Tag: family

The Garage Isn’t Done — But I’m Still Proud

In 2025, I started a mission to declutter. It started well, and I did manage to get through quite a lot. My goal was to have a usable two-car garage by the end of the year. But as of today, the 28th, the garage is still a one-car garage and one cluttered space.

The boxes are still there, the chandeliers we took down are still there, and so is the mess. As I’m writing this, I realize that I am my own worst enemy. Instead of being happy with what I achieved, I’m focusing on the glass being half empty.

Yes, my mission wasn’t completed, but we need to celebrate small achievements sometimes. We cleared one big shelf in the garage and donated many unused items. I finally cleared out the bathroom vanities in preparation for the bathroom remodels we’re planning for 2026 — I even chose the backsplash.

I went through all the prescription and over-the-counter medications in the house and tossed the expired ones. I also sent all the GLP injections I had to the proper disposal area.

I looked through my makeup, tossed the old products, bought some new ones (of course), and simplified my already simple routine.

We also made progress in our living room. We got a new sofa, built a cute corner library, and started working on the plants we love in that space. It’s not finished yet, but it’s getting there.

This year included both great events and challenges that affected our progress. Our middle child got married, and shortly after, my husband had a seizure. That put all decluttering on pause as we tried to understand what went wrong and adjust to our new lifestyle.

For 2026, my goal is to continue this mission — to reclaim a quarter of the garage and finish working on the office and all the paperwork stored in boxes. I’m trying to keep my goals manageable by breaking them into one small assignment per week. I’ll plan ahead, write everything down, and track my progress. And if I don’t complete everything, that will be okay too.

Here’s hoping 2026 brings fewer challenges and more balance.

All the Dogs I Loved Before

All the Dogs I Loved Before

Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson sang a duet in 1984 about all the girls they loved before.
 In my humble opinion, the lyrics should change to all the dogs I loved before.

This morning, while I was driving the Passenger Prince, we saw a Wheaten Terrier. Our first “together” dog was a Wheaten. By pure coincidence, this week also marks the anniversary of our Wheaten’s passing.

Our Wheaten—the Wonder Dog—was the Prince’s dog, and I was the spare human. The Wonder Dog was wicked smart and an incredible family dog. The Prince still talks about him as if he were an angel. The Wonder Dog had many shenanigans and loved to one-up the Prince all the time. He was great—but the Prince tends to forget that the Wonder Dog once broke a window when his arch nemesis walked by, or how he managed to reach the counter (despite his short stature) and eat all the bread. He was our first counter-surfer, and we learned a lot from his antics. We had to completely dog-proof the house!

Coincidentally, a couple of weeks ago was the “Gotcha Day” for our second dog together. She was amazing—my dog—and he was the spare human that time. She died unexpectedly, but we were fortunate to have her with us for six wonderful years.

We mourned both dogs deeply. I still cry when I think about them.
Our third “together” dog is our latest—she’s a heart healer and pure joy. She’s a rescue, and on many days, I think she rescued us from sadness.

Seeing that Wheaten this morning made us both smile. As we drove to work, we felt happy and full of memories. By the time I dropped the Prince off, we had already agreed: our next dog will be a Wheaten.

Afterward, I checked my Spotify playlist and added Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson’s duet—because, after all, it really is about all the dogs I loved before.

Navigating Health Challenges: A Journey with the Passenger Prince

The Passenger Prince and the Scissors

My Passenger Prince woke up this morning with a spring in his step and went straight for the scissors — gladly, and with purpose. Such great enthusiasm for scissors hasn’t been seen in our family since he cut the umbilical cord for each of our kids.

The Prince had been tethered to an EEG machine for the last three days on our never-ending quest to figure out what happened to his brain — and why he had a seizure at fifty-nine.

On Friday, we went to get the EEG machine. The technician placed the electrodes all over his head and wrapped it like a mummy. Luckily, it was Halloween, so at least for a day his appearance didn’t draw any strange looks.

The Prince was confined to the house under strict instructions: no showers, no sweating. One day was meant to be an easy “just-watch-TV” kind of day; the next was supposed to “engage his brain.” So, I found some math quizzes online and left them for him. He also started a puzzle that will never be completed and tackled a few brain teasers to keep those neurons firing.

My Passenger Prince is usually on the move, so keeping him confined was no small feat.

