You know what’s better than a $65 face cream with a name you can’t pronounce?  Whipping up your own dreamy, skin-loving butter from pantry staples, like the kitchen goddess you were born to be!

Today we’re making whipped body butter so rich, so fluffy, and so ridiculously luxurious, you might catch yourself petting your own arms.

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🥣 Whipped Body Butter Recipe
a.k.a. the softest thing since baby cheeks

You’ll need:

½ cup shea butter

¼ cup coconut oil

2 tbsp olive oil (or jojoba/sweet almond.  I sometimes use emu oil.)

Optional: 10 drops of essential oil (lavender, rose, peppermint, whatever, you do you)

To make it:

1. Melt shea and coconut oils in a double boiler (or heat-safe bowl over a pot of simmering water).

2. Remove from heat and stir in the olive oil (or the oil of your choice.)

3. Chill in the fridge for 20-30 minutes, until it’s opaque and semi-solid.

4. Whip with a hand mixer until light and fluffy.

5. Add essential oils (if using) and whip again.

6. Scoop into a clean jar and label it something fabulous like “Moonlight Skin Butter” or “Elbow Envy.”

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💡 Customize It:

Want it less greasy?  Add a pinch of arrowroot powder.

Want a tinted shimmer?  A smidge of mica powder will do the trick.

Want it pink?  Infuse your oil with dried hibiscus or beetroot.

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🎀 Why This Hack Slaps:

Custom scent?  Check.

No sketchy preservatives?  Check.

Makes you feel like a rich chick on a budget? Triple check!

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📅 Up Next in Vol. 3:
“The Coffee Scrub That Turned Our Elbows Into Baby Dolphins”
Spoiler alert: it involves leftover grounds and a whole lotta smooth.

Let’s face it, those little Frownies that promise to iron out your wrinkles overnight are basically overpriced stickers with a superiority complex.  Enter: moleskin.  Not the fancy notebook, darling.  The pharmacy aisle hero.  The stuff meant for blistered heels and hiking feet?  Yeah.  That.

✨ Here’s why it works:

Sticks like a loyal friend.  No water activation required.  Just cut and stick.

Gentler on skin.  Designed for delicate areas = no red marks when you peel it off!

A fraction of the cost.  Frownies can run $20+ a box.  A roll of moleskin?  Two bucks.  Maybe three if you’re feeling luxurious. (You know your girl though, so I get mine at Dollar Tree for $1.25 😉)


💁‍♀️ How to use it:

1. Clean your skin, no oils, no lotions.

2. Cut small strips of moleskin to cover those forehead lines, 11s (middle of your brow), or mouth creases.

3. Stick ’em down and sleep like the smooth-skinned goddess you are.

4. Peel off in the morning and admire your magic!

🧼 Bonus tip: Dab a little rosewater or witch hazel after removal to tighten things up and keep inflammation at bay.

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Don’t Miss a Hack!
This week, we’re going all-in on DIY wellness and beauty.  Stay tuned for:

How to make your own silky whipped lotion that smells like a $60 spa treatment

The coffee scrub that turned our elbows into baby dolphins

And the baking soda trick that made us rethink deodorant forever

Your face is fabulous and your wallet is winning.
See you tomorrow for Whip It Good: Luxe Lotion from Kitchen Stuff.

We’ve all heard the phrase: “I just need to find balance.”
It gets tossed around like a life raft when we’re drowning in schedules, stress, or spirals.  Here’s the twist: balance isn’t a destination, it’s a dance.

Real balance isn’t static.  It’s not the picture-perfect moment where all the spinning plates pause mid-air.
No, it’s the constant, subtle sway, like a tree trunk that bends in the wind but never snaps.  Or a tightrope walker, barefoot and breathing, shifting weight ever so slightly with each step.

In physics, balance isn’t stillness, it’s equilibrium.  A dynamic tension between opposing forces.
And that’s what we are: living, breathing systems in motion.  We wobble because we’re alive.  We recalibrate because we care.  We get knocked off-kilter, not because we’re broken, but because the world is moving, and we’re still in the dance.

