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Dining with Dogs
When I was a kid and living at home, evening meals held in a formal dining room were the norm. Things have changed drastically, wherein formal dining rooms are a thing of the past. Everyone seems to prefer an informal way of living, such as eating at counters, in front of the TV, and in the car on the way to an event. My mom would set the table with a cloth tablecloth, breakable dishes versus plastic, matching silverware, and to top everything off, we ate by candlelight. This didn’t seem odd, and we enjoyed engaging in discussions of our days and events. -
Candlelight & Chicken Nuggets
Ah, family dinners. That magical time of day when everyone was supposed to gather around the table, hold hands, and share stories while eating a well-balanced, home-cooked meal.Yeah… that never happened.
When my kids were little, I tried. Really, I did. I dreamt of Norman Rockwell moments. But instead, dinner became a nightly episode of “Who Hates What?”
One kid didn’t like vegetables. Another refused to eat meat. At one point, the boys would only eat broccoli and cauliflower if they were doused in ketchup, which is a crime against both vegetables and condiments. If I served fish, someone cried. If I made meatloaf, someone gagged. Chicken nuggets were the only universally accepted food group.
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Love was Served Nightly
For as long as I can remember, our family sat down to a family dinner every night. Even when we worked after school, we still managed to sit down together for our evening meal. Dad was a route salesman back then, and he would still be home every night. He had to make the post office mail deadline for his daily orders, so we ate after this task was completed. -
TV Dinners and Tiny Toasts
Family dinner has always been more of an idea I admired than a daily ritual I mastered. Growing up, we did eat together—just not quite like the storybook versions my mom would recount.
As a kid, we gathered around the kitchen table in our designated spots. I sat by the dishwasher, Michelle claimed the corner by the windows, Dad parked himself by the door, and Mom sat with her back to the TV… the TV that was on. We always ate later in the evening, so we watched our shows—around her. Mom was not amused. She’d try to make conversation, valiantly attempting to ignore the laugh track behind her, but she didn’t have much success. -
Vision Pending
The first time I remember feeling a lack of vision, I was a kid.
Not little-little—but old enough to notice that other people seemed to have answers I didn’t. Adults would ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and I would feel a familiar tightening in my chest. Not because I didn’t have interests—I had plenty—but because although I could be or do “anything” I wanted, that wasn’t maybe what girls did.
There was always a reason. The political climate wasn’t right. The college was too far away. That wasn’t practical. That wasn’t what girls did. No one ever slammed a door shut, but although I could be “anything”, did I want to be the ONLY girl?
When options disappear early, certainty starts to feel comforting. Not limiting—relieving.
I think that’s one of the reasons I was so drawn to Christian fundamentalism as a teenager and young adult. It offered something deeply appealing to a girl with too many questions and very little permission to explore them: certainty.You didn’t need a vision.
You didn’t need to figure it out.
You just needed to follow the rules.Everything was laid out in black and white—the expectations of leaders, pastors, prophets, apostles, Scripture. The path was clear. And while people still talked a lot about “where your heart was,” the plan itself was already written.
One of the clearest memories I have is from a summer youth leadership training conference. We were asked to write out a five- or ten-year plan for our lives. I don’t remember which. What I do remember is sitting there, pen in hand, with absolutely no idea what my plan was.
But I did know the right answer.
I wrote what I was supposed to want:
To be a wife.
A mother.
To support my husband.
To raise children in the church.
To be a Proverbs 31 woman.That vision didn’t require imagination. It didn’t require risk. It didn’t even require much decision-making. I didn’t need to know where I was going or what I was doing—only that if I followed God’s plan, everything would turn out okay.
That was the promise.
It turns out, that wasn’t meant to be my path.
Later, when it came time to decide what I wanted to do in college, I did what many people of my generation did: I took a test. The test said teacher. I said, “Great. Sign me up.” Problem solved.
For years, when anyone asked what I was going to do, I had an answer ready. I was going to be a teacher. And while I liked teaching—and was good at it—I also knew, quietly, that it wouldn’t be forever.
There was always a sense that something else was waiting.
After time in the family business, earning my master’s degree, and returning to teaching, that feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger. So when circumstances in 2019 didn’t just suggest retirement but actively forced my hand, I surprised myself.
I was willing.
I was happy.
I was relieved.Finally, I thought, I’ll get to figure out my vision.
And I did.
I decided to become a life coach.
That part came with clarity, intention, and a genuine sense of yes. But just because you find your vision doesn’t mean the path forward suddenly becomes smooth or simple.
Which brings me to now.
I’m still trying to bring that vision to life. I’m still working toward it. And lately, if I’m being honest, the obstacle hasn’t been confusion…so much as… me.
Sometimes goals and dreams don’t stall because of a lack of vision. Sometimes they stall because of hesitation, self-doubt, distraction, or fear dressed up as practicality. Sometimes the vision is clear—but walking toward it requires more courage than standing still.
So maybe what I’m experiencing right now isn’t a lack of vision after all.
Maybe it’s the uncomfortable middle.
The place where certainty no longer does the work for me.
The place where I don’t get a script.
The place where I have to trust myelf.If that’s true, then maybe this isn’t failure or regression. Maybe it’s simply another version of becoming—one where the answers aren’t handed down, but slowly built.
And for now, that will have to be enough.
Vision pending.
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Confessions of Serial Side Hussler
At some point in my life, I got it into my head that the next big thing was always just one starter kit away.It started, as these things often do, with admiration. Some women I respected—smart, capable, magnetic women—invited me to join Origami Owl and TEAM. I didn’t join because I was easily swayed. I joined because I believed in them. If they saw something in it—and maybe in me—then surely it was worth a shot.
Origami Owl was all about lockets filled with tiny charms that told your life story. Mine told the story of high hopes, a shrinking savings account, and way too many charms shaped like flip-flops and coffee cups.
