Ray and Judy are a lovely couple who own a quaint bookshop in Rockaway, NJ. The store sells a variety of intricacies that we loved to browse: baseball cards, gag gifts, Chicken Soup for the Soul, paper dolls, and Hank books. 

Who is Hank? Hank is a man whose day consists of going to work, coming home, and reading either one of his comics from his $100,000 collection or one of his many Stephen King novels, watching TV in the dark, or going to Ray and Judy’s Book Stop. My aunt works for Hank’s wife. 

For reasons the mind will never fully comprehend, simply stopping at Ray and Judy’s wasn’t tradition enough. Our fathers had to take it a step further and out of their unscrupulous and conniving ways a new pastime was birthed - torturing Ray and Judy. 

They would repeatedly send Kyle into the shop with never enough money. Kyle would have to insist that he buy one of Hank’s books. It was always Hank. 

When they weren’t using Kyle as a scapegoat, they would post up at the front counter themselves and pester Ray and Judy with questions and jokes about Hank. It was always Hank. 

According to Bauer Family lore which has been written down in Bauer and Company’s 100 Biggest Oops (this a true, living document), “One day the owner of Ray and Judy’s told Hank about the jokes and described the people telling them. Hank responded by saying, ‘Oh, they are just two men who don’t want to grow up.’ Bauer and Company may never step back into the book stop again, but who cares, it’s just another place on Main Street that they can’t go to.”

But we went back year after year.  

​

I wrote about the Card Contest in the Chicken Soup for the Soul holiday edition book. 

For many, Jesus and Santa are the two main guys of Christmas. They steal the show. And although Jesus is the reason for the season in our household, there is another guy who is almost just as important to our family every holiday season. It’s the Card Guy. 

We have a long-standing tradition on my dad’s side of the family of having a card contest over the years. What started as a friendly game of voting on which Christmas card was the best to be sent to my uncle and his family turned into an all-out fierce competition of judging, alliances, secret voting, song and dance, tears, fights, and carefully crafting the perfect and funniest card for half a year. We’ve had family members become the Griswalds, Kardashians, Joe Biden and Obama, and Ralphie and Randy from A Christmas Story all in the name of the Card Contest. And out of that, the Card Guy came to life. 

The Card Guy is my uncle. On the eve of the contest, he transforms into character wearing a jean vest full of Christmas cards from days of yore. The lights dim, the music sounds, and he bursts into the room almost magically singing and dancing the opening number. Usually a spoof on a popular song. It’s oddly reminiscent of Michael Scott performing at the Dundies. Throughout his entire performance for the night, he does a spectacular job of hosting the contest. He divides the cards into categories: Nature, Religious, Plain Text, and the biggest, most coveted one of all, the Picture category. Then, he dazzles us with his jokes, wit, charisma, and charm until he ultimately crowns the winner of the night. For a while, the Card Guy was on top of the world. 

But over time, we became greedy and hungry for victory. We pushed the Card Guy for more. More jokes. More songs. More pizzazz. And we riddled him when the contest dragged on for too long. We belittled him when our cards didn’t win. We booed him when his jokes didn’t land. We demanded him to perform like he was some kind of show puppet and not a real person with real feelings. We couldn’t see it, but the Card Guy was cracking. The pressure was too much. 

Finally, he hung up his hat and announced his retirement. Some family members made feeble attempts to encourage him to perform again, but he simply wouldn’t do it. But with the birth of children, weddings, surgeries, and the like, the family wasn’t able to be together at Christmastime for the past two years. We made some tries to have the contest over Facebook, but it was missing something. It was missing the Card Guy. 

With the last years being so hard we all needed something to unite the world during the holiday season. Someone to bring peace and simplicity back into the homes of America again. We needed the Card Guy. But more importantly, we needed the Card Guy because he unites our family together. He makes us laugh. He makes us value family traditions. He gives us hope that despite everything that has happened in the world, we will always have each other to lean on, fight, and make up with, and ultimately create long-lasting memories with. Ones we can tell our children about. 2020 wasn’t the year for traditions to be forgotten. It was the year for them to be remade, rebirthed, and restored in any way possible. It was the year for Card Guy. 

We brought it back for a few years, but then my mom died, and it was too hard to do it. 

HOWEVER, stay tuned for next year. We will be back, and you can submit your card to the contest. 

​

Christmas starts with a birth and, for us Bauers, ends with death. During 2nd Christmas, our fathers loaded us in the car and drove us to Restland Memorial Park, the final resting place for my granddad (my dad’s father), my great-grandfather, and my great-grandmother. 

Because just simply paying our respects to the deceased is too much to ask for, our dads designed elaborate, competitive games for the kids to play to earn money. You might be quick to dismiss these playground games and chalk it up to two fathers who probably only wanted a few minutes to themselves to smoke their cigars. However, I know our fathers and these contests were just as much for their entertainment as it was for ours. 

Much like the wise men delivering gifts to Jesus, our padres, too, made us deliver gifts to the graves of our departed loved ones. The person with the most unique gift won.

In hindsight, I am abashed to admit that we aided and abetted in petty grave robbery and just enabled our fathers’ miserly misconducts. “We don’t need to buy flowers for the graves, we will just have our children steal things.” 

Once the gathering of the objects ended, we were free to frolic around the cemetery

Other Graveyard Olympic games consisted of the following: 

• First to Locate Our Family’s Plots
• The Youngest Person to Die (Diabolical thinking about that now)
• The Oldest Person to Die

Then, for the Closing Ceremonies, we would skip and chant around the graves with a Hail Mary or Our Father probably thrown in there somewhere. Bizarre but then again our fathers are bizarre and had a bizarre relationship with their dad. 

​

To be fair, I had been warned. Yet, the pain of the second year knocked me down in an earth-shattering way.

The anniversary of my mom’s death came and went. I was thrust back into the start of the school year soon after. I didn’t have time to process what entering the second year meant.

But, over time, I soon started to realize all of the nuances of Year 2. And I didn’t like them.

To me, the griever, a year removed from my mom’s death is still very fresh. To me, the lifelong journey of my grief is just beginning. To everyone else who doesn’t get it, a year is so long ago.

You start questioning your actions. “Am I still talking about her death way too much?” “Do people think I’m milking my sadness?” “Why does this still feel so hard?”

The answer to that last question is it feels hard because it is hard. The second year of grief can be so much harder than the first, despite what people believe.

Here is what 20–30-year-olds had to say about the second year after losing their parents.

1.) I’m in the second year and it is just horrible. — Jennifer

2.) I’m in Year 2 of my mom dying and am finding it to be a lot heavier than Year 1. Not as shocking as the first year, and I’ve definitely learned tools to handle it better. But Year 2 seems to be a deeper kind of grief as more time passes without her.

I don’t think a lot of people who have been through this understand that things don’t just get better after the first year. — Lauren

3.) I think it was the realization that this is the way it’s going to be for the rest of my life. — Mike

4.) I’m expecting it to be worse. I lost my mom just a month ago, and we were very close. When my aunt, who was like a second mom, passed, I was ok on her first anniversary but broke down on her second. So I’m expecting the same or worse with Mom. It did get easier with my aunt after some years. It has been 16 now. So I’m hoping it will get easier after a few years go by. Yes, years…it will take lots of time, but it will get easier (hopefully). For all of us. — Janet

5.) 11 months for me. December 19th, 2023, was the worst day of my life by far. I don't know how I made it through these 11 months and surely have no idea how I will make it past the year. “She’s with you.” Yeah, I hear it and feel it. But the physical presence meant soooo much more. Everything is a milestone. -Kadie

6.) Just started on year 2…. So much harder….. — Tracey

7.) It is year 2 since my Mom passed. I think the reality sets in, and it is not any easier. I miss her so much. The phone calls every evening to make sure she is ok. All the visits are done. No, it is not easier. -Cheryl

8.) Year two is lonely. Mom is gone, but her traditions linger. Every family member has moved beyond shock to a new level of grief or coping. The unity in shock and pain is missing. — Julia

9.) I completely agree; the first year is shock and numbness, but the second year is when reality sets in. — Jeff

10.) For me, year 2 was better because I had experienced all the firsts. She died at the end of January, so she had been gone a while by the time the first holidays rolled around… so I wasn’t still in shock and felt the deep grief of the holidays without her. Once her 1 year passed, I felt a bit better. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of hard times during year 2… but each year has gotten a bit better. — Becky

11.) Year two was hard! Bc I thought ok, it’s gonna get easier. Not the case; it was how has it been two years, how have I lived without her for 2 years, how? — Shanda

12.) My shock is gone and now reality sets in. — Marie

13.) About a month after my Mom passed away, I met someone who told me that the second year was worse. Definitely not what I wanted to hear. But absolutely true! I was glad to have been warned. Everyone thinks if you get past “the year of firsts,” then you’re good. But it’s not true at all.

