The first kit is live. The Household Mainframe: $37, once. See the kit
Free Resources
Real prompts, real systems, shared as they ship. Take them, run them, send them to the group chat.
Copy-paste prompts that do one job well. Each one opens on its own page and unlocks with your email.
A system gave you time back and the week felt identical, so you assumed it did not work. It probably did. The time came back as nine minutes on Tuesday and twenty on Wednesday, and household work is the only job in the house with no scheduled start.
Open the prompt →Every holiday task has a second date on it, the earlier one where the work actually starts, and that is the date nobody writes down. This finds all of them and puts the season on a page before November does it for you.
Open the prompt →You cannot see your own operating skills from the inside, because you use them every day and familiar things stop looking like skills. This interviews you for fifteen minutes and writes the list down.
Open the prompt →You get home and the bags sit in the hallway for four days. This sorts the pile by what breaks first, then writes down the twenty things the trip taught you before you lose every one of them.
Open the prompt →Nineteen cards on the counter and every one of them starts blank. This drafts the whole stack in your voice, not Hallmark's, with one real detail per note.
Open the prompt →You left with a folded piece of paper and nine things to do. This pulls the errands out of it in four minutes, quotes the medical part back word for word, and never pretends to be a doctor.
Open the prompt →The seasonal kids-clothes audit, done from your closet floor in twenty minutes. What fits, what's next, what to buy before the growth spurt beats you to it.
Open the prompt →Twenty minutes of questions. Out comes a document that proves what you sound like, and stops AI from sanding it off.
Open the prompt →The one page that answers everything before anyone has to text you.
Open the prompt →A fair division of the house, and the script for the meeting where it lands.
Open the prompt →Photo of the fridge at 5pm. Dinner from what's about to die.
Open the prompt →Paste the prompt that flopped. Get it rewritten, and see exactly why it works now.
Open the prompt →Photo of any school form. Out comes what it wants, when it's due, and what to write in the blanks.
Open the prompt →Answer ten questions once. Paste the result into any AI chat and it knows your family before you say a word.
Open the prompt →One prompt. Ten minutes. Every open tab in your head, sorted.
Open the prompt →Rank your repetitive tasks. Find the one worth automating. Get the roadmap to hand it off.
Open the prompt →One prompt. A Notion vault for everything you research, built so you can pull the full findings back later.
Open the prompt →One page each. Nothing to install, nothing to paste. Print it and put it where you will see it.
What never goes into an AI chat, and the swaps that keep every prompt working anyway.
Open the cheatsheet →The first ten things I stopped holding, in the order I let them go. Your brain is the most expensive processor in the house.
Open the cheatsheet →ChatGPT, Claude, or Gemini for household jobs. One page. No fandom.
Open the cheatsheet →Everything AI will do from a picture instead of typing. The camera is the fast way in.
Open the cheatsheet →Five stickers around the house. Tap your phone and the routine runs. The wall starts remembering.
Open the cheatsheet →The follow-ups that fix any AI answer. Print it. Tape it next to the coffee maker.
Open the cheatsheet →Installable skills that teach your AI a whole job, not just one answer.
A room is not a task. It is four hundred separate decisions, which is why the weekend plan dies at minute twenty. This works one surface at a time, on a timer, and it never asks you how bad it got.
Open the skill →Three work conversations get rehearsed more than any others: the compensation ask, the flexibility ask, and the one where somebody hands you work that was never yours. This drafts all three in your own words and then rehearses the part that actually goes wrong.
Open the skill →Turns your week into the email the grandparents actually want. You give three sentences. It writes the digest.
Open the skill →Two weeks of lunches that come home empty, rotated so nobody notices they repeat.
Open the skill →Teaches your AI to tutor the kid without doing the work. It asks questions. It never hands over the answer.
Open the skill →Stories where your kid is the hero, in a universe that remembers last night. You just do the voices.
Open the skill →The last pass before anything ships. Catches AI-flavored writing and heavy sentences in one sweep.
Open the skill →Writes the 60 to 90 second talking-head reel built to turn a viewer into a comment, and a comment into an email.
Open the skill →More coming as they ship. The waitlist hears about them first.