Author: bananafudgenut

Why I Do What I Do—and Why You Can Too

I want the world to be a better place.

Not in a vague, bumper-sticker way. In a real, tangible, everyday way. A way where people feel seen. Where kids are included. Where families are supported when life falls apart. Where communities don’t just exist, but actually care for each other.

That’s why I do what I do.
That’s why I show up.

And here’s the part that really matters to me: I show up for my kids too. I want Jazmyn, Thaddeus, and Phoebe to see what it looks like to care, to commit, to be brave enough to step in when something matters. I want them to know that change isn’t about being perfect—it’s about showing up, consistently, even when it’s hard or messy. I want them to grow up understanding that they can make a difference. That community isn’t just a word—it’s an action.

Every organization I’ve written about in recently exists because someone showed up. Someone volunteered. Someone raised their hand. Someone said yes when it would have been easier to stay comfortable, busy, or uninvolved.

And listen—I’m not special. I don’t have unlimited time or energy. I juggle kids, work, chaos, and exhaustion like everyone else. But I do believe that if we want a better world, we have to be willing to help build it.

Showing up looks different in different seasons. Sometimes it’s joining a board. Sometimes it’s volunteering. Sometimes it’s donating. Sometimes it’s simply caring loudly and consistently. None of it has to be perfect. It just has to be intentional.

I’ve seen what happens when people show up:

• Kids of all abilities playing together.
• Veterans finding support and community.
• Families finding shelter and support during their hardest days.
• Neighborhoods growing stronger because people invested in where they live.

That’s the world I want.
That’s why I keep saying yes.

And you can too.

You don’t have to do everything. You don’t have to know exactly where to start. Just look around. Find the place where your values meet a real need. And show up in whatever way you can right now.

The world doesn’t need more spectators.
It needs more people willing to care—and act.

Get involved. Volunteer. Serve on a board. Support a cause that matters to you. Show up imperfectly and wholeheartedly. If enough of us do, the world really can be a better place.

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

There are seasons in life when everything feels heavy. Medical emergencies. Long hospital stays. Diagnoses that turn your world upside down. Those are the moments when logistics become overwhelming—and when Kathy’s House becomes essential.

I’m honored to serve on the board of Kathy’s House and to show up for an organization that meets families in their most vulnerable moments. This work is deeply personal, and it’s a privilege to support a place that offers not just a place to stay, but comfort, dignity, and hope when families need it most.

Kathy’s House provides affordable, welcoming lodging near hospitals so families can stay close to the people they love during medical crises. That might sound simple, but the impact is profound. When families don’t have to worry about where they’ll sleep or how they’ll afford a hotel, they can focus on what actually matters—being present.

What makes Kathy’s House special isn’t just the physical space. It’s the environment of care. Shared kitchens where conversations happen naturally. Quiet common areas where exhaustion is understood without explanation. A sense that you are surrounded by people who get it, even if you’ve never met before.

This is community at its most compassionate. It’s practical kindness. It’s showing up in the hardest moments, not with platitudes, but with real support.

When people say “it takes a village,” this is what they mean. Kathy’s House is proof that a caring community can carry people through the toughest chapters of their lives. I am so honored ro be a part of this village!

Support Kathy’s House by donating, volunteering, or sharing their mission. Help ensure that families navigating medical crises always have a safe place to stay—and a reminder that they’re not alone.

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

One of the coolest things I get to be part of is The Ability Center—and I don’t say that casually. This is one of those places that quietly reshapes how you see the world once you’ve spent enough time there. It brings people of all abilities together in a way that feels natural, welcoming, and deeply human.

At its heart, The Ability Center focuses on adaptive fitness, recreation, and life skills. But if you stop there, you miss the bigger picture. What really happens in this space is confidence-building. Connection. Families finding each other. Kids discovering what their bodies can do. Adults gaining independence and joy through movement and community.

What I love most is that no one is treated like an exception here. There’s no awkwardness, no “othering.” The goal isn’t to fix people—it’s to remove barriers. And when barriers are removed, people thrive. It’s incredible to watch.

