Laughing Through the Chapters

Faith. Motherhood. Heartbreak. Cancer. Courage. Legacy.

All true. Every single word of it.

But here’s what the bio leaves out.

I am ridiculous.

Executive Vision

I can build a team, lead a strategy, manage a project, and confidently address a room full of professionals. Then spend ten minutes looking for the glasses sitting on my head—or perched on my nose.

The Parking Garage

I can close a major project before lunch and spend the afternoon wandering through a parking garage whispering: “Jesus, please find my car.”

At this point, losing my car is no longer an incident. It is part of the parking experience.

The Seasoned Tourist

I have traveled the world looking like a seasoned tourist while secretly following strangers through airports because they looked like they knew where they were going. Do they? No idea.

That is enough leadership for me.

Stay Out of Beach-Leak Way

Growing up, I learned one important survival rule: Stay out of beach-leak way.

Translation: Stay out of harm’s way.

Some people see trouble coming and investigate. I see trouble coming and leave so fast, trouble has to text me: “Where did you go?”

Delivered. Not read.

Business on Top, Vacation Below

Once, on a business trip, I packed everything—except my pumps. So I walked into the meeting in a business suit… and flip-flops. I announced: “Business on top. Vacation below.” Nobody blinked. That’s executive presence: dress for the job you have—and the beach you wish you were on.

The FEMA Exercise

Then there were the children. Three of them. For several years, my house operated somewhere between a loving family and a FEMA disaster-response exercise.

Someone was teething. Someone was potty-training. Someone was crying. Sometimes it was me.

One child would yell, “Mom!” The second would yell, “MOM!” The third would yell, “MOOOOM!” And I would stand in the kitchen thinking:

Surely one of these children has a father.

Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That

I used to think every problem needed my attention.

Now I ask: Is anybody bleeding? Is something on fire? Did my mother call me personally?

No? Then..

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Aging Comes with Sound Effects

Then came Aging. Nobody warns you that aging comes with sound effects. I make noises when I stand up. I walk into rooms and forget why I’m there.

I open the refrigerator and stare inside as though the refrigerator called the meeting. Neither of us knows the agenda. Eventually, I close the door.

Meeting adjourned.

Defeated by “Incorrect Password”

The computer says: Your password must contain one uppercase letter, one number, one symbol, and eight characters.

At this point, I believe it also requires a blood sample and a letter from my pastor.

Been There. Done That.

Bad decisions? Made them. Painful shoes? Wore them. Men with  “potential”?   Next question. 

Been there. Done that. Blocked the number.

The Receipts

Then there are my children. “Mom, remember when you…?” My children find all of this delightful because they have receipts. And by receipts, I mean: Screenshots. Photos. Witnesses. Thirty years of evidence.

And just like that— thirty years of distinguished motherhood are gone.

I am fairly certain there is a family group chat dedicated entirely to me. I am not in it.

And honestly, that may be God’s protection.

What GG Wants You to Know

I want my grandchildren to know that GG wasn’t always sitting beside a window looking thoughtful and writing profound things about life. Sometimes GG couldn’t find her phone—while talking on it. Sometimes dinner burned because I turned up the heat to make it cook faster.

Laura Time

And sometimes the vacation had plans of its own. We missed the plane because we were sitting at the wrong departure gate—completely relaxed, snacks in hand, while our actual flight was leaving without us.

Then we missed the train because we forgot about the time change. Apparently, Europe was running on European time. We were running on Laura time.

There was the time we took the train from New Jersey to New York. Three hours later… We were back in New Jersey. Same state. Same confusion. Less money.

At that point, we weren’t traveling. We were just sightseeing by accident.

The Homeland

When I studied in Cyprus, my family was eight hours behind. They would call at what they considered a reasonable hour. In Cyprus, it was 3 a.m. I would pick up the phone and whisper hello. They would say, “You sound tired.” I would say, “It is three in the morning.” They would say, “Oh. So anyway—” and then tell me everything.

The homeland does not observe your time zone. The homeland observes the homeland.

The GPS

Then there was the GPS. I trusted it. The GPS said, “Turn left.” I turned left. The GPS said, “Recalculating.” I kept going. The GPS said it again. And again. Four recalculations later, I was in a cul-de-sac I had never seen before, staring at a mailbox with someone else’s name on it.

I sat there and thought: this is how people get discovered.

The Kitchen Fire

Then there was cooking. I should not be left unsupervised with a kitchen. I once set a recipe on fire—not the food, the recipe. I had printed it on paper, set it too close to the burner, and watched my dinner instructions go up in flames.

I stared at the ashes and thought: well, now it’s a surprise.

My family ate cereal that night and praised the Lord.

The Zoom Call

Then there was Zoom. In the pandemic, I learned to Zoom. I joined a meeting, presented for twelve minutes, shared my screen, answered questions, felt very professional. Then my granddaughter walked in and whispered: “Gigi, your camera is off.”

I had been presenting to myself. Passionately.

The Laugh

And sometimes I laughed so hard telling a story that I couldn’t finish it. Eventually, everyone else started laughing too.

Not at the story. At me trying to survive telling it.