Some couples exchange sweet kisses on the couch. We stage tickle-based gladiator combat. It’s nightly. It’s chaotic. It ends with scratches, bruises, laughter, and—on more than one occasion—me peeing a little from laughing too hard (bless you, Spencer). At one point, I looked at Scott’s legs, covered in red streaks, and told him he had “meth legs.” He didn’t deny it. He just grinned and tickled me harder.

Because apparently, this is our love language.

Couponing is my peaceful hobby—until my husband Scott turned it into a full-blown prank war.

When Spencer was six, what started as a common cold turned into a terrifying diagnosis: Acute Flaccid Myelitis. One day he was dreading homework, the next he couldn’t walk. I didn’t believe him at first—and the guilt still stings. What followed were weeks of hospital stays, steroid-fueled chaos, therapy dogs, train displays, and the kind of strength I never expected from a little boy with claw hands and the heart of a warrior.

This isn’t our usual chaos. This is the one that changed everything.

It’s 10 feet by 10 feet. It weighs approximately the same as a small bear. And it’s the most chaotic, beloved blanket in our house.