Witch, Please

The impression I wish people got from me is that I’m a pulled-together mom who knows exactly what she’s doing. You know—the kind of person who can manage three small kids, a cat familiar with strong opinions, and a husband who can fix both our Wi-Fi and the occasional magical mishap without breaking a sweat. That version of me sounds fantastic.

The version people actually meet is usually me trying to look calm while one child is accidentally freezing their cereal, another is practicing teleportation without pants, and Clark is judging my life choices from the counter like a furry little supervisor. I tend to greet strangers with a nervous babble and at least one quote from a TV show they probably weren’t expecting.

Still, I hope the real first impression underneath all that chaos is simple: that I’m kind. That I’m someone who cares deeply about her family, even when I look like I haven’t slept since the last presidential administration. My shyness melts the second my kids need me, and I’ll always show up for my husband—even if I’m quietly fangirling over him like he’s the lead in my favorite fantasy series.

Most days I’m mismatched, exhausted, and quoting The Princess Bride at inappropriate moments. But if people walk away thinking, “She’s awkward, but she’s real,” that’s the impression I want to leave.