If you live in Port St. Lucie and have small humans, you already own the PSL Mom Starter Pack. You didn’t have to sign up for it — it just sort of showed up the day your first kid learned to scream “Publix cookie!” from across the parking lot.
You’ve got the sand. Everywhere. It’s in your car, your purse, your washing machine filter. You’ve vacuumed it, cursed it, accepted it. Your minivan is basically a mobile beach at this point. The floor mats are a time capsule of last weekend’s “quick stop” at Jensen Beach that somehow ended with someone crying, someone sunburned, and two pounds of sea shells you weren’t emotionally prepared to commit to.
You’ve also got the coffee — Starbucks cup in one hand, mental breakdown in the other. You don’t even have to say your order anymore; the barista sees your messy bun silhouette through the drive-thru window and just starts writing Jenni – Iced Latte – Extra Shot. She knows. She’s seen the morning carpool face.
Then there’s brunch. Every PSL mom has a favorite brunch spot and a backup for when the first one’s packed. First Watch, Berry Fresh, and whoever invented “bottomless mimosas” deserve their own monument right off US-1. You’ve sat in those booths, sipping lukewarm coffee while pretending your kids aren’t under the table playing “restaurant.” The servers know your kids’ names, favorite pancake toppings, and probably your breaking point.
We’re a unique species here — PSL moms are sunblock-hoarders, Target evangelists, and professional school pickup analyzers. We can spot a storm cloud before the weather app does. We talk in code like, “Traffic by Crosstown’s a nightmare,” and everyone just nods knowingly. We can plan a birthday party, reapply SPF 50, and text a teacher all before the light turns green at Gatlin.
And you know what ties it all together? That faint smell of coconut sunscreen mixed with french fries and survival. You catch a whiff of it in the minivan sometimes and think, “This is my life.” And somehow, it makes you laugh.
So yeah, the PSL Mom Starter Pack isn’t something you can buy. It’s something you earn — through sand, spills, sunburns, and a sense of humor strong enough to handle it all. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well, maybe for a kid who doesn’t spill half their smoothie in the cupholder. But that’s a conversation for another day.