As I grow older, life continues to throw its surprises, some more scented than others. While many revelations have struck me over time, three have truly stood out, each offering its own lesson in endurance.
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Firstly, my grandmother—a pillar of strength. She nearly made it to 100, and reflecting on her life has been nothing short of inspirational. The things she's seen and survived, the love she gave without hesitation, it's remarkable. Losing her was tough, but it brought into sharp relief just how tough the human spirit can be. And let's be honest, the thought of living nearly a century makes life hard. Living as she did, earned her extra bonus points for patience and perseverance.
 
Next, let's discuss the salt-and-pepper invasion taking over my scalp. I’ve discovered that no amount of hair product can tame these silver warriors. They stand up with a discipline, I can not only learn from, but that would make a drill sergeant proud. Whether it's high humidity or a windy day, my gray hairs hold their ground with a firmness that’s both admirable and slightly annoying. They are less "50 shades of gray" and more "50 strands that won't lie down."
 
Finally, the third unyielding force in my life: the mysterious and enduring odors of my pre-teen son. This kid, standing at a mighty 5'9, 6 feet inches, has developed an olfactory force so powerful, it challenges natural science. The boy likes to spend his weekends glued to video games, marinating in his own unique blend of pre-teen spirit, which he apparently thinks is a suitable substitute for a shower. It’s a scent so resilient, it seems to cling to the walls long after he's left the room. As someone sensitive to smells, this has led me to frequently (and frantically) double-check that it’s me. Seriously, no one prepared me for this aspect of parenting a boy.

These experiences remind me of the importance of a smile and humor in coping with life's challenges. Whether it’s admiring the legacy of a beloved grandmother, waging a silent battle against rebellious hair, or tackling that biohazard of a boy’s bedroom, it's clear that strength comes in many forms. And sometimes, you just have to laugh to keep from crying (or in the case of my son's room, from gagging). Here’s to more surprises, more resilience, and hopefully, never a shortage of water for showers (and air fresheners). Cheers!

Gone are the days when dining out was seen as a relaxing way to start winding down from work to the weekend. Nowadays, the experience has shifted dramatically. With fewer employees and reduced food portions, dining out now often comes with longer wait times to be seated and to place an order, along with higher prices.

Waiting for the waitstaff to show up to take your order feels like waiting for a professor who is notoriously late. At 19 minutes, you start packing up, and by the 58-second mark, you prepare to leave. The lack of service is disheartening, with no incentive for a tip and no sight of a manager, just the chatter of staff talking loudly, perhaps about each other or even cursing each other out.
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Is this another unfortunate outcome we have to thank COVID-19 for? After four years, perhaps it's time to consider staying home, watching cooking shows, and learning to cook a variety of meals. The landscape of dining out has changed, and maybe our approach to enjoying food needs to change with it.

It's that time of year again—the end of the school year, marked by Field Day and Awards Day. We’re cleaning out lockers, bidding farewell to amazing teachers, and crossing our fingers that next year we don’t get the 'less-than-awesome' ones. Now, we’re diving into summer plans: summer camp, vacations, new bedtimes, snacks, and meals.

It's a relief not to wake up so early or stress over washing and ironing uniforms. However, summer comes with its own set of tedious tasks. It's like a swinging pendulum—each season has its pros and cons.

As a mother of a preteen, I actually look forward to summer. I’ll miss those carpool lines where he jumps in the car to share his day, whether it was good, bad, funny, shocking, or frustrating. But there will be new friendships to form or reestablish at summer camp and new things for him to learn and share with me. 

I look forward to this new chapter. My son is moving from 6th to 7th grade. Oh my God, he's growing so fast. It’s another year under my belt, and it's somewhat somber as I look back at old pictures. I love the Facebook memories that show what happened today, 10 years ago. You see that little boy, so cute and mispronouncing words, with a remarkable logic for his age. You miss that, but you balance it with him now carrying groceries, opening doors, and having deep conversations about the rasicm and the Holocaust or diagramming the ocean's floor. As a parent, you see the fruits of your labor, your investment, the love you’ve poured in. You’re proud! Exhausted, but proud. And if you had the chance to do it all over again, you would. Maybe at a younger age, but you’d still do it.

So here’s to all the graduates, whether they are moving from pre-k to kindergarten, elementary to middle school, middle school to high school, high school to college or the military, or graduating from college. Here’s to all your hard work. This acknowledgment goes not only to the students but also to the parents who sacrificed and supported, abandoned regular bedtime routines, answered late-night calls, or ran out for supplies at the last minute. Here’s also to the teachers who answered phone calls and text messages, the school staff, even the school security. We appreciate you.

Take a load off. Prop your feet up. Let your hair down. Enjoy your family, because you have supported ours. We look forward to seeing you and meeting new staff members, new friends, and new parent volunteers in our adventures next year. See you in August. Thank you!

People who knew me before Evan can't believe it. They can't believe I'm a mom. They can't believe some of the things I do now. And honestly, neither can I. 