When they told me about year 2, they said that for the first year, you think they’re away. But by the second year, it starts to sink in that they aren’t coming back. — Gretchen

14.) Year 2 was especially hard since my dad was dating someone. I understood his wanting someone in his life to love and was angry at myself for being angry at the situation and her for leaving too soon. By the end of Year 2, it finally settled in my bones she was gone, and picking up my phone to call or text her stopped, and I accepted the situation. — Sara

15.) My mom died on Thanksgiving day of 2022. In year one, I was in shock, I kept busy to not feel the pain. Year two has been so hard and getting harder the closer we get to the 24th. It’s really settled in that she’s gone now that I’m truly starting to process. — Sarah

16.) Year two was worse. The reality sets in. The friends who haven’t experienced such great loss, their support no longer exists. People expect you to just move on. I was VERY close to my mom…its been so hard without her. I really miss the love my mom gave me. — AnnaMarie

17.) Year 2 was much worse. I think the reality of it sets in. In year 1, I kept telling myself to “get through” my 1st birthday without her, 1st Thanksgiving, 1st Christmas, etc. I focused on that and not so much on her actually being gone. So Year 2 hit really hard. I am in year 4, and I lost my Dad back in April, so it is back to now getting through everything without my parents. What a journey! — Melissa

18.) I think I was in a fog and numb during the first year. The second year was when the shock wore off. It was awful for me. I’m now in the third year, and I still have moments of very heavy grief, but it’s not quite as often as last year. — Hayley

19.) In year 2, the shock is gone. Only the deep-seated awareness that it isn’t going to change. She is gone and is not coming back. — Mary

20.) My mom died in March 2021. NYE, I was so sad and had a panic attack almost because I felt like it wasn’t fair to go into 2022 without her. Does that make sense? — Alicia

21.) Mine passed the day after my birthday, and I don’t know how I will handle it next year. I may stop celebrating birthdays or I may celebrate my life and hers. We’ll see. Sending love and hugs. — Janet

22.) Please tell me it isn’t true about year 2! It’s only been since Oct 8th, and every day, I dread waking up. The pain is unbearable. I keep wishing, praying that she will walk down the hall. I really can’t do this alone..and I’m all alone…with the exception of all of you, there is no one to hold me, to tell me it will be okay, to hug me, and let me weep on their shoulder. I am so alone — Tracy

23.) I’m in the 2nd year of losing my Mum suddenly to a heart attack. I was 32 at the time. I’ve found this year really hard and so different from the 1st year. The shock of it has gone, and you’re just left with the loss. I’m starting to get back to some sense of a normal life, and it will just hit me sometimes — my Mum died. It still doesn’t seem real, sometimes I feel like I’m living in an alternate reality.
She feels further away from me now too. When she first died, I’d only seen her a week before, and I still felt so close to her. Now she feels so distant and I’m scared of that feeling getting worse, of the memory of her slipping away.

Also, everyone around you has moved on and forgets to check in and ask how you’re doing. One of my neighbours, who I barely know, asked me how I was coping the other da,y and it made me cry because none of my family or close friends even ask anymore.

My advice would be to do what you can to hold on to the parent you lost and keep their memory alive. Have photos of them around, talk about them, go to places you went to with them, and find your own way of keeping them in your life, even if they can’t be there physically anymore. — Lucy

24.) I haven’t gotten to year 2 yet; my dad’s 1st death anniversary is coming next month. I always assumed 2nd year was going to feel worse than the 1st. Every day, I am further away from him, from having seen him, talked to him, heard his laugh, etc. This whole first year feels like maybe he could just be in the hospital or something. But now it’s like my body is realizing he is truly gone. — Katie

25.) I’m a week into year two, and it’s very different. In year on,e I was holding my breath to get to year two; now I’m figuring it out. — Kayley

26.) Just wanted to share that I’m approaching year 2 and feel the same way as you- it’s about to be my second round of holidays without her, and it feels just empty. The loss is just prominent, and the realization that she isn’t coming back is even greater. Definitely a deeper and different kind of grief on some days; it feels like it happened years ago, and some days it feels like it just happened this week. People don’t really ask about it anymore, and it almost feels like I don’t deserve the same kind of “sympathy” in year 2 as I did in year 1, almost like I should’ve grieved it by now and should be okay. — Caroline

27.) I am in the middle of year 2 and it definitely is different than year 1.
The “shock” has faded, but the reality of it hits even harder. I could be having a normal, “good” day, and I’ll have random intrusive thoughts like, “But your Mom is dead.” And then it just strikes all over again. I find the longing and yearning have become worse for me. As I go on to live this new normal, I find myself in more situations where I just want to talk to her and keep her updated with my life. I, too, feel a little more distant from her, but this is where conscious effort has to be made to keep her memory alive. Talking about her, listening to her favorite music, going to places you’ve been with her. It can be difficult, but I think it’s necessary to keep that alive.

The yearning will never go away, and for me, that’s one of the biggest hurdles I’m learning to navigate through,h and I will for the rest of my life. — Andrea

I know it won’t be this bad forever. Grief still comes in waves. It’s nice to know that I am not alone and that there is a whole community out there that understands.
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If this is you and you are in Year 2, hang in there. I’m right there with you.

If you know someone who is in Year 2, understand that grief has no timeline and that time doesn’t always make it better immediately.

*I never refer to Kyle as KBNoSwag. I just put that moniker in my titles for SEO keywords.* 

*CHECK OUT the NEW BOOK about Doug, KB, and Dead Mom on Amazon. Learn more here.  *

It's Thanksgiving week, and I still haven't written a blog for you this month, so I'm going to phone this one in and use a paper I wrote for my high school senior year creative writing class. 

Keep in mind I was 17 at the time, and I hadn't yet quite honed my craft of writing and found my voice. I was still experimenting with introductions, dialogue, and abundance of adjectives and metaphors, and the tasteful art of humor.

This picture is infamous in our Bauer Family History. The picture tells its own story, but it is time that I unearth the true narrative behind the photograph that reveals exactly who we all are as people. 

​Enjoy.

Whitewater rafting - the activity of being moved quickly in a raft along rivers where the current is very strong. That is a standardized definition of the term whitewater rafting.

However, my family somehow overlooked that definition. 

For some reason, the words 'quickly,' 'current,' and 'strong' just did not seem to come to mind. Our picture of the whole recreational sport involved us relaxing in a raft floating happily along the river while basking in the sun with a cold drink in hand, enjoying the picturesque landscape surrounding us. 

Well, that all changed when were seated in our rafts and the guide uttered these words, "Never stop padding through the rapids. If you do, your raft may tip, and we will have to rescue you." 

We knew were in for a treat. 

My mom decided a whitewater rafting adventure would be an auspicious ending to our otherwise, to be blunt, Vacation From Hell (I was probably the only one to have enjoyed myself, but that is a whole different story that may perhaps be told on a later date.). 

We were headed back from New Jersey and, by no means adventitious, would pass right by the exit for the Yough River where Ohiopyle is in western PA. My dad was a bit cautious at first. My mom and I are not exactly poster children for the strong and mighty. Petite would be an adequate word to describe us. My brother was only 12, (the minimum age for the Lower Yough) but yet still has gigantic muscles (added solely on his request). 

My mom reassured my dad that everything would be fine, and all we would be doing was row, row, rowing our rafts gently down the stream....

After spending the night at a local hotel and a half hour drive, we had arrived. The day was cloudy with the sun trying to peak through. I was animated because I love outdoorsy activities and thrill-seeking adventures. Plus this was another feature I could cross out on my list of The Top Ten Things To Do Before I Die. No one had to know that instead of battling rapids that I would be sunbathing. 

my mom, on the other hand, was somewhat peeved about the BO/rive water stench of the life jackets and helmets. What did she think they would smell like? Perfume? Considering all rivers usually carry the aroma of Bath and Body Works. 

While waiting for the bus to take us to the river, my dad who is extremely overconfident, was watching films of brave souls conquering Class V rapids and bragging how he could handle those with no problems. As for my brother, does anyone really know what goes on inside his head? 

We boarded the bus with other members of our expedition (about 15 groups), including a really lively Boy Scout troop, and headed to our rafts that were alongside the river. We sat down in our rafts with our paddles and waited for the guide to give us our instructions. Meanwhile we noticed other guides getting into various groups' boats. We asked them why they had a guide and we did not. They replied by telling us that they paid extra for a guide. 

Strange...why would they pay extra for a guide when all we are doing is gliding along? That doesn't usually require much strength. 