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A Journey from Following to Visioning
I recently had the opportunity to write a vision statement, a personal declaration of what I want from life, built around what I would truly love. I’m exploring my passions, trying to discover what would help me create a life of purpose and joy. -
Motivated. . . Against My Will
I had a vision. It was called Amway. Who doesn’t want to get rich? Well, friends started to get involved in this new idea to sell the Amway opportunity. They had products that you sold. The key is becoming a member or distributor and recruiting others to do the same. This allows you to build a downline and potentially become extremely wealthy. Once you reach the diamond level, you’ve arrived at your desired destination: wealth without the effort. Your team members, who have signed up under you, are doing the work, and you reap the benefits of their hard work.It’s never framed that way, of course, because who wants to admit that your big dreams might just land you working hard so someone else can get rich?
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The Final Season
This, the new season of my life:It appears this is the final season of my life. Depressing, oh yeah. Come on, I want to live forever. I always say I want to see how this all turns out. I was told that everyone has to leave the party early at some point. It is a reality. Often, I can be heard saying, “I can’t imagine life without me.”
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A Change of Seasons
Some live for bold transformations—grand openings, dramatic exits, big life announcements. Not me. I’m more of a “slow fade into the next thing” kind of gal. Like nature here in the Midwest, my life seems to shift in seasons—quietly, subtly, and sometimes without me even noticing until I’m standing knee-deep in snow, wondering what happened to my flip-flops.I love how our Midwest seasons change slooooowly (yes, with that many o’s). One season melts into the next. Summer doesn’t pack its bags and storm out; it lingers. The days gradually shorten, green leaves blush into the warm golds and reds of autumn, and then flutter to the ground, uncovering winter’s stark branches. In the spring, snowdrops poke through leftover patches of snow in my garden, and redwing blackbirds start shouting from the treetops that summer is just around the corner.
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Seasons of Me
Some people live for summer. Flip-flops, fireflies, and late-night bonfires. Not me. I mean, summer has its place, usually in the outdoors… with the mosquitoes.For me, the seasons have always felt more like moods than months.
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Seasons of the Soul
Having been raised in Wisconsin, I became attached to the change of the seasons. I enjoyed knowing that the weather in each season brought with it expectations of new and fun activities and adventures. As the bleak and monotonous winter gives way to spring, the new birth is all around us. The trees begin to bud, and the early perennials, such as crocuses and daffodils, show off their welcome blooms. -
Anniversary Lessons
Several years ago, I read a magazine article titled “Why Do I Keep Making the Same Dumb Mistakes?” It hit a nerve. I had two failed marriages and one long-term relationship that didn’t work out. That question, Why do I keep doing this?, felt like it was written just for me.So I sat with it.
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Anniversary of Teenage Years
It would have been sixty-three years this year, not to mention the several years of dating before our marriage. We got married on July 6th, 1963, and I swear it was one of the hottest days of the year. -
25 Years and Counting
This summer, Craig and I are celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. We got married on 7/7/00—a date Craig will never forget, mostly because in aviation, “squawking 7700” signals a mid-air emergency that requires immediate attention. Fitting, right?We met on January 31, 1999—Super Bowl weekend. I had just moved to Beaver Dam and separated from my (now ex-)husband, Tom. That night, my friend Bonnie called and asked if I wanted to go out for dinner. I said “yes,” and she immediately replied, “You pick the restaurant, I’ll drive.”
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Sidetracked Anniversary
Thirty years ago, we weren’t writers -we were women with glue guns, glitter, and a dream. The Sidetracked Sisters started as a mom (Sandy), her two daughters (Lisa and me), and her sister (Judy), selling hand-painted crafts in someone’s living room. -
Payback’s a Bitch
I love giving and/or doing surprises. Unfortunately, when you are famous for doing this, you find that those whom you have surprised are waiting in the wings to reciprocate to surprise you.On this one occasion, I had a co-worker who was a blast and a half. I should have expected something coming from her, but, of course, I didn’t.
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Unsolicited Surprises
Ah, surprises. Once upon a time, they meant birthday parties and spontaneous flowers. Now? They’re mostly the kind that pop up in your bathroom mirror, your inbox, or your medical charts. Here’s a list of the little delights midlife has tossed into my lap—unsolicited, un-returnable, and often unwanted… -
Doctor, I’m Dying
Back in 1987, I was working as a corporate trainer at a bank in Oakland, California. On most days, I would commute from Napa, California, with my husband to Walnut Creek, California. He would drop me off at the BART station, and I would catch the train to Oakland. He worked in Walnut Creek so that he could go on to work. The Train came into Downtown Oakland, about a block away from the bank branch where I was working. The train came into a station that was down in the bowels of the earth. There were three layers of escalators to take to reach the street level. -
A Surprise Guest
Back in the day, I had a friend named Lauren. She worked as a traveling special ed teacher, serving children at the Early Learning Center with behavior challenges. She spent a lot of time with two students in my classroom, and over time, we became a great team. We collaborated during the school day and cracked each other up during our breaks.
One afternoon, Lauren told me she was hosting a baby shower for her sister that weekend. She had a funny twist on a classic party game and asked if I’d be willing to play a part. Of course, I said yes. I never turn down a chance to cause a little chaos.You probably know the game: The host walks around with a tray of baby-related items—diaper, pacifier, rash cream—and shows it to the guests. After a minute or so, she covers the tray and passes out paper and pens. Guests try to remember and write down as many items as possible. The person who lists the most wins a prize.
We added a surprise element.
