Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss what it’s like to get hit by an immigrant in America’s new low-trust society.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

I write a lot about how it feels, as an American who can trace her lineage in this country back to the 1600s, to watch what’s happening to my home. Maybe not so specifically. But a good part of my focus recently has been on the side effects of immigration, both legal and illegal, that affect kitchen-table issues for everyday Americans.

This topic became all too real to me Wednesday when an immigrant hit my car on the way to pick up the girls from school.

I’ve been in accidents before. The typical schedule of events is something along the lines of both cars pulling over, exchanging information, sometimes the cops are called to file a report for the insurance, and then, God willing, everyone can drive away with no drama. Of course, sometimes there are heated exchanges, but most of the time it comes down to annoying frustration that adds one more thing to your plate before the accident eventually fades from memory.

I don’t think officials know or truly care what happens to an American when someone from a completely different culture than ours enters the equation.

That day, I came off the highway like I usually do and turned onto the road to the next highway I need to get on to get to school. It was in the afternoon, so traffic was much lighter because everyone was still at work. I always turn into the far left lane to go under the overpass because I know that I’ll be passing a popular shopping center and don’t want to get trapped behind someone turning in or out. As I was passing the first entrance to the shopping center, I noticed a young girl was not paying attention and had decided to pull out.

At first, I assumed she would enter the right lane since there were no cars in it and I was obviously occupying the left lane. But in a split second, I realized that she was merging across both lanes and was likely going to hit me. I’ve been driving for decades, and I leaned on my experience, deciding that the best thing to do was to speed up in hopes of a near miss. However, I drive a mom car that is quite long, and despite my best efforts, she still rammed her car into mine.

I immediately signaled, changed lanes, and pulled into the shopping center she had just exited. She followed suit. We had both gotten out of the car when I asked her if she was okay and why she hit me.

“Did you not see me? Were you not paying attention? What happened?”

That’s when she claimed in a foreign accent that I had come out of nowhere. I explained that coming out of nowhere was physically impossible. I am not the Angel Gabriel. People just don’t appear on the road. Then she tried to accuse me of driving the wrong way down this one-way street. Again, I had to explain to her that this would have been physically impossible, given where the damage was on both our cars. Her front driver’s side was all smashed up, and my back right passenger side was battered and bruised. If I had been driving in the opposite direction, as she claimed, she would have hit me on the left front, not the back right.

I stopped arguing with her and asked for her information. She immediately called who I assumed was her dad. I could hear a man’s voice but couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other because they were speaking in a foreign language. As he was on the phone, she became increasingly confrontational with me about who was at fault. I decided that the best thing I could do for both of us was to call the police and ask for an officer to come.

We sat and waited for the officer to arrive for what seemed like an eternity. About 15 minutes after I called the police, but before they arrived, her father showed up. I was standing pretty close to my car, assessing the damage again when he walked over to me. There were plenty of places to stand, but he chose to stand right next to me, shoulder to shoulder. I couldn’t have moved an inch and had to fold my right arm into my body to avoid him touching me. He was so close that it was impossible not to notice that he was much taller and bigger than me. It was clear that he was trying to intimidate me physically. He never even looked at me or spoke to me. He just stood, peering over me and speaking to his daughter in their home language.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This week, we discuss Scottie Scheffler’s big win and my daughter’s two-day retreat.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

I’ve always been a big fan of professional golfer Scottie Scheffler. Although he was born in New Jersey, he grew up in Dallas, so Texans like myself always claim him as an honorary Texan. It was a thrill to see him win the Tour Championship last weekend at the FedExCup. But what made it even more special was watching his face light up after the win when his wife and children entered the room. He displays this kind of effortless family-man characteristic found only in men who actually love being husbands and fathers.

While the spotlight was for sure on Scottie in that moment and you couldn’t help but notice the open arms and big smile on his face, as a mother, I couldn’t help but focus on how his children and wife reacted. She smiled a proud, wifely grin you give your husband after watching him succeed, as his children ran into his arms. I think, even more so than his win, it’s important to recognize how powerful this moment is from an imagery perspective.

Our society needs to be constantly shown the model of true success. Nothing that Scottie does on the course is as important as knowing that at the end of the grueling schedule of the golf season his family is there waiting for him. He seems to have balanced the chaos well enough that his wife and children want to celebrate his successes as their own. This is a lesson that, while it might be easy to say, is often hard to emulate. There are plenty of top-tier athletes who sacrifice their family for success, but Scottie shows there is a better way.

