Not too long after we adopted our son, I received an email from an interested patron, client, customer (all these words seem too formal when talking about the adoption process) inquiring about our adoption agency.

Would we recommend them? What were the pros and cons?

It took a while to compose an answer. I wanted it to be thoughtful and honest, but I was also struggling to convey my feelings.

Would I recommend my adoption agency? Well, of course, I’m staring into the eyes of my beautiful baby boy. How could I not recommend them? Without them, we would not have our son.

But that’s not the full answer, nor an honest one at that.

I wanted my response to be vulnerable and raw because many times throughout the process, I would not have recommended them or even private adoption at that.

I struggled with telling her every feeling and thought that I had throughout the process. Would I have wanted someone to do the same?

I think so.
​
Here is what I said…

As I was scrolling social media the other day, I saw a glimmer of hope amongst a sea of Bogg Bags, Owala water bottles, new merch that just dropped, “life changing” parenting courses, “game changing” products that “Guys, you just have to try,” and skincare brands because God forbid, Moms, you look an ounce of tired.
​
It was an influencer. Kind of. She was a therapist and a mom of three with a rather large following, but instead of trying to sell me something and get me to shill out hundreds of dollars for things that my kids will need or they will die, she was defluencing me.

It was a breath of fresh air and someone who spoke my love language.
​
I have always been riding the “less is more” in parenting train. I run a modest newsletter for parents, and I want to scream it from the rooftops.

“Do less, buy less, consume less noise, Mamas! You’re stressing yourself out.”

Defluencing Parenting Advice

In fact, over the years, I have distanced myself from many parenting Instagram accounts, particularly those that offer overly simplistic advice and who are grifters at heart rather than “parenting experts.

“Never make your kids apologize.”
“Never do time-outs.”
“Don’t say ‘be careful.’”

They fail to consider nuance, the individual needs of each child, and a parent’s intuition and confidence; instead, they rely on scripts and advice to push their one-size-fits-all courses.

I’m thinking of one huge parenting account that, in recent years, has turned from offering solid advice to a chaotic mess, preying on parents’ insecurities just so it can make money.

I mean, in the past 6 months, this account has launched a podcast, merch, a substack, a toy line, and a brand new course.

Their new course comes after their “viral, the only course you need,” which launched them into stardom.

This new course is for deep feelers, and they claim that their strategies work for kids 1–18 years old.

Neither of these women has had experience with teenagers and hasn’t worked with kids other than their own in the last 5 years. One was a family therapist, and the other had no experience or education related to early childhood education (except for a vague concentration in maternal studies).

If they are offering advice that they claim works for kids 1–18, it must be so vague that you can easily find that information in a free library book or blog, or talk to a teacher.

DO NOT PAY for stuff like this.

DO NOT PAY for a potty training course from people who aren’t experts.

In fact, DO NOT PAY for a potty training course at all. People have successfully learned to use the potty for thousands of years. I don’t think it should take a pricey course with recycled material for this to happen.

And DO NOT PAY for a potty training, sharing, and bedtime toy kit that costs upwards of $50 and is “backed by science.” Unless, of course, you want to.
But, trust me, your kids will learn how to use the potty, share, and go to bedtime without a gimmicky toy.

Check out a free book or buy a cheap one, or talk to other parents.

I have four THOUGHTS.​

• Bloggers, influencers, and creators do deserve fair compensation if they are putting in work for parenting content that is educational, AND these creators have the proper credentials and expertise. I trust teachers the most.​
• No parenting advice should be “the only course you need,” “life-changing hack,” “works for all ages,” “this course is truly groundbreaking,” “nothing like it out there,” “this program will give you your life back,” “total game changer.” This is emotionally charged language. Its purpose is to be relatable, build “community,” and to get YOU TO BUY THEIR STUFF BECAUSE WITHOUT THEIR TOOLS YOU’RE MISSING OUT AND DOING PARENTING WRONG/HARD.​
• Extreme language is purposeful to sell a product. They use three methods: relatability (“We are surviving just like you!” 🤸), urgency (“BUY NOW!”), and authority (“This is backed by science!”…but no sources). This creates pressure to be the perfect parent.​
• What parents need is this: free or cheap childcare, help/support, time to recharge/reset/rest/rejuvenate (this can include time to go to therapy, sleep, have time for friends), and confidence/permission to do what works for your family.

