I Need A Path

I've been trying to sit down every week to write a paragraph or two, but honestly, it's hard when nothing I'm doing is all that thrilling to read about. I've mostly just been helping out at the daycare and tackling chores around the house. We did have a crazy hail storm roll through last night, though! It looked like a blanket of snow, and the hail hit the house so hard it actually rang my doorbell twice.

Aside from the extreme weather, my life is mostly on pause right now. I'm trying to figure out buying a new house and selling this one, but I absolutely refuse to put it on the market until we have a solid plan for where we're going. I need my ducks in a row. I have to know the steps, or at least map out the path to get there, before I can make a move.

The frustrating part is that the longer this process takes, the less time I get to actually enjoy the final result once we move. And let's face it, none of us are promised tomorrow! I was brutally reminded of my own mortality last night when one of my old daycare kids—who also happens to be a neighbor—zoomed by on a scooter, screamed my name, and nearly scared me to death. Forget dying of old age before I get this house sorted out; A kid on a scooter will be my hit man!

A Bowl of Spaghetti

 I'm still licking my wounds from my time in childcare management. Honestly, the daily dose of stress-fueled nonsense had become completely unbearable.

Surviving a shift didn't just feel like one thing going wrong; it felt like trying to cuddle a very affectionate porcupine. I told Dennis that running a daycare is exactly like staring at a giant bowl of spaghetti. Every single noodle represents a crucial task, and they are all hopelessly tangled together in a slippery, complicated mess.

For 16 straight months, it was an absolute avalanche. Between accreditation paperwork, DHS drop-ins, QRIS evaluations, food audits, parents treating tuition like a suggestion, staff quitting out of the blue, my own surgery, and the grueling due diligence of finally selling the place, I had nothing left to give. I was essentially a professional firefighter, putting out daily infernos while DHS kept trying to shut off the water.

I simply couldn't survive in that environment anymore. The sheer weight that has been lifted off my shoulders since I left is indescribable. You couldn't pay me enough to ever go back to a management gig where my primary job description is endless people-pleasing and kissing up.

I’ve been officially retired for exactly one week, and I’ve already landed in Facebook jail for three days because I finally stopped censoring my mouth!

Aaahhhh No Bells are ringing!

Every since I officially clocked out for the last time, my internal calendar has completely short-circuited. No annoying alarm clock waking me up for a routine day. A Monday morning feels exactly the same as a lazy Saturday afternoon, mostly because my most pressing deadline now is deciding when to pour my second cup of coffee. I will genuinely wake up, look out the window, and have absolutely no clue if it is a Tuesday or a Friday—and honestly, it is the most liberating feeling in the world. Losing track of the week used to mean I could meet a deadline, but these days, the only real deadline, after I pour that cup of coffee is what sounds good for lunch.

I’m stronger than I thought!

So I’ve started lifting weights… nothing wild, just what’s “recommended for my age.” Supposedly it keeps my muscles from quietly clocking out and filing for unemployment. We’ll see.

I actually like it, which feels a little suspicious. I’ve added a few other exercises too, so now I look like someone who has a plan, even if it looks super uncoordinated, it is all done with good intentions.

I’m on week two and still using the same weights. Honestly, it feels like I’m taking a prerequisite class… just making sure I’m strong enough before I enroll in the real deal. 😄

For now, I lift… carefully, consistently, and with just enough confidence to avoid injuring anything important. Progress is progress.

We are Free....

When you own a business, there’s a version of you that people come to know. She is polished, patient, and steady. She smiles through difficult conversations, chooses her words carefully, and stays composed no matter how others behave.

And she is me. But she is not all of me.

She is the version I needed to be to protect what I built—my staff, my families, my reputation. She holds her tongue on certain topics, keeps her opinions to herself, and responds instead of reacting. Not because she doesn’t have feelings, but because she does.

There is another side of me too. The one with stronger opinions, quicker reactions, and deeper emotions. The one who doesn’t always say things with a smile.

Both are real.

One built the life, and the other gets to live it. And for the first time in a long time, they are finally allowed to be the same person.