This experience got me thinking about my own family dynamic.

While Scottie was finishing the tournament, we were dropping off our high schooler at her first-ever overnight retreat. It’s a new activity her school is adopting where they want to start the students’ school year off with a two-day Catholic retreat beginning with Mass on Sundays. The two days are then filled with adoration, prayer, and age-appropriate talks by speakers from across the country. The idea is to ground students in the expectations for the new year and deepen their connection to their faith as a guide for their lives.

I was, of course, pretty worried about letting her go. We have never been the-sleepaway-camp or spend-the-night kind of parents. My thought is that nothing good ever happens after 11:00 p.m. Plus, I like going to bed at night knowing that everyone I love is safely under one roof. Still, I eventually decided to let her go, despite my initial doubts, because I knew this would be an important developmental opportunity for her, and I didn’t want the first time she ever spent the night without us to be when she went away to college.

They were probably some of the hardest days I’ve had in a while. It’s not easy to have zero contact with your child. I had so many questions. Was she being fed? Did she have a good experience sleeping in her cabin with the other girls? Was the experience worth the sleepless night that I had worrying about her?

To celebrate Labor Day, upgrade today and save 25% on your first year.

Get 25% off for 1 year

We picked her up Tuesday, and she was bouncing off the walls, telling us all about the amazing talks they had and how much fun the games were. But before we got into all the stories from her trip, there was the moment we were finally reunited. I saw her pull up into the parking lot with her ride. She immediately got out of the car. Her sisters followed me. They beat me to her because they started running the moment their feet hit the pavement. They bumrushed her with hugs that squeezed her so tightly her bags started falling off her shoulders and out of her hands. She was smiling from ear to ear as they were telling her how much they missed her and how happy they were to have her back.

One by one, they helped unload her body of all the bags, leaving her arms completely free for me. She walked over with her bright eyes and teenage smile. With my arms wide open, she leaned into my body and gave me the sweet relief of having her back home. She kissed me gently on my cheek and whispered, “I missed you so much, Momma.” She held my hand the whole drive home as she detailed every moment of the retreat.

Later that night, she came into my room to kiss me goodnight and tell me how happy she was to be back home. By the way she said it, I know she meant more than just the house that she lives in with us. Home meant being wherever the whole family is together.

This is an experience that millions of families have every day. And the very one that Scottie and his family showed the world Sunday. Your heart can truly only hold one thing of great importance. You can’t interchange your priorities there like you would clothes each day. The product shows in the moments like after a win or when you come back from a trip. How does your family greet you on your big return? If you’ve kept family as the most important priority in your life even when you are competing at work, they’ll be there the moment you get back, celebrating you being home. But if you have allowed some other issue to occupy that space in your heart, it will be obvious.

Like Scottie, my daughter proved she prioritizes keeping her family close. It was one of the moments that made me realize that I didn’t need to be so nervous sending her off into the world. She knows where home is, and she will keep that no matter where she goes.

Please send any questions or comments about the newsletter to goodlife@dailycaller.com

Heard It Through The Grapevine:

Geoff Ingersoll’s latest breaks down the hole Democrats dug for themselves by pandering to specific voters. “It’s almost like instead of viewing the electorate as various sets of immutable traits you need to pander to, you should just run on deep-seated American values more generally,” he says. State of Wednesday: THEY REALLY CAN’T FIND NORMAL GUYS

Amber Duke discusses the success of President Trump’s tariff war, specifically how it affects China’s “fast fashion” industry. FAST FASHION HITS THE TARIFF WALL

Like what you’re reading? If so, please consider upgrading to a paid State of the Day subscriber or sharing this with a friend. You’d be supporting this newsletter and helping keep independent journalism alive.

Get 25% off for 1 year

Share

If you are already a paid subscriber, make sure to join the conversation in our subscribers-only chat below.

MORE FROM MARY ROOKE

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss how best to use the gifts God gives us in service of our children.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

I’m at that stage in my motherhood journey where I’m constantly reassessing the best way to talk to my high school daughter so she keeps listening to my advice.

I have this uncanny ability to read people. I truly think it’s a gift that God gave me. I’m not sure what you would call it. Intuition maybe? Regardless, I can spot a bad friend, boyfriend, coworker, whatever long before anyone else catches on. This can leave me feeling a bit lonely until eventually the people I’ve warned see it for themselves.