Pool toys. Beach toys. Park toys. Playground toys. Road trip toys. Travel toys. Outdoor toys. Indoor toys. Kitchen and eating essentials. Bedtime essentials.

All of it YOU'VE GOT TO HAVE NOW.

Kids are simple creatures at heart.

What are my Road Trip Toys? A pad of paper to draw on, a book, maybe some toy cars, and a healthy side dose of being bored, which shockingly also doubles as my Going Out to Eat Toys, Church Toys, and Travel Toys.

Chances are, the toys and products you have at home right this minute will work just fine.
​
Yes, I sometimes look to social media for some birthday and Christmas recommendations and inspirations from trusted sources. Do I also find some essentials that have made baby eating simpler and less messy? Yes.
But, parents, rest assured, you will be fine without them.

Some creative accounts share fun, little learning activities to set up for your kids.

I got sucked into doing a lot of these when my first child was 1–2 years old. I felt like I was depriving him of educational learning and a future career in the STEM field if I failed to set these up.

Some of the activities were fun. Most, though, took me longer to make and set up than the amount of time my child actually played with it.

I gave up, and I’m happier for it. So is my child. He would much rather play with what he already has. He has quite an imagination and creative problem-solving skills to show for it.

So, parents, here is me deinfluencing you. You don’t need to do any of those activities if you don’t want to.
​
Your child learning to play by himself and come up with things to do when she is bored (sometimes with your help) is much more beneficial in the long run.

Parents, if you are reading this and worrying if you are doing a good job as a parent, chances are, you are probably doing a good enough job as it is.

Kids don’t need fancy stuff and name-brand products, and a parent who is overwhelmed by everything they are influenced by.

They just need you and your loving presence.
​
Bogg bags and Owalas aside.

Before I even became a parent, I had always heard that it takes a village. Then, I became one, and that saying rings truer than ever.

I often see memes on social media with proclamations from tired parents, “Where is this village they were talking about?”

I see “parent influencers” drone on about not having a village, so they created their social media platform to make an online village for exhausted and lonely parents.

Yet, there is something deeply lacking in these sentiments. Sure, social media can be great for helping parents feel as if they aren’t alone in their parenting journey.

The relatable content makes me laugh and let out a sigh, “Okay, other people’s kids are doing that, too. Phew.”

And I have found some wonderful advice on the internet from other parents.

But this isn’t the so-called village everyone is talking about.

The village is there for you both, near and far.

The village sends you all the supplies you could ever need when you get a call saying that the baby you are adopting is here, and you have to leave now to go meet him. The village shows up with meals, cards, and a shoulder to lean on when your mom unexpectedly dies much too soon.

How did I get my village? I got it from my mom and dad. We had the best village growing up. These people would still be there for me in a second if I asked or didn’t, for that matter.

I vowed to have a village for my kids when the time came.
​
Here’s what they taught me about having a village.

As I watched my mom die twenty-seven minutes before my 34th birthday, I had the foresight to know that my mom would never just cease to exist on this earth if there wasn’t a greater reason at play. Yes, I believe in all that religious stuff concerning God’s greater plan and even the cringeworthy adage “everything happens for a reason” (although I would never utter that to anyone after a tragedy).
​
After all, my mom was a devout Catholic and raised me as such. But, I knew, if there were to be anyone to confront God and talk him out of his Greater Plan, it would be my mom.

My mom had a penchant for being, well, a mom long past her expiration date for needing to be one. Evident by pestering me to bring all my dirty laundry to my cross-country meets in college and sending me home with freshly folded clothes.
Or, likewise, the meat on my plate was always nicely cut up due to years of habit.
There was no way she would leave me, her daughter, in the throes of my own motherhood to raise her precious grandbaby without her.

So, as I stood there watching her take her last breaths in that hospital room, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I was somewhat curious to find out what this Grand Reason would be. And if it could hurry up and present itself soon, that would be great to make her death a tad bit more manageable. I silently prayed this on the long walk back to the car.

Then I screamed into the night.

I’ll spare you the ugly details of grief. But, as it turns out, my mom died two days before I was to return to my thirteenth year of teaching, and I couldn’t bear to go back. Not yet, anyway.

And because I decided to postpone my educational duties until I confronted the grief headfirst, my administration and colleagues switched my schedule to be less stressful to help me ease back into my return.