That philosophy is also why Moss Universal Park matters so much. Universal parks aren’t about creating something “special” or separate. They’re about creating something better. A place where kids of all abilities can play together—side by side, laughing, experimenting, being kids. No one redirected. No one left watching from the sidelines.

Supporting Moss Universal Park means supporting inclusion that actually shows up in real life. Not as a buzzword. Not as a checkbox. But as swings, ramps, sensory spaces, and shared joy.

This is what happens when communities choose to design with everyone in mind. And once you see it, you can’t unsee how important it is.

Learn more about The Ability Center. Support Moss Universal Park. Volunteer, donate, advocate, or simply talk about why inclusive spaces matter. Every bit of support helps create a world where belonging is the norm—not the exception.

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

Building a Village Rooted in Dignity, Joy, and Community

One of the organizations I show up for—and genuinely love being part of—is Veterans Community Project. This is one of those ideas that makes you smile and think, of course this works. Tiny homes. Real community. Veterans supporting veterans. It’s thoughtful, hopeful, and deeply human.

Veterans Community Project is building tiny home villages designed to support veterans with stability, dignity, and independence. Each home is a place to land, reset, and move forward. But what really makes this special is the village itself. This isn’t about isolation—it’s about connection. Neighbors. Shared spaces. A sense of belonging that feels intentional and empowering.

Showing up for this work matters. It’s how we turn appreciation into action. Service deserves more than a thank-you—it deserves support that shows up in real, practical ways. Veterans Community Project does exactly that by creating spaces where veterans are valued, respected, and supported as whole people.

There is so much joy in seeing something tangible take shape. Actual homes. Actual community. Actual hope. This is what happens when people decide to show up and build something better—together.

We are literally building a village to honor those who served our country. And that feels like exactly the kind of world I want to help create.

Show up for our veteran community. Learn more about Veterans Community Project, support their mission through donations or volunteering, and help grow villages rooted in dignity, connection, and possibility.

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

Being involved with the Village of Wauwatosa Business Improvement District has reinforced something I believe deeply: community doesn’t just happen. It’s built—slowly, intentionally, and by people who are willing to show up.

The BID supports local businesses, strengthens the Village, and helps create spaces that invite people to gather. That might look like events, improved streetscapes, or thriving storefronts—but behind every visible success is a lot of behind-the-scenes work.

Meetings. Planning. Collaboration. Problem-solving. Listening. Sometimes disagreeing. Always caring.

Meetings. Planning. Collaboration. Problem-solving. Listening. Sometimes disagreeing. Always caring.

What I’ve learned is that showing up consistently matters more than showing up perfectly. When residents and business owners invest time and energy into their neighborhood, the ripple effects are huge. Local businesses feel supported. The community feels connected. The Village feels alive.

This work isn’t flashy. But it’s meaningful. And it’s how places become more than just locations—they become homes.

Shop local. Attend Village events. Support the businesses and organizations that make Wauwatosa what it is. If you have the chance to get involved, take it—your presence truly matters.

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

On my way home from helping at a different location, I decided to stop at Woodman’s. We live in Lannon—a small village next to Menomonee Falls. Woodman’s is in Menomonee Falls. This should be easy. I should absolutely be able to get home from here without GPS.

Reader, I could not.

Somehow, I found myself on the highway going the wrong direction. So, like any reasonable 40-year-old, I called my mom.

“You’re on speakerphone. Your dad is here.”

Great. He’s really who I need.

Mom and I share the same… let’s call it creative sense of direction. My dad, on the other hand, drove for a living. I swear he never took the highway and somehow went a different way every single time we went anywhere. Which, given my current navigational skill set, is deeply unhelpful.

Back to today.

I get off the highway and turn right because I know that’s the direction I want to go.

Dead end.

I have definitely been here before.

I turn around and just start driving in the general direction I feel like I should be going. I’m pretty sure I’m too far east? But surely I’ll hit a familiar road eventually, right? Right?!

