There are lots of things that are just so abundant down here in Florida. The top three that come to mind? Parking spots, stretches of smooth pavement (I HATE POTHOLES SO BADLY), and sunshine.

Hey you. Yeah, you. The one who’s sitting, scrolling, exhausted, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Welcome to the sisterhood. Motherhood. We’re a wily bunch here.

The snuggles. The growing-up-way-too-fast. The PJs until 11am. The messy family rooms and late bedtimes because they needed to hear “just one more book.”

I’m always looking for clothes that can pull double duty. Specifically, that means clothes I can wear at my barre class and then take to the streets.

That’s right; this Pittsburgh native has been converted to a full-on sunshine-loving, winter-fearing, palm-tree-loving, AC-seeking Sunshine State Gal.

Will both socks make it out of the dryer when I do laundry this time? Will the line at the Starbucks drive-thru be 8 or 18 cars deep? How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? Maybe less so that last one. But on this I think we can agree: plenty of surprises.

Does it make me A) lazy, B) lacking in inspiration, C) fashion-backward or D) all of the above that the primary requirement I have when getting dressed is that it requires very little effort from me?

About 48 hours ago, just after spending a decent portion of a 2-hour long flight chasing a 13-month-old up and down the aisle of a plane, my husband and I had an epiphany about our rambunctious little flower’s future career.

We women are kinda crap at taking care of ourselves, since 99.9% of the time we are focused on making sure the other people in our lives (ahem, partners and kids) are comfortable, happy, fed and otherwise not applying tacky and irremovable goop-type concoctions to their hair.

You’ve probably gathered this by now, but I’m a bit of a sharer. Maybe even more like chronic oversharer. I tell you things that people with an ounce of shame or pride probably wouldn’t, and somehow don’t (usually) live to regret it.