Dear me,

Dear Me,

You were never the kind of person who sat back and let life happen to you. You carry people. You fix things. You jump in when everyone else freezes. You make things beautiful when they’re falling apart. You make people laugh when they want to cry. You hold entire worlds together with duct tape, determination, sarcasm, and pure stubbornness.

But somewhere along the way, you started carrying things that were never yours to carry.

You take responsibility for everyone’s feelings. Everyone’s comfort. Everyone’s chaos. And because you are capable, people assume you are endless. They forget that even the strongest people get tired too.

The truth is, you are not “too much.” You are just someone who loves deeply, feels deeply, and notices everything. You notice when people are hurting. You notice when something feels off. You notice when effort isn’t returned. And even after being disappointed, you still keep trying to show up with love anyway.

That’s rare.

You don’t need to become colder to protect your peace. You just need to stop handing your energy to people who only appreciate it when it benefits them.

You are allowed to rest without guilt.

You are allowed to say no without explaining.

You are allowed to stop fixing situations you didn’t create.

And you are allowed to want the same loyalty, effort, and care that you pour into everyone else.

One day you’re going to realize that the people who truly love you never required you to exhaust yourself to earn your place in their lives.

And honestly? The people lucky enough to be loved by you probably have no idea how much of yourself you quietly give away every single day.

Love,

Me

Reality Check... Sometimes your kid doesn't come first!

For a long time, I believed work was life—or at least the part of life that kept the lights on, the bills paid, and my future from looking like a clearance rack of bad options. I sacrificed a lot to build all three of my business, and yes, some of those sacrifices were painful. Time, energy, missed moments, postponed rest, all of it. But in the end, it gave me something that matters more with age: security.

Not glamour. Not applause. Security. And that’s no small thing.

The truth is, you don’t build anything meaningful without giving something up. That’s not cruelty; that’s math. Time and energy are limited resources. If you pour yourself into creating a business, a career, or a stable financial future, there will be seasons when everything cannot get equal attention. That’s just reality dressed in work clothes. (From Cato's, cause they are cheaper)

I know people love to say, “My kids always come first.” It sounds lovely. It fits nicely on a mug. But real life is a little messier than that. Sometimes your kids come first, and sometimes the mortgage does. Sometimes the deadline does. Sometimes the long game does. That doesn’t mean you love your children less. It means you understand that loving your family also includes making sure there is food in the fridge, a roof overhead, and some dignity in retirement.

And let’s be honest: children do not fall apart because another capable adult steps in. That’s what dads, and grandparents, and aunt Mae down the street is for. Children can benefit from learning that they are loved without being the center of the universe every waking minute. In fact, one of the best lessons you can teach a child is that not every inconvenience is an emergency, and not every need requires your immediate personal appearance.

There’s value in kids learning patience, flexibility, and a little independence. They can figure some things out. They should figure some things out. Otherwise, they grow up believing access to your time is automatic, and that’s not love—that’s poor training. Life will not organize itself around them forever, and home shouldn’t either.

What has always puzzled me is why women are so often expected to do everything as if they were issued extra hours at birth. Build the career. Raise the kids. Run the home. Be emotionally available. Stay cheerful. Remember the dentist appointment. Bring snacks. Age gracefully. It’s absurd. Somewhere along the line, women got assigned every job on the group project.

I was fortunate that my marriage didn’t work that way. If I had a problem, we had a problem. That’s how partnership is supposed to work. Not as a solo act with one exhausted woman carrying the whole production while everyone else waits for instructions. A strong marriage understands that ambition, family, money, and responsibility belong in the same conversation.

Here’s the part nobody likes to say out loud: if you want to live well until you die, you need money. You need security. You need options. Love is wonderful, but love does not cover prescriptions, property taxes, or a broken water heater. Financial stability may not be glamorous, but neither is being old and stressed.

So no, it may not always be fun. It may not always feel balanced. It may not always look warm and fuzzy from the outside. But making sacrifices, sharing responsibility, and thinking long term are not signs that you got life wrong. Sometimes they’re the clearest signs that you understood exactly how it works.

Help I need Rehab!

There is no such thing as "enough" chocolate. We could be talking about 50 Crunch bars or two entire gallons of chocolate ice cream—it’s just never enough. At least, not for me.

I possess the iron will to walk right past cakes, pies, and the entire candy aisle without batting an eye. But the second a Crunch bar or a pint of chocolate ice cream crosses my path? I transform into an absolute glutton. I don't know what kind of dark magic these two specific treats hold over me, but there is simply no better way to end a long day than downing a homemade chocolate shake or successfully eating my own body weight in Crunch bars while crafting. Honestly, if it weren't for my complete lack of restraint around those two things, I'd be skinny as a rail!

