confessions of a mother

...I'm different.

2019-04-10T13:51:00.001-05:00

Just the other day, my youngest said "I think I'm losing my mind." as I popped a wheelie pulling into car rider drop off for school. I grimaced, but did not have the balls to acknowledge her statement. I wanted to say "Hell, we all are!!" I knew exactly where she picked up this little nugget of assessment. Thank God, she had the presence of mind to clean it up and not add my favorite "f" adjective, verb, noun, superlative, and the many other ways it can be used in a sentence. I know the level of chaos has hit a disturbing level when I just had to check myself for having a fight with an inanimate object. Oh yeah, I totally felt the garbage can judge me before I sat down at my computer to work. Today, I did not have the strength or time in me to toss an empty water bottle into the recycling bin in the garage. Yep, I am a heathen. I tossed that shit in the garbage and then had the audacity to push it way down so that my transgression would not be discovered. As the top slowly closed, I looked at the aluminum can and whispered "Don't you dare give me shit over this. I am the only one in this house that drives to recycle those damn bins and they are overflowing right now. So, bite me, Susan. You don't know my struggles right now." You would think I was hiding a fifth of Gin, but I was tripping over a piece of plastic. Now be ye forewarned, throwing a plastic bottle into the garbage can is not the worse thing I have done today nor will it be the only bad thing I will do today. I would be lying to think this action would be the only thing on my "Dear God please forgive me for I know not what I do" list. Never mind the fact that I had just pulled an "Aunt Becky" and dropped off fast food lunches for two kiddos hidden in their lunch boxes because we were out of bread this morning.

I know I am not alone. I know things could be so much worse. We are healthy and safe. Are we losing our minds over in this house...quite possibly. But, we are going to embrace this shit show and ride it out. Bread will get purchased. My debit card that was sucked up by the atm due to my own mistake will be replaced. My washing machine will work again after I acknowledge the call center warning flashing across the screen. It's all ebb and flow. Peaks and valleys. I spent last night researching how to tell if a dog is in heat. Oh, Goggle...my Google....you never let me down. "How to deal with bitches in heat" is just what I needed to send me into fear of a porn site popping up as my youngest declared she was not putting a tampon in a dog. After screaming, nobody is sticking tampons anywhere, I ventured onto Pinterest trying to absorb enough inspirational quotes to create a "this too shall pass" cult only to somehow end up watching over 10 Jeffree Star videos on how to apply highlighter and shitty makeup. I became jealous of his knowledge and his ability to transform himself into a freaking goddess. I glanced over at my yet to have grown in crescent eyebrow that I messed up wondering if he had a hotline I could call to get some advice.
I mean where are my priorities. Why was I not googling bible stories and 4th grade reading comprehension? Had I forgotten the conversation with my youngest on how her name was "EVE" not "Evie" and according to the story...she did talk to a snake? Had I really addressed the issue of "BO" in our house and that it was not "BIO" nor was it a medical condition that warranted a trip to the doctor just some good ole ass washing and deodorant? Had I told them I loved them enough today? It is often after midnight, I assess my faults and plan to revamp my whole life like some quick HGTV fix up. I found myself dozing off.

Then it hit me...WHERE ARE MY PRIORITIES??? So, maybe it's not my mind that is gone. I have somehow put my priorities in the wrong order. If my life was compared to an agenda, it would resemble something like the following:

I. Get your life together

a. get your shit together

a. no really, get your shit together

a. you really think this is going to get better if you don't do something

a. you better get it ALL together right now or you will be one of the Netflix documentaries

I have taken my glorious basket of strips of my life and tried to color code them. I am setting myself up for failure with every action I take to try to bring order to what I have created. I have chosen a different life for myself and my three girls. Though this change will not be what defines me, it has to be something I am willing to acknowledge. My life is different now though still messy and colorful. I am going to have to open my mind up, my heart, and my soul up and take in the big "D"....oh, get your mind out of the gutter. The "D"ifference. My shit is different now. I AM DIFFERENT. Cue 2 Chainz lyrics:

I'm different, yeah I'm different

Pull up to the scene with my ceiling missing.....

So, more strips of paper will make my load bigger and heavier and trying to put it all cute in the basket I made for myself over 20 years ago will not cut it. So, I am going to have to get a bigger basket to hold this beautiful, glorious shit I have created and then I will maybe buy dog pampers on Amazon Prime or put the extra deodorant stick back in the glove compartment of my car...just maybe....I'm taking it slow this time.

xoxo

mythreeandme

.....04%

2019-04-07T14:24:00.001-05:00

I often have this reoccurring dream where I show up for my final exam in college and I have not been to class all year. I sit down each time in front of the exam and have nothing to contribute. No answers. I know nothing, accept that I will fail the exam, and attempt to read the first question. Right when this happens, I manage to wake myself up, heart racing, sweating, and a sick feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. What's the hidden message? What in the hell is my subconscious trying to tell me. I refuse to let a divorce define me. I have endured losing a mother which stripped me of my identity. So, I'll be damned if the end of a marriage will be what takes me out. So, maybe this dream is the realization that the divorce was something I knew was coming, but I had not planned for it. I'm not talking about planning in the sense of the separation came out of nowhere. I'm talking about the fact that I was not prepared mentally and financially. I know I am not alone and I know there are horror stories of how a divorce can change your lifestyle, your physical and emotional health, the well being of your children, etc. So, basically I had not prepared myself what my life looks like now and maybe the failure to better prepare myself is why I find myself looking at an exam for a class that I never showed up for in my dreams.

BUT, I have learned many things about myself and life:

*I believe all of the good and and all of the bad are part of a growing process because I am not where I am suppose to be yet. Though, the uncertainty and unsettling of my soul is borderline suffocating, I cannot change the past, or try to mold the present, or wish for a different future. I tried that and the shit doesn't work. I have spent the last year desperately searching for a job to support my girls and myself. I am sure many other women in the world let their career go to shit for the sake of my family. I don't know what America needs to come up with, but there should be something in place to better support individuals who are primary caretakers. At my former job, I recall personnel asking me one day why I didn't get my mother to help out with my sick kids. Now this is where my dark humor surfaces, "Well, I am pretty sure she couldn't hold them because she's doesn't have fingers...because she's dead." I know, I know. I could have chosen to say something else, but at that point I felt like being completely honest. So, I became a cheerleader for someone else's career and graciously bowed out of mine. This was not in some effort to become a martyr so to speak. Being a mother became my only priority. To the women that have managed to balance a career and motherhood, I applaud you. I beg you to hold tight to what you are doing. Guard it and keep it sacred. Life has a way of testing you and causing you to make choices for what you think is the greater good. Don't you dare keep your ass on the sidelines. You get in the game or you will risky slowly watching your reflection in the mirror disappear.

*The biggest mistake in life is to lose your sense of worth. Many will try to convince you that your worth is determined by the six figure salary on you income tax returns. Let me tell you now, it is not. I remember an accountant telling me over the phone last year that I contributed to 0.04% of my household. I fought back tears, laughed in her face, and hung up on her. Finally, someone who knew nothing about me put a number on my worth. 0.04% was on paper. I wanted to trace my hand with my middle finger sticking straight up and 0.04% written across my wrist and mail it to her. I also contemplated taking .04% of my foot and shoving it up her ass. Instead, I just flat out called bullshit. I took that piece of paper and shredded that shit. She knew nothing about the sacrifices I made, the sleepless nights I endured with sick children, the numerous science projects I helped create, the cupcakes and cookies I baked for events, the bad ass Halloween parties I threw at numerous schools for my girls, the amount of hours I spent in my car going back and forth to get every child to their destination, the amount of videos I watched on math, how to properly apply glitter eye shadow for cheer competitions, the endless cleaning, landscaping, and all other chores that I deemed I was solely responsible for. I was brainwashed into thinking my worth could only be proven via a check. Well guess what....nobody paid me for the shit I was doing. So, I knew damn well that I was worth more than 0.04%. NEVER let someone determine your worth.

