Post-Father’s Day reflections from someone who now fully understands the phrase “I can’t do this alone.” Father’s Day was last Sunday. Today is Friday. And I’m just now climbing out of the parenting crater left behind after my husband was gone for a week and a half. Not one trip. Two. Back to back. Eleven days of solo parenting. Eleven days of me, alone, with two kids who seem to double in volume and snack demands when Dad’s away. When he first told me about the travel, I nodded. I said, “Yeah, that’s fine.

I’ve been quiet lately. Not because I’ve had nothing to say - but because I haven’t had a single uninterrupted second to think. Here’s the honest truth: I’ve been sick (again). Not like mild sniffles sick. More like “how is it even biologically possible to get this sick this often” kind of sick. It’s the soundtrack of motherhood no one warns you about, a symphony of coughs, fevers, and antibiotic suspensions measured in brightly colored syringes. Right as I started to feel human again, my husband left for a weeklong trip.

I keep my laptop on my kitchen counter - plugged in, perpetually sticky with fingerprints and cracker crumbs. It’s surrounded by toys that have been confiscated, half-sipped sippy cups, and a rotating collection of distractions meant to buy me three more minutes of quiet. I work from home. But I am never, ever alone. This is the promise and the punishment of modern motherhood - the so-called "flexibility" of working remotely with a small child underfoot. It's a privilege, I know. I'm grateful, truly. But it's also relentless, claustrophobic, and, sometimes, wildly beautiful.

Let’s be honest. Most of us think of Mother’s Day and picture flowers ordered last-minute, a brunch reservation we didn’t really ask for, and tiny hands shoving sticky construction-paper hearts into our laps before we’ve had coffee. And sure, that’s sweet. But it’s also… not the whole story. Because the original Mother’s Day? It wasn’t created so we could get a mimosa and a 30-minute nap while everyone else destroys the kitchen “making breakfast.” It was created to fight for community health, to protest war, and to recognize the strength and sacrifice of women holding everything together.

The Start of Something New Let’s take a step back… nearly 10 years ago. I left the military. I left the best shape of my life. I lost myself and who I thought I was. I found depression and sp…

The Start of Something New Let’s take a step back… nearly 10 years ago. I left the military. I left the best shape of my life. I lost myself and who I thought I was. I found depression and sp…

The Start of Something New Let’s take a step back… nearly 10 years ago. I left the military. I left the best shape of my life. I lost myself and who I thought I was. I found depression and sp…

The Start of Something New Let’s take a step back… nearly 10 years ago. I left the military. I left the best shape of my life. I lost myself and who I thought I was. I found depression and sp…

Congratulations, American women. Your government has decided to show its appreciation for your wombs and all they do. Not with paid family leave. Not with universal health care. Not with affordable child care or maternal health initiatives that might, I don’t know, actually keep you and your baby alive. No, no. For the high honor of growing, birthing, and raising an entire human being, the federal government would like to offer you five thousand dollars. A baby bonus, they’re calling it. Five grand, once, for one of the most dangerous and life-altering things a person can do with their body.

A 1000-mile road trip with two kids under three, one grandmother, one great aunt, and me. What could go wrong? Turns out, a lot — but also, surprisingly, not everything. This is the real, unfiltered breakdown of what it takes to survive a marathon family drive when flying isn’t an option (or when you mistakenly believe you can handle it). From early departures to strict no-syrup pancake policies, here’s what worked, what didn’t, and why I’ll probably never do it again — at least not by car.

A 1000-mile road trip with two kids under three, one grandmother, one great aunt, and me. What could go wrong? Turns out, a lot — but also, surprisingly, not everything. This is the real, unfiltered breakdown of what it takes to survive a marathon family drive when flying isn’t an option (or when you mistakenly believe you can handle it). From early departures to strict no-syrup pancake policies, here’s what worked, what didn’t, and why I’ll probably never do it again — at least not by car.

A 1000-mile road trip with two kids under three, one grandmother, one great aunt, and me. What could go wrong? Turns out, a lot — but also, surprisingly, not everything. This is the real, unfiltered breakdown of what it takes to survive a marathon family drive when flying isn’t an option (or when you mistakenly believe you can handle it). From early departures to strict no-syrup pancake policies, here’s what worked, what didn’t, and why I’ll probably never do it again — at least not by car.

The Start of Something New Let’s take a step back... nearly 10 years ago. I left the military. I left the best shape of my life. I lost myself and who I thought I was. I found depression and spent years just trying to make it through the weeks. At the end of last year, I finally blinked—and I realized nearly a decade had passed. I thought I’d pick up the pieces and rebuild easily. I’d traded structure and service for freedom, for family. But like so many of us, I went from one identity straight into another—

The Start of Something New Let’s take a step back... nearly 10 years ago. I left the military. I left the best shape of my life. I lost myself and who I thought I was. I found depression and spent years just trying to make it through the weeks. At the end of last year, I finally blinked—and I realized nearly a decade had passed. I thought I’d pick up the pieces and rebuild easily. I’d traded structure and service for freedom, for family. But like so many of us, I went from one identity straight into another—