A hilarious family Ugly Christmas gift exchange story involving haunted dolls, broken sprinklers, thrift-store finds, and a teenager officially indoctrinated into the chaos.

Some families spend Sunday afternoons relaxing after church. Not us. We decided the best way to “bond” was to pull up and move 800 pavers in the blazing sun. Scott and I cranked up the 90s tunes, Spencer rolled his eyes into another dimension, and before long, we had a full-blown Domestic Dramedy on our hands.

PowerSchool notifications, missing homework, and a bottomless pit of a bookbag—welcome to my life as a mom of a 13-year-old. By week three, we were already juggling four missing assignments, a D in math, and even “forgotten” art homework. I don’t want to be a helicopter parent, but I also don’t want to watch him sink his grades over lost papers and sass. Parenting a teen means learning when to guide, when to back off, and when to trust God with the chaos.

They say marriage is built on compromise. Ours is built on me hurling a soggy basement door into a dumpster while Scott shouted ‘We can salvage it!’ Welcome to our Domestic Dramedy.

Family game night: where the rules are made up, the points don’t matter, and my teen calls me cringe anyway.

Navigating death, life and moving forward.

It started as a simple favor: just take the laundry, out of the dryer. Scott technically did it. Two days later, the entire house is in an uproar, sniffing every corner like bloodhounds, convinced someone is rotting. Spoiler: it was the laundry. And now my nose may never recover.

What started as a gag gift from Scott’s sister has become a legendary symbol of family mischief. From sneaky bumper placements to a full-on trailer sabotage, the “Please Be Patient Student Driver” magnet has haunted our vehicles—and cracked us up—for years. This post is a tribute to harmless pranks, belly laughs, and why Laura may never top this one.

When Scott asked why he doesn’t get breakfast during Spencer’s off-week, I answered with love, caffeine, and brutal honesty.

Before Scott and I got married, I took three romantic trips to visit him in Ohio. Each one ended the same way: with me at urgent care. From poison ivy in capris, to raw mushroom-induced whip marks, to the Great Pink Eye Wrestling Match (yes, his tongue was involved), I somehow survived long-distance love with a full punch card of medical visits.

Spoiler: since marrying him, I’ve been urgent care free… though hospital free? That’s another saga.