From the phone I hear my dad:
“Laura, just put it in your GPS. Even I do it.”

Absolutely not.
I will never admit defeat. Never.

My mom chimes in: “I’m gonna hang up so you can pull over and turn on directions.”

“Okay, Mom.”

I do not pull over. Because again—I can and I will do this.

And then… Silver Spring.

Aha! SEE?! I told you.

Was I exactly where I was supposed to be? Debatable.
Did it take twice as long—maybe more—than it should have? Also yes.
But did I make it home?

Yep.

Will I make the same mistakes again?

Most likely. 😉

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

My coworkers see me as this very put-together, successful person who has it all under control. I mean my peers. Not the ones that actually work with me day in and day out…

I would like to formally invite them to spend one single weekday inside my actual life.

Today was my normal chaos—and honestly, I guess it doesn’t look that chaotic until you stack all the moments on top of each other like a Jenga tower built entirely out of stress and snack crumbs.

Mornings always start strong. We’re doing great. Everyone is moving. Shoes are on. Spirits are high. And then…it’s time to actually walk out the door.

Phoebe needs hug number 256. She is also suddenly starving. Shon is upstairs with Thaddeus. Jazmyn—do you have your hat? Zip your coat. Why don’t you have your backpack? You literally had it five seconds ago. Is this a magic trick?

I finally make it to the car and NPR is playing this really interesting segment about the results of DOGE. I pull into work and sit there way too long listening because my brain needs one calm, uninterrupted thought before the day eats me alive. I switch it to my phone and walk in…to find my boss there. Unannounced.

Was strolling in 20 minutes late the best timing? Probably not. But here we are.

The morning was hectic. None of the systems were working the way they should. I’m calling it user error, but honestly, I did exactly everything wrong—twice. Then had to recreate all the forms a completely different way.

And then: “Hey, you have a board meeting in 10 minutes.”

I pull out my notes. They say in person. The calendar invite says virtual. Cool cool cool. Either way, I’m late. And I don’t know how anyone ever gets out of an in-person meeting on time because 40 minutes after I should have left, I’m still there.

I finally escape…only to run back to work because I didn’t take any of my stuff. Because of course I have time. I need to make it to the doctor. (Still currently a medical mystery. Do I really need a uterus anymore? Dear uterus, this is your eviction notice.)

It’s too late to go back to work. I call my husband and fill him in. I’ve got medication to pick up and an ultrasound scheduled three weeks from now. I can pick up Jazmyn. We also need cereal. Looks like we’re going to the store.

Shon’s not feeling well and “wouldn’t mind soup and a sammich.” I have too much time to go straight to school but not enough time to go to the store first. Do I want to pick up Thaddeus too? Sure. Why not. Let’s collect them all.

We grab Jazmyn—uneventful, thank goodness—and head to the pharmacy. No cars in the drive-thru. A miracle! We’ll be in and out.

Nope. Phones are down. Come inside.

I haul the kids in and the line is 20 people deep. NOT TODAY. I can wait until morning. Can we get Happy Meals? If you’re good at the store.

I don’t normally shop at the Pig because it’s smaller and has fewer choices, but we only need a couple things. The kids each grab a tiny cart. This feels like a terrible idea but I commit anyway.

Soup aisle: every soup has about half a cup left. Not gonna work. BLTs it is—we need bacon. Grab the bacon. Let’s get a can of French onion soup and call it a day.

No French onion. Cool. Plain chicken noodle it is. Progresso will have to do.

Back to the car.

Oh crap. The cereal. The entire reason we came to the store!

Back inside, everyone.

Alright—bacon 🥓 for BLTs, cereal, crappy soup. You kiddos want Happy Meals? You got it.

We finally pull into the driveway and I look at the groceries.

No lettuce.
No tomatoes.

So it’s bacon sandwiches and crappy soup. Or leftovers. Sorry, Shon.

Put together?
Don’t judge a book by its cover.

In control?
On whose authority??

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

Being a girl is the absolute worst.
10/10 do not recommend.

