Everything Is Fine at Chez Miller

Annnnnd we are officially out of money.

And gas.

And groceries.

Not “the pantry is looking a little sparse” out of groceries. I’m talking Old Mother Hubbard opened the cupboard and would have filed a formal complaint levels of out of groceries.

AND we have baseball tonight, and Thursday night and a tournament on Sunday over 100 miles away…

This is fine.

It’s alllllll fine.

We will be fine.

I’m not panicking yet.

(Narrator: She was, in fact, panicking. Actually More like freaking the f*ck out)

The good news is that Matt and I are chefs. If anyone can turn three random cans, half a box of pasta, and what appears to be a single lonely potato into a meal, it’s us.

The bad news is that being creative only gets you so far when your refrigerator starts looking more like a museum exhibit called “Food We Used to Have.”

To add to the excitement, I found myself in a heated debate with my 13-year-old son about why we cannot currently sustain his preferred milk consumption rate of approximately one gallon a day.

I don’t know if teenage boys are secretly training for a dairy-sponsored athletic event or if they’re simply trying to bankrupt their parents one glass at a time.

Either way, the answer remains:

“No, dude. We cannot buy milk like every day.”

Right in the middle of this discussion, my phone rings.

It’s my neurologist.

Now, generally speaking, neurologists don’t call just to see how your day is going. I answered…

They wanted to schedule an appointment because they want to refer me to a new doctor who specializes in multiple sclerosis.

Cool.

Cool cool cool.

Cooooooooooollllll

No big deal.

Except! PEEPS that’s a little terrifying because, if I’m being honest, I’ve spent a significant amount of time recently pretending that diagnosis might somehow be wrong!

You know, the highly effective medical strategy known as:

“If I ignore it long enough, maybe it’ll disappear.”

A strategy that has worked exactly zero times in human history.

So now I’m standing in my kitchen, arguing about milk, staring into empty cupboards, and trying not to think about what a specialist referral means.

Naturally, my brain has decided this is the perfect time to spiral.

Not a full breakdown.

Just a light recreational spiral.

The kind where you smile and say, “Everything is great!” while your internal monologue is setting off emergency flares.

But here’s the thing.

Life doesn’t stop because you’re scared.

The bills still need paid.

The kids still need fed.

The dog is still causing chaos.

The cat is still judging everyone from the back of the couch.

And somehow dinner still has to happen.

So for today, I’m choosing denial.

Not forever!

Just today.

Today I’m choosing to believe that we’ll figure it out because we always do.

We’ll find something to cook. (Maybe the dog!?! OR CAT!?!)

We’ll make it through until our final payday from the club.

I’ll go to the appointment. (Maybe)

I’ll ask the questions. (Possibly)

And I’ll deal with whatever comes next when it gets here.

Until then, welcome to Chez Miller, where the menu currently features:

Lazy Susan Surprise

Milk Rationed by Executive Order!

Anxiety Reduction Sauce

And for dessert:

Everything Is Fine Pie

Made entirely from nervous laughter, stubbornness, and sheer determination.

Bon appétit.