The Trials, Tribulations, and Tantrums of Building a Website With Zero Experience

When I decided to start Grumpy Grandma & Co. Inc., I had one tiny problem:

I had absolutely no idea how to build a website.

None.

Zero.

Zilch.

If I could’ve hired it out, trust me, I would’ve thrown money at the problem so fast it would’ve left scorch marks. But here we are — me, a computer, and a dream I was too stubborn to let die.

After years in the trades, my once-decent computer skills had evaporated. Poof. Gone. Replaced by calluses, grit, and the ability to fix anything except a digital layout. Sure, some of the finicky design programs I use for creating products gave me a tiny head start… but honestly? Who the hell knew there was psychology behind website development?  

Padding? Rounded corners? Visual hierarchy?

Apparently these things matter. Who knew.

The Day It All Began (AKA: The Day I Entered A Fresh Hell)

My husband — also known as Tech Support, whether he likes it or not — and I sat down at the computer like two brave idiots ready to conquer the digital world. We picked a domain name with the excitement of new parents naming their first child.

We had no idea what was coming.

The website provider promised an “idiot-proof walkthrough.”

Cute.

Adorable, even.

Let me just say:

If I paid myself for that first attempt, I would’ve fired me 1,000 times and slept like a baby.

Every click turned into an “AAHHHHH WHYYYYY” moment.

YouTube tutorials? Never matched the version I was using.

Gridlines? Apparently they existed, but not in my universe.

Images? Looked wrong no matter how many hours I sacrificed to the pixel gods.

But eventually — eventually — I got it to a place where I could tolerate it. Not love it. Not even like it. Just… tolerate it.

I did a soft launch.

People said it looked good.

I said “thank you” while silently thinking, “It’s missing something and I don’t know what and I’m going to scream.”

Every time I tried to fix one thing, I broke three others. I am, in fact, hopeless.

The Great Website Funeral of Version One

After a month of wrestling with the beast, I snapped.

I scrapped the entire thing.

Yes, the whole website.

Yes, it still haunts me.

No, I don’t want to talk about it.

(Okay, maybe later.)

Update: As I wrote this blog I realized I wrote the whole thing on the wrong website.

Enter AI: The Frenemy I Didn’t Know I Needed

Round two. This time, I came armed with:

• Slightly more knowledge

• Defined brand colours

• A brand voice (grumpy, unhinged, and proud of it)

  
  

And honestly? My website looked amazing. I was finally happy. I thought I had tamed the dragon.

Then I started adding products.

Cue the chaos.

AI is helpful… until it isn’t.

My product page said it would do one thing and did another.

I couldn’t change the layout because apparently you can’t switch between using your brain and using the computer’s brain.

Buttons stopped working.

Layouts froze.

Features disappeared.

So instead of spending hours fixing images, I spent hours on chat with tech support trying to explain that these issues cost me time, money, and several years off my life.

Two weeks later, the buttons were fixed. I found a workaround for the product page. A workaround that cost me even more hours.

A Cartoon Image of Grumpy Grandma Losing it on Buttons with a Rolling Pin

SEO, Meta Descriptions, Alt Text… Oh My God Why

Before Grumpy Grandma, I didn’t know what SEO was.

I didn’t know what meta descriptions were.

I didn’t know alt text existed.

Now I know they exist…

I still don’t know how to properly use them.

My reports look like hieroglyphics.

I stare at them like a confused raccoon.

But Here’s the Thing…

The urge to give up?

Strong.

Very strong.

But the dream of Grumpy Grandma & Co. is stronger.

I’m still learning every day — apps, services, features, tools I didn’t even know existed. I’m still underusing half of what’s available. I’m still Googling things like “why is my button floating into the void.”

But it turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.

And honestly? I wouldn’t change any of it.

Because every frustrating moment, every meltdown, every “why is this happening” has built something real. Something mine. Something I’m proud of — even if it took a few digital exorcisms to get here.