Grandkids

Grandchildren arrive

Turning Ordinary days

Into the good old days

The Picture I'll Treasure Forever

This was the last picture I took with my mom. June 24, 2026.
I was determined to get it! I climbed up beside her, but she was taking up the whole bed, so I kept sliding down or only getting my forehead in the shot with her face! Dennis kept fussing at me, saying, “Quit wallowing her!” Meanwhile, Mom and I were just giggling while I kept trying to squeeze in enough to get a picture. She kept making funny faces, which only made me laugh harder. Now, I realize this wasn’t exactly my best angle. I tried several times to get a better one, but I was determined, and this is the one we got. I’m so thankful I didn’t give up.
Every visit after this, she slept. This was the last time we laughed together. It was the last time I covered her face with kisses that she actually felt. The last time I told her I loved her and heard her say, “I love you too.”
When I walked out of her room, I leaned back through the doorway one more time and said, “I love you.” She smiled, waved at me, and said, “I love you too.”
I’m so thankful I have this picture.

The Day I Always Dreaded

It’s strange to wake up and realize you’re living the day you’ve feared your entire life.

Even as a little girl, I would think about the day my mom would die. The thought would sneak into my mind, and it would terrify me. I’d quickly push it away and tell myself I would think about it another day. There would be plenty of time for that later.

At night, I’d lie in my bed with my bedroom door open and the hallway light shining in. It was the only way I could fall asleep. And in the distance, I could hear my mom and dad talking in the kitchen or watching TV together. Those familiar sounds told me everything was okay. They were both home. They were both still here.

Now they’re both gone.

There isn’t another day to put those thoughts off. The day I spent my whole life dreading has finally come… and somehow, I’m living it.

Tonight, there won’t be voices drifting down the hallway. Just silence. No matter how many years you have with your parents, no matter how much you know this day is coming, nothing prepares you for the silence they leave behind.

The Hands That Raised Me

Friday, I took a picture of my mom’s hand.

Just her hand.

It’s amazing how, in this one picture, I can see an entire lifetime and every act of love she used those hands for.

Those hands brushed my hair before school, buttoned my tiny dresses, tied my shoes, wiped away my tears, packed my lunches, tucked me into bed, bandaged scraped knees, and held my hand whenever I needed it. They cooked thousands of meals, folded endless loads of laundry, scrubbed floors, planted flowers, wrapped Christmas presents, and somehow made our house feel like the safest place in the world.

Her hands made childhood magical. They sewed clothes for me, stitched Halloween costumes, and built me the most wonderful Barbie dollhouse a little girl could ever imagine.

My dad built beautiful things from wood, and my mom used those hands to bring them to life with paint, color, and love. Together they created treasures that fill many homes today. Every time I walk past one in my home, I don’t just see beautiful artwork—I see the love that poured from her hands.

When my own children came along, those same hands loved them just as deeply. They held babies, read stories, gave hugs that made everything better, celebrated every milestone, and decorated her home to look like the North Pole every Christmas. She made every holiday feel bigger, more beautiful, and more magical than the one before. She made each grandchild feel completely and unconditionally loved. She didn’t just raise her own family—she helped shape the generations that followed.

As I held her hand for the last time, I realized it had spent ninety-two years loving, giving, creating, comforting, and serving everyone around her.

Although her hands are still now, I will continue to see them everywhere. Because the greatest thing my mother ever created wasn’t something she painted, sewed, or built. Those hands built a family who never had to wonder if they were loved. And even now, when I close my eyes, I can still feel her hands in mine—steady, gentle, and full of a love that will never let go.

Can We Just Exist Without the Noise

The world feels chaotic right now. Everywhere you turn, someone is promoting a cause, an identity, a belief, or a lifestyle and wanting everyone else to acknowledge it. Sometimes it feels like there is no escaping the noise.

What if public spaces could simply be neutral places again? Places where people can shop, visit a museum, or take a walk without being pulled into someone else’s politics, beliefs, or personal causes. A place to just exist and enjoy the moment.

I also think there is a difference between living your life freely and expecting everyone around you to participate in or explain it to their children. Kids don’t need to be introduced to every religion, every belief system, every political cause, or every aspect of adult relationships before their parents feel they are ready. Parents should have the right to decide when certain conversations happen and how they happen.

Of course, everyone has the right to live according to their own values and beliefs. But the families you pass in public spaces have rights too. Respect goes both ways. Your right to express yourself and another family’s right to raise their children according to their own values should be able to coexist. Your rights end where another person’s begin.

