If you’re new here: hi, I’m Deb — born and raised in Massachusetts, which means I talk fast, I drive faster, and I have strong feelings about Dunks. Welcome to the circus.
If you’ve been here since the beginning: God bless you. I don’t know why you stayed, but I’m wicked glad you did.
It’s been about six months since I properly wrote here — not the tiny Instagram blurbs or “look at this cute basket” posts — but HERE. Where the real stuff goes. The messy, honest, Masshole-with-a-heart stuff. And a lot has happened, so let’s rewind.
We moved. And not like normal people.
No — we moved on December 31st and January 1st like we were running from the law or filming a chaotic HGTV pilot no one asked for. New Year’s Eve: boxes. New Year’s Day: boxes. Zara the cat watching us like “you’ve ruined my life and I’ll never recover.”
We left our cozy townhouse (which, plot twist, we may now buy, renovate, and Airbnb because apparently we’re house flippers now??) and landed in a bigger home with more space to breathe.
This house has room.
Room for people.
Room for teenagers.
Room for late-night kitchen talks and holiday chaos and God-ordained laughter.
Room for dreams that need square footage.
Meanwhile, Natalie is fully in her main-character era. No sports at the moment — just high school, friends, laughter, group chats at 2 AM, and a social calendar that rivals the North End on a Saturday night. The girl is thriving at school, finding her people, and becoming a version of herself I prayed for long before she ever knew she needed them.
As a mom, it’s wild. She needs me, but doesn’t need me, but also absolutely needs me. It’s emotional CrossFit. I wasn’t built for this.
And then there’s Tobin — my partner, my love, and the steady center of so much. If you’re new here, Tobin has stage 4 colon cancer that has metastasized to his liver. That is a sentence that belongs in its own paragraph, because visually it looks simple but in reality it shifts the ground under your feet.
Here is the truth: cancer is heavy and ordinary at the same time. It’s scans and labs and waiting rooms, and it’s also “what’s for dinner” and “did you switch the laundry” and “we’re out of coffee, again.” Life doesn’t stop for hard things — it just makes room for them.
But also? It’s been good. Really good in ways outsiders don’t expect. We’ve had improvement. We’ve had peace. We’ve had mornings that felt light. We’ve had wins. And a win in this house is celebrated with the enthusiasm of a Red Sox home run in October.
Meanwhile Zara the cat is living her best “I own this entire property” lifestyle. More windows to sunbathe in, more rooms to lurk in, more opportunities to judge us silently like a disapproving Italian Nonna. She thrives.
And then there’s work. The part where I probably should’ve slowed down but instead went full Masshole entrepreneurial mode.
Beach Please Delivery Co. basically exploded. And I don’t mean “we added a few customers.” I mean locals, schools, Airbnb hosts, out-of-state parents, and random vacationers now know that if you need snacks, birthday magic, teacher gifts, care packages, or sunscreen because you forgot you were pale — I’m the person you call. My Jeep has seen things.
Squeeze Me Sweet is still out here serving candy apples and mocktails (and cocktails) to crowds of children and adults pretending they’re “just tasting.” If I had a nickel for every grown man who said “just one more,” I’d have waterfront in Waltham.
And yes — the podcast. Gold Hoop Diaries on Spotify. Still up. Still getting messages from women saying they laughed, cried, or both. It’s paused, but not gone. It’ll come back when the story catches up to the storyteller. Maybe with guests. Maybe with chaos. Maybe with both. Who knows. We’re vibing.
Now — here’s the part where we zoom out.
If I had to sum up the last six months in true Massachusetts fashion, I’d say this:
It’s been a wicked brutal, wicked beautiful, holy, hilarious, exhausting, miraculous, messy, “you-gotta-be-kidding-me,” grace-soaked season.
We:
- moved during a holiday
- contemplated real estate ventures we have no business contemplating
- navigated cancer with grit, gallows humor, and prayer
- ran multiple businesses out of sheer spite and caffeine
- watched a teen girl bloom
- made new routines from scratch
- missed the North but not the snow (really just the food)
- laughed until we cried
- cried until we laughed
- questioned our sanity
- trusted God anyway
So here’s the reset. The restart. The “previously on Gold Hoop Diaries.” The moment where I look up, crack my knuckles, sip my iced coffee even though it’s January, and decide it’s time to write again.
If you’re new — welcome. You’re right on time. Go explore the blog. Binge the archives. Find us on Spotify if you want to hear the voice behind the chaos.
If you’ve been here — thank you for waiting. Thank you for checking in. Thank you for sticking around while life was louder than the internet.
Gold Hoop Diaries is officially back in session.
Let’s begin again.
Wicked excited you’re here.
— Deborah