The problem comes when we confuse the wobble with the fall.
We panic at the tilt.  We criticize the shake.  What if the wobble is wisdom?
What if it’s your body, your spirit, your intuition making micro-adjustments toward a more authentic path?

> Stillness looks peaceful, sure.
But in nature, still things are usually dead! 🍂


So if you’re feeling a little off right now, swaying between joy and grief, clarity and confusion, progress and pause, maybe you’re not off track.
Maybe you’re finally practicing balance instead of chasing the illusion of it.

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🌀 Gentle Reflection Prompt:

Where in your life are you wobbling, and what is that wobble trying to teach you?

(Jot it down.  Let it move you.  Then wobble forward, like the strong hen you are! 💪 🐔)

There’s a funny thing that happens when you tell people you believe in gender roles.
They look at you like you just stepped out of a 1950s time capsule, apron, pearls, and all.
Let me tell you something: I didn’t choose this life out of fear.  I chose it from freedom.

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🛠️ I Chop Wood and Cook Dinner

I grow food, shoot straight, and run a business.  I also wash the dishes, fluff the pillows, and fix my partner’s plate.
Not because I have to.
Because I get to.

My partner leads our family with strength and steadiness, and I follow with trust and fire.  He provides; I nurture.  He shields; I soften.  We’re not in a power struggle, we’re dancing.

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💡 Serving Isn’t Submitting, It’s Sacred

Somewhere along the way, the world decided that a woman who chooses to serve her partner must be brainwashed.
That if she doesn’t want to dominate, she must be weak.

They’ve got it twisted.
There is power in pouring out for someone who pours back.
And there’s nothing oppressive about being cherished.

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🐓 I’ll Take Aprons and Ammo Any Day

I believe in raising chickens and raising children.
In making bread from scratch and boundaries from stone.
In building a home that smells like rosemary and sounds like laughter.
In keeping my word, my house, and my heart in order.

I believe men and women were designed to complement, not compete.
And I believe that modern love works best when it’s rooted in ancient wisdom.

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💬 To the Women Like Me

You’re not backwards.  You’re not weak.  You’re not less than.
You are a home-builder, a pillar, a force of nature.
If you want to serve your partner, raise your babies, tend your land, and do it all with love in your hands and mud on your boots;
Don’t let anyone shame you!

You’re not stuck in the past.
You’re the bridge between it and a better future.

(a tale of healing, boundaries, and the ancient art of not putting up with nonsense)

Let’s get something straight right out the gate: mushrooms are brilliant, weird little beings that can heal your gut, calm your nervous system, boost your immunity, and possibly whisper forest secrets to you if you’re quiet enough.

Then there are people.  People who will drain you, gaslight you, belittle your dreams, and still have the audacity to ask if they can “grab some eggs off you real quick.”

You know the ones.

Medicinal Mushrooms: The Underdog Healers

Take lion’s mane, for example, this glorious, shaggy-brained mushroom supports memory, cognition, and the kind of focus you wish you had before that awkward PTA meeting.  Reishi?  It’s basically the Zen master of the mushroom world, calming, anti-inflammatory, and great for helping you not cuss someone out on a Monday!

Cordyceps gives you energy without making you feel like you just swallowed a live wasp, and chaga?  That mushroom’s been quietly helping folks fight inflammation since before sliced bread existed.

They’re not just supplements.  They’re sacred.  They show up, do the work, ask nothing of you but patience and respect.  Imagine if some people could say the same.

The People Who Should Be Eaten by Them (Metaphorically, of Course… Mostly)

Here’s a short list of behaviors that might get you on the mushroom’s dinner plate:

Talking down to herbalists because “there’s no science in plants.”

Calling mushroom tea “dirt water” while drinking their sixth soda of the day.

Mocking you for foraging… then asking you to make them a salve for their rash.

Saying “I don’t believe in natural medicine” while clutching their pumpkin spice latte like it’s a holy relic.

I’m not saying mushrooms are vengeful.  But… have you seen cordyceps in the wild?  That stuff takes over insects, replaces their insides, and grows out of their heads.  So maybe tread lightly, Chad.

Ancient Wisdom Still Stands

Mushrooms are a living reminder that not all healing is loud or fast.  Some of it is slow, sacred, and rooted deep in mystery.  And sometimes the wisest thing you can do is sip your chaga and let the fools sort themselves out.