*My passion has not yet met my calling. This has been the hardest obstacle. Raising three girls by myself and trying to maintain a grasp onto something that brings me joy is damn near soul threatening. I know a little bit about everything and have been given these shitty, but amazing life lessons. I have been rewarded with a sense of humor that I swear could lead to a pretty nice stand up tour if I didn't have trouble with public speaking. My last blog posts allowed me to receive many gifts of encouragement. I have had so many people reach out to me about divorce and mental health over the last couple of months. The comments, advice, stories, and support have fed my soul. Nobody wants to feel alone in this world. I swear I want to start a "Lets stop faking it" movement. I'm currently sitting in my bed in the same pjs I had on yesterday. I feel like the walls are closing in and I am tired of forcing puzzle pieces together. I miss friendships that some how got lost in my choice to close a chapter of my life. I sometimes miss the dinner and party invites. The girls trips. The financial means to do more. I remind myself that this is only temporary and I have a shit ton to be thankful for. I'm getting a do over. So, if you don't know your ass from a hole in a ground right now. It's okay.

*I am insane because I have children and that's okay. My Divas are getting older and real shit is surfacing. The real, make you cry in the closet, stalk a kid, bite all of your nails off life shit is AT IT'S PEAK! Every single day for the last the last year, I am sure I have fucked something or someone up. I have not said the right thing or I have literally blacked out during hard conversations. My three girls are evolving into little women who scream at the fact that I share "their business". I want to tell them "you ripped my vagina in half...you have no business", but instead I weave through the ins and outs of our lives and choose what to share and when to share it. Just know...if they ever go into comedy...all of the stories are TRUE!!! Currently, Miss B only wears black capri leggings and shirts that hang off her shoulder...I could give a shit less. Another Diva loves to watch shows that would scare the piss out of me. My most sensitive Diva continues to pray for those that hurt her instead of having a come to Jesus meeting. These three little girls have taught me to LET IT GO and I hate that movie and song. The more I let them evolve into who they are suppose to be, the deeper my love grows for them and for life. I have learned more about these three little girls by stepping out of their way over the last year than I would have ever learned by trying to have all of my shit together and keeping them in line. Miss B just laughed her ass off at something on television and I am comforted by her precious little laugh. Then I pray that she's not watching something inappropriate. Just now a kid entered the room and stated "she needed to start swimsuit shopping for the summer." Uhm, I'm wearing whatever swimsuit I have in my closet and it's fucking raining outside why are you thinking about swimming!!! Now, another one has decided based on YouTube videos to print out physical examination templates to play with. What kind of physical exam is she trying to conduct? Is this the gateway for a future doctor or some type of illegal shit that will make a Dateline episode one day? My last child is walking around like Rosemary's baby because a dog pissed on her curtains. I politely tell her where the urine stain remover is as I lay under a torn up duvet compliments of a puppy. We are all taking one for the team over here. So, buckle up buttercup!

*I talked to a friend recently and we discussed a very wise woman telling a room full of women to put themselves first. This woman is someone I aspire to be. I swear she walks on clouds. She is meek, but strong. She's the closest thing to Mary Poppins I have ever encountered in life. She is graceful. She is patient. She is kind. She is giving. Like when I see her, I want to sit in her lap and cry. I know, totally weird. She has a peaceful spirit and I always walk away wondering "HOW IN THE HELL CAN I GET SOME OF THAT SHIT IN MY LIFE?" I don't lie to myself and think she has not suffered. We all have battles and demons. We all have out shit. I just want some of that inner peace to rub off on me. And maybe, just maybe...I can get a little closer by learning to put myself first again. When did it become a thing to not put ourselves first as mothers and women??? If not first, how about a very close second? If I look at my life right now, I have 3 girls and 2 dogs ahead of me and I wonder why I keep dreaming of failing a college exam. Maybe, I am the class that I skipped all year....

xoxo
mythreeandme

...We came, We saw, We Lent.

2019-03-10T17:43:00.005-05:00

We participated in Lent this year. That's right, #mythreeandme, decided after several conversations participating in Lent as a family would be bring us together physically and spiritually. Ok, real talk. The conversations started when my youngest joyfully jumped her happy ass into the car during car rider pick up line and screamed "Mama, we aren't Christians, are we?" Now, I need to pause for a second to discuss the black out that occurred after her statement. I grew up Church of Christ. I am no longer a member, but I swear I could hear my grandmother, a devout member of the Church of Christ God rest her soul, gasp at the statement. Over the years, I have been in limbo in the "church family" department. I believe in Christianity, spirituality, and attend the local Methodist church here. One would probably ask for my definition of "attend". Anyway, this is not a post about different churches, and beliefs. So, I manage to gather myself and ask her why should we would think we aren't Christians. By this time, she's moved on and has her headphones on completely oblivious to the statement which pretty much declared our family as non-Christians or Heaven forbid...atheists. SIDENOTE: Insert sarcasm and disclaimer...I have not beef with atheists. "Brooklyn, why do you think we are not Christians?" She rolled her damn eyes as if I were the idiot and said "Uhm, we because we aren't Catholic?" I calmly asked her if she told anyone at school this and she replied "Yes, we aren't Catholics and we don't go to church and Lent." Of course, I screamed "shit" in my head. Again, nothing against atheists. Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, but at this point in my life I could not handle the playground gossip circulating through town that no longer is she divorced, she's a pagan, atheist, or witch as well. Not today....

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

I managed to convince her that her mommy was a Christian, her sisters, her father, my friends, etc finally by calmly shouting "Yes, I will give up something for Lent!" I know this could disappoint some and question my parenting in terms of teaching my children about the bible, Christ, God, etc. To that, all I can is "Only God can judge me!" Looking back that was probably not the best day to agree to Lent before signing up. I did my best to google "all things Lent" and explain the significance of Lent. Next thing, I know I'm swerving in my car and screaming "Mary as in a girl's name, not Mary as in someone you merry!!" Yeah, I was wondering if the child ever listened the few times she visited bible school or church. I began to pray to sweet baby Jesus in a manager that she would accept that Mary had a baby and Joseph was not the father and no she did not get divorced like I did. As I try to remember the stories in the bible, I grew frustrated because she had moved on to where do babies come from and why do women get their tubes tied. I'm trying to figure out how I managed to attend church as a child every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday and have no recollection of bible stories. What I could recall was my sweet mother giving me Benadryl to make me be quiet in church, hearing the preacher mention something about going to Hell, and then waking up for the offering. Oh yeah, it took years to deprogram my body from associating sleep with church. Even without a little teaspoon of Benadryl, church meant resting your eyes. Finally, I implied my "no more damn talking until we get home rule" and stared out the window imagining the words "BIG ASS SINNERS" blinking on the top of my car like taxi signs.

