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.