When I was in high school, my sisters used to get so mad at me because I would tell them their boyfriends were no good for them. Or I’d warn them not to trust that friend they had been spending all their time with. They’d argue with me, telling me they didn’t care because I didn’t like anyone they dated. Then, eventually, the boyfriend or friend would show their true selves, and if I were lucky, I’d get a thank-you, but most of the time I’d happily settle for them not being in their lives anymore.

I don’t blame them really. I wasn’t very tactful in how I approached the subject. Back then, I was more of a sledgehammer than anything else. They probably felt like I was hurting them. I’ve gotten better at delivering the news as I’ve aged. My husband finds it useful.

The nature of his job means he’s taking a lot of phone calls and meetings at home or in the car. I get to hear conversations I wouldn’t normally hear if he worked a traditional 9-5. When he gets off, I often gently mention that he should be wary of one thing or another, and because we’ve built up trust over the last 15 years, he takes my counsel and uses it to his advantage.

I say all of this to give you a little background information before I really get into the nitty-gritty of what’s been happening around here.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss scraping wallpaper off the walls both physically and metaphorically.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

Like any good wife, I woke up three weeks ago and decided I needed to change something about the house. The next day, we ripped the carpet out of the girls’ rooms upstairs and prepared the walls, ceilings, and doors for new paint.

I don’t think this was even on my husband’s radar at the time. It’s not that we haven’t talked about the work needed to update their rooms since we bought the house three years ago, but nothing actionable has happened in that time. So I forced our hand. Now my husband had to help me choose paint colors, buy supplies, and do the manual labor required for us to install the matching hardwood flooring we put in downstairs.

It makes me giggle when I think about it. The look on his face in the beginning made it pretty clear that he was not a willing participant in this remodel. But he’s told me several times since we started the project how happy the girls will be once their rooms are done. He’s right. Every day a little more is done to finish them off, and you can feel their excitement growing as they get closer to moving back in.

While construction is underway, we have them all sleeping in one room. I’ve always been a proponent of having your children share bedrooms. We purposefully bought this house because of the two rooms with a jack-and-jill bathroom. I wanted them in close proximity to each other as they grew up. It forces them to be close, to learn to live with someone else constantly in their space, and, in the quiet hours of the night, to have each other to share their hopes, dreams, and little secrets.

At night we can hear them playing cards and laughing so hysterically that it’s infectious. Inevitably, my husband has to get up and tell them to knock it off.

“Girls, come on, it’s time for bed!”

Through the giggles, they say, “ok” and settle down. We know their “playtime” will continue a little longer, but it doesn’t really matter to us all that much. He just tells them to go to bed because that is something parents have to say when it’s way past their bedtime. In reality, we both could listen to their chatter for hours with smiles on our faces. It’s always a good sign to see that your kids are happy.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss the real-life Camp of the Saints happening in Spain and what that means for the U.S.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

By now, I’m sure everyone has seen the horde of illegal immigrants storming the Spanish enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla. Fox News’ Bill Melugin reported that an estimated 60,000 mostly military-aged men invaded Spain’s territory Thursday. One video showed a steady stream of men screaming “Allahu akbar” as they made their way in.

It is radicalizing in a way almost nothing else in our society can match.

Socialism and communism are rising inside our country. The left has taken over our education system. Our economy seems to be getting worse by the day. Everything about our lives feels as though we are standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for one small gust of wind to blow us over.

I know I can be hard on President Trump. Many of his policy decisions have frustrated and disappointed me. He has always looked to the base as a measure of his success, but lately it seems he’s forgotten how to do that. Maybe it’s the people he’s placed around him. Maybe he just doesn’t have his finger on the pulse of our movement as he did before. Whatever it is, there is a massive disconnect between his first and second term that has left me wondering where the 2016 Trump is hiding.

I’ve been very vocally against the Iran War since the start of the conflict. I knew we’d see this become a prolonged, chaotic engagement and that American blood and treasure would be sent to die in the Middle East. I was called a “Panican.”

Some of my readers told me I was complaining too much. They said I didn’t know what I was talking about.

But I have lived through war in the Middle East almost my entire life and saw what it did to our economy. I saw the devastation it brought to my friends who served. I knew the cost, and it was too much to bear.

The latest polling shows that American sentiment on the war has caught up to how I felt day one. Even Trump seems to have had enough and wants this to end. I take no pleasure in being right. I wish it had never happened.