Live however you want. Believe whatever you want. Fly whatever flags you want on your own property. That’s your right. But I miss the idea of shared public spaces feeling calm and united rather than divided into competing messages and causes. Sometimes it feels like we’re all asking for understanding while forgetting to extend that same understanding to others.

For me, the one flag that represents all Americans, regardless of our differences, is the American flag. In a world that often feels loud and chaotic, a little neutrality, a little common ground, and a little more respect for one another sound pretty peaceful.

You Can Do Anything… Until You’re Doing Everything

To me, if you’re constantly overwhelmed by all the things you should do and never have any time left to do the things you want to do, it usually means one of two things: you’re ambitious, or you are doing things alone.

Ambitious people are always finding things that need to be done. They have goals, projects, ideas, and responsibilities. They want their homes clean, their finances in order, and their lives moving forward. They don’t sit still very well because their minds are always on to the next thing.

But sometimes the problem isn’t ambition. Sometimes the problem is that one person is carrying the mental load and the physical load while another person is just… there.

One person is making the appointments, planning the meals, paying the bills, cleaning the house, remembering birthdays, making the grocery lists, and keeping life running. The other person somehow has plenty of time for hobbies, naps, television, or scrolling their phone. Of course you’re overwhelmed. You’re doing the work of two adults.

I’ve learned there’s a difference between being busy because you’re driven and being exhausted because you’re carrying someone else. One is ambition. The other is imbalance. And if you never have time for yourself because you’re always taking care of everything and everyone else, it may be time to ask yourself an uncomfortable question:

Am I overwhelmed because I want a lot out of life… or because someone else expects me to do it all?

The American Dream Still Exists… But It Requires the Annoying Part of actually working!

Maybe I’m just old. That’s always a possibility….. but I keep hearing people say the American Dream is dead, and every time I hear it, I think… is it? Or did we just stop wanting to do the part that makes the dream possible?

The American Dream was never, “Congratulations! You were born here. Here’s your house, your car, your healthcare, your college, and your retirement. Enjoy!” No… that’s not how this works.

The dream was always about opportunity. The chance to build something. To start with nothing and end up with something because you worked your tail off.

Somewhere along the way, it feels like we’ve started expecting the reward without the work. We complain about not having enough money, but don’t want overtime. We want the promotion without learning the job. We want success delivered like Amazon Prime.

Then I hear people say, “Healthcare should be free.” Here’s the thing… nothing is free. Somebody always pays. If the government pays, taxpayers pay. We can debate whether that’s the right approach, but calling it “free” doesn’t make it free.

And I think some people imagine that if healthcare were government-funded, it would automatically be faster, better, and available whenever you want it. I’m not convinced. Every system has trade-offs. Countries with publicly funded healthcare often have strengths, but many also deal with longer waits for some non-emergency procedures, limited provider choices, or budget constraints. There isn’t a perfect system anywhere.

The same goes for just about everything else. We all want good roads, good schools, safe communities, affordable healthcare, and opportunities for our families. The question isn’t whether those things matter. The question is who pays for them and how they’re sustained.

I’ve spent my entire adult life working. I wasn’t waiting around for someone to hand me a better life. I built one. Was it perfect? Nope. Was it exhausting? Absolutely. Was it worth it? Every single time.

The American Dream isn’t dead. It just still has the same job description it’s always had: show up, work hard, keep learning, fail sometimes, get back up, and repeat. I know… not nearly as exciting as waiting for someone else to fix everything.

Call me crazy, but I still think earning something feels a whole lot better than expecting someone else to provide it. Maybe that’s just my generation talking… but I don’t think hard work has gone out of style. I think we’ve just stopped advertising it.

This Blog Is Brought to You by ADHD and Oklahoma

​I write stupid blogs from whatever random thought my ADHD brain is having that day. I’m not the most eloquent writer, and let’s face it… my vocabulary is straight out of Oklahoma. Some of my favorite words ain't even real words.

Take “gollywopper.” I spent most of my life thinking it was that little muscle in your throat that moves when you swallow. I also thought it was responsible for making “sugars” when you wanted to kiss somebody. Apparently… none of that is true. And if your doctor asks what’s wrong, don’t tell him your gollywopper hurts unless you want him staring at you like you need a different kind of appointment with a tight jacket!

