a few things on Facebook Marketplace and listed all my old cookbooks there as well. Right now, they’re just piled up waiting for a buyer. I have this funny quirk: I cannot throw out books. I may end up giving these cookbooks away, but tossing them in the trash? Absolutely not. It would feel like throwing out my own child.
The biggest project so far was the hall closet/pantry. I’ve reorganized it as much as I can for now. I’m still debating a few items, so I’m letting things settle to see if the current setup works for me. I bought new canisters for flour, sugar, and other staples so I can actually see what I have — no more half‑open bags lurking in the shadows. These should keep everything fresher, too.
Remember what that closet looked like when I started? Look at it now. I’m genuinely proud.
Before. Is it a closet or a pantry. I don’t think it knows
After- A pantry reorganized and cleaned out
Banner and Balboa gave the newly organized pantry — which has always been off‑limits — their full approval. Of course, that may be because they managed to sneak in and “help” while the door was open. They’ve both protested now that the door is closed again. I’ll admit I’m not as worried if they manage to get in these days, since I no longer have nails and tools scattered all over the floor.
The other big project wasn’t the mugs so much as the spices. Whew. What a mess. I did some serious purging because most of the one‑offs were expired anyway — things I bought for one recipe and never made again. Here’s the before and after of the spices. Much better.
Before, A crowded and confused spice cabinet. A bit disorganized but functional
After. Still full but all organized by spice and type
The next part of the decluttering project heads to the bedroom, closets, and personal spaces. My bedroom is a mixed bag. I’ve already cleaned out one nightstand, but I have a huge cabinet that holds my winter coats and photography paraphernalia. One closet is pretty organized but full — it holds all my luggage, and it gets pulled out often because the HVAC unit is in the back and needs yearly service.
The second closet is… a nightmare. I’ve had good intentions, but I always get overwhelmed. I’m not sure how far I’ll get. I can feel my momentum and enthusiasm slowly dying, but I can say this: a start has been made. If I can maintain what I’ve already done, I can always pick the project back up.
But I say this firmly: No, AARP. This is not a 30‑day project unless you’re doing a superficial clean‑out.
Press onward, intrepid declutterer — the closet awaits, and it isn’t going to clean itself.
Behold… the beast I’m tackling next.
The Innocence Project
It’s time for an installment of the The Banner & Balboa Show: Starring Two Cats and One Exhausted Human
Every cat owner knows the truth: you don’t live with cats — you simply coexist with tiny, furry agents of chaos who believe your home is their personal amusement park. And honestly? They’re not wrong.
Scrolling through Facebook the other day, I saw a meme that said:
“You’re not a cat owner until you hear something crash at 3 a.m. and decide it’s a problem for tomorrow.”
And I thought… yes. Yes, that is the entire biography of my household.
Because if there’s one thing Banner and Balboa excel at, it’s quirks. Endless, baffling, hilarious quirks.
Every morning, without fail, the boys kick off their day with what I can only describe as the Feline Grand Prix.
The track layout changes daily, but the highlights include:
Coffee doesn’t wake me up.
The thunder of tiny paws does.
Banner is the friendliest cat on the planet. He would greet a burglar with a head‑butt and a purr. Delivery drivers? His best friends. Random dog walking by? He’s already planning a meet‑and‑greet. I swear, if I ever lose him, he’ll be in someone’s yard introducing himself like he’s running for office.
But his real quirk?
The stove.
The moment the oven turns on, Banner materializes like a summoned demon and plants himself directly on the stovetop. Not near it. Not beside it. On it. Because apparently nothing warms his royal backside quite like preheating to 350°.
I’ve tried explaining the concept of “danger” to him. He disagrees.
Balboa: The Dramatic Artist, Professional Nap InnovatorBalboa, meanwhile, is a creature of comfort and questionable decisions.
One afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and found him curled up — peacefully, smugly — inside a glass bowl. A bowl meant for salad. A bowl that was absolutely not meant to contain a 14‑pound panther‑cat. But there he was, looking like a furry croissant, proud of his new life choice.
He also believes the bed belongs entirely to him. If I get up in the night, he immediately stretches out to full length like he’s claiming territory for the crown. Returning to bed becomes a negotiation.
Every cat owner knows the sound.
That unmistakable, horrifying, adrenaline‑spiking noise:
Huuuuurk… huuuurk… HUUURK.
Forget alarm clocks. The sound of a cat about to puke will launch you out of bed with Olympic speed. Too bad it always happens at 3 a.m., when your brain is still buffering.
And of course, once you’re up, Banner and Balboa assume it’s breakfast time. Or playtime. Or “let’s stare at the wall for no reason” time.
Need a bit of light? Banner will turn it on for you. He’s mastered the art of flipping the switch with his teeth, leaving behind tiny bite marks as his signature. Nothing like walking into a room at 3 a.m. to find the lights blazing and Banner looking very pleased with his electrical handiwork.
Light Switch with Banner’s tooth mark
Both boys have mastered the art of opening things that should remain closed.
Cabinet doors? Easy.
Bedroom doors? Child’s play.
Privacy? A myth.
When Balboa was little, he used to squeeze under the counter next to the dishwasher like a tiny mouse. Now that he’s too big to fit, he simply opens the cabinet under the sink and climbs in that way.
Banner, meanwhile, sits outside the opening like he’s watching a nature documentary. He can stare at that hole for hours, waiting for Balboa to reappear like a groundhog predicting spring.
Living with Banner and Balboa means:
Their quirks are ridiculous, inconvenient, and occasionally hazardous to my sanity — but they’re also the reason the house feels alive.
Because at the end of the day, nothing beats a warm purr, a head‑butt, or the sight of a cat proudly sitting in a bowl he absolutely does not fit in.
Life with cats isn’t perfect.
But it’s perfectly theirs.