Trump has accelerated AI in a way that worries me a lot. There seem to be few meaningful roadblocks to a technology that promises to transform nearly every aspect of our lives. States are not even permitted to regulate it independently.

I worry about how it’s going to affect my children’s ability to get a job. I have a daughter in high school. What specialty should I urge her to study in college? She used to want to be a lawyer. I’m not so sure that’s the smart move anymore.

And while I sit and wonder if Trump is even still listening to our concerns about his policy choices, none of this is as important as preventing what’s happening in Spain from happening here. There is no country to save if we can’t control who lives here.

So amid all of my frustrations with Trump and his administration, I know that he saved us from another four years of an invasion. The U.S. was (according to low estimates) averaging about 6,500 illegal immigrant encounters every day during the Biden years. There is no telling the exact number of illegal immigrants living in the U.S., but most Trump officials claim there are about 20 million who came in just under Biden. That doesn’t count any who came in during previous administrations.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss living forever while not actually living at all.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

I, like many others scrolling X this week, stopped short when Bryan Johnson announced he had “cloned” himself as a newborn. The man already famous for an experimental plasma exchange involving his teenage son was now talking about a petri-dish version of himself that could serve as a test subject, a source of young cells, and eventually an organ donor.

His comment section was flooded with warnings of the moral implications of cloning himself and creating a newborn, with some asking who was going to raise the child. But the firestorm was all for naught because, in reality, he was being dramatic. There is no clone. Johnson had his blood drawn, then had cells extracted and treated with Yamanaka factors to reset the cells to an embryonic-like state. “Baby-Bryan,” as he called it, lives in a dish for now. No new human being was brought into existence.

Still, in all fairness, of course these people believed him. He’s objectively weird. But his obsession with never dying and preventing aging at all costs is not a heroic extension of medical advancement. To any normal person, it reeks of mental illness. Some claim he’s autistic, and maybe he is, but this doesn’t excuse his odd behavior. It’s troubling that he sees his body breaking down as an attack, not a blessing.

There is something so beautiful about life being finite. A good life includes coming to terms with decline and death and, in doing so, using every unguaranteed moment to live well. That finitude creates the conditions for urgency, repentance, gratitude, and the proper ordering of love. His scheme is abnormal and morally fraught because it rejects God’s divine structure for human life.

Bryan views aging and death as a design flaw. He truly believes he can stop them from happening.

He’s not the first to wish he could be God.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss the futile pursuit of happiness that comes with chasing glory.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

JJ Watt was one of the biggest stars in the NFL and married Kealia Watt, one of the biggest stars on the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team. JJ competed at the highest level and will likely be a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame.

I remember seeing interviews with players saying they were relieved when he retired because it made their job easier knowing they didn’t have to line up on the opposite side of him. His wife, Kealia, also led an accomplished life on the field, playing soccer, including an NCAA national title and the record for the fastest first goal in USWNT history.

The two are undeniably incredible, but they aren’t close to being the same. I think that’s why I have a problem with how Real Salt Lake, a men’s MLS team, and JJ Watt handled a social media post made on Thursday.

The Watt family visited the team’s stadium on Wednesday, and naturally the social media team posted a photo of them walking out of the tunnel. The caption was short and sweet: “Welcome to the Riot, @JJWatt and fam,” complete with a little heart-eyed emoji.

Apparently this was offensive. JJ Watt quoted the post, taking a shot at the decision not to name his wife and her accomplishments. It’s important to point out that all the team did was tag him in it. They didn’t say anything about his career or fame. Regardless, the move turned into a firestorm of JJ listing a bunch of his wife’s accomplishments and the team groveling in return with a book-length apology listing a number of career highlights Kealia had.

It’s not that I have an issue with JJ wanting to elevate his wife and her awards, but the post was perfectly fine and wasn’t disrespectful in any way, so it left me extremely confused. Are we really at a point in our societal breakdown where we can’t recognize that an individual’s status within relationships is uneven and that’s ok?

Women will always crave affirmation. I think this is as true now as it has ever been. We like hearing people heap praise on us. It’s a motivator for us to excel. You’re a great student. You have a beautiful voice. Wow, that piece was well-written. You’re a great mother. In our moments of weakness, it’s little comments like this that help keep us pushing forward.