The guide began speaking, and it was not long before our fate was revealed. 

"It is important to remember to never stop paddling while going through the rapids. If you do, the raft may tip, and we would have to rescue you. Someone along the way will most likely fall out. When you do, do not panic and immediately lie on your back or else your feet may get caught in a rock, and that is not good. I'll caution you that the water is freezing...blah, blah, blah...Now let's go have some fun!" 

However, I kind of stopped listening after the first few sentences. I think I was having too much trouble trying to close my gaping mouth. I looked around at my family. They seemed shocked also, except for my dad who claims that the word fear is not in his vocabulary. 

"Your mom wanted to do this. I tried to warn her that the Class III-IV is a little too much for first timers. Do not blame me. Blame her," my dad just had to throw out there. 

The other groups had begun carrying their rafts down to the river. Needless to say, that was an arduous task for us. My mom complained that the raft was too heavy and basically made no attempt at all. My brother could barely reach the raft once it was over our heads. I put in some effort but to no avail. My dad had to do all the work, and by the time we had gotten the raft into the water he was in a surly mood.

As one could probably guess, our whitewater rafting did not start out too well. We basically turned in circles while bumping into other groups. My dad, who had been appointed captain, was desperately trying to read the guide's signals while shouting loudly. Above my dad's shouting, my mom, too, decided to chime in yelling her own instructions. On top of all this, I was crying out for my dad to stop being mean and for my mom to chill. Complete chaos would describe this scene right now. Did I mention we had not even reached the rapids yet? 

We somehow managed to fall in place and row forward. 

"The first rapid will be coming up. It is called 'Entrance Rapid'. Follow my hand signals and watch out for the hydraulics and irregular waves," announced the guide. 

What in the heck did hydraulics mean? I did not have time to ask. I would like to say that we successfully made it through, but that would be lying. 

When we got to the rapid, we panicked, stopped paddling, and completely ignored the hand signals. Of course, my dad never stopped rowing and yelling even when I fell backwards and whacked him in the head with my paddle in spite of the numerous times that guide told us to be careful with the paddle. Never did he stop paddling even when our raft turned all the way around and my mom screeched that she was incapable of paddling from the right side; however, she is right-handed. He finally stopped rowing when we had reached the end. 

The look on his face could kill. He chastised us for not paddling and admonished me for the paddle incident. At this time, I began to laugh and told him not to take this so seriously and have some fun. I guess being almost knocked unconscious is a matter to be taken seriously because he did not cheer up. He mumbled something about this being Mom's idea. 

We were quickly approaching "Cucumber Rapid," Our picture was to be taken (see the main picture which depicts our mood throughout the trip perfectly). "Cucumber Rapid" was not as difficult. We made it through without falling out, turning around, or whacking anyone; nonetheless, Mom, my brother, and I still forgot to paddle (see picture), and Mom still shouted random instructions that were of no value at all. By the end of "Cucumber Rapid," I actually deemed it sort of fun. I am pretty certain my dad smiled, and my mom may have taken a moment to breathe and close her mouth. 

As the time passed and a few more rapids conquered, we got to be, what I would say, "good." Once underdogs, we were not almost the leader of the pack. Like in all things, once considered "good", a drive to be the best is evident. Whitewater rafting is no different, and some minds want to be the best out of a 15-group excursion. 

In this case that would be Greg Bauer's mind. He fathomed this idea what we should be the number one group of the pack, and no rest would be allowed until the task was accomplished. 

Every one of us is competitive, and we accepted the challenge. I am proud to say, and by no means am I being a braggart, that we prevailed. I am not saying it was easy.

We had our setbacks: my mom's constant drone of how much her arms ached and how she smelled BO; my brother's falling out of the raft when were not even going through a rapid; our raft getting pinned to a rock and filling with water as we sat and watched it happen; some other groups' competition; and the "Dimple Rapid" Incident, which I thought would be our downfall. 

As we approached "Dimple Rapid," the guide told us that this one would be the hardest yet. Of course, we were confident. After all we were the number one group.

The rapids were fierce, the hydraulics were tough, the force was immense. Mom almost knocked me out. 

One time I happened to glance back. Dad was gone! "Where's Dad?" I shouted to my brother, Kyle. Kyle informed me that Dad had fallen out. Kyle never even told us! You would think that losing my dad would be a key detail not to leave out. 

Kyle assumed role as captain as Dad was being rescued. It makes me wonder if Kyle pushed Dad over in order to be captain..

In short, Kyle was a horrible captain. I nearly lost all self-control when he yelled for me to paddle, but I could not because my side of the raft was pinned to a rock. 

Dad finally came back, and we decided to relax until the end since we had already obtained our goal. The rushing river and the gigantic trees that hovered above us were really majestic once we took the time to look at them. When we had a goal to work toward, we all learned to cooperate and work together. That was my dad's whole plan all along (I hope). 

Fatigue and soreness overcame us on the way home, but we all agreed that that would not be the last time we rowed our raft gently down the stream, for life is but a dream. 

Lauren Bauer
English - 2nd Period
​November 14, 2005

Wow! While copying this paper, I would predict what I would write now, and it turned out to be the same thing my 17-year old brain wrote. Pretty cool. 

This trip was a core memory, and one we would talk about for years afterwards. What were we thinking not having a guide? Well, it made for quite a story. 

We all ended up going whitewater rafting again,  but this trip will always be the most memorable. 

Thanks for coming along this journey with me.

First 4 people to tip me this month will get a signed Doug Wanoy copy of Henry's Hiccups for Deaf Awareness Month. 
​
And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. 

The Bauers have had some unique hobbies over the years, and it seems that mythical map-making has made its way down to the youngest generation—my son. 

When it’s Doug’s turn, he picks Henry (he has yet to choose a moniker for himself - another hobby Bauers have dabbled in) up from kindergarten and brings him to Lorraine’s, a local coffee shop run by coffee connoisseur Lorainne. The coffee shop also doubles as a driving school run by enterprising entrepreneur Lorraine and an entertainment venue run by legendary, boisterous bluegrass singer Lorraine. The lore of Lorraine runs deep.

Doug and Henry order coffee and a cold hot chocolate, respectively. The duo then perch on their high top, spread out their map-making materials, and meticulously go to work making magic on the territory of Henryville (again, we need some work in the name titling department). 

Henryville features 5 main neighborhoods: China, Vernot, North Carolina, Canada, and India.

Nearly all the neighborhoods feature Mean Birdy (played by Doug Wanoy) - a resident who wreaks havoc upon the whole town by pooping on things and squawking in another native, Henry’s (played by Henry), ear. Henry, fortunately, can retreat to his lake house out in the country, but Mean Birdy always finds a way to foil Henry’s rest and relaxation. 

Another trope of Henryville is that the sovereign nation always features shoddy infrastructure dilemmas. The state’s head civil engineer, Henry (played by Henry), is called upon to rebuild broken roads, stabilize rundown bridges, and repair collapsed buildings. While Henry works diligently on his restoration project, he is interrupted by a phone call from the mayor played by Doug Wanoy. The mayor, without fail, scolds Henry for taking too long. Henry gets annoyed. The mayor threatens Henry. Henry saves the day. 

​

Breaking down each district, we will start with CHINA. China houses the police department and is the safest, albeit, the strictest of the five neighborhoods. Residents here aren’t known for having fun. Their vernacular largely consists of words related to work. They strongly live by five main pillars: Labor, Chores, Projects, Duties, and Assignments. Labor refers to their job. Chores consist of what they do around the house. Projects reference the passion project each member focuses on. Duties allude to how they serve the greater community. Assignments constitute the work they do for higher education. All residents strive to complete each of the five pillars each day. 

Henry spends the least time in this city as the area is generally neat and sturdy. The retention pond and pocket park are well maintained.

Some notable residents of this area are Chief of Police Chad, a four-time state champion in football who always vows to be tough on crime. However, everyone knows he frequently visits North Carolina and India to engage in debauchery and lives in China just for appearances. 

Married couple Simon and Betty Li also reside in the neighborhood. They both have PhDs, and their life’s work has been devoted to the sciences. They generally despise Chad as they think he is a buffoon but put up with him due to their beliefs that local politics and bureaucracy are malarky and below them intellectually. They also do a remarkable job of keeping Mean Birdy away thanks to their patent-pending invention of Wordy Birdy, a communication tool that helps them mimic and speak the language of birds. Mean Birdy respects them tremendously. It also helps that Henry is often not in this neighborhood. 

Chad puts up with the dynamic duo because, without them, the neighborhood would collapse. Chad knows this but is too proud to admit it. This is why he drinks every night. 