My first day back to work was November 2nd, All Souls’ Day in the Catholic Church. The feast is a day of prayer and remembrance of the faithful departed. The symbolism isn’t lost on me, and it should come as no surprise that this day would commence the day I found out one of the Grand Reasons for my mom’s death.

Grandma, are you in pain?” That’s what my son repeatedly asked my mom during a trip to the beach.
​
My husband, son, dad, mom, and I decided to take a trip to the beach before the school year started because both my son, a preschooler, and I, a teacher, were about to return to the classroom and wanted one last summer hurrah.

My son, Henry, was excited to ride in the car with his Pop and Grandma, but the whole time in the car, he kept asking my mom that question.

My mom, an active, vibrant, *mostly* healthy 62-year-old, kept answering him with, “No, silly, I’m not in pain. Why do you keep asking?”

Henry didn’t have an answer to that question. In his childlike wonder, he just laughed and then spent the weekend enjoying the waves, building sandcastles, eating ice cream, finding sand dollars, taking ferry rides, and having fun with his family, who loved him so much.

That was the last time Henry ever saw my mom.

Exactly a week later, she went into what we thought was routine surgery, came out of it, and then had, for some unknown reason, a stroke which put her into a coma that she never recovered from. She passed away on August 19, 30 minutes before my birthday.

The next week was a whirlwind of planning the funeral, traveling for the funeral, and having the funeral amidst the absolute devastation, shock, and grief we all felt over my mom’s loss.

As the time came to head back to our home in North Carolina, my dad and I were packing up the car. Henry was playing by himself when we heard him say, “Are you in pain?”

We were immediately taken back to the beach trip. My dad and I looked at each other in awe. We both had forgotten all about my son’s asking, “Grandma, are you in pain?”

In disbelief, we pondered what this all meant.

“Why did Henry keep asking Grandma if she was in pain?”

“Lauren,” my dad said, “what did Mom say to Henry when he asked her that?”

“I don’t know. What did she say?”

“She said, ‘No, Henry, I’m not in pain.”

I thought back to what we had told Henry about Grandma’s death. We told him that she got sick and her body stopped working. We told him that she died and is now in Heaven with Jesus.

Of course, he would wonder if she was in pain, but little did we know that my mom had already let him know that she would be okay and in no pain. A true miracle.

Later that evening, I was having a hard time and missing my mom terribly. I looked up and cried out, “Mom, God, Jesus, please give me some comfort. Just for this moment.”

Seconds later, I heard a noise, and Henry walked into my room from his. Silently, he reached out his arms to hug me, and I quietly led him back to bed.

I smiled and gave thanks to my mom. I still am so incredibly sad and miss her so much, but I’m thankful for the small miracles and signs she performs through my son to remind me that she’s always near and that I have him, my blessing.

​When I first had my son six years ago, I pictured dinners and sleepovers at Grandma and Pop’s house. I envisioned trips to the zoo, library, beach, and museums. I imagined holidays spent together, with my mom passing on all her beloved traditions to my son. I dreamt of art projects, days lounging at home, pool days, watching classic Disney movies, hikes to waterfalls, and everything I enjoyed with my grandma.

I got that and so much more.

But tragically, it was all cut short a day before my 34th birthday and a month after my son turned 4 ½.

My mom, my son’s grandma, died. Words I never thought I would have to utter until at least 20 years from now, and my son had become an adult with plenty of memories and experiences stored in his memory bank.

Now, my son is a boy with a grandma in Heaven. It’s an unsettling reality to know that one day the memories he has of her will gradually fade, until the line becomes blurry between what he remembers of her and what he knows about her from the stories we have told about her.

While a daunting task, I will keep her memory alive. However, little did I realize that this wouldn’t be too hard, as I’m getting a little help from the other side. My mom is still a grandma from Heaven. And always will be.

One of her first acts of love toward my son came immediately after the funeral. I was having a hard time and missing my mom terribly. I looked up and cried out, “Mom, God, Jesus, please give me some comfort. Just for this moment.”

Seconds later, I heard a noise, and my son walked into my room from his. Silently, he reached out his arms to hug me, and I quietly led him back to bed.

I smiled and gave thanks to my mom. She was still being a grandma.

Another time, she bestowed upon my son her grandmotherly wisdom during my son’s last year of preschool.