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Ocean Romance
I’ve always found the ocean completely mesmerizing. There’s something about its vastness that makes you feel small in the best possible way. My first glimpse of the sea was in 1970, shortly after we moved to Napa Valley. San Francisco was just a short drive away, and the moment I saw the Bay, I thought: This might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. -
Just Give Me Waves
I just love, love, love the ocean. My last memory of being on the ocean was off the coast of Virginia. We had gone to my son-in-law’s sister’s wedding. We went as a family. When we arrived, I was invited to sit with the ladies and talk. When I walked into the room, before me was this great expanse of windows, and through those windows was a full panoramic view of the ocean. I couldn’t sit still for a minute, excused myself, grabbed my granddaughter, Aubrey, who was about four years old, and headed straight for the ocean. We lay on the bare, warm, wonderful sand, enjoying all the little sand crabs scooting around and diving into their little holes. Then she took a lazy afternoon nap. Aah, the memories of that wonderful ocean lapping up waves and lulling us to sleep. -
Not Really an Ocean Girl
I was born and raised in Wisconsin, where the closest thing to an ocean is a small mud-bottom lake ringed with scrub brush and the neat lawns of lakeside cottages. Although the buffalo carp put up a fun fight, it’s the bullheads that make it all worthwhile—you skin and fillet them, and they’re downright delicious.Over the years, I’ve wandered a bit. I’ve lived in Tennessee and Illinois. I’ve visited the Pacific, waded in the waters of California and Washington, and strolled the sandy stretches of the East Coast. I even dipped my toes in the Mediterranean while in Barcelona, and once took in the fjords of Norway. But every time, no matter how stunning those ocean views, I feel most at home back on my humble Wisconsin lakes.
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Ocean Shm-ocean
People talk about their first ocean experience like it’s some sort of spiritual rebirth.They say things like, “The vastness made me weep,” or “I finally understood my place in the universe.”
I looked at the ocean and thought, “Cool. But… where’s the pit toilet?”
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Toys and Cardboard Boxes
Every child needs a toy. Or does he or she, and at what age?Let’s see, when I had our first child, Lisa, I felt I wanted her to have anything and everything we could to make her happy.
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The Grandma With the Cool Toys
When I was a kid, I didn’t want dolls or games for Christmas. Nope. I wanted supplies. Nothing thrilled me more than my annual “Busy Box” from Santa—fresh crayons, juicy markers, construction paper, glitter pens, glue sticks… a creative buffet. It wasn’t a toy, really. It was a creativity kit… and my personal invitation to cover every surface in the house with glue and sparkle. (Not really, but the possibility was there.)But once we left home and headed to the Grandma’s? Let’s just say, the toy situation was… underwhelming.
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Toys I Can’t Let Go
Toys used to be just toys. Something to entertain the kids, to keep them busy while I folded laundry or tried to drink a cup of coffee while it was still hot. But somewhere along the way, they became markers of time. Tiny, colorful reminders of who my kids were, and who I was, at different moments in our lives.
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Cowboy Judy
I was not a huge toy person. My sister and I played for hours with paper dolls. I loved it because it meant spending time with my big sister. We also played Ginny Dolls, my bride doll, and baby dolls. We would set up a house in the basement and play with dolls. The best part was that I was included with my sister and sometimes with her friends. -
Tell the Truth or Else
When Matt was young, I gave him one basic rule: Do not lie to me.If you’ve done something wrong, or are about to do something you know I won’t approve of, be honest, and I’ll work with you. If I disagree, I’ll listen to your reasoning, and chances are, I’ll give you the go-ahead.
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Because I Said So
Rules in our house were usually made between my husband and me. But, perhaps that is because they were girls, at the very end of our discussions, it seemed that I (Mama) ruled. This could be based on style, activities, chores, school, and church events. Now, when it came to discipline, I believe Art ruled. He didn’t have to make these hardcore decisions very often because, for some reason, I tried to shield him from the (really bad stuff). I think I didn’t want him to be upset and/or disappointed in his daughters. (By the way, today I don’t think that was a good idea at all.) -
No Phones After 9:00
Let me start by saying this: I’ve never claimed to be the cool mom. If my kids wrote a list of my greatest hits, I’m guessing “TV Nazi” and “Phone Thief” would land somewhere between “Makes Weird Soups” and “Sings in the Car with the Windows Down.”But hey—every mom has her “thing,” right? The one non-negotiable rule she clutches like a lifeline while trying not to lose her ever-loving mind in the chaos of parenting.
Mine? Tech limits. Specifically, screen-time lockdown after bedtime.
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Because Mama Rules
Let’s get one thing straight—when it came to decorating the house, I had Mama Rules. And Rule #1? Mama picks the colors.When I was a kid, my “choices” were laughable. I got to pick between yellow and red… or yellow and red. I’m pretty sure those weren’t even my choices. They were just the two colors my mom picked out of her pea-brain. So yes, my bedroom looked like it was sponsored by Heinz (you know – ketchup and mustard).
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One Dirty Job
I can truthfully say that I hate cleaning bathrooms. It is a disgusting, filthy job that no one will share with you even if bribed. If you ever ask a teenager to clean the toilet, you wouldn’t believe how fast they can leave the room and have something more important to do.A little bit of trivia on my part: The more bathrooms you have, the more toilet paper you use. Go figure.
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Bathroom Cleaning is a Lost Cause
Let’s be honest—cleaning bathrooms is the worst. I’m not saying I love scrubbing anything, but there’s something uniquely soul-sucking about tackling a bathroom. Maybe it’s the combination of soap scum, mystery splatters, and the inevitable hair clog. Or perhaps it’s just the cruel reality that the minute it’s clean, it’s dirty again. -
Mirror, Mirror, Full of Streaks
When I hear people talk about buying a large, beautiful home, I always think the same things. I wonder how many bathrooms it has? My home has 1 l/2 baths with an unused bath in the basement. That means three toilets. More than three is a figure I don’t even want to think about. I’m guessing that people with five or six bathrooms must have a housekeeper to come and clean for them. I can’t imagine cleaning all of those alone.
