When Life Doesn’t Give You Time to Catch Up

I’m suffering. There, I said it. It’s been one heck of a year, and the hits just keep coming. Some of them I brought on myself, and others I had absolutely no control over. But regardless of how they happened, they’ve all taken something out of me.

It started with major surgery and a long recovery, having to put our dog of 15 years to sleep on New Year’s Eve followed by the stress of selling a business I’d spent most of my adult life building. I knew retirement was coming, but knowing something is coming and actually living it are two different things. Suddenly, I wasn’t seeing my kids and grandkids every day. I wasn’t surrounded by employees, children, and the constant activity I’d known for decades. I went from having more to do than I had hours in the day to wondering what I was supposed to do with all those hours.

Here’s something I’ve learned. Retirement is something you really need to prepare for, and I’m not talking about financially. I’m talking about emotionally. When your entire routine and sense of purpose change, it can sneak up on you. There’s a big difference between accepting a new chapter and feeling completely lost in it.

Then July came, and I lost my sweet mother. That one still hurts, and I imagine it always will. I lost it the weekend before she passed, and I don’t think I’ve fully processed losing her or my dad. Maybe you never really do. Maybe you just learn to live with missing them. Whatever the case, it was a hard, hard summer.

Then we decided to sell our home. Another decision we made ourselves, but one that happened so quickly we barely had time to think. The house sold before we had a solid plan for what came next. We had weeks to pack up ten years of memories and move into a rental house. Again, there was no time to really process what we were leaving behind before we were already moving on.

Now we’re waiting to sign paperwork to build another home. More decisions, more waiting, and more uncertainty.

And somewhere in the middle of all this, my health decided it wanted to join the party. Apparently, getting older comes with a whole new collection of problems nobody bothered to warn me about. Even the medications meant to help have caused problems of their own. I’ve learned more about dry skin, skin barriers, and steroid creams than I ever wanted to know. At this point, I’ve never wanted to feel normal so badly in my life!

Tomorrow is Halloween, and for the first time in 39 years, there hasn’t been any Halloween fun in my October. No costumes, no pumpkin decorating, no silliness. And that’s just not me. I’ve always loved holidays and finding reasons to have fun. Looking back, I think all that silliness was a form of therapy for me. I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I didn’t have it. And this year, of all years, I probably needed it the most.

There are only two months left in 2026, and we’ll likely spend another ten months living in a rental house. The holidays won’t look the same this year, and I’m trying to be okay with that. I still want them to be happy. I still want the laughter, the family, and the memories, even if everything around us looks a little different.

I know life changes. I know some changes are good, even when they’re difficult. And I know I’ve made choices this year that will eventually lead to something wonderful. But that doesn’t mean the getting there has been easy.

I think what I’ve needed more than anything is a little time to catch up with my own life. Time to grieve, time to adjust, time to feel settled, and maybe a little time when absolutely nothing changes.

So, 2027, I’m not asking for anything spectacular. I’ve had enough excitement to last me a while. I’d just like a year where I can enjoy my life instead of constantly adjusting to it.

When Your Truck Looks Like It's Trying to Buck You Off!

So I’m driving through Yukon on Highway 66, minding my own business, when I see a truck coming toward me. Now, seeing a truck in Oklahoma isn’t exactly unusual. We have trucks everywhere. Big trucks, little trucks, lifted trucks, trucks that have clearly never seen a dirt road in their entire lives. You name it, we’ve got it. But THIS truck!

The front end was sitting so high in the air, and the back end was so low to the ground that it looked like a horse getting ready to buck somebody off! I actually started laughing. And then I started wondering. Did this man actually PAY somebody to make his truck look that ridiculous?

I mean, seriously. Did he wake up one morning, look at his perfectly good truck, and think, “You know what would make this thing look amazing? If the front end was pointing toward Jesus and the back end was dragging toward hell!” What exactly is the purpose of this?

I’ve seen those lowrider cars that bounce up and down, and I’ve never really understood the appeal of those either. But at least they do something. They bounce! Apparently, that’s exciting to somebody. But this truck? It just looked like it was permanently trying to climb a hill that wasn’t there.

And I couldn’t help wondering what the conversation sounded like when he decided to have this done. “Hey, I’d like to spend a bunch of money making my truck look like a mechanical failure.” Or maybe it was, “I want people to notice me coming down the highway.” Well, congratulations! Mission accomplished! I noticed you. I laughed at you. And now I’m writing a whole blog about you.

