Work-life what? we built a ballfield behind the borrow pit...

Shane "Baby-Boss" watching the hand-held radios for his signal while helping in the scale-house

Let me start with a giant thank you...

To every operator, driver, manager, and neighbor who ever looked out for my kids at the landfill. To the ones who picked them up from the bus stop when they were headed in.

To the ones who brought them stickers for their hard hats, gave them nicknames like "baby-boss" or tossed in an extra snack just because.

To the men and women who didn’t bat an eye when a little one tagged along behind me in a safety vest and rubber boots two sizes too big. You may not realize it, but your simple acts of kindness became the roots of something bigger: a childhood steeped in hard work, real-world lessons, and community.

Thank you.

Society has a lot to say about boundaries these days. We’re told to keep work and home separate. That taking your kids to a job site is unprofessional. That answering emails after dinner is toxic. That there’s something broken in the system, or in you, if the lines blur.

But here’s the truth: I built a career, raised five kids, and never once got the luxury of “balance.” What I had instead was integration. And it worked.

Because what my kids got wasn’t chaos or confusion, it was a front-row seat to resilience in motion.

They saw communities come together in times of crisis, like during state of emergencies when we were evacuated ourselves, teetering on the edge of losing everything. They saw teams still show up, to protect careers, to protect each other, and to protect the places we serve, even when it was raining ash, and dark at one in the afternoon, and the pain of losing a fellow route manager who died saving others in a nearby fire still hung in the air.

They experienced bedtime routines in “Mom’s office,” because during the day I was managing people and paperwork, and at night I was out on a dozer, helping the guys in the field.

They had Netflix on the TV in the breakroom, and code words for the radio, our own secret language to keep the day moving without disrupting operations.

And they knew that even if Mom had earbuds in and was logged into what she called a "redundant weekly meeting" at the ball game, she was still their biggest fan, sitting in the stands with the best snack bags around, fresh fruit and half-frozen grapes.

They grew up in a world that didn’t always follow the rules on paper, but it built them in the best possible way.

And yes, sometimes work came home with me, too.

I’d be lying if I said I left it all at the gate. When you’re in operations or management, or hell, even if you’re just the one who cares, the job follows you home. The frustration, the wins, the problem-solving. Sometimes it rides shotgun on the school pickup run or sneaks into bedtime routines. And guess what? That’s okay too.

My kids didn’t suffer because I brought work home. They watched me take calls, write reports, vent, cry, and push through anyway. They saw me lead, even when I was tired. They saw me advocate, fight for safety, stand my ground. What I gave them wasn’t a divided, carefully compartmentalized parent. I gave them a whole one. And they’re better for it.

Let's be honest, this isn't a glorification, it's a reclamation.

This blog isn’t about pretending it’s easy. It’s not. Some days I felt like I was failing at both, motherhood and leadership. Some days the guilt tried to drown me. Some days I cried in a dozer because I didn’t know how I’d make it work.

But I did make it work.

Because the truth is, this “take your kids to work” life isn’t broken, it’s just misunderstood.

And it’s time we stop pretending professionalism has to mean disconnection. It doesn’t.

Somewhere along the way, the definition of “professional” got watered down into something sterile. Pressed shirts. Quiet hallways. No kids. No noise. No signs of real life.

But that’s not professionalism. That’s performance. And it’s time we stop pretending that showing up polished means you’ve shown up fully.

Professionalism doesn’t mean disconnecting from your life to do your job. It doesn’t mean hiding your identity, your struggles, your family, or your fire. Real professionalism is showing up with integrity, grit, and the willingness to own every piece of your life, without apology.

It’s leading with your sleeves rolled up, the radio in one hand, and your toddler riding shotgun in the work truck if that’s what the day calls for.

It’s knowing that being human at work isn’t a weakness, it’s what builds trust, loyalty, and real damn leadership.

So no, professionalism doesn’t require disconnection. It requires authenticity. And we need more of that in every boardroom, backhoe, and breakroom across this country.

And to the working parents who carry it all, you're not doing it wrong.

You’re just doing it real.

If your kid shows up at your job in a lunch-pail hard hat or helps you sort invoices at the kitchen table, that’s not failure. That’s family. That’s hustle. That’s legacy.

And if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re measuring success with the wrong tape.  

To those who say, “leave work at work” or “home is no place for business”, maybe that works for them.

But for me? Blurring the lines between work and family gave my kids roots in reality. It showed them where food comes from, where trash goes, how people get paid, and what showing up really means. And if I had to do it again, I’d still throw a vest on my toddler and bring him to the landfill.

Because some of the best people I’ve ever known wear steel toes and wave at school buses.

And some of the best lessons my kids have ever learned came with the smell of diesel and dirt. With the random Thursdays when the shift was over, but the laughter kept going. When we gathered just down the hill, past the stormwater pond and behind the borrow area, on that dusty baseball diamond we turned into a field of memories. That was beneficial reuse at its finest, a ballfield built for “team building” that ended up building something much deeper.

We grilled. We played. We watched our kids grow up under orange skies, laughing with the sons and daughters of operators, drivers, and mechanics who gave their all every day.

Those nights weren’t on the calendar, but they carried us through some of the hardest seasons.

The friendships, the lessons, the love born from those moments are etched into who we are.

Cheers to that. To love, and family, and calling it “work.” Because if this isn’t the best gift, we could give our children…

Then I don’t know what is.  So no, I won’t apologize for taking my kids to work. And I won’t feel guilty for bringing work home. Because in a world full of filters and fake hustle,

I gave my kids the raw, unedited version of life, dirty boots, late-night dozer rides, radio code words, and all.

And that, my friend, is how you raise humans who understand what real work, and real love, looks like.

If that’s not the best damn legacy, we can leave behind… then maybe we’re working for the wrong things.