​

Moving on to the neighboring village of VERNOT, visitors will find the quirky and eccentric residents of Henryville. The streets of Vernot are filled with hipsters working at coffee shops and ice cream shops with names like The Daily Grind and The Vernot Creamery. 

Most noteworthy is the neighborhood’s Robot Park, a Henry and Doug production. Little kids and adults alike flock to the park during all seasons. The train station is nearby, so guests can conveniently ride the train here.

Sven Larsson, a Swedish designer, lives in one of the mid-century modern split-level houses in the neighborhood. He had a large hand in designing Robot Park.

Sven dates local bookstore and boutique owner Ashley Parker. Ashley lives with her twin sister, Hannah, in a modest cottage on the outskirts of the neighborhood. Hannah owns a bakery and has recently become engaged to a big-city guy, Pilot Pete who lives in Canada. 

Lastly, retired partners Reginald and Archibald live in an apartment in the middle of the neighborhood. In their mid-60s, they have taken Ashley and Hannah under their wings and frequently host dinner parties and themed nights. Most recently, their Halloween party boasted over 100 guests. It is rumored that Chad snuck in with a costume of a sumo wrestler even though he’s been very public with his disdain for the lifestyles and decisions of Reginald and Archibald along with the rest of the neighborhood. He tried to flirt with Hannah even though she’s 20 years younger than him. She rebuked his advances. 

The people of China do not get along with the people of Vernot, for they criticize their relaxed and carefree ways. The people of Vernot pay the people of China no mind. 

​

The third neighborhood of Henryville is NORTH CAROLINA. North Carolina has one thing and one thing only. The high school, Henry High, and the football field, Henry High House Stadium. Chad was made here. He ran the halls of Henry High with his best friend, Bob (commonly known as Construction Bob now). Chad, the quarterback, and Bob, the running back, never miss a Friday Night Lights with their lettermen jackets in tow albeit 50 pounds heavier. They sit in the same seats and chew on sunflower seeds while cursing the refs, complaining about their wives, Sandy and Debbie, former cheerleaders, and reminiscing on the good old days. Their wives stay at home and take care of their combined 11 kids. Bob lives right next to the stadium and the bar, Seniors, which frequently has patrons who are both seniors in high school and seniors in age bracket. Chad wishes he lived here, too. 

​

The last neighborhood is INDIA. The fire station is here. Fire chief, Fred and his wife Jasmine live right next to the station. Fred is one of the most upstanding citizens of Henryville, and his business acumen is topnotch. He absolutely cannot stand Chad who regularly hangs out in this neighborhood because there is a subsidiary police station and, of course, another bar called Poor Pours. Chad’s eldest son, Gary, rents a house in this neighborhood and loves breaking the law and hosting house parties with high school and college students even though he’s 25. Fred’s life mission, besides putting out fires, is bringing down Chad. 

​

In the countryside of Henryville is a cute little lake house surrounded by fields and flowers. Henry currently stays here in hopes of evading the tyranny of Doug and Mean Birdy who are always trying to cause him much-needed stress. His passion is building cities and making Henryville into the best city it can be, and the two evil villains are always trying to put a stop to Henry’s accomplishments.

Recently, Henry made the news for some of his latest projects. Please watch below.

​

​I have always been amazed and thankful at the creativity and imagination my parents bestowed upon us. I am glad in my mom’s short time with Henry that she imparted some of this creativity on him and that my dad continues to do so. What is your favorite city? 

CHECK OUT the NEW BOOK about Doug, KB, and Dead Mom on Amazon. Learn more here. 
 
First 5 people to tip me this month will get a signed Doug Wanoy copy of Henry's Hiccups for Deaf Awareness Month. 
​
And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. 

​

If you are in the field of teaching, it’s no secret that the state of education has its flaws. It’s also no secret that the past year has been sad for me. 

So toward the end of last year and the start of this year, I decided to bring back some fun to the classroom and add some levity despite all the seriousness of high-stakes testing, politics, school shootings, drama on social media, and the rise of anxiety in teens. 

In the process, my classroom is becoming dangerously close to the Yak (APPROPRIATELY). 

In my class, there are nine students plus me.

Mentally, I’ve assigned each student to a member of the Yak. But because I’m an utmost example of a professional I will not be using students’ real names and will instead be using fake names. Try to see which member of the Yak corresponds to my students. Guess in the comments who matches to whom.

THE YAK

• Big Cat 
• Brandon
• Titus
• KB
• Nick
• Kate
• Steven Cheah
• TJ
• Zah
• A special appearance by Frank the Tank

___________________________________________________
MY CLASS

• Ms. Barrett
• Ronny
• Zoe
• Rick
• Devaughn 
• B 
• Skyler
• Nae
• Ivan
• Jenna Gray

 Some Yak Members will be played by girls. 

Some of the these conversations and situations are real ones that we've had in class and some have been altered for dramatic effect.

This is something entirely different than my normal style of writing. I hope you like it. It might be a complete miss, but I had fun writing it. 

Ms. Barrett: Good afternoon! So what’s up, guys? I missed you guys over the weekend. What’s going on?

B walks in late. Sits close to me. 

Ms. Barrett: B is here. 

B: Sorry I’m late. My ab workout was postponed. I got q’d up at the bell tower. Alex G. Bell got that line on hold for real though. No cap, Ms. B. Trust. 

Ms. Barrett: 

B: 

Ms. Barrett: 

B: There was a long line at Taco Bell, and it took a while to order my Cheesy Gordita Crunch. 

Ms. Barrett stifles back hilarious laughter. 

Nae:  Damn. That’s good. 

Ivan: Laughs. 

Skyler: Fist pumps B. 

B: Yeah. So many fatties in line tryin’ to order the whole menu, but I brought you a taco, Ms. B. Want one? 

Ms. Barrett: Thanks, B. But because you’re late, you can either take the tardy, or we can spin the punishment wheel. 

Nae: What’s the punishment wheel?

Ms. Barrett: I’m glad you asked, Nae. We went over it on the first day of school. You weren’t here. 

Nae: I have so many other classes. 

Ms. Barrett: Well, I’m glad to see that you dropped one of your classes to make room for this class. It’s at the same time every day 11:15 Eastern Time (10:15 Central). 

Ivan: Why did we need to know the Central Time? 

Ms. Barrett: No reason. 

Nae: I was fixin’ to get an A in ‘Merica History and they just dropped my ass out of that class. Canceled it. 

Skyler: Nae, I talked to Mama, and she said this new schedule is good for you. 

Nae: Whatcha talkin’ to my mama for? 

Ronny: Your mama is such a delight. 

Skyler: Want Ms. Barrett to get it back? She’ll get the class back for you. 

Ms. Barrett: I’ll get it back for you. I’ll talk to the principal and try to get that class back for you. Anyway, the punishment wheel. 

Devaughn: Interrupts the flow of the class with a fit of coughing and hacking. He, then, goes on a rant about  the Nets - the internet, interweb, WI-FI - not working fast enough, so he can play his Roblox. 

Everyone looks around and starts murmuring. 

All (whispering): He’s got to go. He needs to leave. Ms. B., get him out of this class. 

Ms. Barrett (ignoring the group’s consensus): So, you can take the tardy in PowerSchools. Per school policy, many tardies equals lunch detention or ISS or you can spin the Punishment Wheel. On the Punishment Wheel are things like making a phone call to someone. This generation doesn’t know how to talk on the phone. Doing an act of kindness. Writing a grammatically correct paragraph. Reading silently. Or the gauntlet. 

Nae: What’s the gauntlet? 

Ms. Barrett: Glad you asked, Nae. The gauntlet will consist of throwing a ball against the door. You got to catch it 10x with each hand. You then have to speed walk all around the library loop. Come back. Make one ping pong into the basket. Then, name 5 states on Sporcle. 

B: NAME 5 STATES? I can’t do that! 

Ms. Barrett: Hmm… You don’t know the states? I wrote you differently in my head. I might have mischaracterized you a bit. 

B: What? 

Ms. Barrett: Never mind. 

Skyler: You got this, bro. 

Ronny: I have such anxiety about this. 

Ms. Barrett: Okay, today is Morphological Monday. We will learn the NOT prefix family. 

Skyler: What’s a prefix? 

Ms. Barrett: You should have learned that already. You’re a sen-...

Skyler (winking): I’ve only been here a year.

Ms. Barrett: Oh right, everyone. Skyler is a sophomore. Happy one year of being at this school, Skyler. 

Ms. Barrett: The first prefix in the family is Dis-. 

Nae: Starts to walk out of the classroom. 

Ms. Barrett: Nae? Where are you going? 

Nae: My DoorDash is here with my Chick-Fil-A. 

Ms. Barrett: Before you go, can you do our High School ad read?

Nae: What? 