My mom instilled in my brother and me that we should always be aware of who could use a friend and someone to talk to. We were to include everyone and always make sure others felt like they belonged, even if they were “different.” This adage is etched into my brain, and she had already started preaching that to my son, even at his young age.

My son isn’t always the most outgoing of kids, but he has been blossoming this year. Much to my delight, I received one of the sweetest messages from his teachers. She mentioned that he had befriended and taken a rather quiet kid who had been playing alone under his wing. The two have become best buddies. Thanks to my son, this other boy is now blossoming and coming out of his shell.
I smiled and thanked my mom. She was still being a grandma.

Additionally, we are preparing for kindergarten next year. Getting a Catholic school education is something we have been praying about, and my mom was excited to see my son receive it. We applied to the school just in time for the deadline, as my journey with grief has cluttered my mind. A week later, we received an email that we had been waitlisted because they were already full. I admonished myself for not getting the application in sooner; however, I still called up to see where we were on the waitlist. The lady told me that we were number one, but I still should make plans for a backup. Sighing, I wrote down another thing to add to my to-do list. Then, not even an hour later, the lady called me back and told me that the principal somehow found a spot for my son. He was in!

I smiled and gave thanks to my mom. She was still being a grandma.

With every kind word my son utters…with every prayer he says…with every time he preserves through a challenge…with every hug he gives me to comfort me when I am sad…with every word he writes in his journal to Grandma…with every sentence he speaks to her picture on his nightstand…with every time he asks if Grandma is laughing at him because he’s being silly…with every time we sit in her house with my dad and husband and spend the day in carefree timelessness soaking in the gift of another day, she is there.
​
She will always be his grandma. A grandma in Heaven.

Joe became the father of Roger, Roger the father of Gregory, the husband of Jonette. Of her was born Kyle, who is called KBNoSwag.

Now this is how the Bethlehem Scandals came about. When KB’s mother was betrothed to Gregory, but before they lived together, she made Gregory promise that one day they would move back to Wheeling, West Virginia, after residing in New Jersey for a few years. 

Now, in the year KB was born, Jonette reminded Gregory of his promise. Jonette’s father owned and worked in the construction business. There was no room, at the time, to build new property in Wheeling, so the grandfather of KB broke ground in the small, humble village of Bethlehem, WV. 

Jonette wrapped small baby Kyle in swaddling clothes and laid him in his crib in his new room in his new house in his new town. 

The family rejoiced and gave praise to God. 

“Glory to God in the highest and peace to his people on earth.” 

The child grew (kind of) and became strong (not really), filled with wisdom (ehh); and the favor of God was upon him (to be debated).  


Scandal One: The Scandal of the Smallest Tomato 

Every year, the village of Bethlehem would host the Tomato Festival. It was like Traverse City’s Cherry Festival, except without hit recording artists TI, Hoobastank, Weird Al, and Trace Adkins; the bustling lakeside town with numerous shops, restaurants, and breweries; and a sprawling display of cherry activities like a parade, carnival rides, shows, and more. 

The Tomato Festival was held by a ballpark, a municipal building, and a semi-dilapidated mini golf course. 

In the weeks leading up to the festival, Gregory found and plucked a tomato the size of a pea in his father-in-law’s yard. He gave it to his wee son and instructed him to enter the tomato into the Smallest Tomato Contest. 

“Though it is the smallest of all tomatoes, yet when it grows, it will be the largest of garden vegetables and become a staple in a salad, so that the birds and squirrels come and  nipple on its juicy roundness.”

​

The short answer is Kyle did. His Instagram reel of his vacation to Hawaii is so funny that I watched it at least 10 times. 

But on a recent 10-year anniversary trip to the Virgin Islands, I tried my darnest to recap the whole experience as well as Kyle. I have a highlight on my Instagram page which I'll share at the end, too. It'll have all the music and videos if you rather consume my recap there. 

So who did it better?