Previously Generous

I’m not a selfish person, but life teaches you lessons.

If your friend doesn’t have a car and you loan them yours, then they wreck it… who’s the one without a car now? Not your friend — they already didn’t have one. Now YOU don’t have one either.

You can apply that logic to almost anything and the outcome is usually the same.

That’s why I don’t loan my stuff out anymore.

It’s not because I’m selfish. It’s because I wasn’t.

I’ve given away kitchen tables, chairs, dishes, TVs, computers, phones, clothes — all kinds of things. Giving is one thing. Loaning is another.

When you give something away, you already accepted it may never come back. When you loan something, people often treat your sacrifice like it costs you nothing.

So no, I’m not “stingy.” I just learned the hard way that protecting what’s yours doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you wiser than you used to be.

I’m Allowed to Be Angry About This

There is something deeply wrong about people deciding what matters to you after you have already told them clearly.

The furniture my dad built for me was not abandoned. It was not forgotten. It was not “up for grabs.” I stated from the very beginning that it was mine. I said it the day of the move. I could have loaded it up and taken it home immediately. Instead, I was told Mom needed familiar things around her and that having those pieces there would help her feel safe and comfortable during such a huge life change.

So I trusted them.

I left pieces that my father made with his own hands because I was trying to think about someone else’s feelings during an already painful time. I chose compassion and understanding. Apparently that consideration only went one direction.

Because later, when there “wasn’t enough room,” nobody called me. Nobody asked me to come get my things. Nobody stopped for even one second and thought, “Maybe we shouldn’t donate the furniture her dad built for her.” They loaded it up and gave it away to strangers like it had no meaning at all.

Then came the excuses.

“It was stressful.”

“There wasn’t room.”

“It’s already gone.”

Funny how people always find explanations after they’ve crossed a line they knew they shouldn’t cross.

What I still have not received is accountability.

No real apology.

No ownership.

No acknowledgment of how deeply disrespectful it was.

And what makes it even worse is hearing that someone thinks I only cared about the furniture because I somehow believe it could “bring Dad back.”

That statement honestly says more about them than it does about me.

No, furniture cannot bring someone back. But valuing something a person made with love is normal. Protecting something your father spent his time, talent, and heart creating for you is normal. Wanting to keep something meaningful instead of watching it get dumped at a Goodwill in another town is normal.

What is not normal is treating someone else’s grief and memories like an inconvenience.

What is not normal is donating handcrafted pieces made by someone’s deceased father without even giving them the chance to pick them up.

And what is really hard to swallow is realizing that the people who did it still seem more concerned with defending themselves than understanding why it hurt me in the first place.

The furniture mattered because HE mattered.

Every scratch, every board, every hour he spent building those things carried part of him with it. Those pieces represented love, effort, family history, and memories I can never recreate. Once they were gone, they were gone forever.

You cannot replace handcrafted pieces your dad made for you with an apology that never came.

I think what hurts most is realizing that people who claim to love you can still completely dismiss your feelings if acknowledging them would require admitting they were wrong.

And I am tired of being expected to quietly accept that.

Dennis said What???

Dennis and I went on a little day trip the other day… and somewhere along the way I turned into a slightly unhinged version of myself. I was getting snippy, for sport it seemed, for no good reason.

We’re sitting at a red light and he slowly looks over at me like he’s assessing a situation, which I also had a comment about, before he says:

“Yeah … I’m taking you to eat somewhere. You’re getting hungry.”

As soon as he said it I burst out laughing because unfortunately for me… he was 100% correct. Apparently, I have a snack deficiency.

Lazy Sunday

Today has been pretty low-key—just my usual Sunday routine. It’s rainy and it’s Mother’s Day, so I'm taking full advantage of the excuse to relax. I tackled the glamorous chores, like changing the sheets, unloading the dishwasher, and tidying up around the house. I also had to mentally prepare for the beautiful chaos of eight grandkids coming over to spend the night!

Matthew dropped by to see me and brought the coolest round box decorated like Louis Vuitton. A few weeks ago, he made me a white one, and I kid you not, I’ve planned the decor for my entire future craft room around it. I gave my mom a call since I couldn't visit her today. Having the kids coming over, combined with her moving further away, makes quick trips basically impossible now.

Other than that, it’s just been a normal day. Well, normal until I caught myself trying to plan out my work week, only to realize—wait a minute, I don't have a work week anymore! I got totally giddy all over again. Will I ever get used to not working? Who knows, but right now, that sudden realization that I don't have to go back to work is the absolute best feeling in the world.

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.