Glitch in the cosmos

The little version of me who just wanted to feel safe, seen, and soft.

The one who danced in their pajamas, believed in magic, and hoped for love without condition.

Sometimes healing isn’t about doing more—it’s about holding that child close and whispering,

“You didn’t deserve the pain. You deserve peace now.”

Write me back:

You’re not old, you’re limited edition.

You remember when phones flipped, music skipped, and Fridays meant Blockbuster.

You’ve survived Y2K panic, MySpace breakups, and watching Tamagotchis die in your backpack.

You speak fluent AIM lingo. Your playlists still carry the emotional weight of burned CDs.

You once wore butterfly clips like battle armor.

You watched cartoons that slapped before “slaps” meant good.

And somehow, you still call cartoons “Saturday morning” even when you’re watching them on a Tuesday night in your PJs.

We’re the generation that grew up offline…

and now rule the internet with memes, trauma bonding, and chaotic-good vibes.

Long live the 90s kids—forever stuck between dial-up tones and the TikTok zone.

Woke up at 4am to the sound of tiny feet and maximum toddler energy. No coffee. Just vibes. Chaos vibes.

By 9am, I was out in the wild—AKA the grocery store—rocking sweatpants, a baggy hoodie, and a messy bun that looked like it had fought in three wars and lost every one. Glamour.

Spent the afternoon harvesting—because honestly, there’s nothing better than trimming buds with your mom and pops. A true family affair, green thumbs and all.

Now it’s 9pm. I haven’t cleaned the apartment yet. The toddler still needs wrangling into bed like a baby bear that learned how to climb.

Boyfriend gets off at 10pm, so I’m mentally preparing to appear functional when he walks in the door.

I am 78% grit, 12% caffeine, and 10% prayer at this point.

Send help. Or snacks. Or a clone.

New island. New name. Same girl—just vibin’ harder.

I hit that reset like it owed me Bells. Said goodbye to the clutter, the awkward fencing, and villagers who never complimented my outfits (looking at you, Biff).

Now it’s me, my bright blue Powerade, and a fresh plot of land blessed by the fruit gods with ORANGES. My island’s mother fruit is sweet and juicy—just like the dreams I’m building here.

Clean beaches. Empty bulletin boards. A world untouched by time travelers or tarantulas.

We’re doing things right this time. Slower days. Soft clouds. Orange orchards. Cozy chaos. Matching rugs and mismatched socks.

And don’t worry Blathers—I will bring fossils… after I’ve upgraded my pockets and built an outdoor spa.

It’s 9:00am, and the house is already alive with the soundtrack of motherhood. Middle baby is still sniffling like a tiny steam engine, the littlest one is zooming around with her egg-shaped cup like she’s got places to be (and sticky things to touch), and I… I am deeply regretting staying up until 4am like a sleep-immune gremlin.

But I wasn’t alone in the chaos. My sweet, nerdy boyfriend—who’s off work this week and currently sleeping in like a hibernating Snorlax—was right there with me. We were up way too late, giggling like kids, organizing his Pokémon cards while I furiously tried to beat my high score on Tetris. He’s the calm in my chaos and the co-op player to my sleepless adventure.

Oldest is up and vibing through her homeschool work like a cozy little genius, headphones in, hoodie on, and a mug of tea like she’s 30 and emotionally stable. (Jealous.)

And even with the sniffles, the mess, and the profound lack of REM sleep, I feel it in my bones: today is going to be beautiful. The sunlight’s creeping in. The love is loud. And there’s magic in every messy moment.

We’ve got this, mama tribe. One egg-cup sip at a time. And let’s all agree—no more Tetris after midnight… unless it’s with someone who makes you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

It’s 1:17 AM.

The baby’s nose sounds like a tiny foghorn.

The middle one is sniffly, clingy, and inexplicably sticky.

The oldest? She’s having a private rave in her room—volume set to chaos.

And my boyfriend? Oh, he’s deep in digital warfare, shouting “RELOAD!” like it’s a matter of national security.

Me?

I’m wrapped in a blanket that smells like milk and tears, sipping propel grape water, wondering if sleep was just a government conspiracy all along.

But you know what?

Even in the chaos, I’m weirdly content.

Sleep can wait. Love like this—even loud, sniffly, neon-lit love—won’t last forever.

Catch me on my porch tomorrow looking like a raccoon in a hoodie, but still smiling.

Hey you. Yes you-floating through the void of Tumblr like a pixelated star.

Welcome to my weird, wonderful world.

I'm Monica- mom of three cosmic cuties, coding student, snack dealer, night owl and a full time human learning to balance family and the occasional identity crisis with grace and glitter.

I go by Alien online- not because I'm from another planet (Though some mornings I feel like it) , but because I've never quite fit into a single box. I'm a blend of Native, Puerto Rican, German, and Mom Energy wrapped in pastels and powered by ambition, and peanut butter honey crackers.

Here you'll find a little bit of everything:

Mom moments- The raw, the ridiculous, the beautiful.

Student Life- because I'm chasing this medical coding dream like it owes me child support.

Creative Chaos- Future plans, and soft girl aesthetics.

Sassy Rambles- Because life without a little sass is just... beige.

This tumblr is my scrapbook, my scream-in-a-soft-voice zone, and sometimes my diary. No filters, just fire.

If you're a tired soul looking for connection, healing, or just a safe space to vibe with another celestial mama trying to hold it together you're home.