Maybe that’s exactly what he wanted. Or maybe he thought, “If I make the front end high enough, everybody will see me coming and get out of my way because I clearly can’t see what’s directly in front of me!” I don’t know. What I do know is that somebody spent perfectly good money to make a perfectly good truck look like it needs medical attention.

And yes, I realize it’s his truck, his money, and he can do whatever he wants with it. People are entitled to their own taste. And I’m entitled to think their taste is ridiculous.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve gotten so concerned about not offending anybody that we’ve forgotten it’s perfectly acceptable to look at something and say, “What in the hell were you thinking?” Not everything needs to be celebrated. Not every decision deserves applause. And sometimes something is just plain stupid.

I’m sure that man thinks his truck looks fantastic. Meanwhile, I’m still laughing about it halfway down Highway 66.

Some people spend money to turn heads. Others spend money to make people shake theirs.

Friendships

I’ve been thinking about friendships lately. I don’t have many friends, and honestly, I’m okay with that. I’ve learned that finding someone who can actually keep a secret is harder than finding a decent pair of jeans after menopause!

And the funny part? They think you don’t know they’ve been running their mouths. Honey, I know. I just don’t give you the juicy stuff anymore! LOL!

I’ve always preferred male friends. Even as a teenager, I got along better with guys. But that gets complicated when you’re married, and now that I’m in my 60s, I need someone who understands menopause, grandkids, and everything else that comes with this stage of life!

But DAMN, girlfriends have always been hard to find!

I want women I can relate to. Women who’ve raised kids, worked, paid bills, managed households, and lived enough life to have some good stories. I don’t want to explain everything. Sometimes I just want to say, “You know how it is,” and have someone actually KNOW!

And friendship has to go both ways. I can’t build a friendship with someone who wants to know all my business but won’t confide in me. That’s not friendship. That’s an interrogation!

And here’s the big one. I want friends, but I don’t want another full-time job! I’m retired! I don’t need daily phone calls, constant texting, or someone who gets offended because I didn’t answer my phone.

I don’t need a whole herd of girlfriends. I’m not starting a sorority! Just someone who adds to my life without taking over my life!

I spent most of my life raising kids, running a business, managing a household, and being needed by everybody. I'm finally at a point where my time belongs to me. I don't need a friend who demands it. I want one who makes me glad I shared it.

If I Can't Control It, I'll Worry About It!

I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was eight years old. And when I say I’ve been a worrier my entire life, I mean my ENTIRE life!

Even as a little girl, my mind never stopped questioning things. I remember worrying about how my body worked. Why didn’t my eyeballs just fall out of my head? How did my fingernails grow without falling off? Seriously, what eight-year-old sits around worrying about these things?

Apparently, me!

If I couldn’t logically explain something, I worried about it. I needed answers. I needed things to make sense, and when they didn’t, my imagination was more than happy to fill in the blanks with something catastrophic!

And change? Oh, I absolutely hated change!

I remember when my sister got married. Instead of just being excited about her wedding, I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t coming home anymore. In my mind, she belonged at home. That’s where she’d always been, and suddenly everything was different.

I think uncertainty has always been one of my biggest struggles. Not knowing what was going to happen, why something happened, or how something worked made me anxious. And when I couldn’t find an answer, my mind would come up with a hundred possibilities, usually starting with the worst one!

As I got older, I didn’t stop worrying. I just found more grown-up things to worry about. Imagine that!

And I think this explains something else about me. I’m a perfectionist.

I’ve always been organized, responsible, particular, and someone who likes things done correctly. I notice little details other people overlook. I like my house clean, things in their proper places, and plans made ahead of time. I have high expectations of myself, and when something isn’t right, I have a hard time leaving it alone.

People probably think I’m just picky or that I like things a certain way. And yes, I do! But I think there’s more to it than that.

There’s actually a psychological concept called intolerance of uncertainty. Basically, some people have a harder time dealing with the unknown. Not having answers or knowing what comes next can create anxiety.

And that’s where I think my perfectionism comes in.

When you’ve spent your entire life worrying about things you can’t control, you start finding comfort in the things you CAN control.

I can’t control what tomorrow brings, but I can control how organized my house is. I can’t prevent every problem, but I can plan ahead and prepare for the possibilities. I can’t make life predictable, but I can make sure the things I’m responsible for are done right.

Maybe perfectionism isn’t always about wanting everything perfect. Sometimes it’s about trying to feel safe.

