Hair curled. Cardigan on. A cute little outfit planned to take my son to dinner. I was in my "put-together mom" era—until I wasn't.

Because while I was waiting for my parents to drop him off, I looked out at the lawn…

And next thing I know, I'm on the mower.

In full hair and makeup.

Wearing a gold bracelet that means more to me than some people I've dated.

Just out there, mowing like a suburban fever dream.

✨ The Bracelet

Let me back up.

The bracelet I was wearing wasn't just part of the "good outfit" lineup; it's from CustomCuff and engraved with the coordinates of the elementary school that James and I both went to.

Yep, that James.

My husband. My once-in-a-lifetime person. The one I lost and still carry with me every single day.

That school is where our story started, even before either of us really knew it. It's a place I could never forget, but having it on my wrist?

It hits different.

It's not a fancy bracelet. It's not expensive.

But it's priceless to me.

I wear it like it's solid gold.

If you want one too, here's my link—and you can use code TIFFANIE85719 at checkout for 10% off. 🤍

(Because healing and hustling are both part of the journey, okay?)

🌀 Chaos with Meaning

There's something about these random little moments that sneak up and wreck you in the best way.

Like mowing your lawn in full glam while thinking about second-grade memories and lifetime love.

Like looking down at your wrist and realizing that your grief doesn't just live in your journal or the back of your mind; it lives in your jewelry, your rituals, your lawnmower steering wheel.

Like remembering that healing isn't linear.

Sometimes, it's not even intentional.

Sometimes, it's just what happens in between dinner plans and dandelions.

🧃 If You're New Here...

Hi, I'm Tiff.

I do weird things like thrift emotional support décor, repaint the same cabinet six times, and heal from loss while also painting my bathroom Fossil Grey for the third time.

My blog is a scrapbook of chaos and cozy.

If you're into grief rants, garden projects, vintage finds, or me yelling at men on reels: welcome to the creek.

🖤 TLDR (Too Long, Dandelion Read)

⋆  Got ready for dinner

⋆  Ended up mowing the lawn in full glam

⋆  Cried a little about my CustomCuff bracelet

⋆  Realized I'm still healing, still here, and still stylish (kind of)

📍Bracelet: CustomCuff Coordinates Bracelet
💸 Use code TIFFANIE85719 for 10% off

(because meaningful doesn't have to mean expensive)

Can I be honest for a sec?

I’ve never really considered myself a “real” homesteader. I grew up rural, so farm-fresh veggies were just known as Tuesday in our house. Corn from the garden was expected to be frozen and thawed out for meals and Christmas dinners. It was just how we did things.

But here’s the thing – I’m not exactly crunchy. While I admire the people who mill their own flour and freeze-dry their harvests, that’s just not me. I’m more likely to be making homemade pie crusts in my kitchen while blasting early 2000s pop music and chugging an energy drink.

🖤 OWNING YOUR CONTRADICTIONS

I had to make peace with the fact that I can grow my own herbs and still buy energy drinks by the case from Amazon. I’m not washing my clothes in a creek or canning deer meat for a 5-year supply – and that’s okay.

You can be a pie-baking, compost-keeping, DIY-loving chaos gremlin without being a “purist.” Life is messy – your homesteading style can be, too.

🖤 REJECTING THE GATEKEEPERS

Reject the idea that you must “do it all” to be legit. You don’t have to be a pioneer woman with a butter churn to call yourself a homesteader. You can still make butter – but maybe in the comfort of your KitchenAid.

I’m more likely to nap with my cats or chug an energy drink than make homemade candles. (I’ve been there, and my kitchen is still recovering from the wax explosion that followed.)

You can grow your own herbs in a tiny apartment. You can flip a house without knowing how to frame a wall. You can buy your seeds at the dollar store or order your plants online. You can make a compost pile without a perfect carbon-to-nitrogen ratio.

🖤 OWN YOUR CHAOS

It’s okay to keep things a little messy and a little chaotic. I don’t care if your pie is homemade or picked up at the grocery store on the way to my house. I’m not judging.

Here’s your invitation to share your own contradictions. Maybe you grow your own food, but order pizza on the weekends. Perhaps you can your garden veggies but keep a secret stash of instant ramen. Maybe you own a chicken coop but still buy store-bought eggs when you’re in a pinch.

Whatever your version of homesteading looks like, just own it.

🖤 CALL TO ACTION

Drop your own chaotic homesteader confessions in the comments. I promise I won’t judge.

As a widow, I can’t help but laugh at the comment sections of women rebuilding their lives after losing their husbands. The comments are brutal. She’s moving on too quickly, or she’s stuck in the past. She’s selling the marital home too soon or staying there too long. She’s too sad or not sad enough. Honestly, as widows, we can’t do anything right in the eyes of the internet.

But here’s the thing: I’m willing to bet that 99% of the people in those comment sections have never had to make sense of the explosion that is losing a spouse. They haven’t had to wake up in a silent house, stare at a stack of bills, and wonder how they will survive this new version of life alone. They haven’t had to make every decision on their own, or worse, had someone swoop in and promise to take care of everything, only to leave them even more broken.