Three nights of a camera observing him sleep added to the “fun” — for both of us. He had a hard time sleeping with all the cables, and I had a hard time sleeping with the camera’s night-light mode glowing in the room. I like to sleep in complete darkness.

We are both tired — him from the uncomfortable sleep, and me from the lack of it. We do have a guest room with a perfectly good bed, but it’s not our comfy bed, and so we endured.

And now, we wait again. Ten days until we get the results, and then another neurology appointment to see what’s next. Maybe this time, we’ll get some answers.

Until then, we’ll keep going — and “enjoy” our daily drives, grateful for small comforts and hopeful for clarity ahead.

Even Iron Breaks

My mom called me an Iron Lady this week.
I come from a long line of strong Iron Ladies — not by choice, but by necessity and circumstance.

It’s been a tough week: an ER visit, a mountain of doctor’s appointments and medical procedures, all while still working and trying desperately to manage everything else around me.

Restful sleep? Not an option. I woke up every hour to make sure my other half was okay.

The house looks like Pompeii — everything is exactly the way it was when I got the call that he was taken to the emergency room. Frozen in place: the dishes, the kitchen counter, and most of the house.

I’ve been functioning on a need-only basis, literally running on fumes.

And today, it finally hit me: I’m tired. I’m exhausted — physically and emotionally.

I told my mom, “Even iron corrodes and breaks. Sure, it’s strong, but it doesn’t have limitless power.”

I also joked, “I probably need some WD-40 at this point,” and she laughed.

But truthfully?
I don’t want to be an Iron Lady.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to be angry.

But I can’t.
At least, not right now.

When Fireworks No Longer Spark Joy

When Fireworks No Longer Spark Joy

The Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite U.S. holidays. For years, I’d buy my kids those iconic Old Navy 4th of July T-shirts, and we all loved the fireworks, parades, and festive fun that came with the day.

But several years ago, my love for fireworks changed.

The last Fourth of July I could still hear was during the height of the COVID pandemic. That year, it felt like everyone in the neighborhood had their own personal fireworks stash. The noise was relentless, and the dogs were not happy.

And “not happy” is an understatement—they were terrified. The fireworks didn’t stop for days. Our Airedale, Sage, went from a dog who loved long walks to one who would only go outside for the bare minimum, then rush back inside immediately.

This pattern continued for several years. As the holiday approached, so did Sage’s anxiety. What was once a cheerful, barky dog became increasingly withdrawn. Last year, just a day before the Fourth, she passed away from a heart attack. We believe the ongoing stress from the fireworks played a role.

Sage wasn’t alone—our other dogs hated them too. Every year, we’d shut all the windows, crank up the TVs and radios, turn on white noise machines—anything to help calm the pack. We even timed walks carefully to avoid dusk or random fireworks going off early.

For the past five years, someone in the family always stayed home with the dogs on the night of the Fourth. This year, that person was me. My husband and adult son were biking through Europe, and the other kids had plans. I was happy to stay home and keep the dogs company.

I did manage to attend the neighborhood parade, which was a joy. Seeing kids with their decorated bikes, full of excitement and laughter, brought back good memories.

But then night came—and it was miserable.

The fireworks didn’t stop until 1 a.m. Even without my hearing aids, I could hear them. The poor schnauzer was inconsolable, hiding in the shower or buried in the closet under my clothes. Shuki, our Airedale, wasn’t doing much better. None of us slept until silence finally arrived around 2 a.m.

As I tried to comfort the dogs, I couldn’t stop thinking about veterans and others with PTSD. How do they cope with this night? Fireworks are beautiful, yes—but they’re also loud, jarring, and triggering for many.

So I find myself wondering: should cities still sponsor fireworks displays? Is there a better way? Could we move fireworks to more remote, open areas? Or use drones and silent light shows in more densely populated neighborhoods?

I’m pondering all of this today, sleep-deprived, with two dogs still glued to my side.#FourthOfJuly, #PetSafety, #FireworksDebate, #PTSDawareness, #DogLovers.

They Found Me. My Dog’s Still Free.

I recently had to change a picture on my blog—not because of copyright issues, but for privacy reasons.

It was an old photo of me, one I really liked. It showed my face clearly, and it was a genuinely good picture. But the thing is, I’m a private and somewhat shy person. I work in a customer service role, and most of our customers live in the same area I do. That means I often run into them—at the gym, the grocery store, out walking the dogs, or even at dinner.