The problem is that perfectionism can actually feed anxiety. There’s always something that needs fixing, something that could be better, or something that isn’t quite right. And when your mind is already wired to worry, you can wear yourself out trying to prevent problems that haven’t even happened!

I don’t believe every perfectionist has anxiety, or that anxiety automatically makes someone a perfectionist. But I certainly believe the two can go hand in hand.

I’ve spent most of my life thinking this was simply my personality. I’m particular. I’m organized. I like things done my way.

But there’s a difference between liking things a certain way and feeling anxious when they aren’t that way.

And I think that’s something people don’t always understand about anxiety. It isn’t necessarily someone sitting around visibly panicking or being afraid. Sometimes it’s the person who plans everything, notices everything, prepares for everything, and can’t seem to shut their mind off.

I may not be able to control everything that worries me, but I can control the things around me. And for someone who has lived with anxiety since childhood, that little bit of control can feel like peace.

The irony is that trying to control everything can also be the very thing that keeps the anxiety going.

Maybe that’s the hardest part of being a perfectionist. Learning that everything doesn’t have to be perfect for everything to be okay.

And after 61 years, I’m still working on that one!

Adulthood Doesn’t Come With a Mute Button

Were we all this much of a pansy growing up?

I keep reading about kids going virtual because they’re being bullied, switching to online school because the hallways feel too crowded, or avoiding situations because they make them uncomfortable. And I find myself wondering: when did the answer to everything uncomfortable become removing the uncomfortable thing?

Now before somebody loses their mind, I KNOW bullying can be serious. I’m not talking about a child being threatened, assaulted or genuinely unsafe. That absolutely needs to be dealt with. I’m talking about normal life being uncomfortable.

We got picked on. We had kids who didn’t like us. We walked into cafeterias wondering where we were going to sit. We had teachers we couldn’t stand, crowded hallways, embarrassing moments, broken hearts, mean girls and kids who could be complete assholes. And somehow we survived it. More importantly, we learned how to deal with people.

That’s part of growing up. You learn that not everybody is going to like you. You learn how to stand up for yourself. You learn how to walk into a room where you don’t feel completely comfortable. You learn that anxiety and discomfort don’t automatically mean you’re in danger.

I worry that sometimes, in our attempt to protect kids from every bad feeling, we’re accidentally teaching them that they can’t handle bad feelings. What happens when they’re adults?

Jobs are crowded. Bosses can be difficult. Coworkers can be jerks. Relationships hurt. People criticize you. Somebody will eventually hurt your feelings, leave you out, disagree with you or make you uncomfortable. There isn’t always going to be a virtual option where you can shut the laptop and make everybody disappear.

Obviously every child and every situation is different. Some kids genuinely thrive with virtual school, and sometimes leaving a bad environment is absolutely the right decision. But removing every obstacle isn’t the same thing as helping a child overcome one.

Maybe our job isn’t to make sure our kids never feel uncomfortable. Maybe our job is to teach them, “Yep, this sucks. Now let me show you that you can handle it.” Because childhood is supposed to prepare you for adulthood. And adulthood doesn’t come with a mute button.

There Isn’t Enough Bubble Wrap in the World

We cannot protect our kids from every mean comment, hurt feeling, or crappy person they’re going to encounter. Instead of expecting everyone else to teach their kids how to act, teach yours how to respond. Give them the confidence to stand up for themselves, the strength to walk away when they need to, and the understanding that not everyone is going to be nice. There isn’t enough bubble wrap in the world to get our kids through life completely unscathed. Our job isn’t to make sure nothing ever hurts them—it’s to teach them how to handle it when something does.

Don't Forget The Victims

Sometimes it is really hard for me to keep what I consider reality in my thinking when there are so many people out there who seem to feel sorry for the person who committed the crime.

I read a post today about Christa Pike. It talked about her childhood, her trauma, mental illness, relationships, brain development and what her life has been like in prison. And I get it. All of those things may help explain how she became the person she became. But explaining something doesn't make it okay. It doesn't erase what happened.

Because somewhere in all of that was Colleen Slemmer. Colleen was 19 years old. She had a whole life ahead of her too. She should have had the chance to grow up, make mistakes, fall in love, have a family, change her mind, become a different person and live out the rest of her life. Instead, she was beaten, tortured and murdered.