So, as I said, I don’t have a problem with JJ praising his wife publicly, and I have no way of knowing whether, behind the scenes, Kealia threw a fit about them only tagging her husband in the post and not her. Still, I have my suspicions that JJ’s overreaction had something to do with Kealia being upset.

It’s ok if you are called Mrs. Watt or, in this case, “fam.” Even without the championships and accolades, this moniker is proof enough that you’ve accomplished something incredible in this world. Not only do you have a man who has pledged his life to honor, protect, and provide for you, but the love between you and him has borne fruit.

There is something I often tell our daughters that I think would have been helpful for Kealia. When you are lying on your deathbed, it won’t be your NCAA national championship award or the media praise that will be praying for you and keeping you company. It will be your family. To discount that and require a public acknowledgment of your worldly trophies feels backward.

It’s not that you can’t or shouldn’t pursue greatness. It’s not a sin to use the gifts God has given you to the best of your ability, but in the end none of it matters. It fills your years but not your heart.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we get back to old times because I have a story to tell.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

I’ve been on a pretty political kick lately for my newsletter. Sometimes it’s a little unavoidable, given the nature of my job, which requires that politics consume my life five days a week. However, I’m returning to my old roots today because I have a story I need to tell y’all.

If you’ve been a longtime reader (by the way, thank you because I’ve enjoyed every minute of growing this thing with y’all), you know that I mainly see this newsletter as a way to explain why I parent or handle marriage the way that I do. Our world seems completely insane at the moment, so I write about stories from my life in hopes that my younger cohort can see there is another way to live that brings beauty and structure to their lives.

This brings me to my week. But before we get into that, here’s a little message from our sponsor.

Are you tired of traditional health insurance options that don’t work for your family? Well, our newest sponsor, America’s HealthShare, might be perfect for you.

Use code STATEOFTHEDAY and get your first month free.

Take Back Your Healthcare

My husband has been gone all week. This is (unfortunately) a pretty normal occurrence. He travels a lot for work, which makes for an exhausting week for our girls and me. There’s no one here to lend a helping hand or shoulder any of the parenting decisions that arise.

We are one of the few families who don’t send our kids to summer camps because we think it’s important to treat summers as a chance to connect. The school year sends us in a million different directions, and we firmly believe that summer is the perfect opportunity to relax and reset. Still, my oldest daughter had the opportunity to take an AP Biology class this summer, and we accepted it.

While this is a bit out of the norm for us, we felt it would be a good opportunity for her to bring home an easy A that would bolster her overall GPA. I don’t think any of us were prepared for the reality that she would be required to teach herself the material. Four days a week, she studies at home, and on one day she goes in for her lab. She’s never had to work in this type of structure, so it’s been an adjustment.

This week has been particularly difficult for some reason. She’s had a hard time concentrating and is overall feeling insecure about her ability to succeed. To me, this is all insane because she’s incredibly intelligent, to the point where I know that she is smarter than I am. Still, it’s been a struggle to get her to complete her work.

My husband wasn’t scheduled to come home from his trip until Friday night. I was prepared to handle this moment solo. I spent the week balancing writing in my office and keeping her on task. When Thursday came around, it was like pulling teeth trying to get her to focus. At one point, I threatened that if she didn’t get it together, I was going to make her pull up a chair at my desk and she’d have to work under my constant supervision.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss how one little lemonade stand reminds us that America’s story continues after 250 years.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

The Washington Post ran a story about three young brothers living in rural Michigan who were taking part in a time-honored American tradition but were blocked by regulations and state bureaucracy until they decided to take a stand.

Ethan Mielke, 13, Seth Mielke, 11, and Jonathan Mielke, 8, had spent three summers running “Triple M Goods,” their modest lemonade stand at the local farmers’ market. They sold homemade lemonade for 50 cents to adults and 10 cents to kids. As you can imagine, their profits were not life-changing. At the end of each summer, the three brothers walked away with about $100 to $200 each. Still, it was their first foray into entrepreneurship, a bedrock of American culture.

Then, midway through last summer, the rules changed when their local farmer’s market had a change in management. The boys learned that they would need a temporary food-service permit from the local health department to continue running their lemonade stand, which would cost them $57 every two weeks.

Over a full season, which lasted from June through September, the brothers would have to pay $400 to operate Triple M Goods. This meant almost all of their profits would go to paying for the permit. For most children, that would have been the end of it. The stand would have closed, another small American dream quietly shelved by unnecessary bureaucracy. But these brothers did something profoundly American and fought back against government overreach.