Before Evan, I enjoyed seeing other people with their kids, but I never imagined myself as a mom. Now that I am, I can't help but wonder what took me so long. I’ve discovered I’m capable of everything I ever needed, even things I didn’t know I wanted.

I had the best role models. Both my grandmothers were incredible. They had green thumbs, cooked without recipes, and everything seemed to come naturally to them. But I’m sure it took years of practice to perfect their skills.

My dad was always surprised that I didn’t know how to cook. I was always in the kitchen with my paternal grandmother, but cooking wasn’t my thing. Over time, though, I've come to realize that I've inherited many of their qualities.

Both my grandmothers were creative in their own unique ways. My maternal grandmother could transform anything into something beautiful, like the Martha Stewart of our family. Though she often showcased her creativity indoors, she also spent time outside. My paternal grandmother grew blackberries, plums, and pomegranates and used them in her cooking. Now, when I watch HGTV, I can totally see her being on one of those shows.

Despite her constant fatigue—her catchphrase was "I'm so tired", my paternal grandmother never stopped. However with my maternal grandmother, a stroke appeared to be the catalyst in slowing her down, but not completely. They were unstoppable forces, and I'm proud to have inherited their creativity and determination.

And while I see so much of my grandmothers in myself, there are also qualities in my mom that I admire. Even though my brother and I are grown, she never stops working, never stops helping, never stops praying, or never stops giving her opinion! Ha! She just never stops.

I see those qualities in myself now, especially when I'm creating things with Evan. When he was younger, I never imagined I'd be doing some of the things I do now. But my creativity shines through when I'm helping him with school projects, organizing his gaming setup, or assisting with splicing his videos and making logos. My creativity truly comes in handy.

I never want to stop being supportive of my son. He's at an age now where he notices when other kids don't have the support at home that he receives from me. That recognition means the world to me.

I don't need extravagant accolades—his gratitude, even when he doesn't realize he's expressing it, is priceless. I can't imagine having a child other than Evan. He wasn't planned, and I certainly wouldn't plan for a second, but he's given me everything: the wherewithal, the truth wrapped in growth spurts, and a personality full of yelling and screaming. And I'm so appreciative, honored, and blessed to be his mom.

Happy Mother's Day!

As a 'seasoned' accountant (where there’s more salt than pepper), navigating through a maze of numbers comes as second nature to me, much like knowing the complete menu at Starbucks. With over three decades of experience under my belt, you'd think there's little that could surprise me. Yet, the twists and turns of parenthood have a way of presenting challenges that no spreadsheet can calculate. 

It's mohawk season. One year during summer camp, my son decided he wanted a mohawk. It was a blend of swimming and soccer, sprinkled with a hefty dose of last-minute planning. As a first-time mom, I quickly discovered that securing a spot in a summer camp was as extremely competitive as purchasing front-row seats at a concert by a legendary artist like Prince.

The camp kicked off with a group of motivated volunteers and energetic kids. However, about three or four weeks in, the camp morphed into daily critiques reminiscent of famous film critics Siskel and Ebert. A story for another day, perhaps.

Enters Landon, the catalyst for my son's sudden interest in a new hairstyles. Describing Landon's haircut without knowing its official name, my son made it clear: he wanted a mohawk. A few days later, Landon finally makes an appearance, I understood. A mohawk it was, standing tall, proud, and flowing through the kicks. The only hiccup? My son's hair was nothing like Landon's. The prospect of him achieving a similar style seemed as feasible as my son driving us home that day. 

This predicament mirrored the experiences I've had in my professional life. Clients often come in, dazzled by the strategies and successes of others, wishing to replicate them. Like haircuts, however, what works for one may not suit another. As I've learned to navigate these waters (in a life jacket, I can't swim), I've embraced the role of "The Reconciliator" – part mediator, part creator, committed to tailoring solutions that fit each unique scenario. (To think, now I'm a seamstress too?)

Just like hairstyles, there's no one-size-fits-all in accounting. The key lies in understanding the individual characteristics, needs, and goals. Whether it's aligning a client's accounting strategies with their industry standards or adapting a new business model, customization is king.

Fast forward to the present, and my son has proudly rocked his mohawk for over six years. Just when I thought he had grown in this style, and how it fit his gamer role, now he's wanting another change. We're embarking on a new adventure: twists (help me). As with any new journey, it's about finding what works best for him, ensuring it reflects his personality and style. It's a continuous process of trial, error, and success, much like fine-tuning a company's accounting framework.

In the end, whether it's reconciling multiple accounts or figuring out how to style a mohawk so it stands just right, the principle remains the same: what matters most is finding the perfect fit. And in both hair and accounting, when you get it right, it's not just about looking good—it's about feeling confident, capable, and ready to present it to the world.

So, to all the parents and professionals out there, remember: sometimes, the journey to finding the right style (be it for hair or for your business) can be twisted. But with a bit of patience, creativity, and tailored advice, you'll find that perfect balance. And I believe, when it reconciles, it doesn't just add up, it may stand up, lay just right, and shine.