And this isn't just about Christa Pike. I see this kind of thinking all the time now. People who spend so much time talking about what happened to Lindsay Clancy and wearing pink like idiots that the three children she killed seem to become secondary. People who believed Karmelo Anthony deserved another trial. He admitted to doing it! People who don't seem to have a problem with someone being here illegally even when they kill someone. And I find myself sitting here thinking...when did we become so forgiving of the person who did the terrible thing? You cannot just forget the victims and the families who had to suffer because of it.

I don't even have compassion for them. I don't care if it's mental illness, childhood trauma or someone's life circumstances. After the crime, it simply doesn't matter to me. The victims matter.

Whatever happened to Christa growing up may help explain how she became who she was. But it does not erase what happened to Colleen. Plenty of people survive horrible childhoods, abuse, trauma and circumstances that I can't even imagine without going on to torture and murder another human being.

And maybe that's the part I struggle with. I don't need to understand every detail of the person who committed the crime to know what matters. The bottom line is that someone was hurt or killed, and their life should not become nothing more than a footnote while we spend years trying to understand the person who took it from them.

If we're going to tell someone's whole life story, tell the victim's story too. Remember who they were. Remember their family. Remember the life they should have had.

Don't make the victim the footnote.

Listen LINDA! Hard Didn’t Just Get Invented

You ever notice when you tell somebody something that might actually help them—advice from your own life, something you struggled with, figured out, and did to better yourself—the first response is, “Well, it was easier back then.”

That’s bullshit.

It wasn’t easier. It was different.

If it had been easy for me, I wouldn’t have had to figure out how to overcome it in the first place. I didn’t magically get handed a life with no obstacles just because it happened 10, 20, or 30 years ago. I had bills. I had responsibilities. I had kids. I had setbacks. I had times when I didn’t know how in the hell I was going to make something work. And somehow, I figured it out.

Were things cheaper? Some things were. You know what else was cheaper? My paycheck.

Did we have different opportunities? Sure. We also didn’t have half the resources people have today. There wasn’t an app for everything. You couldn’t Google how to do something, apply for 20 jobs from your couch, work remotely, have groceries delivered, start a side business online, or find a YouTube video showing you step-by-step how to do practically anything.

Every generation has advantages the generation before it didn’t have, and every generation gets handed a brand-new pile of problems to go with them.

That’s life.

So when somebody who has already climbed over an obstacle tells you what worked for them, maybe instead of immediately explaining why you can’t possibly do it because they had it easier, listen to what they’re actually saying. Their exact solution may not fit your life perfectly. Adjust it. Change it. Find the modern-day version of it.

But don’t dismiss the lesson just because it came from a different time.

Sometimes “it was easier back then” really means, “I don’t want to hear that fixing this might require me to do something hard.”

Times change. Circumstances change. The details change.

But hard has always been hard. And excuses have always been easier.

The Math Ain’t Mathing

I’m sorry, but I have several people on my feed selling different get rich type things, so I’m just gonna say it. If you’re constantly on social media telling people how to get rich and achieve “financial freedom,” eventually people are going to look at your life and realize the math ain’t mathing.

You don’t have to actually be rich to look successful, but if you’re selling wealth, there should eventually be some evidence that what you’re selling works. If you’re still working a regular job, living in a rental, driving the same cars and using the same old technology while telling everyone else how much money your “investments” are making—people are going to start questioning it.

And you can only use “I’m paying off debt” for so long. At some point, if this opportunity is making the kind of money you claim it is, something should change.

There’s nothing wrong with working a job. There’s nothing wrong with renting. There’s nothing wrong with not having expensive things. But don’t sell those same people a fantasy of financial freedom when you aren’t living it yourself.

Meanwhile, people who have spent decades working, building careers, saving and investing are buying the cars they want, building their dream homes and enjoying what all those years of work created.

If you’re selling “get rich,” eventually you need to look like it worked.

Otherwise, stop selling the dream and READ THE ROOM.

Some Kind of Dennis Voodoo Shit

I have memories from childhood that make sense to remember. Driving the boat with my dad. Going to Clothes World with my mom. Things that actually happened and were important enough to stick with me.

And then I have THIS one.

I was probably 9 or 10, right around that age when your little world starts getting bigger. I was old enough to venture farther from my own yard, play with more kids on the block, and start meeting the older kids my friends and siblings knew.

There was a boy named Scot who played with my best friend’s brother. Scot had older brothers and sisters, just like I did. One of his brothers was named Dennis, and for some reason, I can still see myself standing there on our block, looking toward their house.