Because you, dear reader, are not here to be drained by energy vampires or doubted by science-deniers.
You’re here to grow, to heal, and to reclaim your space in the mycelial magic of life.

And if a few people get gently consumed by metaphorical mushrooms along the way… well.  That’s just nature doing her thing.

It all started with a vision and a cast iron cauldron.  I wanted abundance, lush tomatoes, towering sunflowers, and a backyard Eden worthy of a Pinterest board.  So I did what any modern homesteader with a crystal in her bra would do: I manifested.

I saged the perimeter.  I whispered kind words to my seedlings.  I even left a tiny offering of sunflower seeds under the lilac bush “for the nature spirits.”  (Note to self: next time, clarify which spirits you’re inviting!)

Enter… the squirrels.

At first, it was cute.  A fuzzy little guy darting across the fence, cheeks full, tail floofed. Adorable.  But then came more.  And more.  By week three, I had a whole squirrel militia patrolling the yard, rearranging mulch, digging “secret acorn bunkers,” and, yes, chucking acorns at us like nature’s angry little trebuchets!

Evalynn and I were dodging incoming nut fire on the way to the car, and I swear one of them saluted me from the compost bin.

I asked the Universe for growth.  I forgot to mention for the plants only!

I tried reasoning with them.

I left extra seed in a distant corner of the yard, like a peace treaty snack table.  They laughed.  They mocked me.  One bold little punk sat on my porch, cracked a seed in half, and just… stared.  No blinking.  Just unbothered chaos in a fluffy-tailed package.

Then came the aerial attacks.  They took to the trees.  Acorns rained down like nutty little missiles every time I checked on the chickens.  I tried to maintain a sense of harmony and gratitude, but it’s hard to keep your chakras aligned when you’re wearing a Home Depot bucket as a helmet!

Even the chickens were spooked.  Hall & Oats started flinching at rustling leaves.  Louise went rogue and refused to come out of the coop unless I personally escorted her.

At this point, my garden journal had turned into a war log:

“Day 12: They’ve breached the tiger lilies.”

“Day 15: Lost the sunflowers.  No survivors.”

“Day 17: One of them took my glove.  Just one.  Power move.”


Eventually, I sat down on the porch, muddy, mildly concussed from a walnut drop, and clutching a half-grown carrot, and had a moment.  A squirrel moment.

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🌱 What the Squirrels Taught Me

Turns out, when you open your garden to the universe, sometimes the universe sends tiny chaotic helpers.

Here’s what I walked away with (aside from bite-sized PTSD and a habit of ducking under oak trees):

Abundance isn’t always peaceful.  Sometimes it shows up messy, wild, and full of sass.

You can’t control nature, but you can learn to dance with it.  Even if that dance looks like bobbing and weaving through rodent crossfire.

Manifestation works.  Be specific.  So specific!

Laughter is compost for the soul.  A little nut-chucking drama is fertilizer for stories, lessons, and humility.

Now, the squirrels and I have reached an understanding: they get the back corner of the yard and a ceremonial weekly suet block, and I get to grow my herbs in relative peace (until next season).

This morning, I took Evalynn to the dentist.  It was one of those early Tuesday appointments you agree to when you’re feeling overly optimistic about your future self’s time management skills.  We shuffled in with mismatched socks, semi-brushed hair, and the kind of sleepy smiles only kids can pull off without consequence.  She sat in the big chair with a bravery I didn’t have at her age, making polite conversation with the hygienist about berry-flavored toothpaste like they were old friends.

As we waited, Evalynn looked around the room, spotting a calendar on the wall.  “It’s Tuesday!” she announced, as if she’d just unlocked a secret about the universe.  There it was, in bold print, confirming what we both knew: it was just another ordinary day.  But in her eyes, everything about it seemed a little more special.

And it hit me, this is what alchemy looks like.  Not turning lead into gold.
But turning a plain old Tuesday into something warm and golden in your heart.

