You Were My Cup of Tea, But I Drink Wine Now

I have two ex-husbands, which means I have enough experience to speak on the subject with at least some authority. Not expert-level authority, mind you. More like someone who has touched the hot stove twice and now feels qualified to give safety demonstrations.

The older I get, the more I realize that ex-husbands are a lot like tea. At one point, they seemed like exactly what I wanted. I chose them. I committed to them. I invested years of my life in them. I was absolutely convinced they were the right choice. Then somewhere along the way I discovered that what I thought was a rich, satisfying blend was actually lukewarm tea that had been sitting on the counter too long.

The funny thing about getting older is that your tastes change. At twenty, you’re looking for chemistry, excitement, and somebody who gives you butterflies. At my age, butterflies are suspicious. They usually mean something is wrong. What I’m looking for now is someone who can back a trailer, fix a garbage disposal, carry a heavy box, and not need emotional support when a project takes longer than expected.

When I was younger, I thought potential was attractive. Potential is highly overrated. Potential is just another word for “maybe someday.” I spent enough years around “maybe someday” to know it often turns into “probably not.” These days, I find competence incredibly attractive. A man who knows how to solve problems without creating three new ones? Swoon.

My husband now is good at pretty much everything. It’s honestly a little annoying. If something breaks, he fixes it. If something needs built, he builds it. If I have an idea, he figures out how to make it happen. Meanwhile, I once spent twenty minutes looking for my phone while talking on it. We all have our gifts.

I used to think romance was flowers, candlelight, and handwritten notes. Now I think romance is hearing, “I already took care of it.” That’s it. That’s the whole love language. If a man says, “Don’t worry about it, I fixed it,” I may need to sit down and fan myself.

The truth is, I don’t regret my ex-husbands. They taught me valuable lessons. Mostly expensive lessons, but lessons nonetheless. They helped me figure out what I wanted, what I needed, and what I would never again tolerate. Sometimes the purpose of an ex isn’t to stay in your life. Sometimes their purpose is simply to make you appreciate what comes next.

So yes, they were my cup of tea.

But life is funny. You grow up. You get wiser. Your standards improve. Your taste gets a little more refined.

And these days?

I drink wine now.

When Summer Nights Sound Like Childhood

Summer evenings have a sound all their own.

It’s kids laughing from somewhere three houses down.

Not your kids. Not even kids you know. Just the sound of childhood drifting through the neighborhood from yards away. The sound of games that have no score, bikes with no destination, and imaginations running wild until the porch lights come on.

It’s screen doors opening and closing. The crackle of a backyard fire pit. The hum of crickets taking over for the birds.

Some nights I’ll sit outside and hear those sounds, and they take me right back to being a kid myself. Back when catching fireflies was a perfectly acceptable way to spend an evening and nobody cared what time it was as long as they were home before dark.

The smell of wood smoke drifts through the air. The stars begin showing up one by one. The heat of the day finally lets go, and the whole neighborhood seems to exhale.

For all the things we spend our lives working toward, it’s funny how often the moments we remember are the simplest ones.

Not the promotions.

Not the bigger house.

Not the things we bought.

We remember summer nights.

We remember lawn chairs in the driveway, kids chasing fireflies through the yard, conversations around a fire pit, and the feeling that there was nowhere else we needed to be.

Those moments never seem important while they’re happening. They’re just ordinary evenings.

Until one day you realize those ordinary evenings became some of the best days of your life.

That’s the kind of wealth that doesn’t show up in a bank account.

And every summer, when I hear children laughing somewhere down the street, I’m reminded of just how rich those moments really are.

What Me Time?? You're A Parent Now!

 Alright, hold on to your coffee cups because what I’m about to say might ruffle some feathers. When exactly did this whole “I need me time” mantra become the anthem of adulthood? I mean, seriously, where did all these “woe-is-me, I-can’t-handle-it, life-is-hard” vibes come from? Don't you understand the assignment? Once you’ve got your own kids, or your own family, the concept of “me time” takes a backseat faster than a toddler spotting a candy aisle.

Look, life shifts gears once you step into the adult realm. Your “free time” is now spent cleaning the house you work 40 hours a week to afford. Your evenings? They’ve been overrun by little league games and recital rehearsals. And that mythical “me time” everyone keeps chasing? Guess where that is found? That was me sitting on the dryer, sneaking a few pages of a romance novel between laundry cycles. Glamorous, right?

Raising a family isn’t some choose-your-own-adventure game where you skip to the restful chapter. It’s life on loop with a soundtrack of “Mom, can I have?” and “Dad, where’s my?” The job description is clear: housework, kids, activities, repeat. “Me time” didn’t get the memo. But hey, those nighttime moments, when everyone else was asleep and I finally got to slide into bed? That was as good as it got, and honestly, it wasn’t half bad.

Now here’s the thing, and yes, this is the part where I grab the mic for a reality check. If you’re raising a family, congrats, you’ve signed up for a 24/7 gig with zero PTO. There aren’t extra hours hiding somewhere in the day; believe me, I’ve checked. It’s not about you anymore. It’s about the people you’re raising. And every time you moan about needing “me time,” your kids hear it. Loud and clear. The message you’re sending? That they’re some kind of burden. Ouch, right?