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Clean Bathoom, Clear Mind
Let’s be honest—cleaning bathrooms isn’t glamorous. It’s not something I dreamed about as a little girl. I never imagined a sparkling toilet would bring me a sense of calm or that wiping down the sides of the bowl (yes, the sides!) would one day be the hill I’d choose to die on. But here we are.When Mom worked Saturdays, Michelle and I cleaned the house before she got home. I knew she didn’t just work at the law office until noon. No, she padded her time—grocery shopping, running errands, and circling town like a hawk—giving us just enough time to complete our chores and avoid her wrath.
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Sadness Without Explanation
I want to speak about a kind of sadness that doesn’t have a clear source. It’s not tied to one event or moment. It’s just there, a low hum beneath everything else. Some days, it feels manageable, and others, it feels like it wraps around me like a heavy coat I never asked to wear. -
Everyday Sadness
Sadness and depression manifest differently across various age groups, influenced by developmental stages, life circumstances, and societal factors. I was in fifth grade when my very favorite grandpa died. It was the first person in my life who died up to this point, other than my dog.
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Animal Movies Are My Kryptonite
I have a love/hate relationship with sad entertainment. And by that, I mean I actively avoid it… while also judging all media by whether or not it makes me cry. It’s a deeply flawed system, I admit—but here we are.
It all started with Where the Red Fern Grows. I was just a kid when I first saw the movie, and it wrecked me. I couldn’t stop thinking about that boy, those dogs, and the ending—when the family moves away and sees the mythical red fern growing between the graves. I mean, come on. That fern wasn’t just a plant; it was a divine mic drop. A sign that love, loyalty, and canine sacrifice still mattered in this cold, cruel world.Ever since that formative trauma, I’ve judged all books and movies by what I call the Crying Yardstick. The highest honor? Tears. Real, salty, rolling-down-my-cheeks tears. A good story doesn’t need to be a sob-fest, but if I don’t at least well up… it’s a hard pass. Think The Notebook, or pretty much anything by Nicholas Sparks. Bonus points if there’s rain or a goodbye scene.
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My Sadness Superpower
Have you ever had one of those days where all you can do is cry?I don’t mean the kind of cry that follows heartbreak or tragedy—although those certainly have their place. I mean the quieter kind. The kind that sneaks up on you after a string of long, exhausting days. The kind that comes from carrying too much for too long. No single reason. Just a slow build-up of sadness that finally needs somewhere to go.
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Learning and Forgetting Just As Fast
Do you ever wonder how much information the old brain can hold? Do you ever wonder if you put too much material in that old brain, eventually some of it just has to come tumbling out.
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Learning Not to Ghost My Husband
They say life is the best teacher.
I say life is a slightly unhinged professor who forgets her syllabus and gives pop quizzes when you least expect them. Case in point: my first marriage.
Tom and I tied the knot while we were still in college—young, hopeful, and utterly clueless. Within months, he started showing signs of mental health struggles I couldn’t have predicted. And I… I cried in the car a lot. Usually after visiting my family for holidays. I’d sit in the passenger seat, tears quietly leaking out, wondering why my marriage felt more like an emotional boot camp than a partnership.
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Learning from A to Zzzzz
Learning my ABCs was one of the first big “school things” I had to figure out. I can still picture those oversized letters lining the top of the chalkboard and remember how serious it felt to get them right—especially when the teacher pointed at you during the alphabet song. It was the beginning of learning for me, and at the time, it felt like a very big deal. -
Learning with a Screwdriver and a Prayer
Learning is involved in every area of our lives. We may not be involved in formal education, but we are still learning every day. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Well, this “old dog” is currently googling how to mow a lawn without losing a toe, so I’d say we’re making progress. -
Banking on Karma
I spent most of my working life in banking, not because it was a deep passion or childhood dream, but because it was what I could do without needing more education. It was practical, stable, and something I could count on. I also loved interacting with people and helping them solve their problems. -
Karma Construction Zone
Tonight’s Sidetracked Sisters writing topic is “karma,” and let’s just say… we’ve been circling the cosmic drain trying to make sense of it. Karma as payback? As justice? As some universal scorekeeper in the sky? Meh. It’s all a little murky. But then, I landed on a metaphor that actually clicked for me…
Each choice we make is a brick in the structure of our lives. Karma might not be a cosmic slap on the wrist—it could simply be the quiet architecture of cause and effect. What are you building without even realizing it?
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Testing Karma
Karma refers to the principle of cause and effect, where actions have consequences, and positive actions lead to positive outcomes, while negative actions lead to negative outcomes. Examples include a person who helps others often experiencing more luck and good fortune in their life, or someone who consistently yells at others may find themselves in situations where others are unkind to them. -
Highway Karma
I’ve never been a big believer in karma. The idea that the universe somehow keeps score, handing out little cosmic rewards or punishments based on our behavior, feels more like wishful thinking than truth. If karma were real, I wouldn’t be the one getting pulled over on the highway while cars fly past me doing ten or fifteen miles faster. -
Simply Simple
vent plates or silverware from being placed. I have never understood the desire to say cut a cutting off a plant and hope to see it in ten years become a beautiful big plant. Seriously, remember, I need immediate gratification. This also shows in my garden. It is hard for me to buy little flowers, waiting for the moment when they fill in and make a beautiful basket. I need to see color NOW.
The word simplicity implies to me being in control, a downsized situation, and a time saver.
Now, this does not seem to be in my brain, vocabulary, or whatever. You see, I never seem to do things simply.