I thought about how often we overlook the hidden magic in our routines, the everyday moments that are brimming with possibility if we just take a moment to notice them.  What if, instead of rushing through our days, we paused to savor these small, unassuming moments?  The way Evalynn’s smile lit up her face when she realized the calendar marked the day we were there together, or the sound of her laughter echoing off the walls, soft but rich with the joy of simply being in the moment.

Magic doesn’t always show up wearing a cape or glowing in neon.  Sometimes it’s tucked inside the ritual of brushing tiny teeth, the way your child squeezes your hand without thinking, or the quiet satisfaction of crossing one more errand off the list.  It’s the way a boring waiting room becomes a sanctuary for your scrolling brain, where you can breathe, regroup, and remember that your life is, in fact, still pretty dang beautiful.

Alchemy is noticing.

It’s how we turn:

A chore into a memory

A moment into meaning

A Tuesday into treasure

In our world, we’re trained to look for the big breakthroughs, grand accomplishments, heroic deeds, big wins.  Maybe, just maybe, the real magic is in the everyday alchemy: making the ordinary feel extraordinary with just a bit of mindfulness and gratitude.  When you slow down, that mundane Tuesday becomes a moment to be treasured forever.

The world spins fast, and sometimes we get caught up in its rush.  There’s power in stillness, though.  Even on a Tuesday.
So, the next time your afternoon feels like it’s dragging itself across the calendar like a cat who doesn’t want a bath, pause.
Look around.
And ask yourself,
“Where is the gold here?”

It’s there.
It might be in a smile.
In a giggle from the backseat.
Or in the knowing that even the most ordinary days are, in their own quiet way, extraordinary.

Let’s face it, magic is everywhere, it just takes a little alchemy to find it! 🪄 ✨

We’ve all heard that golden oldie: “Time heals all wounds.”
Let’s be freaking real!  Time can be a terrible therapist.  It ghosted me when I needed it most, gave me the silent treatment for years, and still never reimbursed me for the emotional labor. 😤

What actually happens is this:
You get used to the pain.
You build scar tissue.
You learn how to keep walking, even when your soul’s got a limp.

And here’s the mind-bender:
What if healing isn’t about “fixing” the wound…
What if the wound is the wisdom? 🤔

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The Wound as a Portal 🕳️🦋
In nearly every mystical tradition, from Sufism to Jungian psychology, wounds aren’t seen as flaws.
They are initiation points.

The place where it hurts the most is also where the light can break in.  It’s where compassion is born.  Where humility sneaks in and sits at your table.  It’s where your ego finally shuts up long enough for your soul to say something.

You don’t “get over” grief, betrayal, or the ache of a life that didn’t go according to plan.
You become someone new because of it.

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Time Doesn’t Heal, But It Does Reveal 🕰️
Time exposes who you are underneath the survival tactics.
It peels you back, season by season, and offers the uncomfortable invitation:
“Do you want to alchemize this… or anesthetize it?”

It’s why some people stay bitter for 20 years while others become wise in 2.
Time only works if you do.

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Bleeding Better Looks Like This:

Crying in the garden but still planting tomatoes

Telling your story without shrinking it to make others comfortable

Holding joy and pain in the same breath

Becoming the person you needed when it all went down

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So Here’s the Real Wisdom:
You might not ever “heal” in the way you once imagined.
But you will rise.
And the rise doesn’t come in spite of the wound —
It comes through it.

Let that blow your mind and stitch up your heart at the same time. 🧠🩹❤️‍🔥

Some days, you drag yourself out to the garden in a bathrobe, fuzzy socks, and last night’s mascara still clinging on for dear life.  And the tomato plant?  Could not care less.  She’s got blossoms to pollinate and hornworms to battle.  Your exhaustion is irrelevant to her photosynthesis schedule.

That’s the beauty of the garden: it keeps going.  It doesn’t wait until you “feel ready.”  It doesn’t get stuck in overthinking.  And it sure as hell doesn’t spiral because someone forgot to water it for a day.

The garden has no chill, but she has all the wisdom.

Here are 5 lessons straight from the soil that’ll whip your mindset into shape (without a single toxic positivity meme required):

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1. You Don’t Need to Be Blooming Every Season

Some plants are slow starters.  Some need a cold snap to wake up.  Sound familiar?  Rest seasons are real, necessary, even.  Don’t confuse dormancy with death, though.  Growth is still happening underground.