So, that is how I decided I would pull my crew together and we would participate in Lent. I brought all three together in the kitchen and stated "We are all giving something up for Lent this year!" I secretly gave myself a pat on the back. Then, my middle child, informed me she had already decided to participate in Lent this year. WHAT THE FUCK! Thanks! Here I am thinking I am getting ready to lead my three on a path of spiritual victory and all things Christian. I forgot about my Farryn. God has given me three girls that are wonderfully different in every way possible. Farryn is my angel baby. She reads the Bible. I drop her off for prayer breakfast once a week. She is easy to forgive. She prays for everyone. She is a socialite with a servant's heart. She is the peace maker that will literally give the shirt off her back. Her heart breaks for those that have to go without. She is a no drama saint and may be the only reason the rest of us get even remotely close to the pearly gates. I often wonder how I managed to have a child so forgiving, caring, and willing to please. She is the secret keeper, vault in this house. She silently carries our secrets and fears in her hearts. She is often the minority in our household when it comes to "rolling up" on the fool to dare cross our paths. She watches in amazement as my sisters and I prepare these wonderful soliloquies that basically translate into "I wish a bitch would try me". We often celebrate her spirit and poke fun as well. I thank God everyday for being the perfect pH to balance out our family. Back to my announcement, I looked at my oldest, Farryn may get us to the pearly gates, but Reagan will be our defense attorney.

Reagan, and asked what she was giving up for Lent. Her response, "Wait. We do Lent now?" I close my eyes and call on the Lord to not start cursing and manage to say "Yes. We are going to participate in Lent. Brooklyn told her friends we were not Christians. Stop Laughing. It's not funny. Don't ask me what Lent is. You went through Confirmation." Meanwhile, Brooklyn who sparked the desire for me to put my children on the path of Christianity is hanging upside down on the arm of the couch stating Mary had a baby by a ghost. I bullshit you not. Reagan snapped her head back and scolded her sister for the ghost statement. Oh my Reagan, she is the glue of the family. She is the reader and the rule follower. She forces us often into in depth conversations on politics, the economy, global warming, sociology, psychology, etc. She is often our go to for news...real news. She is my debate team, peace loving, civil rights activist, and tree hugger. She is a colorful definition of all things proper, but quick to hand clap and snatch a wig. I thank God everyday that she makes us think harder.

By now, it's supper time and I don't have time to google the terms and conditions of Lent. I tell them all to just decide what they will give up and we would come back together to share with everyone. My youngest, Brooklyn aka the shit starter, screams out "SWEETS! Because I'm so sweet!" and slaps her ass. I just stare at her. Farryn screams "Do not play about God and stop being inappropriate!" Reagan mutters "Honey, if you give up sweets and you think you're sweet then you're giving up yourself which does not make sense." I manage to whisper "Ignore her. She does this to upset y'all. She likes the shock factor!" Brooklyn sticks out her tongue and switches off. Brooklyn is my third, my baby. She is a firecracker, a dancer, the epitome of ride or die, a comedian, a nudist, a pinball in the arcade machine. She lives in her own world and some days I can't blame her. I often envy her world. She is a free spirit that is not meant to be caged. Seriously, I've locked her out of my room several times only to discover she knows how to break in via a credit card and the hidden key. She is our light in the darkness. She has been here before. I swear she has a third eye sometimes because she leads by intuition and her gut. She is our go to for town gossip, celebrity gossip, and secrets. She doesn't sip the tea. She spills the tea and has receipts, screenshots, and videos to prove it. I thank God everyday that she is our Bonnie and Clyde. She is forever in our corner, faithfully, no questions asked. So, Farryn will lead us to the pearly gates, Reagan will have us in a straight line ready to defend our wrong doings, and Brooklyn will be the one to make us laugh as we wait for her to reveal the evidence from her underground connections to get us a plea deal.

So, back to Lent. It's...SHOWTIME!! I picked my three up from school and announced we were not only participating in Lent we were going to church. Reagan: "Wait. We're going to actually go to church?" Farryn: "How long will it last because I told my friends I would meet them at the school play? Brooklyn: "My friend already went to church and got the mark on her head. You said we weren't Catholic." I closed my eyes and prayed for patience not to make them exit my vehicle on the highway and drive off. I ignored their comments and decided to teach them about Lent thanks to Google. Long story short... I did a bad job. So bad that I told each one of them to Google "Lent" on their phones and read about it before we enter the church. We pull up to the 6 pm service at our local Methodist church....PAUSE...I forgot to mention we used to attend church regularly, I went to Wednesday night bible study, found out I was not going to burn in eternal Hell fire, went on a church mission trip to the Bahamas, taught Vacation Bible School one time, and watched 2 children go through confirmation. Over the last couple of years, we had just fallen off the bandwagon of church goers. We still prayed every night just not together. The last nightly family prayer session ended with Brooklyn biting Farryn, their father biting Brooklyn, and me screaming "I'm done with this shit. What kind of people act like this? I quit. I will pray by myself." Reagan likes to remind me this is why Brooklyn claims she no longer knows how to pray or can recite the "Our Father" and I remind her every time that Brooklyn is also afraid of midgets and clowns.

I circled the church parking lot about three times and park down an alley. YAY!!!, so everyone comes to the 6 o'clock service. I made sure to make a mental note. We had 4 minutes to get to the doors by 6 pm. So, we start jogging. I notice Farryn does not have on a coat and I tell her I hope her arms fall off. I also notice Brooklyn is coming in last in this race because she's too busy looking into the massive, beautiful homes on the side of the street. All I can hear is "Mommy. We need to live here. You need to get a job that can pay for a house like this." I quickly respond "I need to get your ass to church on time. Run!" We make it in and I try to hide the fact that I am completely out of breath. Yep...spoiler alert...I'm giving up cigarettes for Lent. I find myself eyeing my kids over to make sure we look church worthy...an act which I am sure was passed down from my mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother. I gave us a solid B on the grading scale and said to hell with it. Let's do this! As we go through our newly renovated church semi-lost, Reagan says "Oh, my. It's so nice. We need to start coming more." I just shake my head and avoid making eye contact with individuals as we walk at a very quick pace because I'll be damned if I ask for directions. We enter the front of the church and end up on the front row...wtf. Okay, I'm exaggerating. We were maybe on the third row which in my mind is still too close for comfort,,,,,when you haven't been to church in a while. We take a seat with our programs in hand, smile and wave at familiar faces. I take a moment to take it all end. My three next to me seated in chronological birth order. I thank God for these girls and prepare to receive the message. I look down to give them a smile and instead they get the "high one eyebrow raise" from me because I see cellphones out. I could feel myself starting to grin like an angry dog at them.

Service started and the shit show began. I don't know if there was a loss of oxygen from running Chuckie that I birthed draw on the pew. By the time, I left church I felt I needed to be baptized for all the cursing I said in my head and the number of times I looked at the clock and wondered how much longer would I have to endure managing the circus act next to me. So, Ash Wednesday service with my three older daughters, would obviously be different. As service was drawing to an end, this happens.....

down the street, but these fools forgot how to read. I was raised in a church where the preacher called out the scripture and verse and it was a mad rush to be the first one to land on the correct page in the Bible BY MEMORIZING THE BOOKS OF THE BIBLE. THESE GIRLS HAD A PROGRAM WITH THE NUMBER OF THE PAGE IN THE BIBLE ON THE PROGRAM. Wth!! They also forgot the difference between a Hymn book and a Bible. I did growl "Give your sister your bible and get another one!" I don't know which one I was talking to at that point. So, we did our best to half ass follow along. Their sheepish giggles started to erupt at our attempts of singing and inability to speak in unison. My eye was starting to twitch. In my head, I may have called them goats and Pharasees and definitely not sheep due to a vacation bible school song I learned as a kid. The preacher got up and spoke. I relished in his words of grace and mercy. I then remembered why often times it was hard for me to attend church. I was usually in the nursery or waiting to hear my baby's banshee screaming from the nursery or sitting beside a mini