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Simplicity Meets Overthinking
I have been told frequently that I overthink everything. Keeping things simple is a real stretch for me. When I see a piece of writing with simple bullet points, I want to write it that way. I often end up with paragraphs instead. I always think I need to say more. I have heard the “less is more” quote, and I understand it. Then I tend to clutter it up. My editing style has trouble leaving anything out. -
The Power of Simplicity
Simplicity wasn’t always something I thought about. In my younger years, I didn’t chase after things—I simply moved through life without questioning the pace or the noise. I filled my time, my home, and my mind without really noticing the weight of it all. Life just was, and I kept up.But over time, I began to feel the quiet pull of something different.
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Simplicity Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up to Be
We’re constantly told to simplify our lives. Cut the clutter. Reduce the noise. Choose joy—but only if it fits in a color-coded drawer.
And while I love the idea of peace and order as much as the next woman scrolling Pinterest in her bathrobe, I have to say…it’s not all that fulfilling.
I can divide my life into many “seasons,” and let me tell you—very few have been simple. And the ones that were? Looking back, they were often the least satisfying. In fact, I wanted them to end as fast as possible.Take college, for example. I had a roommate. No car. My days revolved around school, church, and overly enthusiastic discussions about Jesus and the finer points of Paul’s letters in the dorm lounge. Summer held fun plans. Life was good… and simple. And I couldn’t wait for it to end. I craved the next step: a career, marriage, a family—the real-life stuff!
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Eavesdropping on My Own Thoughts
I try to keep an ear on the words my brain whispers to me.
Sometimes, it feels like a whole other person—an uninvited roommate who critiques my choices while hogging the mental communication links. But it’s not a classic angel vs. devil showdown. No, my inner dialogue is more like a gloomy, worst-case scenario me constantly bickering with an upbeat, “you’ve got this” version of me. And neither one is great at using their inside voice.
The best way I can describe it? It’s like an old-fashioned party line.
If you’ve never had the pleasure, a party line was a shared telephone connection where multiple households used the same line. When I was about seven, I’d pick up the phone to call my grandma or best friend, only to hear two old ladies already deep in conversation. They weren’t spilling juicy secrets—just chatting about neighbors, grandkids, and who brought the best potato salad to church last Sunday. But the thrill? Oh, the power of eavesdropping! I felt like a pint-sized spy, privy to private adult conversations.
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Gossip Girls
Every Thursday night, the Sidetracked Sisters gather around the table to write. Our stories center on family memories, life lessons, and reflections about where we’ve come from and where we’re going. But before the pens hit the paper, there’s always a bit of catch-up time—a chance to share what’s been going on in our week.Naturally, those conversations often drift to the people closest to us—our kids. And, well, not all of them are thrilled about that.
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Toxic Gossip
Gossip is the silent saboteur of workplace culture. Like a slow-growing cancer, it spreads quietly—creating paranoia, breeding mistrust, and damaging self-esteem in ways that can take years to undo. -
The Gossip Web
When we hear the word gossip, we often associate it with something negative—talking behind someone’s back or spreading harmful information. But I believe there’s another side to it: what I like to call good gossip. -
Game Night Gone Wrong
Mom and Dad often left my older sister, Sandy, in charge of me. This happened when they had friends to play cards or just to visit. This was often a recipe for disaster. We would stay upstairs, and we were supposed to keep quiet. Since this was usually on a Saturday night, Mom would do my hair before their company came. In those days, doing hair meant washing and setting it on rollers and drying under a bonnet hair dryer. The idea was that the hair do would last for church the next day. -
Monopoly Madness
Board games may seem like a thing of the past, but after discussing them with my fellow Sidetracked Sisters, I realized how important they were to our gatherings and childhood memories. It also became clear that we need to put away our phones, turn off the TV, and—dare I say—reinvent the wheel. In other words, it’s time to bring back game nights with family and friends. -
Game Night…Grandma Style
I’ve always loved a good game night. Cards, dice, you name it—I’m in. But when I think of the games that truly shaped me, I always come back to Canasta and my Grandma Is. Our games were more than just a way to pass the time—they were moments of laughter, competition, and connection. And no, I never cheated. I never even considered if I could get away with it.
Growing up, Grandma Is and I would spend our summer afternoons playing card games and dice games on the round fiberglass table in her patio. She taught me Kings in the Corners, Go Fish, and Old Maid. As I got older, we graduated to a long game of 500, a Rummy-style challenge that I always suspected she secretly let me win. One of our favorites was Zilch, a dice game. I still have the little jewelry ring box that holds the six dice and her handwritten instructions—proof that some traditions deserve to be preserved. -
From Board Games to Bullsh*t
Some families bond over sports, others over shared hobbies—but for me, the heart of our family connection has always been board games. From my childhood at Grandma Is’s house to summer vacations and even Mother’s Day, board games have been a constant thread, weaving together laughter, competition, and the occasional scandalous act of cheating. -
Midlife Sunrise
Sunrise is more than the start of a new day—it’s a promise. A clean slate. A soft glow after the dark. And this morning, on the first day of spring, it feels like that promise is meant just for me.
For years, I greeted my days in a classroom. I was a teacher for 30 years—a career I genuinely loved—but one that never fully fed my soul. It fit my personality beautifully: creative, nurturing, always busy. But it also drained me. The schedules were rigid, the paperwork endless, and the energy output… well, let’s just say first graders don’t run on decaf.During those years, I tried other creative ventures, little sparks that either fizzled or never quite caught fire. I told myself I was “just exploring.” Truthfully, I was scared—scared to let go of what was safe and familiar, even if it left me feeling half-asleep.
Now, though, something inside me is waking up. A new dawn is breaking.
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Sunrise Snooze, Moonlit Views
I dislike getting up in the morning just as much as I dislike calling it a day and going to bed.Today, let’s talk about sunrises. It’s not a topic I’m very familiar with because, truth be told, I’m rarely awake early enough to witness one. If I ever did make the supreme effort to rise before dawn, I can already imagine what would happen—I’d step outside, ready to be awed by a breathtaking display of colors, only to find a sky filled with thick clouds and drizzle. The sun, like me, would have decided to sleep in.