Ms. Barrett: I’m doing a bit. Just go with it. Read this. 

Nae: It’s time to load up on the fries and break out the oversized T-shirts because the High School Concession Endzone Pack is here. It includes limited edition fan faves, pizza and pom poms, along with ring pops and koozies. The High School Endzone Pack is a fall exclusive which means it’s here for a good time, not a long time. Visit High School Spirits.com before your next Friday Night Lights to find a pack near you. 

Ms. Barrett: Let’s look at some words that start with the prefix dis-. Disown. What does that mean? 

Ivan: Not to own anymore. Get rid of.  

B: Like how I’m about to disown my cat, Drummer Bones, if she claws my feet in the middle of the night one more time. 

Skyler: No, dude, bro. No, don't even, oh dude. Not Drummer.  

B: Bro, I got her on lockdown mode. 

Skyler: You know you like it when she’s sassy though. 

B: You know I do. 

Skyler and B at the same time: Ohhh shit. Fist bumps. 

Ms. Barrett: Let me buy something for Drummer. Ok new word - disbelief. 

Ronny:  I saw on Tik Tok that Beethoven is dropping a new single. I’m in disbelief. 

Nae: But isn’t that ni-

Ivan: Whoa, there Nae. I know you have said that before, but here? 

Nae: I’m allowed to say it. What I was going to say is this: Isn’t that nineteen century classical composer dead though?

Skyler: I think he died in the 18th century. 

Ms. Barrett: Zoe, can you pull up a picture of Beethoven. 

Zoe: Huh?

Devaughn: Interrupts the flow of the class with a fit of coughing and hacking. 

Someone from outside my classroom: Get him out of here. 

Someone else from outside my classroom: That cough wasn’t even that bad. 

Someone from outside my classroom: But he’s taking up too much room in that classroom. There needs to be an empty chair in case Ms. Barrett ever has students stop by. 

Ms. Barrett: We'll let the wheel decide if he stays. 

Zoe: Mozart dropped a new single. Not Beethoven. 

Ronny: Ohh darn it. I got my facts wrong again. 

Skyler: Ohh no, shucks, guys, I got my 18th Century Classical Composers wrong again. 

Ms. Barrett: Was Mozart the deaf one? 

Ivan: I believe it was Beethoven. 

B: Yeah he was on some of that Helen Keller shit. I’m in disbelief. How is a deaf guy composing music?

Skyler: Something is fishy about that. 

Ronny: They have some crazy ass names too. 

Skyler: Ludwig. Wolfgang.

All: Laughs

B: Wolfgang is a wild name. 

Skyler: Hello, this is little Wolfgang. He’ll be joining us in kindergarten. 

B: Awooooo. 

Nae: What about Bach? 

Ivan: Chopin. 

Ms. Barrett: I think we are missing the point? What do you mean Mozart dropped new music? He’s dead. 

Skyler: Would you say you’re in disbelief? 

Jenna Gray: According to Google, the seven-movement piece is believed to have been written in the mid to late 1760s, when Mozart was a teenager.

Ms. Barrett: Holy crap. Jenna Gray is here. I didn’t see you way over there behind your computer. 

Jenna Gray: Yep, I’m here. 

Ms. Barrett: What’s going on? How are you?

Jenna Gray: I made a mug cake today in Foods class. 

Ms. Barrett: What’s a mug cake? 

B: I think it’s has crumbled oreo and pudding to look like mud. 

Jenna Gray: No. Mug cake. 

Ms. Barrett: Are you saying mud or mug? 

Jenna Gray: Mug as in my favorite place to keep pennies I find off the ground. 

Ms. Barrett: That’s a crazy example for mug! 

Ivan:(Groans) You’re infuriating. 

Ms. Barrett: Notices Rick writing on the table. 

Rick has written on the table. “Want a BBL call this number.”

Skyler: Uh oh, it must be horny hours for Rick. You dawg, Rick. 

Ms. Barrett: More like WARN-y Hours. This is your warning not to write that kind of stuff again. I will write you up. 

Nae: The other night I was just relaxing, being cool, you know, like I am and this woman gonna come up to me and say, Nae, I said, yeah, that's my name. 

Ms. Barrett: Don’t finish that. 

Skyler: I love when BerNAE Mac shows up. 

Ms. Barrett: So Gray what’s on the prep sheet today? 

Jenna Gray: What? 

Ms. Barrett: I mean anything you want to talk about? Anything on your mind? 

Jenna Gray: No? 

Ms. Barrett: That’s odd. I guess you weren’t prepared. 

Ms. Barrett: Let’s continue with our next NOT Family prefix - non-. What do we think nonperishable means? 

Ronny: Non- means not. Isn’t perish like to die or something? 

B: Not able to die. 

Ms. Barrett: Yes, now let’s think of it in terms of food. Like a canned food drive you want to collect nonperishable foods. 

Skyler: Not able to spoil or rot. Like canned food. 

Nae: Oh like canned sardines. Mama used to make that for me growing up. 

Skyler: Eww, dude, that’s nasty. 

Ronny: Oh no, it’s good. Put a little mayo on it and you got yourself a delightful treat. 

B: Crackers. Ritz crackers is another example. 

Skyler: The BEST crackers, bro. 

Ivan: No way, the club crackers are superior. 

Ronny: Saltines. 

Ms. Barrett: Canned cranberries are the best. 

Skyler: Should we tier nonperishable foods? 

Ms. Barrett: Zoe, pull it up. 

Zoe: What? 

Class continues. 

B: Ms. B, can I get some of that special water? 

Ms. Barrett: You’ve all earned it. You’ve been working hard. 

Ms. Barrett walks the class into the small break room with the fridge and the filtered water. They all say the creed over the “special water,” and she pours them a glass of the water. 

The class continues on a little bit more. 

Ms. Barrett: Well, the bell is about to ring. Before we go let's do our picks for the week. My bet is that B will be late 2x this week to class.  B, Skyler, you have a parlay for us?

Skyler: I'm taking the Felix Gray B Seein' Parlay.

Ms. Barrett: 

Skyler: Jenna Gray forgets her glasses over 3 times this week and B takes your bluelight glasses because he thinks they look good on him over 3 times this week. 

All : Laughs

Ms. Barrett: Whatcha got, B? 

B: Go Go Grease Lightning Parlay. 

Ms. Barrett: Let's hear it. 

B: We'll go Devaughn will have 10 coughing fits in one class period and Sandy will bang on your door and interrupt your class 5 times week. You'll tell them both to, 'Go, go' while pointing to the door. 

Ms. Barrett: Nae, any quick picks? 

Nae: 

Ms. Barrett: Well, on that note, It's The Class. See you tomorrow, everyone. 

 
🎵It’s The Class.

It’s The Class.

Get your water Barrett style and stay for a while. (Yo, Zoe turn that down)

It’s The Class.

It’s The Class.

Yeah it’s time to be cringe and do a prefix binge

It’s The Class. 🎵

Zoe stays behind. She’s the last one left in class to close her laptop. 

Zoe: Thank you. Bye. Love you. 

Ms. Barrett turns off the light and the room goes dark. 

​

CHECK OUT the NEW BOOK about Doug, KB, and Dead Mom on Amazon. Learn more here. 
 
First 7 people to tip me this month will get a signed Doug Wanoy copy of Henry's Hiccups for Deaf Awareness Month. 
​
And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. 

​A year ago I lost my mom. I won’t go into all the details of how much I miss her. But just know it’s a lot. Instead, today, I will focus on what I’ve learned from my grief. And while, in this life, I’ll never be grateful that she had to die, I am grateful for what I’ve learned.

​

I’ll always wish I had more time with her. I do feel like I was robbed of a full life with a parent. I also know many people can say the same thing and feel as if they were robbed more. 

HOWEVER…I would never trade the life I had for more time with her. My time spent with her was full and abundant. I can look back on it fondly. We loved, laughed, and lived if you want to make it a cliche. I’d never give that up.

I also wouldn’t trade the life I have now for more time with her. For starters, my mom is in a perfect state of happiness with God, Jesus, all the saints, and her own parents. She’s in paradise. I would never, ever take her away from there. I also have changed too much and met too many people because she died. This is the life God has meant for me, and I wouldn’t want to give it up even in all its messiness and sadness. 

I would, though, love to strike up a deal with God that I could have one day a year with her. Just one day. That’s all. 

​

I’ve tried to grasp the concept of time in all of this. Time on earth and time in heaven. It’s impossible. A part of me will always be frozen in time to that last month, week, and day with my mom before she died. Another part of me will be forever conflicted with the passage of time. It moves both painfully slowly and way too fast. 