Their mother told the boys that they should contact their local state representative for help. The three brothers wrote letters to state Rep. Cam Cavitt and hand-delivered them to him at a local community coffee hour he hosted.

Cavitt told The Washington Post that the brothers made quite an impact on him and alerted him to an issue he had no idea was happening in his state.

“They were very well-mannered and polite, they had firm handshakes and looked me in the eyes,” he said.

Our USA 250 merch collection is built for the moment: bold, patriotic gear made to celebrate America’s 250th in style.

With 30+ items available, there’s something for every patriot in the family.

Use code USA250 at checkout for 25% off your entire order.

Shop Today

“I think it’s unfair,” he said. “This is a lemonade stand. We all grew up with lemonade stands.”

Cavitt could have easily brushed the kids off, but thankfully he didn’t. He sponsored House Bill 6007, legislation that would exempt minors selling non-alcoholic, non-refrigerated beverages from such permits, provided their annual earnings stayed under $5,000.

Despite being a “little bit uneasy,” the three brothers testified before the House Regulatory Reform Committee in Lansing, Michigan. They took turns describing their experience and explaining why protecting the lemonade stand was so important. The state House unanimously passed Cavitt’s bill, which is currently in the state Senate.

Their mother said the boys were eager to watch the House vote on the livestream at home.

“They were pretty excited,” she said. “It was a pretty neat experience for them to see how the process works when you have an idea or want a law changed.”

Get 40% off for 1 year

Cavitt is hopeful the bill will pass before the end of the lemonade season so the boys can get back to doing what they love, adding that this is proof that the system can work if Americans join in.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend, we discuss big families and political baby bumps.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve had my entire family in town, which includes my three pregnant sisters. Pregnancy isn’t new in our house. My five sisters and I have brought 23 children into this world, with three more on the way. Every year, there is a newborn baby or a pregnant sister, so it’s easy for me to forget that others might find it shocking.

Somewhere along the way, our society has forgotten that big families bring big joy. A lot of women from a certain generation started telling their daughters that two was enough, three was pushing it, and anything more than that was untenable. I have four, and while that’s small potatoes compared to the rest of my sisters, I still get comments when I go out.

Just last night, I took the girls to dinner by myself, and a man stopped me to say that he had two daughters and that was enough. He couldn’t believe I’d have more. “They are so emotional. You must be a patient woman,” he said, laughing. These comments get on my nerves, not in a feminist girls-rule-the-world kinda way, but in a I-would-take-all-the -emotional-breakdowns-over-being-sad-and-alone kinda way. So I looked at him with a sweet southern smile painted across my face and responded, “I’m actually not, but they love me anyway.”

If there was ever a time I wished I could have more children, that moment was it. It’s completely insane to walk up to parents and tell them something like that, even if you are joking. We are responsible for raising the next generation of Americans, for passing down our morals and legacy. The future of our country and the world revolves around the business of having children. He should have thanked me for the service I undertook.

I’ve been playing the scenario over and over in my mind, and each time my retort is meaner.

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This week, we discuss Texas, terrorism, and the desperate need for justice.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

NEW DROP

🇺🇸 Shop New USA 250 Merch

Our newest merch collection is packed with bold, patriotic designs made for July 4 and beyond.

🇺🇸 Comfortable everyday gear

🇺🇸 Timeless American designs

🇺🇸 Patriotic pieces made to get noticed

Celebrate America’s 250th the right way.

Shop the Drop →

^{Today’s newsletter continues below}

When the George Floyd riot hysteria swept across the nation, I, like millions of Americans, watched in horror as left-wing activists burned down our cities. I had never seen anything so violent in my life. At the time, my husband’s job had taken our family from Texas to Oklahoma. I was in a strange city with little to no support system and four little girls.

We lived in Tulsa at the time, and while Seattle, Portland, and other cities were under siege, the left capitalized on the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot and began demonstrating outside our home in historic Midtown. While this wasn’t where the original riot took place, we still found ourselves in the middle of it. I remember making sure all the girls were inside with the windows and doors locked. We didn’t show any signs that we were home.

There was looting and vandalism; police had to deploy tear gas to keep the so-called demonstrations from overtaking the city. It was one of those moments where I worried about the future for our girls. And the craziest part is that it was small and docile in comparison to what was happening everywhere else.