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Sunrise in my Mind
When I was a young girl, my bike was my passport to freedom. On summer mornings, I’d ride down to the lake, settling onto a cement wall at the end of Burnett Street. I’d sit in the quiet, watching the sunrise over Beaver Dam Lake, or so I thought. Turns out that memory isn’t quite right. My favorite spot faces west. And last I checked, the sun rises in the east. So, what was I really watching? The soft glow of dawn? The lingering twilight? Funny how memories reshape themselves over time.
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Snoozing Thru Sunrise
I hear people talk about sunrises like they’re some kind of magic spell—whispers of pink and gold painting the sky, a quiet moment of reflection before the world wakes up. It sounds beautiful. Really, it does. But I wouldn’t know. -
Hot Mess Moments
Matlin’s Furniture was a family business, and at one time, all the Sidetracked Sisters played a role in the store’s daily operations. To keep us on the same page, we held weekly sales meetings that started half an hour before our regular workday. -
Hot Mess Survival Guide
We’ve all been a hot mess—running late, hair barely brushed, coffee spilling, and somehow still expected to function like a responsible adult. But here’s the secret: no one really has it all together. Some people are just better at faking it. -
Chaos Coordinator
There was a time in my life when “hot mess” wasn’t just a mood—it was my entire lifestyle. The years when my kids were little? Oh yeah. Peak chaos. I look back and wonder how I functioned on so little sleep, so much coffee, and absolutely no clue what day it was most of the time.
Technically, my job title was Teacher. But unofficially? I was the Chaos Coordinator. I wore the badge proudly… and constantly misplaced it under piles of laundry, permission slips, and mismatched shoes.Even though I was married, the kids were pretty much my responsibility. I was the default parent. You know, the one who knew where everyone’s shoes, lunchboxes, and favorite stuffed animals were at any given moment (except, of course, when I didn’t). I taught at an Early Learning Center, and my kids went to school with me from 4K through second grade. Looking back, I have no idea how I’d have kept all the balls in the air if they hadn’t been in the same building as me. Honestly? I barely managed as it was.
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Holiday Hot Mess
The holidays are supposed to be a time of joy, warmth, and togetherness, but let’s be real—sometimes they turn into full-blown hot messes. Between the endless to-do lists, family drama, and the pressure to make everything magical, it’s easy to feel like you’re just one burnt batch of cookies away from a breakdown. Unfortunately, this seems to be a regular occurrence for me. -
Patience Tested Daily
Patience has never been my strong suit. I thrive on immediate gratification, often wanting results without the wait or the effort. This trait has followed me for as long as I can remember—and it extends beyond just personal goals or projects. It also affects the way I interact with people, especially when it comes to technology. -
Lessons in Listening
When we moved back to Wisconsin in 1991, we asked my Mom to move in with us. She was 74 years old at the time and had been widowed since she was 55. We could tell immediately that she liked being back with some of her family. Mom never was one to enjoy living alone. We loved having her, especially because our son Matt was only 2 ½. Having her with us gave my Mom and Matt time to be together and to get to know each other. -
Love Through the Fog
I find that I have little patience. There are a lot of examples that I can think of that cause me distress or a lack of patience. They are:- I am a soft talker, and I get impatient when people start talking and continue talking over me.
- When expressing an idea, for some reason, my idea seems to be overlooked consistently.
- Being impatient with myself when I find I am again procrastinating when planning for a big holiday, such as Christmas. I find that I don’t prioritize tasks properly in order to carry out a timely and successful event.
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Patience–My Quiet Superpower
I like to think of myself as a patience expert—mostly because life has given me an absurd amount of practice. As a kid, I spent a ridiculous amount of time waiting. Waiting for birthdays, waiting for holidays, waiting for the school year to end so I could bask in the glory of summer vacation. (Did we even have Spring Break back then, or was that just a myth created for later generations?) -
Talk is Cheap
I am a curious person. I don’t deny this trait. I love to know about people and how they tick, and I just plain get to know them. I have found that if you don’t ask questions of someone, you will not be able to find out who they are and what makes them tick. -
Peeking and Entering
I’ve always been a curious person. The kind of kid who asks, “Why?” and actually wants an answer. As a First Grade teacher, I relished any excuse to dive into new topics and books. Back then, “best practice” was all about integrating subjects—reading, writing, math, science, and social studies—all stirred together like some delicious educational soup. If you were studying frogs, you didn’t just read about them. You became them. You wrote stories starring them, compared them to toads, and probably hopped around the playground for “research.” Curiosity was the air I breathed.
But I didn’t stumble into curiosity on my own. Nope. I had a live-in guide: my mom. She raised me to be curious… invasively curious. The kind of curious that makes you peek behind closed doors, both literally and metaphorically.
I grew up in a brand-new neighborhood—the first house on our side of the block. Beyond our backyard, there were fields, jeep trails, and a lake just a half-mile away. For a while, we had nature to explore. Then came the construction crews. One by one, houses sprang up around us. But they didn’t appear overnight. It took weeks (sometimes months) to go from a hole in the ground to a family with a golden retriever and a Weber grill on the back patio. And that’s where curious kids like me came in.