The more time passes I simultaneously get further away from her and the time we spent together and yet closer to being reunited again. It’s a paradoxical phenomenon that is so hard to comprehend. I'll most likely have to remember my mom for longer than I knew her. I'll never get over that. 

My life is forever divided into the familiar Before and After that you often hear people talk about after momentous events. It’s true. The Before seems like a totally different life. It was a good life but with a terrible ending. But one that I can never go back to, and I’m not sure if I ever want to. 

​

If there is one thing I've learned in grief is that the really bad days always soften and the good days always give way to the bad. It's an ebb and flow. All I can do is let time pass (and pray too, of course). 

In the bad days, you find yourself wondering if you'll ever feel good again. It'll be hard to breathe. You can't stop crying. You feel depressed. Life looks bleak. Sometimes you're numb. Those will end and become fewer and farther between. 

Then, on the good days you'll find that you can laugh and smile and hope again. You might even feel a little guilty you feel this way because you think you're letting go of the person you love .

Trust me, you aren't, and out of nowhere the mention of chicken soup will have you breaking down in tears, and the bad moments start all over again. 

This is grief in a nutshell. 

I no longer wait for the right time to use that face mask or light that candle. I don't hold back on telling someone how I feel or extending gratitude. I post Facebook updates and publish blog without fear of what people might think. 

Going on trips and getting together with friends and neighbors now have become a priority. Tomorrow is not a guarantee, so why not today? 

I don’t know if I know how to adequately explain this one. It's just something that is. I find that an old part of me “died” the day she did, but she left a part of her soul with me. I have started to like and do things she used to like and do. I have caught myself saying things she said. And I have experienced strengths I never knew that I had that were hers. Sounds deep, but I think this happens when you lose someone with a deep connection.

I also feel as if our relationship hasn't ended. We still talk to one another just in a different way. The dreams and signs I have had are proof of that. Sometimes, I am very grateful for these signs. Other days, I get angry that I can't have her here in a physical way. ​

Trust me, I’ve been angry with God. I have cursed, yelled, and wailed to Him during my darkest of times. God wants this. He can handle this. He much rather you bring it all to Him than have you turn your back on Him. He loves you and wants to help you. 

When I have brought my anger to God and laid it all at His feet…When I have shouted at Him that I am too tired and handed over every last ounce of my worries, anger, and sadness that is when I have found the most peace. Truly miraculous the number of times I have done this and the amount of times He has come through. Maybe not always in the way I have wanted. But always in the way I have needed. 

​

This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: 2 “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.” 3 So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. 4 But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.
5 Then the word of the Lord came to me. 6 He said, “Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?” declares the Lord. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel.

In Jeremiah 18 verses 1-6, we learn that mourning can leave us so drained, we literally feel like inert lumps of clay on a potter’s wheel. In difficult moments, the world seems to spin like that wheel. Yet, Jeremiah’s image reveals another possibility: God the potter actually uses the swift rotation of the wheel to mold clay into an earthen vessel. A new creation comes to be because of his patient guidance. The scene reminds us that we are in God’s hands in any situation - even during mourning. The Lord wants to make each of us into a new object. The only question is: will we let him?

The above was taken from my Seasons of Hope workbook. 

​

You don’t just lose the person who dies. You lose so much more. You lose your family dynamics how they once were. You lose the relationships your mom had with your dad, your brother, your son, your husband, her siblings, and her friends and getting to see them flourish for a full life. 

I could go on and on about the secondary losses, but I think you get it.

​

I heard something very similar to this in one of my grief classes, and it couldn’t be more truthful. In my time of grief, God has sent people to help me. Again, some people have shown up almost miraculously when I needed them the most. There are the obvious people - my immediate and extended family. Friends. Neighbors.

And, then, there are the not-so-obvious people that I would consider strangers a year ago who have done more to help me than they probably will ever know. People who I have met because they too have experienced the loss of a mom at the same age as me. People my mom’s age who I have met in grief class who have taken me out to eat or baked me cookies. Teenage students who would stop by my classroom nearly every day just to see how I was doing. 

​

Right now, people are walking around this world who have experienced truly horrific things. Loss of a child. Families who have lost a child and then years later a spouse. Almost entire families wiped out in a senseless car crash. Widows and widowers who are simultaneously having to hold it together for young kids. They are walking around performing mundane tasks: shopping for groceries, attending Zoom meetings, and dropping off their kids at school. And looking at them you would never know that their world is shattered and they carry with them such a deep and personal grief. They are forced to be brave and strong when they feel anything but. 

All of this is both tragic and inspiring. And when I feel like I can’t get out of bed, I think of these people. 

​

I have never been more positive in the existence of God and Heaven. I don’t want to go now, but I’m excited for the day I get to go to Heaven. Faith is the primary thing that gets me through each day. God truly solves all things. 

​

I’m sure as time passes and my grief changes, I’ll learn much more. But I think one thing that will always stay with me is that I can be both forever sad and grateful for this life at the same time. 

With peace, 
Lauren

​

My goal now is to become a certified sleep and anxiety coach and as part of that I developed a mini STRESS FREE SLEEP email course. 

​I highly suggest checking it out if you struggle with sleep and panic. 

Buy me a coffee if you liked this blog. 
​
And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. ​

In the summer of 2023, I was living a simple life. I had just gone on summer break. I had quiet quit Instagram. And I was living in the present moment, taking in nature and the sounds of my son playing nearby at a quaint AirBnB in Columbia, South Carolina.

I prided myself on not being like the rest of my family. My family who was consumed by the internet and the approval and disapproval of Barstool fans. 

At the time, I had a dad whose hobby in retirement was trolling people on Twitter. Very healthy.

I had a brother who went through protocols like Francis went through the Thesaurus and ran through bits and jokes in his head before executing them on his podcasts. Not odd is him at all?

I had a mom….

I vowed never to become like that. I was better than all of them. I ran a modest email list that delivered monthly parenting tips and filled up my Unicorn Space. 

With this spare time on our Congaree/Savannah trip, I decided to log in and fire off a parenting tip about traveling with kids. Tehe. Life was good.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 
But hundreds of new subscribers bringing good cheer.

I was ecstatic! What had brought them all here? Had they resonated with my sign language tips? Had my suggestions for tantrums finally gone viral? Were my blogs on teaching about feelings starting to pop off? 

I decided to dig deeper. And that’s when I started to notice during my deep dive that the subscribers joining my email list were mostly guy names. And they also had emails like dickass and ilovedonkeys and googoogaga. Uh oh. 

I stalked off in a huff and retrieved my phone from the depths of the cozy cabin. And there on my phone was the text that changed everything. 

My dad had screenshotted a Reddit post showing that some sleuth had found an article I wrote about Kyle nearly four years ago. When trying to read the article on my website, my obnoxious JOIN MY EMAIL LIST pop-ups prompted them to sign up. 

Oh dear, oh dear. This wasn’t good. I panicked. I was an aspiring blogger with high goals to be accomplished in the academic writing field. I had plans to be well-known in the parenting space. Besides, I was also a highly respected teacher with many degrees under my belt. I couldn’t have Barstool fans staining my achievements on my resume. I took the pen seriously, and I would not have silly, little antics that I merely scrawled when I was bored tainting my good name.  

​

​

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Just kidding, motherfers! I’m no better than the rest of my conniving family. This was excellent. Like everyone else in my household, I plotted a way to spin this to my advantage. 

I read every Reddit comment about my blog and nearly overdosed on dopamine from all the praise. I was addicted. Hook, line, and sink her. Ironically, that’s what was about to happen to me. The internet has a way of raising you up and then sinking you. I was no exception to the rule. 

My brother suggested that I write more about our family because people found it entertaining. I reluctantly concurred. On one hand, I have seen how people have treated Sas, Owen, Kate, and Mook. At first, they are beloved, and then they are detested. 

On the other hand, I had nothing better to do that summer and with our upcoming adoption payment coming up (click on the link for an update on that), I figured out I could squeeze a few dollars out of these guys. 

After all, I have seen how they have so easily and foolishly handed over cash to just buy Untell This Bitch shirts, kiss coins, and to support Nick after he lost Surviving Barstool. I figured they could spare a few change for me.  

I was right. I was pleasantly shocked and grateful for the tips that rolled in after I published two more blogs about my family. 

Doug Wanoy's Coaching Tree 10-Step Protocol

​Has KBNoSwag Always Been a Perfect Boy?

Why wouldn’t I keep this going? 

​

But much like Kyle, I was a greedy, greedy girl. I had so many ideas, and I couldn’t get them published fast enough. Also much like Kyle, my blogging process largely follows a similar route to his jokes process: 

• An idea sprouts.
  
• It immediately gets recorded in my Notes App. 
  
• The idea starts to grow. 
  
• Nothing gets written down or typed until most of the blog gets written in my head. 
  
