There are some things in life that simply do not need to be shared. Not every thought needs an audience. Not every opinion needs a Facebook status. And  not every household incident deserves a Snapchat. Sometimes silence is the healthiest thing we can offer the people around us.

Sometimes lessons need to be learned firsthand and not verbally. 
Like Easter. My heart and mind just could not get into being around big crowds. And like the best little sister I am, instead of using my own mental health as the reason, I used my brother’s instead. Because everyone struggles a little, some of us just do not share it. 

Round two of working calves is my favorite for many reasons. Smaller group, smaller calves, and a whole lot of ridiculousness. 

I’d like to say last week started strong. It did not. 
It started with me waking up five minutes after my kid had to be at school. Not five minutes before we needed to leave, nope. Five minutes for his para to worry the worst. She is the only one allowed to judge me. I carried that guilt like a backpack full of bricks, because one small slip on my part affects more than just the two of us. 

The turkeys needed turkey food. A barista told me chicks are back, so when it was oddly declared that the guys would go get feed for the animals, I made them promise on the turkeys’ lives they would not come home with anything that breathes, peeps, or requires a habitat. I learned that lesson the hard way. 

My pops had his branding this past weekend and somehow my sister voluntold me I was on grill duty. She claimed she had no experience with a grill. I tried to explain that my experience, one extremely charred T-bone steak and one melted siding on a house, felt far worse than her no experience at all. 
Somehow I still ended up at the grill. 

“Hey, Mom… Next weekend… no wait. Next tomorrow… ugh, no… next… ugh. Next week today.” 
I asked, “Next Thursday?” 
He nodded. “Remind me I need to call Papa for cake… what, not cake,” he laughed. 
He knows the words he wants. They just aren't where he left them. Sometimes he grabs the wrong one and out comes a completely different word. I now notice how often I grab the wrong word myself. 

I was cooking supper. I know, shocking. It was breakfast burritos, and I only did half the work. Pro tip: call them protein burritos, and they become healthier. 
Anyway, my husband reached up to grab something that was hung up and calmly asked if I was upset with him. I said no. Then he calmly asked when I did laundry last. I said Saturday. He followed up with, “Why were you upset with me on Saturday?” 

My dining room table has officially been promoted to “corporate headquarters".”Judge all you want, you organized, color-coded, label-maker-owning people. As that callout came out, those who know me know I am all of those things with my label colored organization. Most days.

Let me be clear, I tackle most hard things in life with a check list, a quick vent sesh and a few colorful words. Life will always be heavy, but it doesn’t have to be cinderblock heavy all the time.

A few weeks ago, you may have paused, raised an eyebrow, and thought, surely, she doesn’t have turkeys.

Being a parent is both the best and worst job on the planet. You get the joy of celebrating the highs, like first steps and school awards, and then you get the lows, where you'd trade places in a heartbeat just to take their pain away.

One thing I hear often is, “Is there anything I can do for you?” 
And my usual response is, “I don’t think so, thank you, though.” 

When I was a kid, the Fourth of July was the day

You’ve probably heard the saying: ‘You only get 18 summers, 18 Christmases, 18 birthdays with your kids, make them count.’ And while that’s a sweet, Pinterest-worthy reminder to be present and appreciate the little moments, let’s be honest, 18 is just the opening act.