Let me start by saying: yes, I should have gone to the doctor a minute ago. I’ve been bleeding on and off for over a month now. Shovel snow? Bleeding starts. Decide I’m going to become a runner (that lasted approximately 15 minutes)? Bleeding starts. Slip and fall on the ice? You guessed it. Bleeding.

The last few days—what I can only assume is my actual period—has rivaled the Great Floods of… honestly, pick one. Noah would be concerned.

This happened once before a few years ago. After a long night in the ER where they did literally nothing (except take a wild amount of blood), it was concluded that I am, medically speaking, ✨a mystery✨.

Fast forward to now. My OB from my last pregnancy was not my favorite, and the nurse takes 12–14 business days to return a phone call. I do have a new patient appointment on Tuesday and I’m on the cancellation list. After putting my uterus on notice the other day—specifically informing it that I have a doctor’s appointment where I will be advocating for its removal and destruction—it has suddenly decided to behave in a normal fashion.

Suspicious.

The point of all this is: I am already tired. And cranky. And operating on very thin emotional margins.

At work, I’m the boss. All day long, I’m the go-to person. Questions, decisions, problems—bring them to me. I’ve got it.

Then I get home.

The kiddos are thrilled to see me. And my wonderful husband, who stays home with them so I can go to work (not an easy job, by the way), somehow has the magical ability to block out the kids, the dog, and the cat like they do not exist.

I walk in the door and immediately cannot even set my things down before I have three people clinging to me—literally—all trying to talk at once. They are so loud. So many words. So many needs. All at the same volume.

Overstimulated has entered the chat.

It’s the weekend and we still haven’t gotten a snow blower. My husband’s back is still not great, so we go out to shovel. I step outside and notice the shovels are lined up against the fence across the driveway. Why would we not keep them somewhere that doesn’t require trudging across a snow-covered driveway to retrieve them? I don’t know. I choose to let that one go. Growth.

I grab my shovel and start clearing the stairs. A few minutes go by and I hear a motor running.

Curious—because, again, we do not have a snow blower.

I round the corner of the house and there he is…with the leaf blower. Blowing the snow around.

Suddenly, I am swept up in a homemade blizzard of snow, dirt, and gravel. My husband thinks this is hysterical. I do not. I retreat to the opposite end of the driveway.

To be fair, leaf blowing the snow did work. But it was not faster by any stretch of the imagination. And as the other person clearing snow, I was now dealing with significantly more debris flying at my face, causing my eyes to water and my nose to run nonstop.

But it saved his back, so… fine.

I get inside and am immediately attacked by tiny humans. My glasses are fogged. I cannot see. I cannot move. Someone asks if Mommy can get out of her boots. I have to go to the bathroom. I cannot breathe because my nose has been running for the last hour and a half without stopping to blow it.

I make it to the bathroom and shut the door to keep the hooligans out.

They are literally standing outside yelling:
“Can I have candy?”
“Will you snuggle with me?”
“Is it my turn to watch something?”
“Mommy!”
“The TV isn’t working!”

Can you all please leave me alone for three f*ing seconds?!

And yet… after all that.

I do love snuggling on the couch with whichever kiddo jumps into my lap. I know there will be a day when they don’t want to snuggle anymore. I know I will miss it.

So yes—let’s snuggle, kiddo.
But do Mommy a favor and keep the noise to a minimum. No narrating your entire life. No sudden shrieks. No interpretive sound effects. Just quiet snuggles. Whisper-level existence.

Deal?

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.

Every year around this time, the internet collectively decides we should become new people.

New habits. New routines. New bodies. New planners that will absolutely fix everything.

And every year, I nod politely… while knowing full well that I am not about to wake up at 5 a.m. to journal in silence and drink lemon water like a serene woodland creature.

So this year, I’m trying something different.

My New Year’s resolution is doing all the things with intention.

Not perfection. Not aesthetic. Intention.

Which, frankly, feels both ambitious and realistic for the first time ever.