• Only when the blog is figuratively overflowing in my mind, do I start writing it on my computer. 
  
• I write and write until it is all fully out. 
  
• Then, I reread it until I’m satisfied. 
  

I was publishing a new blog every week, and much like I predicted, the tables started to turn. You, turds, began to turn on me. I took it fairly well and only threw one Kyle-like tantrum. I logged off the internet and returned to my simple life, preparing to start the new school year, pleased with the humble amount I had raised from blogging that summer. 

Then, a miracle happened. 

​

My last blog before signing off was about KbNoSwag’s Cocaine Incident: My Mom’s Origin Story. How she being the ultimate momager to Kyle was able to help him spin that little blip into something positive for his career. 

Well, she couldn’t only just help her precious little son. She had to help her precious little daughter as well. 

In a fortuitous turn of events, a peripetia if you will, my sneaky mom died! You clever, little minx, Mommy dearest (ewww I hated writing that line but I had to for literary effect). 

You all came back. You felt sorry for me. You donated more than enough for our adoption. You teared up at my newest blog, The Coma Indicident: My Mom’s End Story, which the timing of was almost too perfect. It paired exquisitely with the Cocaine blog. Chef’s kiss. If I wasn’t so sad at my mom’s passing, I would have been giddy with delight at the literary juxtaposition the two blogs had with one another. An origin story and an end story back-to-back. What are the odds? It’s almost as if my mom really did strike up a deal with God to die at just the right time. 

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In my newfound humility, I now largely stick to one blog a month for you all. I hope you enjoy them. In all seriousness, this past year has been hard, and, as we approach the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death, I am grateful for all of you for sticking around. 

Writing these blogs has been a good distraction. They have helped me process my grief. They have helped me feel as if I’m honoring my mother. They have provided levity to a tough situation. They have made me realize that I’m not alone in my struggle. I have saved every kind word you have written to me or my family in the aftermath of her death. I periodically revisit them when I need a dopamine hit or, in actuality, I need something to smile about when I’m really sad. I know my mom would be pleased. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you!  

In the coming month, I have finished a day-by-day calendar of all my brother’s and dad’s best Tweets, my mom’s best texts she sent in our group chat, and some of my cringey FB statuses from the years 2008-2014. Stay tuned for that! 

My goal now is to become a certified sleep and anxiety coach and as part of that I developed a mini STRESS FREE SLEEP email course. 

​I highly suggest checking it out if you struggle with sleep and panic. 

Buy me a coffee if you liked this blog. 
​
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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 After my letdown visit to Indiana Dunes National Park, I was thrilled to head to one of the mighty Out West parks. 

Crater Lake National Park. 

A running joke in our family is my dad coming up to a vista and spreading out his arms saying, "BEHOLD" as he viewed the splendor and the glorious sights below. 

Crater Lake is literally the epitome of doing that. 

"The Deep Blue Lake" is really a sight to behold when you first happen upon it and, as the deepest lake (1,949 feet) in the United States, I really suggest soaking this lake in on your next visit to Oregon, both literally and figuratively. 

I like history, but I'm really not the type that learns the history of the national parks when I visit them. Just give me all the sights, hiking, and activities, and I'm good. 

However, Crater Lake has an interesting story. 

Mount Mazama, a 12,000 ft. volcano, erupted 7,700 year ago destroying much in the way of its path and forming Crater Lake. Technically the lake itself is a caldera, a lake that fills a large volcanic depression, but the signs and advertisement were already printed for Crater Lake, and, well, money talks. Plus Crater Lake sounds better than Caldera Lake. 

The lake has no visible inlets or outlets, essentially no rivers run into it or out of it. 

For centuries, the Klamath and Modoc people, the Yahooskin Band of Northern Paiute Indians, and the Cow Creek Band of Umpqua Indians have maintained deep ties to what is now Crater Lake National Park. Their ancestors witnessed the collapse of Mount Mazama.

In the 1850's, pioneers began exploring the west and looking for gold. These explorers stumbled about Crater Lake and deemed it the bluest water they had ever seen.

In 1870, a young man from Kansas named William Gladstone Steel unwrapped his lunch, carefully contained in a newspaper. As he ate, he read an article about an unusual lake in Oregon. The story sparked Steel’s imagination and he vowed to see the lake for himself someday. Two years later, Steel’s family moved to Portland, Oregon; but another thirteen years passed before Steel finally gazed upon the beauty of Crater Lake. He was so moved that he decided that it should forever be a public park. His seventeen year quest to see Crater Lake established as a national park had begun.

Now, Crater Lake receives 500,000 visitors each year. 

We stayed at Sunriver Resort in Sunriver, Oregon. Crater Lake is an almost two hour drive from the resort. We rented a car for the day and made the trek. 

I first suggested stopping at Rim Village where you can eat, use the restroom, and check out the gear and shop. If you have the time and are looking for a more leisurely visit, do the 33-mile scenic Rim Drive which takes you around the lake and offers many panoramic and lake views. 

We only did part of the drive and decided to do a hike instead, The Watchman Peak Trail. This 1.7 mile out-and-back trail leads you up a moderately challenging, steep path that leads you to one of the best views of the lake and Wizard Island, a volcano within a volcano. 

I wouldn't necessarily consider this a kid-friendly hike, but if we weren't pressed for time, I think my son would have made it up and back. He lingered back with my dad, and the two of them made snowmen with the unmelted snow which many people stopped to take pictures with. 

We were on a schedule because we had signed up to take the Standard Boat Tour. To do any of the boat tours require you to hike 1.1 miles down a steep incline called Cleetwood Cove Trail. Just remember what goes down must go back up!

We made it with plenty of time! Some people were nearly running down, and we were afraid they would trip and fall just to make it in time. 

MY HONEST REVIEW OF THE BOAT TOUR: 3.5/5 stars 

Yes, I'm glad we did it. Like any guided tours from national park be prepared for corny and kitschy jokes that kids will like but leave the adults groaning (or laughing like I did at how stupid they were). But we did learn a lot and got up close and personal with sights like Wizard Island, the Devil's Backbone, The Old Man at the Sea, Pumice Castle, Phantom Ship, and more. From this vantage point of the lake, you can really see just how magnificently blue and majestic the lake is. Plus, we even got to fill up our water bottles with lake water. It's that pure!

The downfall was that it was two hours and with the up and down hike, this took up a majority of our time at the park which was really okay with us. I could spend a lot of time looking at the lake from above, but I liked doing something different than just taking in different views of the same thing from the Rim Drive. However, I think they could shorten the tour to an hour. 

I also agree with my brother that the tour was a little more academic and scientific than I would care for. It was a hot day and when we idled, we couldn't catch a breeze. Cruising across the water was refreshing and relaxing. I would have liked more of that. 

Afterwards, dip your toes in the freezing water, and if you're daring actually get in!

The hike up is challenging! Beware. We saw many people struggling. However, reaching the top felt like an accomplishment, and I was proud of my 5-year-old for making it up. 

By this point, we were tired, dirty, and hungry and decided to call it a day. We felt like we had seen all that we wanted to see and left satisfied and satiated. 

So far this park ranks 6 out of the 16 parks I have been to. Check out the parks here. 

READ MORE ABOUT MY TRAVELS TO NATIONAL PARKS HERE

My goal now is to become a certified sleep and anxiety coach and as part of that I developed a mini STRESS FREE SLEEP email course. 

​I highly suggest checking it out if you struggle with sleep and panic. 

Buy me a coffee if you liked this blog. 
​
And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. ​

On a recent trip to Chicago, I was determined to get to Indiana Dunes National Park to check off another national park on my list. 

​The last time in the Windy City didn't go as planned. This time was going to be different. When my husband's company announced that their annual team building work event would be in Chicago, I jumped on the opportunity to tag along because a.) My brother lives there and b.) I could see the Dunes.

​I was ready. 

I was not ready. The proverbial travel gods were out to get us again.

My brother told us about Zip Car and how you could rent a car the day of your travel. That didn't work. We checked Uber/Lyft. Too expensive. We looked into public transportation. It would take too long. We researched Enterprise. No cars left. 

Things were looking dire when I found an app called Go Around and after filling out tons of paperwork and unknowingly putting down a $1000 deposit that I'm still waiting to get back (4 more days until it should come back into our bank account) I was able to rent a luxurious Hyundai Sonata that only had one major dent and no more than 50 scratches from a part of town which had a large amount of police presence which I walked to by myself under skies that threatened to rain at  any minute. 

I picked up my dad, and we were off. 

If you ever visit Indiana Dunes National Park, the drive there is worth the trip. 