Farryn couldn't resist sending me verbal messages via Reagan. Reagan proclaimed she would not be the messenger because we should be paying attention.
I heard Farryn snap back at Reagan "Well, if you would answer my questions then I wouldn't need you to ask mama for me?"
To break up the argument, I lean over and whisper ever so nicely "What do you want to know about?"
Farryn: "Are the ashes from Jesus?"
Reagan: "I'm so glad you did not make me ask her that and the next time we come to church you can sit next to mama."
Farryn: "Are the ashes from Jesus?"
Before I knew it, I hard whispered "Yes, Farryn, the ashes are from Jesus Christ himself. The world has managed to keep enough ashes for thousands of years for everyone to have all over the world. No, the ashes are not from Jesus!!"
Farryn leans over again: "Are they from dead people?"
Reagan: "I can't believe you just said that and you have the nerve to talk about me not going to church."
I mouth to Farryn the ashes are Palm leaves.
"What? Palm? What?" replies Farryn.
Me in a long witch like whisper, "PAAAALLLLLLLMMMMMMMS." She had the nerve to laugh at my response.
I snapped "You're going to Hell if you don't stop playing."
Farryn gasps "I'm just asking a question!"
Reagan: "I may not read the Bible, but at least I read and know what words mean."
I tell Farryn to stop talking and get ready to have the ashes put on her forehead. I find my peace and calmness. Then all of a sudden out of nowhere....
Brooklyn: "Mama, you know what you should give up for Lent? You should give up hating Ms. Snickerbocker" (note: using a fake name to keep the peace because I don't need that drama in my life right now.) Of course the other two laugh and I'm like giggle, giggle and suggest Brooklyn give up sleepovers.
Farryn: "How much time do we have left? I'm hungry. I think I may pass out."
Me: "You better pray to the Lord because I wouldn't give you a piece of gum right now!"
Brooklyn reaches over and hands me her gum: "Here take my gum. Don't we get the wine and crackers?"
Me: "Stop giving me your gum like I am a garbage can. No crackers!!! ALL OF Y'ALL are in trouble. Stand up. Get in this line, bend you head down when you get ready to kneel, and PRAYYYYYYYY!"

I make them line up with Brooklyn in front of me, so that, I can kindly push her along. We kneel for the ashes and pray. I ignore the giggles around me and ask God to have mercy on me and my three. We exit stage right and it becomes a pissing test on who has the most messed up cross on their forehead. Reagan declares victory because her cross is covering her acne problem zone which will definitely make her break out more. By this time, I am over it and want to walk straight out the door instead of back to our seats. Service comes to an end and in my best bat shit crazy mommy on the inside, but smiling mommy on the outside voice I tell them all to..."GET TO THE STREET" which translates "get your ass out this church before I pop you on the head with this program!" I weave through the line as my three follow me and Farryn asks right as I make it to the exit "Do we have to keep this ash on our head all night until tomorrow?" "Yes", I responded. "You have to sleep flat on your back tonight sweetie. Good luck with that and don't talk to me anymore."

We ran down the dark alley to the car and I was already regretting giving up cigarettes for Lent. At that point, I could have chewed on a piece of bark or lit one right in front of them just for the shock factor. We grabbed dinner from a fast food spot. Thanks goodness, nobody picked fast food for Lent. I made it to bed that night wondering if it was all worth it. The running, the repenting, the chaos, etc. You damn right it was worth it!!!! My attempt was not in vain. I've surrendered to the notion of trying to get shit right anymore by broadening my definition of "right" or "good" or "perfect". We showed up. We did something together, as a unit. We did us....in the house of the Lord. I prayed that night each girl received something from the message, from the meaning, and from me. I realized that more than anything I need my three to know love, grace, mercy, kindness, and forgiveness. If we screw up Lent, at least the girls will learn about sacrifice. There are many different teachings, beliefs, and churches in this world. Though the methods and teachings may differ, they have the same foundation: love, grace, and mercy. Basically, some people are apples and some people are oranges, but they are still fruit. Shout out to My Big Fat Greek Wedding for that revelation! In any event, I will guide my girls the best I can. It may not be in a conventional manner to some, but for those that may shun my efforts all I can say is "May God have mercy on me, a sinner." (See, I was listening!!) Veni, Vidi, Vici ( I took Latin in high school and college. HA!)

apples and oranges,

_mythreeandme

Roses are red, violets are blue. I love my shrink and my xanax too.

2019-03-04T13:13:00.002-06:00

I see a shrink. Shocker! Yep for the last ten years or so I have gifted myself the pleasure of plopping my ass down on a couch and spilling the beans. I did not come to this decision on my own. I started running a low grade fever one day. Unfortunately, a low grade fever after having my toe amputated due to a malignant melanoma is not what I needed to deal with. I went to the ER, an internal medicine doctor, and a walk in clinic doctor all in ONE day. I was at bat shit crazy level. I mean openly crying in the waiting room. The ER blew me off. Looking back, I can see how my fever did not equate to a real emergency. So, I begged my internal medicine doctor to work me in. I remember looking at his red ass beard and him saying "Why are you here? You've been to the ER. What do you want me to do?" I screamed "fix me! something is wrong!!" So, Dr. Ronald McDonald prescribed me a lecture me on my admission that I still smoked cigarettes. I hung my head in shame and walked out the office and drove my ass right across the street to a walk in clinic. By this time, I am incoherent. I suffer from nosebleeds. I have had that vein in my nose burnt to stop the bleeding. It helps most of the time unless I'm on my fifth hour of crying. So, I had a nosebleed and mentally I was beyond the 18th page of google type of crazy. I had blood drawn, urine samples, a wad of gauze shoved up my nose, my blood pressure checked, and lectures, but no answer for what was wrong with me. So my final destination, an after hour clinic, was going to exorcise the demon inside of me.

I recall laying on the white tissue paper that was beginning to stick to the side of my face because the tears kept flowing and I no longer gave a shit about wiping them away. My bloody nose made me look like I had gone on a cocaine binge with El Chapo. I gave 0 fucks at that time. When the doctor entered the room, all I could manage to get out is that I had a low grade fever and I had my toe chopped off. He stood there puzzled for a second because I forgot to give him the details of why I was missing a big toe. He sat down on the stool across from me, rolled himself over, and said "you're going to be okay!" He said this in the most sincere and kindest tone ever "I don't know what all is going on, but you are overwhelmed. Let's get something to calm you down and then you go see your oncologist." I remember laying back on what was left of my tissue blanket and staring into the florescent light above me. I felt a calmness come over me as I kept saying "I'm going to be okay. I'm going to be okay." I got in my car and looked in the rear view mirror like a scene from a movie. I tried to clear up my face. Wipe the blood off my shirt? Fix my hair and go home as if I had not had a nervous breakdown. I think back now and I'm pretty sure every doctor I visited that day tested me for drugs. I looked like I had just licked cocaine off a table, snorted a line of bath salts and chased it down with meth and Mountain Dew. I made it home with Valium in my hand and went to bed.

When I saw my oncologist, I was still battling a low grade fever. He suggested a PET scan and blood work. I remember crying through the entire procedure. Crying had become "my thing" now. He called me in to go over the results and said "Timeka. Every lymph node in your body came back swollen. Not one, but every lymph node." I almost fucking fainted. He said "I think the test is wrong. I'm not going to do it again. He said I would not be functioning and alive if this scan was accurate." My ear started this high pitched ringing and he started to sound like the Charlie Brown teacher. My eyes rolled back in my head and I was pretty sure that shitting myself would be acceptable in this instance. He handed me a card and said "You need to see a psychiatrist." I looked at him with my head tilted like a dog and muttered "a shrink." In my head, I was saying "BITCH. I NEED KRYPTONITE". I left the office confused and frustrated. I glanced at the women and men waiting to be seen. The waiting room of an oncology office is hard to describe. There is a fog of hope, despair, sadness, laughter, life, death, and fear. I held my card in my hand and decided to be thankful for what I walked away with. My prescription could have been much worse.