The reason I am reliving this moment is that I live back in Texas now, and the violence across our country has continued. Last year, on July 4, a group of 11 Antifa rioters descended on the Prairieland ICE Detention Center. Like in Seattle and Portland, they had a clear plan of action to commit mass destruction and terror.

This case involved a violent nighttime attack on a federal immigration detention facility. The group threw fireworks and explosives at the facility, vandalized vehicles and a guard shack, and the ringleader, Benjamin Hanil Song, opened fire on Alvarado police officers, shooting one of them in the neck. They used the encrypted messaging app Signal to share their plans and reconnaissance. They had 11 firearms, body armor, and first aid kits ready for gunshot wounds. And, of course, they were using black bloc tactics in an attempt to conceal their identities. Prosecutors called them a North Texas Antifa cell.

The Prairieland case in Texas is actually worth celebrating because it’s one of the few times the feds went after an Antifa-linked group with real teeth, leading to the first federal terrorism-related convictions and sentencing of individuals affiliated with Antifa in U.S. history.

For once, the material support law was used, and it worked. But at the same time, it’s nowhere near enough, and that’s the frustrating part.

President Trump designated Antifa as a domestic terrorist organization back in September 2025. That was supposed to mean something. Americans were supposed to see mass action against the violent extremists terrorizing our country. But months later, Prairieland stands out as almost the only case where they brought terrorist charges and took a group to trial over it.

Think about what the domestic terrorism definition actually says. It covers acts that are dangerous to human life, break criminal laws, and look like they’re meant to intimidate civilians, push the government to change policy through fear, or mess with government functions through destruction or attacks.

The Prairieland case is not the only time Antifa planned an attack meant to intimidate and cause mass destruction. It’s not even the first time that the violent group has acted to shut down federal immigration enforcement.

Andy Ngo’s extensive reporting on how Antifa operates in the U.S. highlights the coordination and violence.

Portland had over 100 straight nights of attacks on the federal courthouse. Fireworks were used as bombs, lasers deployed to blind cops, rocks, bottles and fiery objects thrown on buildings with people inside. Federal officers were injured. It was coordinated and clearly aimed at making the feds pull out or change how they do their job.

What happened in court? A bunch of people got charged with standard crimes. Some cases were dropped, but many were resolved with pleas to misdemeanors. Very few, if any, faced terrorist charges that would go after the people organizing or supplying gear to the violent radicals that kept it going night after night.

Same story in Seattle with CHOP/CHAZ. They literally took over city blocks, creating “autonomous zones.” And while the media called it a love fest, people got shot and killed inside that zone. It was an open attempt to say “government rules don’t apply here.” Again, it was not treated as terrorism-level network activity, despite it being very obviously the case.

Just since Trump has been back in office, we’ve seen attacks and blockades at ICE facilities in places like New York and Minnesota. The pattern keeps repeating because we aren’t doing enough to dismantle the networks.

Subscribe now

I’m not saying every protester with a sign should get terrorism charges. But when you have organized, repeated violence with planning, weapons, and clear goals to stop government functions through fear, the federal government has a responsibility to protect its citizens from terror.

The Prairieland case is the first time we are seeing action against this terrorist organization acting on U.S. soil, and we should celebrate the combined 450-year sentences received by the violent rioters involved. But this can’t be a one-and-done situation. Because right now it’s one big example in a sea of cases being treated as no big deal. I’ve gotten a taste of justice, and I want to see all those responsible for terrorizing innocent people brought before me. I want the hive destroyed.

Please send any questions or comments about the newsletter to goodlife@dailycaller.com

Heard It Through The Grapevine

Read more

Welcome back to Good Life, a newsletter about navigating our modern culture and staying sane in the process. This weekend we discuss my experience at the World Cup and how it made me feel about America’s future.

Enjoying this newsletter? Share it with your friends and family! And if you’re one of those friends or family members, you can sign up to get your own copy every week right here.

The World Cup is in full swing in the U.S., and I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the reactions from international fans to our country. There have been so many viral moments of Scottish, German, Japanese, and English national fans in awe of how great America is that it almost doesn’t feel real.

Of course, I love this country and still believe it is the greatest in the world. But there is still a tinge of an inferiority complex that rears its ugly head when Europeans come to town. Will they see the beauty, culture, and traditions the same way I do? Or will they look down on us because, despite being 250 years old, we are still a young country in comparison?

So I had to join the crowd to see for myself.

Read more