Don’t be average, be savage!

Take Five or…. Take a Sunday!

Nature has a knack for serving up what you need, exactly when you need it. For me, it was a much-needed pause after a whirlwind of chaos. You see, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends since February, prepping for a center accreditation. Sounds simple when summed up in one sentence, right? But when you’re managing an 11,000-square-foot building, 177 students, 30 staff members, and an actual life outside of work, it’s anything but.

Here’s a snapshot of my days during those three months of madness: wake up, work by 10, grind until 6, head home, make dinner, and then spend the night buried in accreditation paperwork until four in the morning. Sleep? Overrated. Then rinse and repeat. For three solid months. (Yes, I may have lost my mind somewhere along the way.)

I even scheduled an early accreditation date, thinking I’d be clever and rip the bandage off sooner. By Wednesday, we’d had our big visit. By Thursday, my body had apparently decided, “That’s enough out of you,” and I was so sick I needed a doctor-ordered intervention. My immune system waved the white flag, and honestly, I didn’t blame it. I was worried I wouldn’t make it through Friday’s after school campout, but somehow,with sheer determination and a good dose of an antibiotic, I was ready to tackle Fridays camp out!

The campout turned out to be exactly what I needed! It was all about good vibes, a gentle breeze, and a comfy hammock under a canopy of trees. My "job" (and I use that term loosely) was to make sure everyone else was actually doing theirs—which, coincidentally, I could manage just fine while lounging in said hammock and playing an intense round of Bop It with a friend. I thought scheduling a campout right after accreditation prep was a monumentally dumb idea. Yet somehow, it allowed me to slow down and a brief reset.

Saturday came, and Dennis and I when to our granddaughters’ dance recital, followed by a joint lunch-dinner celebration for my youngest son’s 30th birthday.

And today? It’s raining, which feels like nature breaking out her soothing "you’ve earned this" playlist. All I want to do is curl up with a good book and soak in the peace, but I did household chores that I haven't done is months, swept the pool spending some time outside and then made a yummy meal. I think without Friday, I would have been on Empty going into next week.

What "Me TIme"?

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. S

Highty Ho, Linus!

 Why do I always end up with the "Linus" neighbor? You know that little kid from Peanuts? The one who seems to carry his own weather system of dirt, a perpetual whirlwind of grime that follows his every step? Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s my neighbors spirit animal. We always seem to attract that neighbor RIGHT NEXT DOOR TO US that acts like their yard is auditioning for a post-apocalyptic film! It doesn’t matter where I move. It could be a quaint little town or a cozy suburban street, but sure enough, I’ll land right next to the person who views "mowing the lawn" as an optional lifestyle choice.

Their yard is either a jungle of knee-high weeds or a graveyard for broken-down furniture and mystery items that probably contain at least one raccoon family. Meanwhile, my yard looks like it could grace the cover of Better Homes & Gardens! We keep the grass trimmed, the flowerbeds pristine, and the whole space squeaky clean. Yet, here I am, living diagonally across from someone who seems to think their house is better suited as a storage unit than as, you know, a place to live.

But you know what? Maybe it’s fine. After all, they’re the ones creating the perfect rodent and snake bed-and-breakfast. I just wish it didn’t come with a front-row seat to Wild Kingdom every time I open my curtains!

My Curtains are Closing

Hosting a holiday event is like running a circus, except the elephants are replaced with screaming toddlers, and the trapeze artists are juggling deviled eggs instead of flaming torches. Dennis tells me I’m over-the-top, and honestly, he might be right—but is it a crime to want to create magic for the people I cherish?

The thing is, this “magic” doesn’t just happen. It starts weeks (yes, weeks) before, with frantic trips to the store for pastel-colored Easter goodies and Pinterest-inspired decorations. Then there's the food frenzy. Planning, buying, preparing, all while pretending I’m a contestant on “Top Chef.” Oh, and cleaning the house? Twice. Once before the event to impress the guests, and once after because toddlers and grown-ups alike treat my living room like a war zone. It’s exhausting, chaotic, and somehow still worth it.

But here’s my plea to anyone lucky enough to have someone in their life who puts on this kind of production for you and your family—be grateful. Don’t just shrug it off as "their thing." For some, this is labor they willingly take on because they know it might be the only slice of magic their little ones get. For others, it’s a role they’ve played for decades, but the curtain is starting to fall.

And, honestly? I think my curtain’s closing. I’m tired of cueing the orchestra and pulling strings from backstage. My desire to be “the magic maker” has fizzled, right alongside my patience for unraveling tangled holiday lights and scrubbing mystery stains that somehow got on the ceiling. This decade feels different. It feels like a fleeting window where my health is good, my energy is decent, and my desire to simply enjoy the show is stronger than my ambition to run it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still show up with my casserole dish and a half-hearted attempt at an artfully wrapped gift. But the days of being the wizard behind the curtain? I’m officially throwing in the wand. It’s time to watch the magic without worrying where it’s coming from. And honestly, that sounds like the best holiday gift I could give myself.