My Wall of Faces

Some people collect trophies. They have shelves full of plaques, awards, certificates, and shiny little reminders that say, Look what I did. Look what I accomplished.

And don’t get me wrong, that’s wonderful. Hard work deserves to be honored.

But me? I collect faces.

My trophy case isn’t in an office. It isn’t behind glass. It doesn’t need dusting with a special cloth or polishing so it shines just right.

I show my faces off in a hallway in my home.

It’s lined with family pictures — babies with toothless grins, kids with messy hair, school pictures with questionable bangs, holiday photos where at least one person looks annoyed, and those beautiful, imperfect snapshots that tell the story of us.

Every house I’ve lived in, I’ve made room for that hallway.

Because those faces are my awards for my life.

They are proof of love, time, laughter, chaos, growth, and survival. They are my pride and joy. They are the legacy that keeps getting bigger, louder, and better with every new picture added.

Some people display medals.

I display my people.

And honestly, I think a wall of faces  is better than any trophy case..

Thunder Season Is Not Good for My Anxiety

I have come to the conclusion that I am not emotionally equipped to be a sports fan.

People think watching a basketball game is relaxing. Those people have clearly never spent three hours pacing their living room while their team is down by 18 points with six minutes left in the fourth quarter.

I don’t watch Thunder games.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

What I actually do is sit in another room pretending I’m not watching the game while constantly checking my phone every thirty-seven seconds.

“How are they doing?”

“Who’s ahead?”

“How much time is left?”

“Why did I look?”

My husband will be sitting in the living room watching the game while I’m wandering around the house like a nervous hostage negotiator.

Sometimes I’ll turn the TV on. Then the other team immediately goes on an 8-0 run.

Obviously that’s my fault. 

So I turn it off.

Then the Thunder score six straight points.

You’re welcome, Oklahoma City.

By playoff season, my anxiety reaches levels that should probably require medical supervision.

Every possession feels life-changing. Every missed free throw feels personal.

Every review by the referees takes approximately seventeen years off my life expectancy.

And don’t even get me started on Game 7.

Game 7 isn’t a basketball game.

Game 7 is a three-hour cardiac stress test disguised as entertainment.

The players look calm.

The coaches look focused.

Meanwhile, I’m over here stress-eating snacks I wasn’t even hungry for and considering whether I should just go to bed and find out the score tomorrow.

I never do.

Because what if they win? Then I miss it.

What if they lose? Then I have to suffer through it in real time with everyone else.

It’s a lose-lose situation.

The worst part is that I know this happens every single year. Every year I tell myself I’m going to be more relaxed. I’m going to enjoy the game. I’m going to remember it’s just basketball.

Then tip-off happens and suddenly I’m one bad possession away from updating my will.

The funny thing is, if the Thunder actually win the championship, I’ll celebrate like I contributed. As if Coach called me personally and said, “Raven, we couldn’t have done this without your pacing, nervous snacking, and refusal to watch the fourth quarter.”

So tonight I’ll be doing what I always do.

Pretending I’m not watching.

Checking the score every thirty-seven seconds.

Blaming myself for every turnover.

Taking credit for every comeback.

And reminding myself that sports are supposed to be fun.

At least that’s what I’ve heard.

Why My Husbands Pants are Full of Holes!

We’ve been looking at floor plans for our new house, and my husband Dennis and I are currently locked in a battle over 200 square feet. Honestly, my nerves are completely fried over it.

To him, it’s just a spare bedroom and a slightly larger pantry. To me, it’s the difference between a peaceful retirement and total domestic chaos. We have 12—yes, twelve—active grandkids who love to sleep over. I desperately need a dedicated zone where they can play, watch TV, and crash without turning the entire house into a toy-filled obstacle course.

Beyond that, I need a craft room. Being retired, having a space for my hobbies isn't a luxury; it’s a survival tactic. Right now, every time Dennis asks me to patch a hole in his pants, I have to drag my heavy sewing machine out of hiding, hook it all up, and commandeer a table. The result? His pants stay drafty a whole lot longer than they should. If the man wants intact trousers, I need a dedicated room for my sewing!

I’m so tired of cramming two completely different needs into one tiny space, or squeezing my craft supplies into a room the size of a broom closet. And let’s be real from a financial standpoint: an extra bedroom makes future resale an absolute breeze.

I agree that we shouldn't spend a fortune more than what we got for our last house, but surely 200 square feet is a small price to pay to save my sanity—and Dennis's wardrobe. I just want this settled so I can finally stop stressing and start packing, planning.

When Electronics Sabotage Your Budget

We will call her Leafy Logi

Just when I decided to buckle down and embrace my frugal era, the universe decided it was the perfect time for my computer mouse to bite the dust. It is incredibly frustrating having to shell out hard-earned cash just to replace something that I already owned, simply because it decided to stop doing its one job. It isn't even about the price tag—it is the sheer principle of wanting my electronics to survive longer than a fruit fly. I genuinely considered just toughing it out with the laptop trackpad, but it took exactly five minutes of chaotic navigation to realize my entire life revolves around a functioning scroll wheel. So, after reluctantly parting with twenty dollars, I am back in business with a brand new clicker, and honestly, the only thing keeping me from holding a grudge against the tech gods is that this replacement happens to look incredibly cute on my desk.