For Christmas this year we went to the Cape to spend it with my grandma. As a mandatory pit-stop, we went to the beach so my mom could search for white rocks to add to her collection, my sister could breathe in the salt air and so I could be chased by a dead crab. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love the beach. Wait no let me restate that. I love the beach in the winter when no one is there and the sand isn’t hot on my feet and I can just sit and stare at the ocean. Even if it was summer, I doubt I would actually go into the water past my feet because I have a deathly fear of sharks and this thing where I don’t like not being able to see my feet. But yeah, the beach is great. 

While I was pacing around in a circle, stepping on rocks and feeling them sink into the sand beneath my feet like I was playing Whack-A-Mole, my mom came up from behind me and put a dead crab in my face and started chasing me. I screamed like a little girl and ran. How dare she? 

I forgave her, obviously. I’m really not one to hold grudges. 

But here I am, three days later trying to muster up something to write about and the thing that comes to mind is the dang crab. 

Initially, when I think of a crab I think of a hermit crab and when I think of a hermit crab I think of someone who stays in their shell and does nothing except be a pet for a first grade class. I was able to resonate with this deeply. Not the first grade pet thing and really only part of the staying in their shell thing. 

We all know that I am the farthest thing from someone who “stays in their shell.” Everyone knows everything about me and I am definitely not shy. But, it’s also no secret that I’m the type of person who loves home. 

Exhibit A: Whenever I was invited to a sleepover when I was younger, I wouldn’t make it to breakfast. I would call my mom to come pick me up at about 11.

Exhibit B: Me crying as a 12-year-old at sleep away camp listening to my parent’s wedding song while trying to fall asleep. 

Now that I’m older and away from home for the majority of the year, all I want to do when I am home is to hang out with my parents and sister and puppy. Yes, I love my friends and seeing them all but I also love ordering food and being in my pajamas by 7 on a Friday watching Disney Plus with my parents.

Is that such a crime? Does it make me lame? No and no.

Also, I hate to say it but Hannah Montana is just not as funny as I thought it was when I was 8.

I’ve just come to appreciate family time now that it’s mostly spent via our FAM group chat that consists of me sending hourly updates which receive no response. They’re so supportive and I love them for that.  

Mom, Dad, Alexis, want to maybe text me back sometime? Thanks.