Whining, Wine-ing & Winning

I’ve been doing so many word prompts lately that I realized I haven’t written a real ass post in a hot minute. So here we go. Word vomit…slightly organized.

This week felt busy, but when I sat down and thought about it, I was like…what did you actually do, Lindsay? Honestly, not a ton outside of the usual mom life. I’ve been trying to reach out to local businesses about helping with their social media—something I used to do and didn’t totally suck at. I’ll scroll their pages thinking…we can fix this. We can absolutely fix this.

Other than that, it’s been the usual…just leveled up a bit because my daughter has entered her let me try to accidentally hurt myself in creative ways era.

The other day I caught her dragging chairs across the playroom and lining them up against the railing overlooking the stairs. Like ma’am?? What is the plan here?? Because I see where this is going and I would like to unsubscribe immediately.

We’ve got Easter coming up, egg dyeing, Final Four on in the background, family dinner…all the things. And somehow we’ll blink and be right back into another week.

But here’s where my brain went today…

I was sitting here thinking I didn’t really have anything to write about—no big stories, no wild kid moment (aside from the near stair launch), nothing groundbreaking. But then I started thinking about people. The ones who remember you. And how much that actually sticks.

Back when we lived in a smaller town, I knew people. People knew me. I was comfortable there. I did some catering and worked in restaurants, and somehow built these little connections that I didn’t think much about at the time.

One of those connections was with Jerome Tang and his family.

They were just…good people. Not fake nice. Not “customer service nice.” They remembered you. I ran into his wife at the grocery store one time, long after I had seen them regularly, and she still remembered me. And that stuck. Like…okay, maybe I’m doing something right if people remember me like that.

Before him, there was Bruce Weber…and this is where things went a little sideways.

I had just moved to Kansas from Colorado and didn’t know a damn thing about the whole K-State vs. KU situation. If you know, you KNOW. If you don’t—just understand you’re supposed to pick a side and defend it with your life.

Naturally, I picked KU.

Why?

Because I thought the mascot was cute.

Solid decision-making skills, really.

So one day I’m working at the restaurant and this guy comes in to pick up a to-go order. I ask for the name, and he tells me “Weber,” with a look like…you should know who I am.

I did not.

So I go to check on his order, it’s not ready yet, and instead of just…walking away like a normal person, I decide to make small talk.

He’s wearing a K-State pin, so I ask him what sport he likes.

He says, “Basketball.”

Still with the face.

And then…then I decide this is my moment.

I proceed to tell this man—this complete stranger—how much better KU is at basketball.

Confident. Bold. Completely unqualified.

He asks how many games I’ve been to.

I say…“None. I just moved here.”

He kind of chuckles and goes, “Once you move to Manhattan, you bleed purple. You’ll see.”

Takes his food. Leaves.

I turn around and my entire wait staff is just…watching me.

“What were you and Bruce talking about?”

I’m like…Bruce? Is he a regular?

And they go, “That’s the head coach of K-State basketball.”

I froze. Of course he is.

Like full body, soul-left-my-body froze.

“SHIT.”

I had just told the K-State head coach that KU was better…because of a mascot.

They were laughing so hard I thought someone might pass out.

Miss Awkward Pants. Right here.

BUT.

Here’s the part that stuck with me.

Fast forward a bit—he came into the grocery store I managed after that. There was a tomato sauce he liked that we hadn’t had in stock for months. When we finally got it back, I bought a whole case and had it sent to his office (perk of my husband working in athletics—we made sure it got there).

When he moved away, he stopped by the restaurant just to thank me. Not just a quick “hey thanks,” but to actually say he appreciated it and wanted to make sure I knew he remembered me.

And that’s the thing.

It’s not about big moments. It’s not about doing something over the top.

It’s just…remembering people. Showing up. Doing something small that sticks.

And if all I did was keep a tiny human alive, prevent a staircase stunt, and be the kind of person people remember in a good way…

I’ll take it, and proudly wine-d down with it.