Nothing special was happening. It wasn’t some big childhood moment. As far as I remember, it was just an ordinary day, an ordinary house, and a 9- or 10-year-old girl thinking about absolutely nothing important. Then somebody mentioned his brother. Dennis. And I remember looking toward that house and thinking, **“I don’t like that name.” **That’s it. That is the ENTIRE memory. Nothing happened. Nobody named Dennis traumatized me. 😂 I apparently just stood there, heard the name Dennis, and decided I did NOT like it.

But WHY do I remember that? Think about how many conversations I had as a kid. How many people I met. How many names I heard. How many completely ordinary days came and went that I couldn’t tell you one thing about today. But my brain decided THIS needed permanent storage.

And then, years later… I MARRIED A DENNIS.

Every once in a while, I think about that little girl standing there looking at that house and having that completely random thought. Of ALL the things my brain could have saved from childhood, why that?

Was it coincidence? Was the universe screwing with me? Was 9-year-old me getting some weird little preview of my future? Or was it some kind of voodoo shit that eventually sentenced me to a lifetime with a Dennis? 😂 I have absolutely no idea.

But maybe this is exactly why my blog is called Insignificant Thoughts, because that’s exactly what this was.... One completely insignificant little thought from a little girl standing on her street. It meant absolutely NOTHING at the time. Yet somehow, my brain held onto it for more than 50 years.

And after all these years, I can still picture myself standing there thinking: I don’t like that name.

Apparently, life said…

“You will.”

When the House Goes Quiet

Nobody really prepares you for the day your children grow up and leave. You spend years raising them to become independent adults, and then they have the nerve to actually do it.

For years, I was the center of their little universe. I knew where they were, who they were with, what they ate and usually what they were mad about. “Mom, can you bring me my bloomers?” “What’s for dinner?” “Where are my shoes?” “Do I have to ride with him?” “Tell her to stop!” “If you go somewhere… come and get me!”

The house was loud. Band practice in the garage... and I am talking with a full on drum kit!  Guitar, bass, a cowbell and a friend on a pogo stick! Friends came and went. Someone always needed a ride, food, money or a referee. And while I was busy with all that, childhood was quietly slipping by. Then one leaves, then another, until eventually the last one walks out the door.

They come for dinner and bring spouses, grandchildren, dogs and enough chaos to remind you of the old days. Then they go home—to their own homes, schedules and lives. Exactly what we raised them to have.

What I miss most is the ordinary stuff: everyone asleep under my roof, the door opening after school, the pantry door opening 20 times a day. I  miss being the chauffeur or referee. I miss the children they were.

Then grandchildren come along and, for a little while, the house gets noisy again. There are toys on the floor, little voices in the kitchen and someone wanting a snack five minutes after refusing lunch. Sometimes you catch your own child’s face in your grandchild’s, and it stops you cold. This time, though, you know how fast it goes. So you read one more book, give one more hug and care a whole lot less about the mess. And let them have the snack they want.

There’s also the small pleasure of watching your children become parents. Sooner or later, you hear your own words coming out of their mouths and think, Well, well, well. Look who turned into me.

People say children need wings. Sweet thought, but they’re not birds. We spend nearly two decades building a life around them, then smile proudly while they walk into theirs. And we are proud. We just might cry all the way home. Because while you rejoice in their accomplishments you find sorrow in an ending of your dreams.

Eventually you realize their leaving is proof you did your job. The little people who needed you for everything became adults who built lives of their own. That’s the goal. It just hurts like hell when you succeed.

And if you’re lucky, those children someday bring children of their own through your front door. For a few wonderfully loud hours, there are shoes by the door, toys on the floor and someone hollering, “What’s for dinner?”

Then everyone leaves. The door closes. The house goes quiet. And you finally understand: all those years you thought you were raising children, you were also living the days you would spend the rest of your life missing.

Everybody Needs Money. Unfortunately, I’m Everybody.

When everyone around you seems to need something, how do you stay on task and just take care of yourself? I’m not talking about needing a favor or somebody needing a shoulder to cry on. I’m talking about money. Because it seems like everybody needs money.

Somebody needs help with a bill. Somebody needs a little extra. Somebody has an unexpected expense. Somebody needs this or that. And while I genuinely wish I could help everybody, there is one small problem: I don’t have money for everybody.

I’m trying to make responsible decisions with what I have. I have my own bills, my own plans and my own future to think about. I can’t keep reaching into my pocket every time someone else comes up short.