So, if you’re reading one of my blogs and thinking, “What in the world is this woman talking about?” just remember… writing is my therapy. My ADHD brain has about 47 thoughts happening at the same time, and getting them out on paper keeps them from bouncing around in my head.

Honestly, writing it all down has probably saved a life. Maybe mine, maybe my husband’s. It helps me sort through things, make sense of feelings I don’t fully understand yet, and come to terms with whatever season of life I’m in. So these silly little blogs? They’re less about writing and more about keeping my brain from exploding.

Apparently, I’m Mr. Rogers Now

​You go from watching Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood and wondering why he changed his shoes and cardigan every day to suddenly thinking, “Wait… why do I have three pairs of glasses scattered around my house?”

I swear I’ve reached the age where I need driving glasses, computer glasses, and reading glasses. I sit down at the computer and have to swap glasses like Mr. Rogers swapped shoes. Then I pick up my phone and need another pair. Then I look up to watch TV and can’t see because I still have my reading glasses on.

Getting older is wild. One day you’re singing along with Mr. Rogers, and the next day… you are Mr. Rogers. 😆

Maybe We’re All Just Winging It

I recently learned there’s a name for something I’ve felt most of my life.

Imposter syndrome.

At first, I wasn’t sure it fit. I don’t walk around pretending to be a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist. I know what I know, and I know what I don’t. If I’m being honest, there are days when I feel like people give me way more credit than I deserve. They think I’m smart. They think I’m capable. They think I know what I’m doing. And somewhere in the back of my mind is this little voice that wonders what happens when they figure out I don’t know nearly as much as they think I do.

What if they realize I’ve been making it up as I go along? What if they realize I’m just figuring things out one day at a time like everyone else? What if they realize I don’t have all the answers? The funny thing is, I’ve spent my entire life expecting someone to discover that. And nobody ever has.

I’ve raised kids, built a business, managed employees, solved problems, handled crises, and survived things I never thought I’d survive. Yet somehow my brain still likes to say, “Yeah, but anyone could have done that.”

Could they? Because when I really stop and think about it, not everyone did. Not everyone stayed when things got hard. Not everyone figured it out. Not everyone kept going when they were scared, overwhelmed, tired, or completely unsure of what to do next.

Maybe what I’ve always mistaken for not being enough is simply being human. Maybe nobody knows everything. Maybe most of us are just learning as we go. Maybe the people we admire aren’t confident because they have all the answers. Maybe they’re confident because they’ve learned they don’t need all the answers to keep moving forward. I’m still working on that lesson.

But at this age, I’m starting to suspect that nobody really has life completely figured out. Some people are just better at hiding it. The rest of us are winging it, making the best decisions we can with what we know at the time, and hoping it works out. And maybe that’s not failure. Maybe that’s life.

So if someday everyone discovers I don’t know everything, I guess they’ll be disappointed. Right after they discover nobody else does either.

Whatever Happened To Bikes?

Lately I’ve found myself asking a question I never thought I’d need to ask: When did kids stop riding bikes and start driving golf carts?

Seriously. I remember neighborhoods full of kids. They were walking to their friends’ houses, riding bicycles, playing ball in the street, building questionable forts out of scrap lumber, and generally staying outside until somebody’s mom started yelling their name from a front porch. Now I leave to run errands and find myself following a twelve-year-old driving a golf cart decorated like a Fourth of July parade float. Apparently that’s normal now.

Maybe I’m showing my age, but it seems odd that kids who aren’t old enough to have a driver’s license somehow have access to vehicle keys. They’re driving around the same streets where the rest of us are headed to work, the grocery store, doctor’s appointments, and everywhere else... and before anyone says, “Well, if you had a golf cart when your kids were young, they’d have driven it too,” you’re probably right. They absolutely would have.

That’s because kids will drive anything with wheels if you let them. But should we let them? Part of being a kid was getting places under your own power. You walked. You rode your bike. You burned off enough energy that your parents didn’t have to wonder why you were bouncing off the walls at bedtime.

The other thing that worries me is that driving a golf cart around a neighborhood can create a false sense of confidence. When you’ve spent years cruising around at fifteen miles an hour while everybody watches out for you, it’s easy to think you’ve mastered driving.

Then one day you’re handed the keys to an actual car and discover traffic has considerably less patience than Mrs. Johnson and her poodle. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe this is just another one of those moments where I realize the world changed while I wasn’t paying attention. But I still think it’s strange that the kids have vehicles. The golf carts have cup holders. And the bicycles are sitting in the garage wondering what happened.

