Midwest Mimi

  • She Learned to Work Before the World Called It Work

    Rae learned to work before the world called it work. At twelve, she cleaned my brother’s shop office for real money, real expectations, and a little freedom of her own. I am proud of the confidence work gave her. I also grieve that money had to matter so young.

  • I Am Not Less Autistic Because I Learned How to Live

    I am not less autistic because I have learned how to manage myself. I am not less autistic because I can stay calm in a crisis, build recovery days into my life, or recognize my limits before I break down. I have just been paying attention.

  • Good and Evil in the Same Skin

    More than a decade later, this is still one of the deepest losses of friendship I have ever experienced. Not romantic. Not simple. More like losing a partner, a brother, and a whole former life at once. This is not a story about one bad man and one good woman. It is a story about…

  • What the Calendar Couldn’t Hold

    June was full of appointments, reschedules, travel, surgery recovery, and work. I needed the calendar, the reminders, and the map. But the best parts of the month happened in the margins: porch conversations, toddler hugs, family dinners, chalk on the sidewalk, and ordinary beauty I almost missed.

  • My Kids Think School Is Out. I Know Better.

    School may be out for the summer, but learning has not stopped. In our house, summer learning looks like audiobooks, gardening, chores, paid work, boredom, conflict resolution, and all the practical life skills that do not fit neatly on a worksheet.

  • Some Work Is Meant to Be Tended, Not Posted

    I almost posted a children’s story inspired by my mother. Then I realized it was not a blog post. It was a seed. A reflection on creativity, legacy work, poverty, patience, and learning when to share the work and when to let it grow.

  • The Same Girl Either Way

    A personal essay about homeschool culture, girlhood, faith, rebellion, and learning that someone else’s narrow idea of a “godly girl” did not get to define who I was.

  • Not Cosmetic

    A personal essay about illness, poverty, motherhood, Medicaid, medical dismissal, and what happens when visible survival gets mistaken for failure.

  • The Hidden Cost of Simple Things

    A fall in the shower took only a few seconds, but the recovery may take days. This is the hidden cost of chronic illness: simple things are not always simple, and a slower pace does not mean a smaller dream.

  • My Daughter Is Not Half of Anything

    Mixed children should not have to prove they are enough of one thing to be treated as whole. As her white mother, I cannot know every layer of my daughter’s racial experience from the inside, but I can tell the truth about what I have witnessed. She is not half of anything. She is herself,…

  • The Life I Want Is Not Fancy. It Is Safe.

    The life I want is not fancy. It has dirt in it, a modest house, a garden, a porch, woods, pasture, and enough safety for my family to breathe. I am not chasing luxury. I am trying to build stability, space, financial security, and a life where safe is not treated like a luxury.

  • I Am Practicing the Life I Want Before I Can Afford It

    I did not know it was abundance. I thought it was dinner. Homemade bread, canned pears, fresh tomatoes, animals, woods, pasture, and food that came from the work of our own hands. I do not have the land yet, but I can still practice the skills, rhythms, and values of the life I am building…

  • I Promised My Grandma I’d Be the One

    Printing the first draft of my middle-grade book made me realize I am closer than I thought to keeping an old promise. What started as 20,600 words on a screen became a stack of pages in my hands, carrying my grandma’s hope, my mom’s absence, my dad’s bedtime chapters, my daughter’s childhood words, and the…

  • The Bandwidth of Peace

    A rainy spring morning, a numb hand, an unfinished book-tree drawing, and a list of “analog hobbies” got me thinking about disability, creativity, and accommodations. There is no prize for making the process harder. The prize is the peace we feel while making something.

  • It Was a Disaster Then. It’s Funny Now.

    A dead mouse in a preschool backpack. A toddler who accidentally made prison wine in a sippy cup. A blue paint trail leading to a hidden child in the pantry. Some parents seem to know exactly what they’re doing. I have mostly just survived one absurd parenting disaster after another.