When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

When I was younger, my mom, my sister, my cousin, and I decided to take a weekend trip to Disneyland. We were so excited to get away, just us girls. But, of course, life had other plans. Our hotel stay was less than ideal. Imagine being woken up not once, not twice, but three times by the sound of fire alarms blaring throughout the night. Each time, we’d jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, and stand outside waiting for the all-clear, then go back into our rooms and try to sleep–only to have it happen again. It was exhausting, frustrating, and, honestly, a little ridiculous.

By the third round of alarms, my cousin had had enough. She looked at us all, threw her hands up, and said, “I’m not going this time.” We all just burst out laughing because, honestly, what else could we do? We were so tired and just wanted to enjoy our girls’ trip, but at that point, the fire alarms had become our unwanted companion. The whole situation was frustrating, but in a weird way, it was also kind of funny. Instead of letting it ruin our trip, we made the best of it and laughed through our exhaustion.

That night, we definitely didn’t get much sleep, but we learned a lesson, one my mom often said: when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. We could've let the whole ordeal make us grumpy, but instead, we took it in stride and found humor in it. We still had an amazing time at Disneyland the next day, and whenever we talk about that trip now, we laugh at how ridiculous the fire alarms were–and how it turned into a memory we’ll never forget.

It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

Growing up, Christmas at the tree lot wasn’t just about picking the perfect tree. It was a full-blown adventure, and my sister and I were always at the center of it. Every year, we’d run through the trees, weaving in and out of the rows like our lives depended on it. My dad would count to ten, giving us a head start, and then we’d take off, dodging low branches and trying to blend in with the camouflage jackets we’d sometimes wear. As we got older, and a little bigger, the game got more difficult–and let’s be honest, less graceful–but that didn’t stop us. It became a tradition, no matter how ridiculous it looked.

But of course, there was always a catch. My mom would be standing on the sidelines, shaking her head with that look–the one that said she was both amused and concerned. She’d say, “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.” She wasn’t wrong, though. There were the occasional tumbles and branches to the face, but that didn’t stop us. The thrill of the chase was too much fun, and the risk felt part of the excitement. 

Even though she was always cautious, I think deep down my mom liked watching the chaos unfold. After all, she’d always laugh a little after delivering her warning, even if it was followed by a sigh. Those Christmas tree lot chases are some of my favorite memories, and they remind me of how simple traditions can bring so much joy, no matter how reckless they might seem. It wasn’t just about the game itself–it was about the moments that made us laugh, and the people who made it all worth it. 

Be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it.

One of my mom’s favorite sayings is, “Be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it.” As a kid, I heard this a lot, especially when my sister and I would beg for something. We were persistent, and the more we begged, the more my mom would remind us of this proverb. The perfect example of this came when we begged for hamsters. We promised we’d take care of them, so eventually, after much convincing, my parents took us to the pet store to pick out our new furry friends.

I chose the tiniest, cutest dwarf hamster I could find. It was so small and adorable, I thought it would be the perfect pet. My sister, on the other hand, went for the big fluffy one. We brought them home, excited at first, but things quickly took a turn. My hamster, who I had hoped would be my cuddly companion, would bite me every time I tried to touch it. Meanwhile, my sister’s hamster gave birth to eight tiny hamsters, a total disaster. Suddenly, we had a whole army of hamsters to take care of, and neither of us was ready for the responsibility.

Of course, we quickly regretted our decision. Cleaning the hamster cages became a dreaded chore, only hoping it would end. But my mom, ever wise, reminded us that we had made a commitment when we asked for them. No matter how much we complained, we were stuck taking care of them. In hindsight, it was a great lesson in responsibility–and a perfect example of my mom’s saying. It taught me that sometimes, getting exactly what you ask for isn’t as great as it seems.

Once bitten, twice shy.

One memory that still haunts me is the feeling of being completely lost and helpless. It’s the kind of thing that sticks with you, even when you try to shake it off. I can still remember the panic, the sense of time running out, and the worry that I might never find my way back. It’s hard to forget that gut-deep fear, even now.

It all happened during a kindergarten field trip to a pumpkin patch. We were supposed to be having fun picking pumpkins. But my friend and I decided to venture into the corn maze, excited at first, but soon found ourselves completely lost. The stalks seemed to tower over us, and no matter which way we turned, we couldn’t find the exit. I remember the rising panic as we heard the distant sound of the train horn–our class was about to leave, and we were stuck. 

Looking back, it’s kind of funny how something so small felt so huge at the time. That overwhelming feeling of being lost left a mark on me, and I’ve never looked at mazes the same way since. My mom’s proverb perfectly captures how I feel about mazes now. I’m not the first to jump into something that reminds me of the sense of panic–because, well, once bitten, twice shy.