Life hit harder than data this month. I meant to kick off Data Month, but real life had other plans—messy, chaotic, beautifully human. Product chaos. Parenting curveballs. Eight stories, all tangled up.
Citrix, Stress & Surprise Holidays
Let’s start with the overload. Lately, I’ve been a triple-hatted Product Manager—not just steering my own Data & AI portfolio but also filling in for two colleagues on holiday. One handles Workplace, which includes Citrix Licensing Purgatory. Let’s just say the partner fumbled badly—turning an already complex licensing landscape into a full-blown crisis we had to dig out of.
The other oversees Security. Less intense, sure, but still a hot mess of unclear handovers. Thankfully, both return Monday. Not a moment too soon.
Blood, Teeth & Rage in the Afterschool Yard
This one needs its own space.
I got the call at 4:45 PM. Unknown number. “Minor incident with Nadia,” said the afterschool teacher. I rushed in. And what do I see? My baby girl, covered in blood. Her front teeth—permanent teeth—cracked, chipped, bleeding.
Minor?! My heart cracked with them.
That moment—seeing her face—burned into me. It still does.
Turns out, a smaller boy hit her in the face with a plastic shovel. Who knew toy weapons could do real damage? We rushed to the emergency dentist after jumping through five phone trees and a bit of emergency lane driving (sorry, not sorry). X-rays. Fillings. Gums still swollen. Return visit booked.
Parenthood is not for the faint of heart.
Neither is writing about it while still shaking from the impact.
The Sink, the Leak & the Rubber Band Redemption
Just when I caught my breath, my eldest son shouted: “Bathroom sink is leaking.” Brand-new bathroom, less than a year old. Soaked.
Burned before by waiting too long, I acted fast. Called the installer. He told me to check for clogs. I rolled up my sleeves (yes, these hands you all call “lefty”), unscrewed the trap, cleaned it out—still leaked. Tried again. Flipped the rubber washer inside-out. Boom. Fixed.
Chalk one up for the clumsy dad.
Sometimes being a ‘clumsy dad’ just means turning the world the other way up—literally.
Temu Instructions from Hell
Then came the Temu Surprise. My wife found a long-lost package—a mystery piece of furniture our handyman ghosted us on.
The so-called “instructions” were an abstract sketchbook of confusion. No words. Just drunken IKEA vibes. Built it during lunch, mid-bite. Took an hour. Nailed it.
Still waiting on my badge of honor.
African Food, Time & the Triangle of Doom
Let’s talk time. Specifically, African Time — a topic I’ve written about before.
We had to be at Nadia’s school gym at 11:45 AM sharp for African Lunch. My wife had the Nigeria table—five dishes, full box, enough to feed a summit.
At 11:40, she was still in the kitchen, about to head to the shower.
I called the school. Confirmed location. Calculated ETA. We got there just before 12:15. The food? A smash hit. The delay? Forgotten.
There’s a triangle here: You can have it on time, over-the-top, or affordable. Pick two. My wife went all-in and, predictably, off-schedule.
Dirty Laundry, Forbidden Love
This one’s delicate.
Let’s just say… someone in our family may be entangled in a relationship that’s—well—off limits. The kind that could ripple through a few lives when exposed.
But hey, not my laundry to hang in public.
Mafia, Werewolf & the Joy of Bluffing
Last weekend, we played Mafia with the kids. No app. Just cards, bluffing, and loud accusations.
I told them about Werewolf—the OG version we used to play at parties till sunrise. The Seer. The Villagers. The Kill. It’s theater meets deduction. Strategy meets psychology.
More adults need games like this. We might play again tomorrow. BBQ pending. If we get enough players, I’ll throw in a third werewolf.
The Handmaid’s Tale: An AI-Free Dystopian Sci-Fi
Finally started watching The Handmaid’s Tale. And whoa. A dystopian science fiction with no robots, no spaceships, no AI.
Just pure patriarchy. Fertility collapse. State-sanctioned servitude. Women turned into wombs. Reading punished by amputation. Reproduction as ritual.
As a man? Horrifying. As a father of daughters? Fuel for the fire. May we never tread that path.
From First Tangle to Final Thread
This post wasn’t structured. It was lived.
From product chaos and dental trauma to time triangles and forbidden threads, these past weeks were raw and real. Some funny. Some heartbreaking. All human.
This Mike’s Mind might read more like a tangle than a timeline. But if it drops a breadcrumb for someone else—future self included—then it did its job.
Until then, I’ll keep weaving. Because every thread—tangled or not—belongs in the story.
What's on your mind?