After my first session with my psychiatrist, I was diagnosed with anxiety, depression, and post traumatic stress disorder. Basically, my series of unfortunate events finally started to effect my emotional and mental well being. I was in flight mode. I responded to a low grade fever just like I responded to the death of my mother. My body could no longer tell the difference. So, I took my meds and started meeting this woman regularly. Many of my friends have asked "How did you end up seeing a psychiatrist?". I tell them "my oncologist". I remember family members finding out and lecturing me on my relationship with God and faith. I was told I didn't go to church enough, I needed to pray more, I should read the bible, etc. I say to all of that BULLSHIT!!! I believe in prayer. Hell, I was praying. I prayed every night not to lose my fucking mind. I read scriptures. I sat in church like a zombie from all of the bullshit going on in my head praying that just by sitting on the church pew would render me "CURED".

Any type of mental illness should be treated by a professional. I am shocked at how many people will visit a doctor and take medicine for acid reflux, gas, headaches, allergies, and colds, but draw a big ass line in the sand when it comes to medicines that treat anxiety and depression. And God forbid you talk to someone about your problems and not just the Lord. At some point as a society, we must realize you can do both. Taking medicine to cope with your environment has nothing to do with your faith or relationship with God. I love therapy. Therapy is where I go to nurse my mental and emotional health. Church is where I can go to feed my spiritual health.

I faithfully see a shrink. Everyone needs a safe zone. You may think you're all good, but try walking into a room and being able to confess or say whatever the fuck you want and it not be held against you and no judgement is passed. I know some will say you can do this through prayer or with your minister and preacher. I agree, but I wouldn't go to my dentist for a pap smear. Mental health issues need to be treated by experts in the field. The end. Do I tell my shrink everything? Hell yes! I won't get better by lying. Does my shrink know everything? YES!!! Have family members and friends been written down in my file? YEP! Do I like everything that has been said to me? NOPE! I had to switch psychiatrists around the time I filed for divorce because my shrink was promoted and could no longer see her patients. I freaked. This woman was like a best friend. She knew all of my secrets, thoughts, shit stories, worries, triumphs. She referred me to her colleague. I learned quickly NOT all psychiatrists are the same and I had to find out the hard way. Our second session ended with me screaming "I don't know what is wrong with you, but you are not going to talk to me just any kind of way and I'm not getting off this couch until I stop crying. You are mean. I'm not walking out this office like this. So, you can leave and I'll sit here on this couch until I finish crying." Oh yeah, it went down just like that. I am pretty sure I flipped her off as I walked out of her tiny little office. I did give her another chance. Why? I was at a pretty sensitive stage of my divorce. She was divorced herself and further on the recovery spectrum than I was. Our second visit went much better, she told me I looked like a beautiful swan. In my head, I was like "did this bitch just call me an ugly duckling before?????" I couldn't help, but giggle. Hell, divorce can bring the ugly shit out of you. If your marriage was not a fairy tale, your divorce won't be either.

In hindsight, I think I needed someone to tell me to "man up" so to speak. I had a good circle of friends around me and I am pretty sure no matter how much they loved me... I had worn them out. You can't dump all of your shit on your friends and family. The burden is too heavy. The best gift you can give yourself, your friends, and your family is to see a therapist. The weight that is lifted by being able to just be selfish and talk about your own shit is healing. I literally sit in the waiting room now like I can't wait to spill all the tea. I have been known to come with a shock factor. She never flinches...no matter how honest I get. I walk out of the majority of sessions more present, more insightful. It's like getting a tune up. I continue to take my medication and try to be at my best. My girls know I see a shrink. They know I take medication for anxiety and depression. My motto: what's good for the goose is good for the gander over in this house. My three girls know therapy is an option for them at any time. No questions asked. We all need to continue to thrive and there are some parts of us that our friends and family can't fix.

I was told a couple of months ago to stop wasting my money on therapy and learn how to raise my children and to read the bible. Instead of screaming "and this is why I see a psychiatrist because who on Earth would say some twisted shit like that" I politely ended the conversation and got off the phone....NOTE: THERAPY HELPS YOU CHOOSE YOUR BATTLES because back in the day the shit slinging show would have commenced and to the victor go the spoils. But instead, I whispered to myself "Hashtag GROWTH! I can't wait to tell my shrink about this and she knows all about YOU....". So, I welcome you to join me and many others on the therapy train. There is no shame on this train. No true destination just the spirit of the little engine that could....

xoxo

mythreeandme

Allow me to reintroduce myself....

2019-02-27T00:08:00.000-06:00

And they lived happily ever after....
separately

I'm back. I think. Giggle... Where did I go? I wish I could entertain you with a wonderful story of a sabbatical about me touring the 10 most beautiful places in the world and learning the meaning of life, love, and true happiness. I may not have left the country, but I left my marriage. Ha! Yep...the big "D" word. I am divorced AF. Many have asked me why? What happened? I am into year one post divorce and honestly I don't know what happened anymore. Meaning there was no life changing event that occurred. I changed my mind. Some may gasp at my attempt to keep my reason simple, but in hindsight I simply changed my mind. I let go of what I thought I needed my life to look like to survive. We live in a world where we often hide behind the idea of what we want our to life to look like and forget to make sure the photos on social media, trips, inspirational quotes, funny videos truly represent the life we are living. It's a hard pill to swallow to realize your present reality may consist of how things used to be or how you wanted them to be. A marriage is a union of two people, but nothing guarantees those two separate individuals will continue to want and need the same things. I find it odd that many of us can understand that most things come with an expiration date except when it comes to marriage. I know the vows I took said "till death do we part" and by damn I meant it. I didn't realize the death I would experience would not be in the physical sense. You cannot thrive in an environment that becomes unhealthy. The part of me that was willing to continue to ignore the fact that I was drowning in something that had become toxic...died. We were no longer bringing out the best in each other. Holding on to a relationship of that nature, will eat away at your soul. So with the help of friends, I collected the pieces of me that had not died, changed my mind about what I wanted, and signed the papers in the parking lot of UPS. That was my "till death do we part".

I have learned knowing the details of why people split up does not change the outcome. A marriage still ended. Rarely, am I given a high five when faced with telling people....except from the fella at Tuesday Morning. I remember I was in line purchasing items one afternoon and someone asked "Where have you been???? How's the family? How's the sexy bald fella?" It's funny how these questions or comments never hurt. If anything, I feel sorry for the individual that is going to feel like they just stuck their foot in their mouth. So, I said "Girl, divorce. I am divorced now." Of course, she gasped and teared up. She managed to get out a "NOOOOO!!!!!" I of course tried to lighten the mood by suggesting she spread the word. I am not ashamed of getting a divorce. Hell, I beg my friends to gossip and spread the word. Anyway, the guy at the counter looked at me, looked at her and looked back at me and said "Hell yeah! You do you girl!! I'm happy for you. Time to celebrate!!" I have never enjoyed high fiving someone so much before. Those who have gone through divorce know that leaving something familiar to enter into the abyss is treacherous, gut wrenching, paralyzing, debilitating, and suffocating. The valleys are like quick sand and the peaks are like ant hills. But by damn, there is light at the end of the tunnel. You can celebrate deciding that two individuals no longer brought out the best in each other. You can celebrate having the courage to realize what you had was not what you wanted anymore. You can celebrate shedding the facade that you or your partner had your shit together. You can celebrate dying and being reborn because divorce is a death of a union and individual deaths of the participants. You will not come out of a divorce the same. Divorce affects your children, your friends, your family, your financial security, your mental health, your emotional health, your physical health, etc. I am thankful for the friends and family members that have supported me. There is no better way to love someone than to love them even if their life no longer resembles yours. People will talk. Friends will not make the journey with you. Family members will put you on every prayer list in the state. Folks will avoid you in fear that they may catch it...divorce. And I'm pretty sure at some point I thought I saw a colonial woman on the wing of an airplane. But...when it's over, you get to start climbing out of that damn quicksand and up the mountain again with another piece of paper that you have collected.

