This is Racism

In the 1970s, I grew up in a diverse neighborhood where the doors were always open. We were typical Gen X kids, running in and out of each other's homes regardless of race. We addressed every mother as "Mrs." and knew that if we misbehaved, any of them had the authority to discipline us.

One afternoon, while playing at my friend Greg's house, his sister's friend stopped by with a puppy. I was nine years old. Without thinking, I squatted down to pet the dog. Suddenly, a sharp slap across my hand knocked me off balance.

"Get your white hand off my dog!" she snapped.

Greg’s sister rushed to help me up, scolding her friend, "You be nice to her, she's just a little girl!" But I was too confused to listen. I stared at my hand, trying to figure out what was wrong with it. I looked at my friend’s hand, then down at my own, and finally at the dog.

Then, it clicked. She hadn't hit me because I was rough with the puppy; she hit me because I was white. My parents had always taught me that we were all the same on the inside, but that day, a teenager taught me a painful lesson about the reality of racism.

OKC NBA CHAMPS! 2025

OKC won the Championship last week, and somehow, I’m completely exhausted. Why exhausted, you ask? Well, it’s not like I left my couch or anything. Instead, I’m wiped out from watching them play. It was INTENSE. Even Dennis couldn’t handle it. He got up and started doing chores—actual, productive chores—as if scrubbing the microwave would somehow improve our odds. Meanwhile, I barricaded myself with headphones, watching Friends on loop, occasionally peeking at the score like it was a horror movie jump scare.

If we were winning? Deep breath, back to Rachel and Ross. Losing? Cue full-blown panic...while still watching Friends. (Apparently, my coping mechanism is sitcom-induced stress layering. Highly recommend.) Dennis even declared, “I’m so over basketball! I just need it to be OVER so I can relax!”

Same, Dennis. Same.

Apparently, we weren’t the only frazzled ones. A few friends confessed they felt the same stress spiral. We even considered going to a game—but when we checked ticket prices, we laughed so hard we nearly pulled a muscle. They had a parade afterward with over 500,000 people. Five. Hundred. Thousand. Do you know how many that is? That’s, like, 499,997 too many for me. I barely tolerate three other people on the same grocery aisle as me, so a crowd that size? Hard pass. Anyway, it’s been a wild ride, and honestly, I think we all need a nap. Congrats OKC and as always.... THUNDER UP!

 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