Repeat after me: “Just because I’m not blooming doesn’t mean I’m not growing.”

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2. Pull the Weeds Before They Take Over

Whether it’s toxic thoughts, toxic people, or actual crabgrass, you’ve got to be ruthless.  The longer you wait, the harder it is to rip them out.  And don’t even get me started on how fast they multiply when ignored.

Check your brain garden, babe.  What’s thriving, and what needs yanked?

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3. Water Yourself as Consistently as You Water Your Plants

You’ll skip breakfast but remember to feed the lavender.  That ain’t it.  Hydration, nourishment, sunlight, and quiet time, those aren’t luxuries, they’re human compost.  Don’t let your life soil dry out.

Be the houseplant you wish to see in the world.

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4. Pests Will Come, Plan Accordingly

There will always be hornworms.  Maybe they’re disguised as self-doubt.  Maybe they show up as a text from your ex.  They’re inevitable.  Build your garden strong, with companion plants and neem oil boundaries.

You don’t need to be pest-free, you just need a good system to handle them.

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5. You’re Allowed to Replant Yourself

Sometimes, where you started growing isn’t where you’re meant to stay.  You’re not a tree, you’re a dandelion.  Uproot, float on, and reseed where the conditions feel right.  Life is one big wild pollination project anyway!

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The tomato plant doesn’t care if you’re tired, but she also reminds you that life goes on.  That there is strength in showing up messy, and the power in steady, patient tending.

So go outside.  Stare at a leaf.  Dig your hands in some dirt.  Whisper your secrets to the lilac bush.  Let the garden mother you a little.

Because she sees you.  And she’s got zero judgment, but a whole lot of truth.

Opening Rant (because every good story starts with a splash):
Let me tell you something!  Nothing will humble you faster than realizing your city’s water supply is basically a lukewarm swamp smoothie by June.  Nitrate levels?  Sky high.  Tap water?  More like crap water.  So here I am, standing in my yard with a dog bowl, muttering, “We should’ve bought that undersink unit in 2022.”  But we didn’t.  So now?  We harvest rain, and baby, we do it with flair!

The Tale of the Multi-Barrel Queen (That’s Me):
You see, I didn’t just slap a trash can under a gutter and call it eco-conscious.  No ma’am.  I researched and will be constructing a Frankensteined rainwater collection system out of three mismatched barrels, two feet of flexible tubing, an old faucet, and a rogue chicken who will keep photobombing my setup like it’s a poultry-themed episode of Where’s Waldo?

Here’s what I’ve learned so far on the way to hydration salvation:

1. Barrel Math is Real Math.
One inch of rain on a 1,000-square-foot roof can yield over 600 gallons.  I did not know this before casually placing a single 55-gallon barrel and then watching it overflow like a garden-based comedy sketch.


2. Screen That Sucker.
Mosquitoes love standing water like your kids love juice pouches (and getting them everywhere.)  Get a fine mesh screen, tighten that lid, and thank me later.


3. First Flush Diverters Are the VIP Bouncers.
They block the gunk from your roof and gutters from going straight into your rain barrel. It’s like a velvet rope for your water. Dirt and bird poop?  Not on the list.


4. PVC Elbows Are the LEGO of Adults.
Don’t be afraid to get scrappy.  A few connectors and some creativity go a long way in making your barrels talk to each other, and that means more storage, less mess.


5. Add a Spigot.
You think you won’t need it until you’re trying to fill a watering can one scoop at a time like a 19th-century pioneer.  Just drill the hole.  Install the faucet.  Be the boss.

Water Wisdom from the Coop:
The chickens?  Oh, they approve.  Not just because they’re nosy little feathery weirdos, but because rainwater, when filtered, is better for their health.  Less chlorine.  No fluoride.  Just pure, sweet sky juice.

Final Cluck (aka Closing Thought):
You don’t have to be rich to reclaim your water.  You don’t need a $1,000 system.  You need a couple of barrels, some ingenuity, and maybe a curious chicken or two.  Rain’s gonna fall whether you’re ready or not, so why not catch it, store it, and let nature help you flip the middle finger to overpriced utility bills?