Divorce papers...I kept the originals and shredded the copies. I contemplated burning them. Something about burning shit and divorce automatically go well together. Luckily, the part of me that refused to let a piece of paper define me did not die. My life is a collection of strips of papers. Two College Degrees ✔ Marriage License ✔ Job ✔ Three birth certificates ✔ Deed to a home ✔ etc, etc, etc....Divorce Papers ✔. Life is not about collecting these perfect pieces of paper and placing them in your LIFE book. Yes, each degree, each birth, each new job should be celebrated. Just know that to live a life that is manageable...you are going to have to ditch the book and buy a big ass box because life will shred those papers. Screw taping them back together to put in a book. You collect those shredded pieces and let them create a beautiful hodgepodge of all that you are. One item no matter how bad you want it will not define who you are. So, shred that shit, toss the pieces in the air, and let them fall as they may. The last year has consisted of many "D" words...divorce, disappointment, dancing, decisions, deal breakers, delirium, delight, devastation, dreamlike, disgust, etc. All I can do is toss most shit to the wind. Some days the wind is a hurricane and I swear I think this will be it. This will be the event that gets me locked up in a pink padded room with unicorn stickers and a helmet. Some days, I feel like I am one more life changing event away from starting my own underground fight club and punching people in the damn throat. Then, the wind settles and life keeps going and you think "well, damn, not fucking today...I guess. Not fucking today. Ha."

My three girls have been the most understanding souls throughout this process. They have experienced pain and disappointment with grace and mercy. There is something to be said when you tell your children you are getting divorced and they don't beg you to not do it. Sure, there was shock, questions, tears and fear, but they saw our flaws and let us have the opportunity to do right by them and to do right by each other. They have even found the humor in having their parents split which I baptize myself in everyday. Maintaining a solid sense of humor throughout the entire process has allowed us to laugh through the tears and it feeds my fucking soul. They joke about the night we told them. They were expecting a pregnancy announcement. HA! They tease me about having to change my email, log in, and social media pages because "mrsdavis0601" is not who I am anymore. I have told them plenty of times that particular choice is right up there with the strawberry tattoo on my ass that now resembles a strawberry patch. I thought it was so cute at the time. HA! If anything, I hope through this process they have learned that they can change their mind. They can decide to let go of what they thought their life should look like or what they wanted their life to be like and toss it to the wind. In anything we try, we may not get it right the first time and that's okay.

So....that's basically where I am now. I'm raising three girls as single mother and every day I realize how much better of a mother I am to them now. A year into being divorced and I'm slowly finding my voice again. I have learned so many lessons like the first thing you should buy when moving into a new home is a plunger. I have learned the importance of having some awesome fucking friends. I have experienced unconditional love and forgiveness. I have learned my daughters are stronger than I could have ever imagined. I have learned who is in my tribe for life and who was in my tribe for a season. I have realized I never liked the color red though it was a prominent color in my house before I got divorced. I have noticed some shit is just not worth sharing, saying aloud, or giving energy to. I am slowly figuring out how to share my stories, my truths. I have learned to love my life and my flaws. I am starting over and I am trying my best to be better. I am watching wounds start to heal and folks move on. I am at peace with my marriage ending. An aspect of peace that I feel to my core every time my head hits the pillow at night. I have realized I will be okay...even on the days I'm running on "E", questioning what the hell am I going to do with my life, who am I, how will I support myself and three girls, and rushing to the car to bring dinner home only to find one kiddo howling in the car because her sister is on bluetooth screaming because she called Alexa a "dodo" and Alexa said "ordering a dildo" and everyone's screaming "cancel the order" and I am feverishly searching Amazon Prime on my phone praying to sweet baby Jesus that I can stop the madness and at the same time stop the kid that started the whole saga from screaming "what's a dil-do-do?" and my ears are ringing, my arm pits are sweating, and I want to put on my hazard lights and speed to get home to make it all just fucking stop....And there you go.....You just read one long ass run-on sentence, but that's the closest way I could possibly share what my life is like most days. A long ass run-on sentence. Yet, no dildo was ordered. The girls ate their dinner in silence and fought back laughter as the youngest sat confused as to why I snatched Alexa out the wall. All I could manage to scream aloud was "IT'S a bad word. STOPPPPP saying it. No more calling Alexa names. Don't talk to Alexa!" I checked Amazon Prime 18 times and played out horrific scenarios of possible recipients under my saved addresses. The thought of their father, my friends, or family members receiving a dildo from me sent me to bed early that night with a twitching bottom lip. I never bothered to ask how the oldest two knew about a dildo. I decided to save that PBS special for another day. I just plopped my head on my pillow because I knew I dodged a "bullet"...literally that evening....fire away.

...confessions of a car rider mom that rides dirty.

2015-09-29T20:11:00.001-05:00

Yes. I am one of those moms. I have dedicated my days to picking up my Divas from school. Though the task is not easy or convenient for ME most days, I am doing what's best for my family to function in society. So...I wait every day outside of one school for an hour prior to school being released, so that, I may navigate my way to two other schools. Am I asking for a pat on the back...no! Am I auditioning for parent of the year...no! Matter of fact...been there...done that and it's not all it's cracked up to be. Ha!!

The biggest problem that I encounter on the sometimes 3-5 hour process depending on if it's "dance" day is how many people feel obligated to tell me that what I'm doing is absolute nonsense. I love being interrupted from day dreaming about beaches and shit for someone to be irritated or shocked by my decision to mind my own damn business and pick up my kids. Yes, I know of the big orange thing called the "bus" and if I could I would tell you to shove that bus up your ass. Yet, I don't. I just grin and smile and joke all while you mock me. Please know that as you are talking I am conducting a play by play in my head of me spitting in your face, telling you to suck my tit, choking you out and flipping you off. So, I don't necessarily hear your Charlie Brown teacher talk. I am in a completely different world filled with so much rage that I could spew enough fire out of my asshole to melt your tires and your face.

Why such animosity? I can't for the life of me figure out "why the f*ck do you care"? I'm not bothering anyone. I'm following the rules of the road. I'm not interfering. I'm not keeping you from being the parent you need to be. I don't give a shit what you are doing and I don't care to give you an explanation about my choice to wait one f*cking hour. One hour does not mean shit in retrospect....being that I spend 3-5 hours as a taxi driver from dance to tumble to band to home back to dance etc.

I know you don't mean any harm. You are just commenting on what you see. A dumb ass mother who obviously has too much time on her hands. A mother who wants nothing more than to wait in a car alone for hours. I spend the majority of my days waiting. I am waiting at dance. I am waiting at tumble. I am waiting at band. Hell, I'm waiting to take a shit in privacy at home. Waiting is what I do and I do it the best I can...all by myself. I listen to self help pod casts, I answer emails, I scroll on Facebook, I read, I write, I research Beachbody information, I stare off into space and imagine rainbows and unicorns. I do everything in my might to conjure up some sense of peace. Waiting is not for the meek. There is a skill to it. So, when you bring your squirrel grinning ass up to my window and begin to preach about how you would never...."Boom...I have clocked your ass six times in the chin."