The Next Super Hero Could Be A Kid With Star Power

Look, the odds are pretty slim that any of us are raising the next President or a movie star with a ten-bedroom mansion in Beverly Hills. (Honestly, I consider it a massive win if my kid just manages to put their shoes on the correct feet before noon). But while we might not be raising Hollywood royalty, we can absolutely raise good humans.

We can teach our kids that making a big impact usually comes down to doing the little things right. It’s about teaching them to be genuinely kind to others, to volunteer their time, and to be deeply thoughtful. The whole "it's all about me" attitude is exhausting—trust me, I have lived with a tiny dictator who thought the sun raised and sat on their snack schedule. We have to gently remind them that the world doesn't actually revolve around them, and that worrying about someone other than ourselves is a beautiful thing.

Whether it's helping a neighbor carry groceries, volunteering a few hours, or just being there for a friend in need, those small acts of thoughtfulness often leave the biggest mark. Deciding to make a difference in someone else's life just because you can? Now that is true star power.

Trying Something New

I'm attempting to learn Haiku poetry—and it's not going well. As someone who loves long, flowery, free-flowing verse, Haiku feels rigid and unnatural to me. Five syllables, then seven, then five again? It feels like poetry with a straitjacket on. But I'm determined to give it a shot, so you'll find the occasional Haiku sprinkled throughout this blog. Fair warning: they'll probably be terrible.

____________________________________

Flowery Verses

Mine arrive with muddy boots

Tracking through the pages

*Gag*

I’m classy, sassy and a bit badassy

Classy, Sassy, and a Bit Badassy

I think I’ve reached the age where I know exactly who I am.

I’m classy. I like things a certain way. I like to look put together, have a pretty home, use my manners, and treat people with kindness. I believe there is still something to be said for carrying yourself well and having standards.

But let’s not confuse classy with quiet.

Because I’m also a little sassy.

I have opinions. Lots of them. My face usually announces them before my mouth even gets a chance. I laugh at things I probably shouldn’t. I use sarcasm as a second language, and sometimes my filter clocks out before I do.

And then there is that tiny little badassy side.

That’s the part of me that survived the hard things, built a life, raised kids, ran a business, made mistakes, learned lessons, and kept going. It’s the part that says, “Nope, not doing that,” without needing everyone to understand why.

When you’re younger, you spend so much time trying to figure out who you are and worrying about what everyone thinks.

Then one day you realize… I’m good.

Not perfect. Not everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s perfectly fine.

I can wear lipstick, love pretty things, cry over a memory, spoil my grandkids, speak my mind, stand my ground, and still have a little sparkle while doing it.

Classy enough to know better.

Sassy enough to say it anyway.

And just badassy enough to be myself.

Did the Rapture Happen While I Was Shopping?

Today I had one of the weirdest experiences, and it happened not once, but twice.

I pulled into a store parking lot, and it was packed. The kind of packed where you have to circle around looking for a spot and start wondering if you really need whatever you came for. I finally found a place, went inside, grabbed what I needed, and headed back out.

The parking lot was practically empty. Not just a little less crowded. Empty. As in, where did everybody go? I stood there for a second trying to figure out if I’d somehow lost track of time. Maybe I had been shopping longer than I thought. Maybe I’d accidentally wandered every aisle in the store. But no. I was in and out.

Then it happened again. Different store. Same exact thing. Packed when I arrived. Empty when I left.

By that point my mind had moved beyond logical explanations. My first thought was that maybe the Rapture happened while I was inside, and somehow I got left behind. That’s not exactly the kind of realization you want to have standing in a parking lot holding a bag of purchases.

My second thought was that perhaps the zombie apocalypse had started and everyone else got the memo except me. Maybe there was some emergency alert that went out while I was comparing prices or trying to remember why I walked into the store in the first place.

I know there are perfectly reasonable explanations. People come and go. Stores get busy and then they don’t. But when the same strange thing happens twice in one day, it starts to feel a little suspicious.

All I’m saying is if I pull into a crowded parking lot tomorrow and come back out to complete silence and abandoned shopping carts, I’m not sticking around to investigate. I’ve watched enough movies to know that’s how the main character ends up getting chased by zombies.

And honestly, if the Rapture did happen and I got left behind, at least I know I went down doing something important.

I was shopping.