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The Curiosity Factor
Curiosity isn’t just about exploring the unknown—it’s about anticipating the future, wondering about possibilities, and hoping for the best. As I move through different stages of life, I find myself constantly questioning what’s next. Some answers will come with time, while others may always remain a mystery. -
Tell Me Why
I’m often surprised when people get defensive when I ask them questions that begin with “why.” I find that if I am learning to do something new, I learn more quickly and retain more effectively if I know why I am doing it. If I am told to do something just because, I will not remember the steps after the one time is completed. -
6 Seconds to Love
I remember watching my parents embrace in our kitchen as a child. My mom scrubbed dishes while my dad grabbed her hands and spun her around the room. The evening blared with music—either Helen Reddy or Barbra Streisand—and their laughter filled the space, a genuine lifeline of joy that still resonates with me.I may no longer have a playlist featuring Barbra or Helen, but the feeling of witnessing my parents’ unabashed affection remains unforgettable. As a kid, I’d scrunch up my nose and declare their touchy, silly displays “gross.” Later, I’d roll my eyes and exclaim, “Oh, come on—get a room, guys!”
Those quirky memories shaped my expectations of marriage—a constant lifeline linking the heart of a relationship. Today, Craig isn’t much of a dancer; he can only manage a simple sway. In recent years, we’d almost forgotten how to move together in our kitchen or living room, and I miss that spark. Then I discovered the “6 Second Kiss,” a brief, intentional moment that mirrors the connection I admired in my parents.
Once, Craig and I exchanged quick pecks for greetings and goodbyes. Now, we’ve upgraded to a daily extended smooch—even Aubrey chimes in with playful “ewwws.” We may be a bit clumsy about our newfound routine, but each lingering kiss releases up a cascade of hormones and reminds me of who I want us to be. It’s our lifeline, our anchor in this imperfect journey of love.
I’ve also heard about the “20 Second Hug,” touted to work the same magic. For now, though, our kiss ritual is keeping us connected and reminds us that sometimes, the smallest moments are the most powerful.
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Home Is Where The Lifeline Is
Some people can start a new life in a new city with no ties to anyone or anything. I am NOT one of those people. For me, family is the one lifeline I cannot live without. -
Lifelines Bring Laughter
Raising a child without a lifeline is close to impossible or at very best, difficult. I realized this truth when our son Matt was a year old. My husband, Michael had a job that took him to other states from Sunday night to Friday night each week. I had a wonderful woman who would babysit for Matt a few afternoons. This was the time I would attend classes at our local community college. -
Survival Lifeline
It is said that it takes a village to raise a child. I agree with this, but it also takes having a lifeline of both friends of friends and relatives to survive in life. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a good support system such as a lifeline, but it sure helps and makes things a lot easier. -
Climbing the Wrong Ladder
I am a retired teacher. After stepping away from the classroom, I took two years off—I became a life coach and homeschooled my kids during COVID.
Then reality hit. My husband and I sat down to evaluate our finances. Ouch. I needed to bring in income… immediately.
At that time, I remembered something Craig had once said: “You could NEVER work in a factory.” The challenge had been presented. The gauntlet was laid.I figured, well, I’ll be starting my coaching business soon, and I don’t want to take a temporary job where they’ll actually miss me when I leave. I need a job where I can walk away at a moment’s notice—no strings attached.
The big-box distribution center outside of town was my answer. I applied, got a tour, and was hired within a week. At first, the novelty was fun. I was driving a speedy forklift, trying to “make rate.” I was meeting new people and learning new systems. It was my first job outside of education or hospitality—ever.
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Unrecognized Growth
I’ve been out working since I was sixteen years old. The training process has always come easily to me. With each new employer, I enjoyed the beginner phase. There is always new learning and processes to add to my knowledge base. There was one situation that came to mind and it was one where I experienced tremendous growth. -
My Grandiose Growth Plan
Even at this old age, there is still room for personal growth. A lot of room! As a retired legal secretary who is now retired, I find that I have gotten sloppy and lazy, not worrying about personal growth. Unfortunately, not have a pattern for personal growth that I feel needs work on my part: -
Growth in Progress (Kind of)
I’m 15 years old and I’m begrudgingly awake for the day trying to get ready for school. “Mommmmmmm…. What should I wear today?” I could never make this decision easily. She enters my room while I’m dozing against the doorframe of my closet. “How about this?” as she pulls out a sweater. “Nah – I don’t want to wear that!” I sneer. “Ok – fine. What about this one?” as she picks out a different shirt. “Nah – not that one either.” I again reply. “If you don’t like my suggestions, why did you ask me?” she queries. “Well – now I know what I DON’T want to wear!” I bantered. Mom then left my room, shaking her head. -
Counting Losses, Not Weeks
There are so many different kinds of death that we go through in our lives. One type of death that happened to me was having four different miscarriages. I think a miscarriage for anyone is interpreted and felt in so many different ways, and the severity happens differently as well.
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What Comes Next?
The question of what happens after we die has been on our minds since forever, hasn’t it? Everyone seems to have their own theory or belief—some rooted in religion, others in philosophy, and some in pure speculation. While none of us can say for sure what’s waiting on the other side, it’s fun (and maybe a little comforting) to imagine the possibilities. So, let’s play with the idea of five possible endings after death. Picture this: what if there were five different roads we could take when our time here ends? -
Advice From Beyond
As you read this post, imagine a pristine park. A winding path winds through the trees, and at each curve in the path, a park bench is placed. Just behind the bench, an old-fashioned street light gives off an inviting warm light, shining on a person sitting on the bench. This scene feels welcoming, and since I have had a difficult day, I decide to stroll through the park. -
The Moments After Goodbye
Dad passed away on December 30.
That morning, I got up early and made a quick stop at the grocery store for juice. Before heading home, I decided to drop by Mom and Dad’s house. Michelle had been doing so much over the past few days, and I wanted to help when I could—and this morning, I could.I walked into the house and climbed the stairs. Mom was in the bathroom, and I let her know I was there. Then I stepped into the bedroom. Dad lay there, peacefully asleep—but something about his stillness felt off. I walked around the bed and sat down beside him. His skin looked too gray, his face too motionless. I reached out, touching his cheek. It felt cold beneath my fingers.