That's just the beginning of my journey. Miss B is my first pick up. She knows to get her ass to the car ASAP because mommy has other stops. What she does not know is that mommy can't read her spelling words while driving, mommy can't tie her shoe, mommy can't turn around and open a bottle of water, mommy can't pull forgotten snacks out her ass, mommy can't make the red light green so she can go shit in a public place everyday at 3:30 pm, mommy can't make sister get out of school earlier, mommy can't fix the damn DVD player, mommy can't reach her when she has chosen to strip to her undies because she is hot, mommy can't do a damn thing about the sun shining in her face, mommy can't make the sucker not sour, mommy does not know why God made midgets, nor does she know how they drive, what they drive or if they drive. Please realize that these conversations happen in a 15 minute time span...every day. Every blue moon something random happens. A mom who has obviously reached her limit allows her blonde headed kid out of her car to frolick in the yards of strangers. I look away because I am ashamed of the judgement that creeps up. Until the little blonde headed angel comes up to my passenger door and decides to just stare at me. I give him a little wave, but he won't stop staring. He walks to the front of my car and stands and stares. I close my sunroof because Miss B starts screaming "stop looking in here." After the 3rd wave and no response from the kid I decide to call him "powder" and I snap a picture. I send it to my friends, so they can witness the little Pet Cemetery boy staring into my car. We get a good laugh. All, I want is the little mother f*cker to cease staring at me. Giggle. Yet, I find myself beginning to relax....

Until, I pick up the middle Diva. Oh, my sweet middle child gets in to inform me that yet again she has made a 99 and not a 100 on her test. She proceeds to check her grades to get her grade point average down to the decimal. She's also hot and famished. She rummages through what is left of the provided snacks only to decline all of them and look sadly out the window. I don't get why my children are so f*cking hungry when I pick them up. Most of the times I pack their lunches and our school cafeteria food actually rocks!! They are getting fresh veggies, salads, and foods made from scratch. Still, they enter my vehicle pheening for something to eat. Being a total "pleaser", I pack snacks. I have given them a pass on healthy eating when it comes to snack time. A cookie here or there won't hurt them. What makes me want to flip my car is when Miss B decides she wants my portion control grapes and 12 almonds. I know it sounds strict, but I love this snack. It gives me the boost to keep me going and I don't want to share my damn grapes!! I have packed grapes before and they turn their nose up. Anything I put in my mouth, they want. Miss B downs my green tea every afternoon and even nibbles on my mint leaves. I can't explain the anger and rage I feel when they eat all my yogurt, almonds, and grapes. Lately, I have flat out refused to share. They do it all of the time. So, I'm like screw them...eat your crackers, M&Ms or whatever else you picked for the afternoon. This is MY snack for the day. #byeFelicia.

Time passes and Miss B has hit boredom. She's half dressed, farting, and sticking her head out the sunroof. I always pause to think if drinking that second glass of wine in the first, second, and third trimester was a good idea. The middle Diva is now car sick and nauseous from the fumes coming out of her little sister's ass. She's too nice to punch her. So, she begins to whine. I try to diffuse the situation by grabbing ice cream before my final pick up. A quick ice cream stop turns into somebody having to piss and shit at my last pick up. I plead with them to hold it. The ice cream has melted and it's running down my seats. I swear off ice cream and snacks. I begin to experience eye twitching.

I pull up to my final pick up and wait for 45 minutes with two Divas that have turned into whiny, stinky bitches. Miss B is jumping from the second to third row like a circus act as I call out her spelling words. The middle Diva is frustrated that I can't help her with her definitions and shocked that I would suggest "google it". I realize I'm holding my breath. I have cancelled Christmas, Halloween, 3 birthdays, and Easter in efforts to get Miss B to sit the hell down. I am coming undone. I believe this is the end of the road for us....

Ding, ding....3:45 pm on the dot every day I get the same text message "where are you?" Oh, my oldest Diva has decided that looking and waiting for me is just not something she can handle. So instead of her exiting the school and finding the same silver SUV that picks her up daily...she insists I give her my exact location in car rider line ..."swing left, 2nd row, 8th car back". She finally spots my car and proceeds to walk slowly to my vehicle. I grip the wheel and motion to walk a little f*cking faster and pop the trunk. She stomps to the passenger seat because she's embarrassed to be greeted in front of her friends by Miss B....all the way in the trunk area by now, barely clothed with an ice cream mustache and a toothless grin. She chastises Miss B for her behavior and the red lipstick she is now wearing because I no longer give a f*ck.

She tosses her color guard flag into my car and I pray that it does not go smashing through my windshield. I try to greet her with a genuine smile as she sits in he passenger seat and cuts the heated seats on in 80 degree weather. "What's for supper?" are always her first words. I toss her a bag of half eaten popcorn and tell her "I don't know."

At this point in the day, I have hit a depth of violent darkness. I have turned into a defensive yet safe driver. I have 3 bitches in my car talking at one time. Someone is crying. Someone is mad. Someone is telling me about the slightest detail of her day that made it the WORSE DAY EVER. Then, my ears catch come ratchet shit..."Did Miss B just say she ate someone else's booger? Did someone say "damn" in that song? I have swapped the station over to music that I know is inappropriate, but I need something to drown out the chaos. My windows are down. I am looking straight ahead. I begin to imagine the life of taxi drivers and the shit they see everyday...the things they hear. I understand their rudeness. Their needing to get from point A to point B with the least resistance and discussion. I feel like I work the night shift in a taxi driver's life. I pick up drunk bitches that cry, spill shit, puke, and are needy and chatty. I don't get their jokes. I wonder if the tip is even worth it. Should I just drop them off on a random corner if they ask me to change the radio station again?? Should I rear end the asshole that failed to put on his turning signal?? Why is an 18 year old driving a $50,000 car? I don't own a $50,000 car. I think every driver is a moron and I question my career making decisions.

Then...there's dead silence. The Divas are over me, each other, and the ride. They are deep into their devices trying to ignore their mother. I look in my rear view mirror to find Miss B slumped over asleep and drooling with one flip flop on. Papers and snacks are scattered everywhere. I literally screech into the driveway, almost scraping the bottom of the garage door as it opens. I have it timed to the exact second all while opening my trunk. I want them out of my car and their shit out.

Miss B, like any young woman that has been over served, has no idea where she is. I unbuckle her and pull her into my arms. She instantly cuddles me and buries herself into my neck smearing all of the red stained lipstick on my neck and clothes. I finally breathe. Taking in this moment. Remembering how they all would snuggle into my neck when I would pick them up from daycare. I would wait all day for just that moment...where everything seemed alright and in place. I remind myself that I often take the chaos for granted. The chaos means we are all still living...still trying. I manage to get in the door with Miss B on one arm and her backpack om the other. I let the backpack hit the floor and I hold her for a second longer..."You forgot my lunchbox..."

I muster up an "I know" and try not to toss her on the floor. As I make several trips back and forth to a car, I remind myself that I'm not doing what any other person out there is not doing. Just going through the motions. Trying my best to get my tribe from here to there with least resistance.

So, yes...I sit for an hour most days to begin our afternoon excursions. I sit alone in my car and I do whatever I can legally do in front of a school. I fall asleep. I chat with friends. I try to think of ways to make car rider more effective for everyone involved at each school. I pray. I ponder the ins and outs of this sometimes cruel world. I wait.

And though you may stare and gawk as if I am a circus act...please read the warning sign that I am projecting from my eyes..."don't feed the animals..."

...I'm in an "F" season.

2015-09-22T13:12:00.001-05:00

Dearest Blog.....