And honestly, that’s hard to say sometimes. When you love people, you want to help. You don’t want to be the person who says, “Sorry, I can’t.” But at some point, you have to realize that helping everyone else financially can leave you needing help yourself. I am not a bank. I don’t have a vault in the backyard. There isn’t a money tree growing behind the shed that I forgot to mention.

So I’m learning that it’s okay to say, “I can’t.” Not because I don’t care or because I don’t want good things for you. I simply have to take care of my own household, too. Because if I give away everything I have trying to help everybody else, who’s going to help me?  Everyone I know is broke! lol.

I'm Just Talking to Myself on the Internet 😂

Not many people visit my blog, and that's perfectly fine because I don't really have it listed for public viewing. It's a personal thing I do for fun, for therapy, and kind of like a diary. Only I'm not going to tell you what I had for lunch or that I went to Walmart and bought toilet paper. Although, depending on the day, that might be the most exciting thing that happened. 😂 I write about my experiences, my memories, my opinions, and whatever else my brain decides needs to be put into words. I love to write, and I love documenting the things that happen in my life. It's a way for me to get things out of my head, sort through my thoughts, and occasionally get something off my chest without making someone sit through a three-hour conversation about it. You're welcome! I like voicing my opinions, even if nobody agrees with them, and honestly, it doesn't make much difference to me whether ten people read what I write or ten thousand. I'm not trying to become famous, make money, or become the next big thing on the internet. Lord knows the world has enough people trying to do that already. I do this because I enjoy it. It's my little corner of the internet where I can write what I want, how I want, and nobody has to read a single word unless they choose to. I also like having a record of my life, my thoughts, and the things I've experienced. Someday, I can look back and remember what I was thinking at this particular stage of my life, assuming I can remember where I put the password to get into the blog. And to those of you who do take the time to read it, I appreciate you more than you know. I realize you have approximately a million other things you could be doing, so the fact that you make an effort to stay connected to me through my ramblings means something. I may mostly be writing for myself, but it's nice knowing a few of you are along for the ride. Just don't expect daily updates on what I had for breakfast. Unless something really interesting happens to the toast.

From Stay-at-Home Mom to In-Home Daycare Owner

There are a lot of moms who WANT to stay home and raise their own kids but still need to bring money into the house.

So here’s an option people overlook: in-home daycare.

And before anybody says, “Oh, I could babysit a few kids!”

STOP.

I didn’t say babysit.

I said run a DAYCARE.

There’s a difference.

Depending on your state’s rules and the ages of your own children and the children in your care, you may be able to care for several children in your home. If you had seven paying children at $200 a week, that’s $1,400 a week GROSS. Even six would be $1,200.

And in many areas, $200 a week is still less than what parents are paying for childcare.

But here’s the part people need to understand:

It WILL be a job.

If you want this to actually make money and last, you need two mindsets: a business mindset and a teacher mindset.

The business side means contracts, set tuition, payment policies, hours, vacation days, taxes, insurance, recordkeeping and following whatever licensing or childcare regulations apply where you live. You also need to understand which legitimate business expenses may be deductible instead of assuming everything in your house suddenly becomes a tax write-off.

And you HAVE to enforce your policies.

If tuition is due Friday, it’s due Friday. If you close at 5:30, you close at 5:30. You cannot run a successful business with a different rule for every family.

Then there’s the teacher side.

These children shouldn’t just be sitting in your living room watching TV all day because their parents are paying you to “watch them.”

Have a schedule. Plan activities. Read books. Do art. Teach colors, numbers, letters, manners and independence. Feed them properly. Give them a routine. Keep your home clean and organized.

Make parents feel like their child is getting something GOOD from being there.

Do that and word gets around.

Good childcare is ALWAYS valuable because parents need someone who is dependable, trustworthy and actually likes working with children.

And one of the biggest benefits? Your own children are right there with you.

You can be present for their childhood AND build an income.

But don’t go into it thinking, “I get to stay home.”

No.

You get to WORK from home.

There is a BIG difference.

Treat it like babysitting and you’ll probably burn out.

Treat it like a business, run your home like a classroom, and take pride in the care you provide?

You might be surprised at what you can build right inside your own house.

And if you’re seriously thinking about starting an in-home daycare and have questions, leave me a comment. I spent 34 years in childcare, including running an in-home daycare before owning two childcare centers. If I can point you in the right direction or answer something from experience, I’m happy to help.