What “Intention” Actually Means in Real Life

Let’s be clear—this is not about suddenly having my life together….I’m still me…

This is about:

• Saying yes because I want to, not because I feel guilty
• Saying no without writing a novel of excuses
• Choosing rest on purpose instead of collapsing from burnout
• Being present even when things are loud, messy, and mildly unhinged

Intentional doesn’t mean slow. It doesn’t mean quiet. And it definitely doesn’t mean everything is calm.

It means I’m choosing it.

Parenting With Intention (Send Help)

Doing things with intention as a parent is… a journey.

Some days, intention looks like:

• Getting on the floor to play instead of scrolling
• Listening all the way through a story that makes absolutely no sense
• Pausing before reacting (instead of immediately choosing chaos)

Other days, intention looks like:

• Ordering takeout because everyone is tired
• Letting the kids watch one more episode so I can breathe
• Admitting I’m overstimulated and need five minutes alone

Both count. Growth and survival can coexist.

Work, Life, and All the In-Between

Professionally, intention means I’m paying attention to where my energy goes.

I want my work to align with my values.
I want my calendar to reflect my priorities.
I want to show up fully—not just be busy for the sake of being busy.

I’m done glorifying exhaustion. (Sure.)
I’m done wearing burnout like a badge of honor.
I’m done pretending that “just pushing through” doesn’t have consequences. (Are you sure it does though?)

This year, I’m choosing impact over optics.

The Goal Isn’t Perfection—It’s Awareness

Here’s the truth: I’m definitely going to mess up.

I’ll overcommit.
I’ll lose my patience.
I’ll forget to slow down until my body forces me to.

But the difference this year is that I’m noticing.

And noticing is something, right? It has to be at least a start.

Because when you’re intentional, you don’t need to change everything—you just need to change the why behind it.

So here’s to a year of doing things on purpose.
Messy. Loud. Imperfect. Meaningful.

And if nothing else… at least I’ll know I chose it.

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine. ☕🔥

You know those days where you wake up convinced it’s Monday…
but your calendar insists it’s Friday…
and your brain has fully opted out of participating either way?

Yeah. That day.

Today has been the Mondayest Friday ever. The kind of day where you ask, “What day is it?” at least six times before noon and still don’t believe the answer. The kind where you blink and somehow it’s 3:47 p.m. and you’re pretty sure you haven’t accomplished anything—yet you’re also inexplicably exhausted.

Where did the day go?
Who authorized time to move this fast?
And why does my to-do list look exactly the same as it did this morning… but angrier?

I had a plan. A solid one. A written-down one. And yet the day immediately laughed, flipped the table, and replaced it with meetings, emails, fires that needed putting out, and that one task that should’ve taken five minutes but instead consumed an hour and a half and part of my soul.

It’s the mental whiplash for me.

You start the day thinking, “I’ll wrap things up early—yay Friday!”
Next thing you know, you’re staring at your screen wondering if it’s socially acceptable to reschedule life until Monday.

And here’s the thing no one tells you:
Some Fridays aren’t celebratory.
Some Fridays are survival mode in business casual.

You don’t get the dopamine hit of crossing everything off the list. You get half a win. A few checkmarks. Some progress that doesn’t look impressive on paper but absolutely counts.

Because sometimes “getting everything done” is a myth we tell ourselves to feel productive.

Today? Today is a do what you can day.

You answered the important emails.
You moved the needle—even if just an inch.
You showed up when it would’ve been easier to mentally clock out by 10 a.m.

That counts.

Not every day is meant for crushing goals. Some days are meant for managing chaos, adjusting expectations, and reminding yourself that productivity doesn’t always look pretty.

So if today felt like a blur…
If you’re asking where the time went…
If your brain feels like it’s buffering…

You’re not behind. You’re human.

Close the laptop. Breathe. Reset. Monday will come soon enough (because of course it will). Until then, give yourself credit for what did get done—even if it wasn’t everything.

Some Fridays are for celebration.
Some are for grace.

This one? Definitely grace.

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine. ☕✨