Day 1 Notes 

• Woke up at 3:00 am to make our 5:30 am flight. 
• Almost missed connecting flight in Charlotte. Had to run. Felt like I was in Amazing Race. My dream. 
• Made flight. Sat next to 50-60 year old gentleman. Immediately started talking to me. 
• Wife is a dolphin trainer  AND a DJ. It’s like he knew I LOVE dolphins and moderately like DJs 
• Wanted to read my book, but he was so nice and his travel stories were good so I wasn’t annoyed. 
• Showed me probably 100 photos and 2 videos on his phone. 
• Eventually, there was a lull in conversation, and I reached for my book. 
• Watched the in flight simulator and snickered to myself like a 7th grade schoolboy when we flew over Cockburn Town  Obviously that town is not part of the Virgin Islands. 
• Virgin joke tally - I 
• Landed and shared a taxi with other tourists. They all said St John is the better island. We are staying on St Thomas. For 10 minutes had a crisis that we chose the wrong island. Could you say that I was doubting Thomas??
• Bad joke tally - I 
• Then reasoned that St. Thomas is probably still good but St Johns is just the cherry on top.
• Virgin joke tally - II
• Got some of the best fish tacos from the bar. Left me saying I want, “More, man.”  
• Virgin joke tally - III
• Bartender said I had a small head. 
• Not an innuendo tally - I 

At the beginning of 2025, we began to make plans for our 10-year anniversary on June 20, 2025. 

We knew we wanted to go somewhere tropical, without kids, and somewhere where we could relax. 

Our plans for the trip were to have no plans. Or relatively few plans. 

With crossing off national parks on our bucket list, we decided to go to the U.S. Virgin Islands since there is a national park there.

We had such a good time there. I'll break down what where we stayed and what we did. 

We got a room through Crystal Cove Resort at Sapphire Beach. It was about a 30 minute ride from the airport. Sapphire Beach is minutes away from Red Hook which has the ferry, lots of restaurants, and a grocery store. 

Here are the pros of where we stayed: 

• 100 yards from the beach. 
• The beach had crystal clear water, a white sandy beach, and calm waters. 
• You could rent lounge chairs for the day for $15. You could also rent snorkeling gear, cabanas, and watercraft like kayaks and paddleboards. 
• There were four restaurants right next to the beach: A bar and grill, a pizza restaurant, a coffee/ice cream/breakfast spot, and an upscale dining restaurant on the second floor with awesome views of the ocean. 
• There was the cutest boutique and the coffee shop also sold supplies.
• Good vibes - fun, good music, live music on Sundays, corn hole, not too crowded but not too quiet. 

Here are the cons of where we stayed: 

• The room wasn't as nice as it was advertised. The bathroom was honestly dirty and so were the closets. We wished it would have been nicer since this was our anniversary trip. 
• The pool was probably a five minute walk and left much to be desired. The actual pool was nice with the views but the lounge chairs were run down and there was an empty spot where there used to be a bar. We only went to the pool once and then never came back. The beach was honestly better. 

As mentioned, our goal for this trip was to do as little as possible. Most of our vacations in the last 10 years have been jammed back, adventurous, and fun but tiring. 

We just wanted to relax, read, write, and talk to each other without kids interrupting us. We achieved that with where we stand. 

So, in terms of exploring the island and trying different restaurants, I have little recommendations about that. We ate in Red Hook once. 

However, we did two things which I highly recommend. One we preplanned and the other we decided to do while on the trip. 

Afternoon Snorkel, Pizza & Sunset Tour departing from St. Thomas & St. John

​This was the best excursion/tour I have ever been on. No wonder it has a 4.9 rating with over 1,000 reviews. We LOVED this. It was only $120 a person. 

This 5 1/2 hour excursion takes you on a boat ride into the national park. You do two 1-hour snorkel excursions. In between, you get snacks. 

After the second snorkel excursion, they open the bar up for drinks and that's when the party begins. Music, dancing, and a pizza delivery from a floating pizza restaurant. 

So fun and 100% recommend!

Trunk Bay

We decided to take the ferry from Red Hook to Cruz Bay St John to see the national park by land. 

Once we docked, we grabbed a taxi to take us to Trunk Bay, voted World's Best Beach in 2024. 

We wished we had preplanned this a bit more because the beach facilities closed at 4PM, and we got there at 2PM. 

We still had a good time. We rented beach chairs and a floatie. You can also rent snorkel gear.  There is also a place to get food, a retail store, and showers/restrooms. 

Afterwards, we stayed on the island for dinner and took the ferry back when we were finished. 

We had a really nice time staying on the Virgin Islands. We aren't the people who usually go back to a spot more than once, but I'm really glad we chose the VI for our anniversary destination. 

And I would absolutely recommend this island to anyone. The weather, beaches, vibes, and food were top notch. 

KB - a boy who is a smart cookie. 

KB - a boy who is as smart as a whip.