We followed a scenic route along the highway. The wonderful views of abandoned factories and industrial wastelands really popped against Lake Michigan in the background. There were so many of them that I was sad when they ended and we entered into Gary, Indiana. 

But hark! I shouldn't have been so disheartened. The vibrant, bustling city of Gary, Indiana really pinged at my dopamine levels.

Who knew there could be so many different types of grays!? The peeling corporate gray paint from one building really meshed with the glacier gray of the abandoned building right next to it. And the moon gray dilapidated house really stood out next to the pure gray apartment complex's broken windows. 

We were highly disappointed when our sturdy rental car didn't break down in the city, for we would have loved to have spent more time in Garish Gary. Oh well, maybe next time. 

I was in no way confused by the fact that after barely leaving Gary, Indiana we arrived at a national park. 

Much like Yosemite and the Grand Canyon and Arches, Indiana Dunes National Park really stood out and could hold its own. 

Upon walking out onto the beach of Lake Michigan, we were greeted with the Chicago skyline directly in front of us. 

And behold! What's this? Factories to the left of me. Factories to the right. Here I am stuck in the middle with what I'm sure is clean water to swim in. 

My dad and I soaked in the sights and inhaled the fresh air for about an hour on the beach before deciding that the beauty was too enchanting, and we just had to switch to a different activity. 

Before beginning our hike, we got to witness a show. A drunk lady accused a man and his children of theft (they weren't white). The man was emptying out all of his things and pleading with her that he didn't steal anything. A MAGA hat wearer with a bald eagle on his shirt stood nearby with his hand inching closer to his non-concealed weapon. After a lot of heated words, the fight disbanded, and I applauded everyone for being respectful and not overreacting. 

Then, we hiked Dunes Succession Hike. Do not let the name of dunes in the hike and park fool you. You CANNOT actually walk on or slide down the dunes or experience any pleasure of sand dunes like you can at other places that have dunes that ARE NOT national parks. We weren't disappointed. 

The .9 mile hike leads you up stairs for a better view of the lake next to the factories and then winds into the forest and finally ends on the beach. 

We, then, left and headed back to Chicago where we visited Barstool Headquarters, and we did the Yak Gauntlet. 

I looked up the rest of the park, and I really don't think we missed much. In all seriousness, I would never recommend taking a trip solely to this park. I wouldn't even recommend doing a daytrip here from Chicago if you happen to be in the city. This park was merely a checkoff for me and not worth the nearly $150 I spent getting there (not to mention the $1000 deposit that for the love of God I better get back).

My goal now is to become a certified sleep and anxiety coach and as part of that I developed a mini STRESS FREE SLEEP email course. 

​I highly suggest checking it out if you struggle with sleep and panic. 

Buy me a coffee if you liked this blog. 
​
And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. ​

5:45 AM: My alarm goes off and for a few seconds I’m groggy and have no idea what is happening.

5:45.30 AM: I figure out that the cacophonous clanging sound is my alarm, and I work to disassemble it.

5:46 AM: My brain is settled now, and I take a few deep breaths getting ready to tackle the day.

5:47 AM: I remember. I used to remember the exact moment I woke up — the realization crashing upon me like a wave during a treacherous storm. Now, I’m up to two minutes. I don’t know if that should make me proud or disconcerted. Proud that I’m getting better. Or disconcerted that she is slipping further from me.

5:48 AM: My mom is dead. I say that phrase many times throughout the day. Sometimes those four words stab me in the heart. Other times, I say it matter of factly like I do every morning. It’s my true alarm. It wakes me up every day, and I roll those words around on my tongue a few times to see how it makes me feel. At this point in the day, it is what is. Nothing I can do about it. I reach for my phone to play my morning word games and puzzles.

5:55 AM: I get out of bed and read a page from my daily grief reflections. I force the words to comfort me. Sometimes they really do.

5:57 AM: I write down four things I am grateful for. Each day, I struggle to come up with something other than my mom.

7:00 AM: I won’t bore you with the minute details of how I arrive to work each day, but by 7:00 AM I arrive at my classroom, and I oblige to the fact that life has to go on, and I must participate in it as if the worst thing to ever happen to me hadn’t happened.

7:15 AM: I jot down a few things to my mom in the journal I keep of all the things I wish I could say to her. I close it and store it away before any of my students arrive.

7:25 AM — 10:30 AM: I’m distracted with teaching my 1st and 2nd periods. We joke. We laugh. We have fun. I push them to think and build a growth mindset. I encourage them to show resilience. I feel my purpose here on earth.

10:35 AM: My first break of the day. I log into Instagram. The algorithm knows I’m grieving and spoon feeds me reels and posts filled with sad quotes, inspiring messages from our long-lost loved ones, and relatable anecdotes about grief. Some days I want to read them all. Some days I scroll past them. The students, who eat lunch in my classroom, disturb me from my thoughts, and I put on a smile when I see them. It’s not fake. Yes, I’m sad, but I’m also happy to see them and want them to feel welcome in my room. My mom always made everyone feel welcome.

11:15 AM: I’m in 3rd period. I’m helping a student. I have a good example to help clarify the point of a question. The example involves my mom. I debate whether to tell it. A griever is always cognizant of whether she is bringing up her loved one and the death too much. The burden is placed on me and how, at all costs, I must avoid making the nongriever feel awkward or uncomfortable by my grief, pain, and sadness.

11:16 AM: My internal debate concludes, and I tell the story of my mom, but I make a joke to keep it light. It’s best for everyone involved.

12:44 PM: It’s the first time of the school day that I’m truly alone. My planning period. I collapse into my chair and stare at the picture of my mom on my phone. I shake my head. I don’t have time for this. I have work to do.

1:33 PM: A student comes into my classroom to say “hi.” He’s one of a few students who actually asks how I am doing and about my mom. I could cry and hug him when he does. I refrain.

3:00 PM: I arrive home from the school day and immediately go for a run. It’s my free therapy. Being outside and exercising is sustaining me. I don’t want to say that it is the one thing helping me from spiraling into a deep depression. It’s not. I have other things. But it’s pretty high up on the list.

3:26 PM: I finish up my run and go inside to stretch. I see one of the pictures of my mom we have framed. I really look at it. And that’s when it hits me all over again. She’s never coming back. It’s a weird feeling that only grievers can truly understand. I know that she’s dead but there’s a part of me that sometimes doesn’t grasp the full meaning of the word. I guess because society doesn’t do so well when talking about grief or death. I know I’m not alone. I saw an Instagram reel stating this exact same thing.

3:27 PM: A flood of memories of my mom awash me. They are so vivid that it’s so hard to comprehend that she isn’t on this earth anymore and that I’m never going to get to experience something as simple as calling her on the phone or seeing her walk into my house ever again. I allow these intense moments to overcome me. Fleetingly.

4:00 PM: I pick up my son. He’s five. He makes everything better. Except I hate that my mom is not here here to hear and see all the funny and wise things he says and does.

6:30–8:00 PM: Every Thursday, I go to grief group. I’m the youngest there, but I don’t mind. There is something reassuring about being around these sad souls. We all have a different story. A different reason for being there. Yet, we are all bound by a common bond — grief. I don’t talk too much. I prefer to listen, but I cry alongside their pain.

8:30 PM: I arrive home. My son has been waiting for me to put him to bed. I still have to make lunches and clean up. That’s the hard thing about grief. You still have to do the everyday things on top of wrestling with your grief. It’s paradoxical. On the one hand, the minutiae of life keep me busy and distracted from wallowing in my grief. On the other hand, a simple task can seem so daunting and overwhelming when grief consumes me.

8:46 PM: I’ve finally settled into the rocking chair in my son’s room, and we read two books followed by prayers. My son talks to Grandma. I tear up every time and give praise that he still remembers her and cares enough to talk to her. I fear for the day that he won’t.

9:00 PM — 9:30 PM: I spend some time with my husband watching a funny show. Funny shows are good. Funny shows are safe. Except they remind me of my mom, and I can’t call her anymore to laugh about them together. So much reminds me of her.

9:35 PM: I go up to get ready for bed. Most nights I spend whimpering alone as the weight of it all overcomes me. I take out my journal to write to her if it gets too heavy.
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10:00 PM: Another day. Another day without her. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself. Other times I’m thankful. Not thankful that she died but thankful for the new perspective on life. For the newfound insights and the greater zest, I have to live life with purpose, compassion, and empathy in honor of my mom.
10:15 PM: I drift off to sleep and pray that I see my mom in my dreams before I wake up and do this day all over again.

My goal now is to become a certified sleep and anxiety coach and as part of that I developed a mini STRESS FREE SLEEP email course. 

​I highly suggest checking it out if you struggle with sleep and panic. 

Buy me a coffee if you liked this blog. 
​
And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments. ​