The Mysterious Case of the Missing Costco-Sized Tub of Peanut M&Ms

To properly tell this story, I must start at the beginning: Once upon a time, regular M&Ms were my candy of choice. As in, anytime I went to the movies, I’d buy a small popcorn and regular M&Ms. Anytime I popped into a drugstore to buy a box of tampons, I’d also grab a bag of regular M&Ms (at which point the cashier would look at me with equal parts trepidation and pity). Favorite frozen yogurt topping? Preferred McFlurry flavor? Forever and always plain ole M&Ms.

In the last year, though, I switched to peanut M&Ms, because apparently I am not immune to Perimenopause Propaganda™️.

The day after I turned 39, my entire social media algorithm changed. I could not scroll longer than five minutes without seeing content geared toward vibration plates1, weight lifting programs, Botox, progesterone cream, and, naturally, reasons why all women over the age of 40 need to be consuming ONE BAJILLION GRAMS OF PROTEIN A DAY.

Like any influenceable Millennial, I took the bait. I started buying protein powder, protein yogurt, and something embarrassingly called Muscle Milk. I also ordered a weighted vest2, added vitamin D to my supplement list, and began hyper-prioritizing sleep to keep my cOrTiZol LeVeLs under control.

And, naturally, because I desperately want to be A Healthy Perimenopausal Woman, I made the conscious decision to trade regular candy-coated chocolate for the kind of candy-coated chocolate that also contains 5 grams of protein per serving. (Wellness influencers call this a “healthy swap”—although I’m guessing they don’t approve of M&Ms in any genre.)

So last month I’m cruising around Costco, as I do, buying all the things my family needs/wants. Sparkling water. Granola bars. Almond milk. Apples. Bananas. Popcorn. Orange juice. Bread. Goldfish crackers. Honey Nut Cheerios. Insert 27 more items here ________ until you get to $728 worth of groceries3.

And then I see it.

Peanut M&ms are on sale (!!!). A 62 ounce tub, 41 servings. Regularly priced at $16.99 but on sale for a whopping $11.99.

I know this is going to sound dramatic, but I practically see sunbeams shooting down from the ceiling. Cue a soft angelic chorus. What are the chances that my new candy of choice would be on sale at Costco immediately before the most chaotic month of the year? It feels like a sign. Or, at the very least, a gift.

Pause.

To properly tell this story, I must add a bit of context: For a while now, I’ve been doing this thing called The Mom Tax™️. Basically, anytime I grocery shop for my family (see: brave the crowds, fight for a parking spot, carry the mental load of remembering what we need + knowing where to buy that specific thing for the best price, load the trunk, unload the trunk, and put said groceries away), I buy myself a little treat.

At Trader Joe’s, I buy myself $3.99 flowers or the $0.99 dark chocolate peanut butter cups near the register. At Target, I buy myself a S’mores pancake cup (fun fact: 12 grams of protein!). At Whole Foods (rare), I buy myself a Root Beer Olipop or a Crunchy Mint Hu bar.

The treat is usually small. Cheap. Something I enjoy that day.

A Costco-sized tub of peanut M&Ms is much bigger and much more expensive than the usual Mom Tax. So I hem and I haw and I hem and I haw, but ultimately, place the tub in my cart under the following justification:

1. They’re on sale!

2. My perimenopausal body needs more protein!

3. I am pre-gaming to carry The Mental Load Of Christmas!

I bring the tub home, and very calmly tell my family that these peanut m&ms are mine and mine alone. And then, as an extra measure of precaution, I hide them.

My children look at me like I am a monster. Like I am selfish. Like I am not a good mother because a good mother shares and sacrifices and puts her own needs last. They do not understand how a little treat a day keeps the resentment away. They do not understand how tired and exhausted I am, how much I am keeping track of in my foggy perimenopausal brain. Work deadlines. What we’re having for dinner. When the library books are due. Which gifts haven’t arrived yet. What day is pajama day. What day is “wear green like the Grinch” day. What day is the ballet performance. How much I’ve spent on each child (and whether or not I’ve kept it even). What still needs to be wrapped. Donating clothes/toys/books. Sending money to all the room moms for teacher gifts. Signing up to volunteer for the class holiday party. The fact that none of this even matters and Jesus is the reason for the season and ohmygosh we are so behind on the family advent study I bought in November. When and where and how we are looking at Christmas lights. What appetizer we are bringing to the family Christmas gathering. What everyone is wearing to Christmas Eve. Who doesn’t have any shoes. Shipping deadlines for customized gifts with our dog’s face on them (the only thing my middle child asked for). End-of-year tax to-do’s. The fact that our daughter was born on January 12th and we should already be planning her birthday party (!).

How do I possibly explain what these peanut M&Ms mean to me? How do I explain how desperate I am for thirty seconds a day where I can cram chocolate in my mouth under the guise of “eating protein” which is really just a farce for taking thirty seconds a day to feel like a person, to mother myself, to take a few deep breaths, and to whisper a desperate SOS prayer alone in my kitchen?

What I’m trying to say: A weary world rejoices, and I am weary.

I don’t know how this email finds you, but on the off chance any of this resonates, I’d like to send all my love to those of you out there fighting for joy, clinging to hope, lowering expectations, and sneaking into the kitchen once a day to have A Moment with Jesus and your secret Costco-sized tub of peanut M&Ms. ❤️

No link round-up this month. Too tired. Just one thing from me! If prioritizing your creativity is a goal for 2026, I’d love to jumpstart the year with you. My second Create Anyway Cohort kicks off January 5th and runs through February 16th.

All the Details

Here’s what a few women said about the first one:

“When I read Create Anyway the first time, it was like a balm to my soul. I was eager to read the book a second time because I felt I had fallen back into the trenches of motherhood … doing everything for everyone else except myself. Throughout the six weeks, I found myself feeling refreshed to pour back into my family as I prioritized even just small ways to pursue creativity.” - Brianna

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