KB - a boy who sometimes gets smart with you.

KB - a boy who plays it smart.

KB - a boy who can be a smart ass.

All right, I’m done smarting off. 

KB has long been labeled intellectually odd.

Tis, ignominy has never been part of his persona, though, not on the campus of Kent State where he was busted for weed and alcohol (aye-oh, Shots fired. Certainly not the first time they’ve been directed at a Kent State student. Aye-oh. I had to run that joke back seeing as I am a runner).

But that wasn’t always the case. 

KB’s intellect has long dominated our family dynamics. 

KB was a presidential aficionado at the ripe and impressionable age of 6 years old. The boy had no holes in his chief of states, minus the likes of Lincoln, Kennedy, McKinley, and Garfield. He knew they had holes and how they got them. 

Memorizing the presidents in order is enough to frankly pierce a young boy for eternity. He was known as the “smart one”. KB was not immune to this way of thinking.  

And that memory has been etched into his brain forever. 

“Again and again I will memorize and rattle off obscure facts, figures, and trivia,” he humbly scribbled in his Goblin journal. 

He took what he penned very seriously. 

Folks, this is a sad tale of your friend KB. One I have been hesitant to discuss, for I do not want to shame my dear brother and cast any light on any of my parents’ wrongdoing for unknowingly idolizing him.

When I saw what happened to Kyle’s crossword teammates recently at the headquarters of Barstool in Chicago, Illinois, the memories I had been protecting Kyle for resurfaced and triggered an onslaught of flashbacks. 

Nerds. 

Trivia. 

Bathroom. 

The elation of victory. 

Cheated. 

Embarrassed at getting caught.

No remorse.

This tale was all too familiar. The Crossword Admission Scandal was another incident where Kyle felt pressured to cheat. If I didn’t speak up now, who would? And worse yet, how far would Kyle go to swindle? 

​

​
​

Lauren - Should I sit right here? 

Interviewer (off camera): Yes, right there. Make yourself comfortable. Thanks for coming in today. Are you ready? 

Lauren - I’m ready to tell this story. 

Screen goes dark. 

Lauren - I never knew how much pressure Kyle felt for being deemed “smart”. I thought he was a normal-ish boy growing up. 

Sure, he seemed to pore over atlases and placemats. He was keen on knowing all things. 

Interviewer: What things? 

Lauren - Well, there was the Penmanship incident. He wrote his name in perfect handwriting on the neighbor’s bed. None of the parents believed such a young boy could draft such a legible interpretation of his moniker until they broke out the pen and paper. Kyle recreated the exact same characters and letters as he did on the bed with such pride and admiration that the parents weren’t even angry. Just amazed. 

Then, there was the infamous Geography Bee usurping. I would rather not relive that event again. 

I also recall the infamous U.S.A. placemat. In kindergarten, Kyle memorized each state from sea to shining sea along with their capitals. My parents got their rocks off by making Kyle perform like a dog and pony show.  

Anyway, Kyle was shy and over (capital pun) joyed on being able to have something to talk about with people that they found impressive. Socializing wasn’t his thing. But my parents were willing to sacrifice their boy’s E (capital pun) brain, so it seems by the atlases, placemats, trivia books, and world record collections they bought him, to perform for friends and family. In the end, he won many scholastic awards. But his fate was sealed. Pressure was brewing in him, just like when he wrote his name. He was expected to perform at high intellectual levels.

I used to scour my brain for what went wrong with Kyle, but after years of therapy, I learned that having to perform at such a high level since a young age Kyle developed crippling performance anxiety. ‘The Roosevelts and Harrisons of the president placemat did a number on your brother,’ my therapist said. ‘They, Lauren, are a symbol of all facts for Kyle since they were the first thing he memorized.’

It will take some time, but he can learn to unlearn some of those negative thoughts he has about himself, thanks to Franklins and Frankforts of the world. He needs to stop blaming himself for not knowing the answer in the heat of the moment. He needs to move forward. I’m ready to talk about the Scandal. 

​
​

Screen fades to a Black. 

James (Lauren’s husband) - Can you hear me okay? Is this mic working? Okay. Check. Check. Cool. What’s the Scandal? Laughs. I wasn’t there for the original one, but he tried to pull it off a second time. 

Dead Mom (before she died) - I didn’t want to believe that he would do that. 