I try to stay as under-the-radar as possible: hat, sunglasses, sitting in the back, and minding my own business. Still, people have stopped me in public before to ask work-related questions. I usually manage to steer the conversation away, but there was one time a parent stopped me in the feminine product aisle at Target, with her teenage son, to ask me about work. My daughter, a teen at the time, and the boy were both so mortified that it was honestly kind of hilarious.

Recently, my anonymous pseudonym somehow ended up on corporate’s radar—again. There’s no mention of my name, employer, or location on the blog, but corporate still managed to find it. They didn’t like what I wrote. Ironically, they didn’t dispute anything I said; they just wanted me to know they were watching.

So this past weekend turned into a whirlwind of blocking people on social media, locking down my LinkedIn (which doesn’t even list my employer), and generally trying to cut off access to “Big Brother.” Unfortunately, that meant taking down the really good picture of myself, too.

The silver lining? My dog’s profile is still public.

#DigitalPrivacy #OnlineAnonymity #PrivacyMatters #LivingIncognito #BoundariesMatter #OfflineIsOkay #WorkLifeBalance #CorporateCulture
#OutsideOfOfficeHours#NotAtWork#FoundByCorporate#LifeBeyondWor#BlogLife
#WriterLife#PersonalBlog#RealTalk#WritingThroughIt#TrueStory

More Than a Birthday: The Power of Friendship and Support

I had a great day yesterday, as my group of friends celebrated a major milestone: one of our own turned sixty! Instead of going out for drinks or dinner—which would have been the easy route—we opted for a day trip. The birthday girl chose the Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens for our special day together.

The Huntington Library had been on my to-do list for years. I’ve lived in the area for the last 30 years and had never made the time to visit. The place is simply beautiful, and on a typical Southern California December day, it was hot—77 degrees in December! We had a lovely time, enjoying a private tour, a delicious lunch, and some good coffee.

But what really made the day special wasn’t just the fact that we were celebrating a birthday—it was the fact that we were together as a group. We’ve been friends for more than fifteen years, and we come from very diverse backgrounds, with different political views, life stages, and experiences. Despite our differences, we manage to celebrate each other and be there for one another.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, we became each other’s “bubble group,” offering support through both happy and difficult times. Luckily, our husbands get along too, which makes everything even more enjoyable!

We make sure to carve out time for each other in our busy lives. We try to check in weekly, and we’ve established our own “headquarters” at a local coffee shop. What makes our friendship work is that, despite our differences, we respect each other’s viewpoints and cherish each other in every other way.

They say that having strong friendships and a solid support system is one of the most important factors for happiness in life, and I truly believe that. Surround yourself with good friends—friends who will be there not only for the good and easy days but especially for the bad ones, and for every milestone you experience along the way.

Laughing at Parenthood: Dreams, Gas Tanks, and Growing Up

I got an angry phone call from my daughter today. Not that this is unusual, but this time it was funny. Apparently, she dreamt that I took her car without telling her, changed all of her settings, and then left it in the middle of the street. I asked her if I also left her gas tank empty, and she said, “No.”

During my kids’ teenage years, when we had only two cars, my car would frequently be returned to me with all the settings messed up and with an empty gas tank. So, hearing her complain about this in a dream felt like semi payback, even if it was just in her subconscious.

I’m thinking of giving her suggestions for future dreams—like leaving the kitchen clean and coming back to find the sink full, or folding and ironing laundry, only to discover it smooshed because someone sat on it. I could also suggest dreaming of empty containers in the refrigerator and pantry, so when she thinks there’s still milk or butter, all she finds is an empty container and is left with black coffee instead.

Social media is full of funny stories and skits about parents getting payback for their kids’ shenanigans once they become adults and parents themselves. And truthfully, it is funny. But watching our kids become adults is a whole different experience.

One of my gym friends showed me pictures of her new grandbaby and mentioned how enlightening it is to see our kids as parents. She said she never knew how her son would be as a dad, and it was awe-inspiring to witness the transition into full adulthood.

I haven’t experienced that yet, but I’m looking forward to it. My middle child is getting married in six months, and I can’t wait to see her as a wife and, eventually, a mother. Oh, and I really can’t wait to hear her complain about the food missing from the fridge and the empty gas tank in her car.