Here’s the deal, my fellow adults-in-training. It’s time to ditch the melodrama, lace up your big-kid shoes, and step onto the field you willingly signed up for. Parenting is chaos. It’s messy, exhausting, and relentless. And yet, those crumb-covered kisses, those sticky hugs, that moment when your kid lights up because you’re there? That’s the music. Time to stop fighting the beat and start dancing to it.

Success that Didn't Happen Overnight

The next time you’re tempted to say, “Damn, must be nice,” you might want to stop and consider what it took to get there.

What you’re seeing today didn’t happen overnight, and it certainly didn’t happen by accident.

It didn’t come from working an 8-to-5 and forgetting about it when the day was over.

It didn’t come from spending every evening parked on the couch watching TV.

It didn’t come from sleeping in every Saturday.

It didn’t come from doing the bare minimum, calling in whenever things got difficult, or being content with staying exactly where we were.

It came from years of getting up before the sun and going to bed long after everyone else.

It came from 12, 14, and 15 hour days when nobody was watching.

It came from working weekends when everyone else was relaxing.

It came from consistency. Not for a week. Not for a month. For years.

It came from picking one dream, one goal, and continuing to build on it year after year instead of constantly starting over.

It came from taking advantage of opportunities to improve our situation when they came along. While other people were spending every extra dollar on vacations, new toys, or things they wanted right now, we were often reinvesting in our future and making decisions that would create a better life later.

It came from taking risks, making sacrifices, and carrying responsibilities that most people never see.

It came from missed family events, sleepless nights, stress, worry, and continuing to push forward anyway.

It came from looking at where we were and asking ourselves, “How do we make tomorrow better than today?” Then doing the work required to make it happen.

What people often see is the result. They see the house, the business, the retirement, the lifestyle, or the success. What they don’t see are the decades of effort that came before it.

They don’t see the setbacks, the failures, the years of uncertainty, the sacrifices, or the discipline it took to keep going when quitting would have been easier.

So before you say, “Must be nice,” remember that what looks like luck from the outside is often the result of years of hard work, consistency, discipline, and choices made behind the scenes.

Most success stories aren’t built on luck. They’re built one decision, one sacrifice, and one long day at a time.

So yes, it is nice. But it wasn’t always. There were a lot of years when it was exhausting, stressful, and uncertain. The difference is we kept going anyway. And looking back now, it was absolutely worth every bit of the hard work it took to get here.

Not Every Problem Is Yours To Carry Or Yours To Solve

The Size of My Circle

I think I finally figured something out at 61 years old that probably should have occurred to me somewhere around 30.

Not everything deserves a front-row seat in my life.

Up until recently and for years, I’ve carried things that didn’t belong to me. Friends’ problems. Other people’s bad decisions. Political arguments. Sports losses. Family drama. Complete strangers on the internet who are apparently wrong about everything. And for what?

The Oklahoma City Thunder lose a series, and somehow I’m walking around like I personally missed free throws in the fourth quarter. A friend can’t get their life together after the 472nd piece of advice I have given, and somehow I’m sitting there worrying about it more than they are. Someone disagrees with my political views? Well, imagine that. In a country with over 300 million people, apparently a few of them think differently than I do. Who knew?

The older I get, the more I realize that every one of us lives inside a much smaller space than we think. My space is my marriage. My kids. My grandkids. My family. My home. My peace. That’s my space. Everything outside of that circle gets less and less control over my happiness.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. I can still care. I can listen to a friend. I can offer advice. I can cheer for my team. I can vote. I can have opinions. But 'caring' and 'carrying' are two different things.

Somewhere along the way, I started carrying things that were never mine to carry. I can’t make people make better decisions. I can’t force someone to be happy. I can’t make people agree with me. I can’t fix every problem I see. And honestly? Most of those things wouldn’t change my life anyway. The world keeps turning whether I spend three hours stressing about it or not. I’ve also realized something that feels almost rebellious to admit: I don’t need to feel guilty for being content.

That’s a strange thing, isn’t it?

Sometimes people act like if someone else is struggling, you’re supposed to struggle too. As if happiness is something you should apologize for. 

No thank you

I survived the hard years, the broke years, the stressful years, the exhausting years, the “Lord, if one more thing happens…” years. I’m not going to apologize because I’m finally comfortable in the space I’ve created. The truth is, most of us make mountains out of things that never actually climb into our own yard. We borrow trouble. We rehearse disasters. We argue with imaginary people. We carry burdens that belong to somebody else. And then we wonder why we’re tired.

These days, I’m trying something different. If it’s inside my circle, I’ll give it my attention. If it’s outside my circle, I’ll give it perspective. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. It just means I finally understand the difference between caring about something and allowing it to steal my peace.

And honestly? 

My peace is starting to feel a lot more valuable than being upset about things I was never in control of in the first place.