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Dawn of a New Dream
Sunrise.
It’s the beginning of a new day—a fresh start after a time of rest. Today is the first day of spring, March 20, 2025, and it feels like the dawn of a new chapter in my life.
After a long season of darkness and sleep.
(Okay… that sounds a little grim. But it’s true.)
You see, I was a teacher for 30 years. I loved that career. It was fun, it fit my personality, and I was good at it. But deep down, I knew it only fed part of my soul. The rigid schedules, the endless administrative tasks, and the daily energy it demanded often left me feeling depleted.Limited.
I dabbled in creative ventures—some fizzled, some never quite blossomed into something that could replace the income I needed to leave education behind.
But now… now it feels different.
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Middle School Nightmare
I don’t often remember my dreams. Occasionally, I will take a notebook and set it on my nightstand with a pen to write down snippets of the dream to ponder on later. There is one dream that I have repeatedly. It is the first day of school. I’m in the middle school age group. I’m excited about going back to school after summer break. I enter the school and realize that I haven’t signed up for classes, and I have no idea where to go first. I know I’m supposed to have a locker, but I have no idea where it is. I know that if I can find it, I’ll find the books I need to attend my classes.
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Buyers Remorse
I seem to dream a lot. Mostly my dreams are crazy happenings and events. But most often my dreams are about houses, their layouts, decorating, and purchasing cottages that I then renovate. I have this reoccurring dream that I purchase a cottage. Now, this isn’t just any cottage, but a structure that it seemed no one wanted. I always wanted to be located very close to the water and I always said, “I want a shack in the woods on a lake”.
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Crash Course in Control
It always starts the same way. I’m driving my car alone, music playing, and the world outside the windows rushing by. There’s something peaceful about this moment—just me, my car, and the open road. But then, something strange happens. I begin to float out of my body, detached from the physical world. Suddenly, I’m not driving with my hands on the wheel, but controlling the car with nothing more than my mind. It’s a feeling of power, of control—until it’s not. -
Making It Happen, But Not Always
Self-discipline has been a challenge for most of my life. Its absence has often left me feeling unfulfilled in work, relationships, and how I see myself. I realized early on that I often couldn’t trust my promises to myself. This didn’t become a pattern for me until I was in high school. -
Perfectly Imperfect Discipline
I consider myself a disciplined person. When I have a dream, a goal, or a vision, I follow through on the actions needed to see the end goal.
But I know that a lot of people get stuck in the “discipline is perfection” trap.
On the contrary, I believe that discipline is about consistency. Thinking that you have to be perfect discourages progress and can lead you to giving up when mistakes happen.
This was the case when Craig and I decided to start our family. We started out with infertility work. Lots of doctors visits, expensive drugs, and nasty shots. I committed to driving to Milwaukee several times a week (before work) to make my appointments. And then when that didn’t work, we took a 90 degree turn and decided to adopt. Our journey to Russia was filled with too many ups and downs to recount. The process took 4 years to bring our boys home. But the goal was a family. Not pregnancy. The journey was messy but we succeeded in starting our family.
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Starting Out Smart
Discipline – this is a hard act for a lot of us to accomplish. I am now retired, having worked in a law office for fifty-six years. There was a lot of discipline in that job and I now find myself being anything but disciplined at this stage of my life. -
Discipline or Negotiation
I hated being disciplined as a child. If Mom ever said, “Just wait till your dad gets home…” I would instantly change my behavior to avoid getting yelled at. I don’t remember Dad ever actually yelling at me, but his look of disapproval would send me into an immediate fit of tears. Mom’s discipline never had the same effect on me.
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Teaching, Recess Duty, and Hallway Hangouts
We had my dad’s funeral last weekend. Afterward, I spent a few days in bed with flu-like symptoms—because clearly, grief wasn’t enough of a challenge on its own. One thought kept swirling around in my head during those achy, medicine-head days: a piece of writing I had considered sharing at his memorial service.
Becoming a teacher was something my dad had a philosophical problem with. (He had opinions—big ones.) But as that writing pointed out, teaching was what I felt compelled to do—twice.
And you know what? I was a damn good teacher. I loved it all: creating lessons, working with the kids, assessments, planning, parent-teacher conferences, back-to-school nights—you name it, I was in my element. So much so that I stuck with it for a full 30 years.
Back in the day, teachers with that kind of experience weren’t unicorns; they were practically the norm. But lately, I keep meeting people who went to school for teaching but never taught, or who once taught but ran screaming from the profession.
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From Grief to Giggles: The Power of a Support Squad
After having a death in my family, my husband of sixty-two years, I have discovered several ways to be resilient. It is traumatic enough, but having family and friends engulf you helps you to recover more quickly from a hardship or traumatic event. Another way would be to get out of the house and do an activity that has been put on the back burner. Such activity could be anywhere from lunches with old friends, movies, or getting together with those we have shoved away due to heavy schedules. -
Nine Years, One Condo, and Zero Rings
The year was 1976. Chris and I had been together for nine years. We enjoyed each other’s company and were good friends. We shared friends and fun times. Chris had a great sense of humor. He was a disc jockey on the local radio station. He would talk about things we had done together and as he told his story, I could barely recognize it as a place I had been. He was able to make it sound like an enviable experience and one that anyone would like to participate in. -
Resilience, Relatives and Rolling with the Punches
Ah, the holidays. A time for twinkling lights, delicious feasts, and… navigating the emotional minefield of family gatherings. Add in the inevitable challenges—burnt turkey, last-minute gift shopping, and Uncle Bob’s annual political rant—and you’ve got the perfect storm for testing your resilience.But resilience isn’t just about surviving the holidays with your sanity (mostly) intact. It’s about showing up when it matters most—especially during the hardest moments, like the loss of a loved one. When grief collides with the season of joy, resilience is what carries us through.