Greg Bauer (aka Doug Wanoy and father of Lauren and Kyle) - Let the record show that I called it. 

Lauren - Yeah, so, we were at Tir Na Nog. My parents and Kyle were visiting me in Raleigh. We went to my Monday night run club and decided to stay afterwards for the trivia. 

B-roll footage of the Bauers playing trivia. 

Lauren - We loved playing trivia. I don’t want to brag, but we have a few accolades under our name. Kyle and James always seemed to compete for the best player. My dad knew a lot too. My mom and I were there for a good time, but both of us always came through with a clutch answer. 

It was your typical Raleigh summer day. Hot. The sun was beating down. But I had a cheat code for the weather with my new running tanks and shorts. 

I had no idea that I was about to witness cheating at its finest. 

Sinister music. 

Trivia Host - I always go over the rules beforehand. No using your phones. No shouting out the answer. The usual rules for trivia. This one was good. Like how can we prove if he cheated, right? 

The Run Club Moderator - I remember that family. They won for the most obscure or oddest trivia team name, but they all scurried out before they could accept their award. 

Greg - None of us could remember the team name. We have long discussed what it could have been in the group chat. I know Lauren and Jonette were laughing so hard they were crying. 

Interviewer: Are you ready? 

Lauren - Deep sigh. Wrings hands. Yeah. I’m ready. I feel bad exposing Kyle, but I have to. It’s what’s best. 

So we were doing well. We had nailed the geography category. Pop culture. TV/Movies. Religion. I’d say we were sitting pretty in the top three.  

At one point, I had the pen and paper. The question had stumped us. Starts pacing. 

Oh my, I’m so sorry. It’s all so much. 

Kyle’s eyes darted around the restaurant. It was a full house. An ant scurried across his foot while “Becky with the Good Hair” played as our waiting song. He nervously glanced to his front, back, and even outside where a lorry lofts linearly to the sidewalk, delivering goods and blocking Kyle’s path to the outside world. He jumped up quickly and proclaimed he had to use the bathroom. I watched live as he strong-armed his way through the crowd and tussled people out of the way like he was a knight using a lance to push the enemy away. A yellow band of sweat puddled from his underarms. “Why was he so apprehensive?” I mused. He shuffled back to the table quietly. We were still debating the answer to the question. “This sure was hard”, ingesting my beer, I said out loud. Go figure. We keep skating around the answer. It was going to come down to the end, and we were going to lose. I deflated, negating all the answers I had contributed. But out of nowhere, like a Patriot in the Revolutionary War, Kyle perked up. He was about to play his trump card. He’d been biden’ his time. “I think I know the answer,” Kyle humbly proclaimed. “I think it might be Russia.” “You think?” my mom questioned. “Well, eeny, meeny, miney, moe. Catch a tiger by its toe. Let’s give Kyle’s answer a go.” We weren’t out of the woods yet, but we got that one right! Kyle really stepped up to bat for us and hit it out of the park. Cheating can feel good. Cheating can bring families together. All some people want is to feel the elation of winning. Kyle, the weight of succeeding did bear he? Bonds from winning were such a good feeling, right? 

The answer was yes.  

A few years later, we sat in a different bar playing trivia. It was like deja vu. Another stumped question. Kyle suspiciously had to use the bathroom at such an opportune time. My dad, no fool, caught on this time. 

“If he comes back knowing the answer…”

And he did. I looked at him and sadly shook my head. 

Kyle stared at me with horror in his eyes. What had he done? 

But I stayed silent. I wanted to protect his image. 

So that’s what I did. I became his accomplice. We all laughed it off. We claimed no big deal. We altered the story to deem fit. Kyle was doing a prank. He was being funny. No one was to blame. 

I ran with the ruse even after witnessing how Kyle got answers on The Dozen. 

I spun the subterfuge even after I watched the way Kyle manhandled crossword after crossword. 

I sat silently for years until the right date came around, and I was ready to tell my story. 

My brother is not who you think he is. He suffers from crippling performance anxiety. He needs to maintain his weird brain persona image. And it has made him into a bitter man, and now he is acting up, and it shows. 

Now you know the truth.

CHECK OUT the NEW BOOK about Doug, KB, and Dead Mom on Amazon. Learn more here. 
 
First 3 people to tip me this month will get a signed Doug Wanoy copy of Henry's Hiccups for Deaf Awareness Month. 
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And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. ​
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