I’ve Seen the Worst, and I’m Still Here

When you’ve walked through the depths of grief, when you’ve buried a piece of your heart and kept going anyway, fear starts to lose its grip. The little things that used to send you into a spiral just don’t hit the same anymore. I’m talking about widowhood here, but this goes for anyone who’s faced real, soul-crushing chaos – losing a child, going through a nasty divorce, clawing your way out of a financial crisis. When you’ve stood on the edge of the abyss and screamed into the void, not a lot scares you anymore. Maybe Walmart on a Saturday afternoon, but that’s about it.

Why I’m Unbothered by the Little Things

I used to worry about the dumbest things – what people thought of me, whether my house was spotless, or if I was doing everything right as a mom. But grief has a way of resetting your priorities. It teaches you that fear is a luxury for people who haven’t been broken. It makes you fearless in the most chaotic, beautifully unhinged way.

These days, I don’t stress over the little stuff. I let my kid have way too much screen time because, honestly, it keeps us both sane. I stopped worrying about being the perfect mom a long time ago. I bought an entire house to flip because I had faith it would all work out – and it did. I take risks now that would have terrified me a few years ago because I know that as long as I’m still here, I’ll find a way through.

Turning Fear into Fuel

That fearless energy has spilled into every part of my life. I’ll start a project without knowing how it will turn out. I’ll take on challenges because I know that even if it goes sideways, I’ll figure it out. Once you’ve lived through the worst days of your life, you realize you can handle whatever comes next. Fear isn’t a barrier anymore – it’s just a reminder that I’ve survived bigger things.

If You’ve Survived Walmart, You’ve Survived It All

And let’s be real, 10 years in retail will toughen you up too. I’ve seen grown adults throw tantrums over price mismatches. I’ve been cussed out because the store didn’t have the right kind of avocado. I’ve felt my soul leave my body in the fluorescent hell of a Walmart break room. Working retail during the holidays? That’ll test your will to live. When you’ve been through that and then gone on to lose the love of your life, fear just feels like another Tuesday.

Embracing the Chaos

I’m not fearless because I’m brave. I’m fearless because I’ve been broken, burned, and rebuilt. Because I’ve been to hell and back and adjusted Satan’s thermostat. I’m still here, and that’s what makes me dangerous. Fear no longer controls me because I’ve already seen the worst and survived.

If you’ve been through hell and back and still show up for yourself every day, you’re my kind of person. Let’s connect.

May is Melanoma Awareness Month.

And every year, it stirs up the same quiet storm inside me.

It’s been three and a half years since my husband, James, died from metastatic melanoma. Even now, I still don’t fully know how to exist this month. I support the cause. I share the posts. I believe in the research. But I also don’t fit into the “awareness” box.

Because nothing about our story followed the typical script.

There Was No Warning

James didn’t have any signs or symptoms. There wasn’t a weird mole he ignored, nor was there any sun damage he brushed off.

He found a lump under his arm — and from that moment on, everything changed.

Because it was melanoma, he was referred to dermatology to look for a mole that might’ve triggered it. But there wasn’t one. They took off one mole, just to be safe — and it was benign. Not even questionable. Just… nothing.

And still, we lost him.

I don’t blame his doctors. I really don’t. I know they did the best they could with what they had.

But the truth is that the research isn’t moving fast enough. The funding isn’t enough. And I hate that families are still sitting in rooms like we did, getting answers that aren’t answers at all.

The Aftermath Is Its Own Kind of Grief

And then there’s the part no one prepares you for — the after.

The part where you have to build a life you didn’t choose. You wake up in a story you never auditioned for, surrounded by people who weren’t in your original cast, wondering if they’re safe to trust.

I used to feel grounded. Rooted.

Now, I scan every room — and every text — for danger. For clues. For signs that someone might not be who they say they are. Because I had the real thing. And losing that cracked something wide open in me.

Everyone Grieves Differently (and That’s Okay)

I want to say something really clearly:

There’s no one way to grieve.

Some people talk about their person all the time. Some people barely say their names.

Some people build foundations. Some just try to make it to the next day.

Some of us do all of that — sometimes in the same week.

Grief doesn’t come with a rulebook. Just a million tiny decisions you make to survive the unthinkable.

But There’s Still Hope — Even Now

And even though this month still knocks the wind out of me, I still believe in hope.

Not in the fluffy, inspirational-quote way — but in the real, gritty way.

Hope looks like waking up and trying again. It looks like lighting a candle. Telling the truth. Loving people deeply, even when it scares you.

It’s believing we can push for better treatments, and still honor the people we’ve lost.

So yeah… Melanoma Awareness Month is complicated. It hurts.

But it also reminds me just how much love I carry. And how lucky I was to love someone like James — even if it wasn’t long enough.

Thanks for reading. For remembering. For sitting with me in it.