Eight Grandkids, One Balloon, and Rules Nobody Remembered 😂

Last Monday I watched eight of my grandkids so Katie could go to work, and if there is one thing I have learned about my grandkids, it’s that they stick to me like glue.

I’m not sure if they are afraid they are going to miss something fun, something ridiculous, or just the next stupid thing Lolly decides to do, but they are always right there. Hip side. All of them.

Today’s big entertainment involved tape and a balloon. That’s it. Somehow those two items turned into an entire game, complete with rules, strategy, and a whole lot of confusion. Even the crawling grandbaby got involved.

The best part? We made up the rules as we went.

“This square gets to serve.”

“This square gets to pick what body part you have to hit the balloon with.”

“This square has to cover two spots if someone gets out.”

“If the balloon hits the ground, you’re OUT!”

By the end, we had so many rules nobody could remember all the rules, including the people who made the rules.

And when you play with a bunch of kids, especially with a few under three, you quickly realize the little ones are no longer players… they become part of the obstacle course.

The toddler lying on the floor having a meltdown because Barbie’s clothes won’t go on? Obstacle.

The baby crawling through the middle of the game? Obstacle.

The random kid walking through at the exact wrong moment? Also an obstacle.

You don’t stop the game. You just adjust and keep going. (Hey!  I'm teaching life lessons here!)

They had so much fun creating new rules, changing the game, and trying to keep up with the chaos they created. But like all kid activities, the greatest game ever invented lasted until suddenly… they were done.

Time to move on.

Thankfully Lolly had the next activity ready.

Lunch.

My choice. 😂

I let them make their own hot dogs, which apparently is also an activity when you’re a kid.

After that, we watched some crazy show they all seemed to love. I personally did not understand the appeal, but I’m pretty sure my grandparents thought the same thing about the stuff I watched.

Before I knew it, it was time to head home.

Eight kids. One balloon. A roll of tape. A million made-up rules.

Sometimes the simplest things really are the things they remember.

The Fourth of July: Oklahoma Tried to Melt Us ☀️

We had our big Fourth of July cookout and swim day with the family. When everyone is here, there are 22 of us. Yes… twenty-two humans. That is no longer a small family gathering. That is an event that requires planning, food inventory, and possibly a traffic director. 😂

Dennis had the outside all decorated and ready. We had flags and stars everywhere, sparklers waiting for the kids, and Katie painted a Fourth of July banner. Everything looked festive and patriotic… exactly how the Fourth should look.

Now the weather? That was a different story.

Because it’s Oklahoma, apparently Mother Nature decided we needed to celebrate our freedom by testing our ability to survive.

It was 100 degrees most of the day with absolutely no breeze. None. The trees weren’t moving. The air wasn’t moving. I’m pretty sure even the birds looked around and said, “Nope!”

Even the pool water was warm.

And when you’re the one running around making sure everyone has food, drinks, towels, sunscreen, and that all the things are getting done… it feels about 20 degrees hotter.

At one point I had to go inside, sit on my bedroom floor directly in front of the fan, and recover. Dennis came with me and claimed it was to “make sure I didn’t die.”

Sure, Dennis.

I think he wanted the air conditioning too. 😂

Eventually Dennis got the water hose and just started spraying people. It did not matter if you were in the pool, out of the pool, walking by, or just existing. If you were outside, you were fair game.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Dang Oklahoma heat. We are used to it… but we are also usually smart enough to stay inside when it’s that hot. Unfortunately, you can’t exactly have a backyard cookout in the living room.

We made a ridiculous amount of hot dogs, smoked sausage, barbecue chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad, fresh fruit, cupcakes, and had ice chests full of drinks. Basically the normal holiday spread where you prepare like you’re feeding the entire neighborhood.

And kids are funny. They ask for food all day long… until the food is actually ready.

Then suddenly swimming is more important than eating.

We made everyone dry off long enough to take family pictures, which is basically an Olympic event with that many kids. Then they jumped right back in the pool and within minutes were yelling from the shallow end asking if they could have a cupcake.

Of course. 😂

Then Oklahoma said, “That’s cute. Let me add a little drama.”

A huge storm cloud rolled in and shut the Fourth down. Some areas had winds up to 90 mph — thankfully not where we were — but it was enough to postpone the fireworks show until the 5th.

Because apparently even the fireworks looked at the weather and said, “Yeah… we’re not doing this today.”

It was hot. It was chaotic. It was loud. It was exhausting.

And it was exactly what a family Fourth of July should be. ❤️🇺🇸