I have neglected you because I have been neglecting myself. The summer came and I decided to be the mother that gave 0 f*cks. I let my kids stay up to the crack of dawn and sleep until noon. I took every opportunity to get the hell outta of my town. I fed my children Wendy's three times a week and often lied and told them they did in fact each lunch...they just didn't remember. I said to hell with my flower bed and now have hydrangea trees growing up our front porch. I spent an insane amount of time in bed, ignoring my children, and watching TV. Yet, I look back and realize it was one of the best summers ever. We had no schedules, no ambitions, no motivation, no rules, no f*cks and we survived. Yes, we had hiccups. Fight club sessions normally broke out after midnight between the Divas resulting in torn sheets and banshee screaming. I often considered throat punching the SBF for bitching about the electric bill. Extended family...God bless them...can f*ck shit up. But, we weathered through the storm the best we could. I think this summer was a season of growth and letting go.

In completely surrendering to whatever the hell was going to happen, I entered the school year as a totally different mother. I didn't rush to register my kids. I ordered their school supplies on line. I ordered their school clothes on line and even let them pick out whatever their hearts desired. Miss B may enter school looking like Nikki Minaj and for now I am okay with that. I didn't fret over their teachers or schedules. I didn't spend hours at open house. I have become cautious with my energy and my time. I have not been the best at returning calls or texts. I have allowed myself to miss parties and dinners. In doing nothing, we did so much.

School is in full session and I realize I am a "F" kind of mom right now. I am no longer the mom that spends days on Pinterest trying to coordinate a fabulous themed handmade party. I no longer bake actual cookies for the class. I text birthday invites. Please know that...I love Pinterest. I am even guilty of pinning cute shit to make for Halloween and Christmas parties knowing that in the end...I'm going to buy some shit from the grocery store. I recall staying up until 4 am making pinwheels, banners, streamers, signs, and shit for a 1 year old birthday party. One year, I even sent out princess invitations and to make them look "authentic"...I burned the ends of each invitation. I just don't have it in me anymore. Some days, I wish I could go back in time and knock the tea stained invites and lighter out of my hand and shake the shit out of myself. I am also no longer the mom signing up to whore myself out to every volunteer committee at school. PTO president days are over. I give money instead of my time for safety reasons. People should realize that volunteer work is free labor. Just because I have extra time does not mean that I need to spend my extra time doing shit for others all of the time. There must be balance. I learned the hard way that there is little glory in volunteering...instead of feeding my soul with good deeds...I drowned myself in a dark hole of resentment and frustration. It's not good when you want to slash another mother's tires for giving you the stink eye in a meeting. Oh, I am no longer the mom that spends hours on the Divas' wardrobes. You hate ruffle pants...fine with me. You want to wear the same ugly ass shirt to school twice a week...go right ahead. Their wardrobe ensembles are no longer a reflection of me. I have also decided that some of their behaviors are no longer due to poor parenting, but just due to the fact that they can be little bitches some times. I am not carrying the weight of their every action on my shoulder. Screaming in the car for hours because you can't cross your eyes has nothing to do with me. Some shit is just in their genes...nothing I can do about it.

I think we often fail to realize that we all at some point in this weird journey of motherhood will be "that mom" whether you mean to or not. You will be the Pinterest Patty, Volunter Veronica, and Wardrobe Wanda. It's inevitable and nothing to be ashamed of. You have to be all of those things to learn what you don't need to be. Motherhood is filled with seasons. A good mother can not stay the same. There must be growth or change if you ever expect to get it right. I try not to judge the mothers that are freakishly going through the seasonal changes. I was there. I drank the koolaid. Being a mother is the core of who you are...the other bullshit around you are just add ons. I compare us to trees. We have roots, but the seasons will cause us to lose our leaves, break some branches, grow taller, and bloom again. One cannot happen without the other. The deeper your roots grow...the sturdier you become in motherhood. Through every storm, flood, or drought in life, a mother will adapt. Adaptation is what allows us to grow so keep growing and changing!!!

Now for the current season I am...it's called the season of "F's"....Family, Fitness, Friends, Fun, Fridays, and F*ck Its. For example:

Family: During our nightly prayer ritual where we hold hands and say the Our Father, I will not let the fact that they acted like total shits 30 minutes before keep me from praying. I will not hold my breath and squeeze Miss B's hand really hard. I will not rock back and forth when they decide to say individual prayers as well. I will not accuse them of just trying to pray to get more play time. I will not start to say profanities in my head and then doom myself to hell every night. Instead, I will find peace in the fact that they are my circle.

Fitness: I will no longer walk around sucking it in. I will realize that my health is everything. I will do the damn burpees despite the frequent blackouts. I will eat better because I will look and feel better. I will not eat a sleeve of cookies in the middle of the night because I have only fed myself coffee for the day. I will put more effort in meal plans, exercise, and my health. I will teach the Divas that I am not shooting for a size 0 or perfection. I am not trying to get back to where I used to be because there is no growth in going backwards. My pre baby body is not what I desire. I just want to see with my own eyes that "mama still got it" and that will surface in whatever form this new fitness journey leads me to. If working out for 30 minutes each day will stop the friction between my thighs when I walk...bring on the damn cardio!!! I will find peace in taking care of myself and acknowledging that I like looking good.

Friends: I am blessed with several groups that each feed my soul in different ways. I will love the ones that tell me to pray about it just as much as the ones that tell me "go beat that bitch's ass". I will find peace in the balance they bring to my life.

Fun: I will continue to seek laughter in every inch of the Earth. I will not feel ashamed for spending countless hours sending ratchet memes to my peeps. I will be okay with collecting memories instead of things. Confession: I despise our furniture. I consider both the loveseat and the couch health hazards. They have been pissed on and puked on. I will try not to cringe when I pass Miss B doing flips off the armrest. I will not shiver at the tear in the fabric caused by her flipping. Instead, I will think of the flips she did on the beach...when I decided let's go on a trip instead, the new furniture can wait. I will find peace in my home.

Fridays: I will declare this day...my day. I will not spend it scrubbing toilets, mopping floors, and folding clothes. All of that shit can wait. I will give myself a day to do whatever the hell I want and I will love every minute of it without a single slither of guilt. I will find peace in "doing me".

F*ck Its: I will hand these out to the bullshit in life. I will step away from the madness knowing that I will remain sane by opting out. PTA, small town and family drama all get a f*ck it. I will understand that Jake from Louis Vuitton did not make my purse. I will not fantasize about the ass whoopings I could hand out because my Louie is in the repair shop. Instead, I will continue to say f*ck it. Nothing is guaranteed. Shit will happen like when you are strutting to your car after buying 2 antique chairs and the manager was snotty. So, you made sure to get them to carry your chairs to your car only to have your LV bag snap and fall to the ground in front of everyone. ***Deep Cleansing Breath*** Yes, I will take a cleansing breath and find peace at moments when I feel like I am starting to give a f*ck and let it go!

May we all embrace the season we are in knowing that it is not permanent, but necessary.

What my Divas taught me about giving...

2015-07-01T14:54:00.001-05:00

My Divas have taught me many lessons in life. They have taught me the world does not and will not revolve around me. They have taught me that schedules and precisely laid out plans mean absolutely nothing. They have taught me how to still love friends and family members that have hurt me. They have taught me how to laugh at myself. They have taught me that the world will not end if I don't clean the house for a week...though it may stink. They have taught me that I don't have it together and that I will forever grow, learn, and change. They have taught me that laughter is a necessity for my soul. They have taught me that sometimes I just need to take a nap. They have taught me that I matter.

Many times, I struggle with am I enough, am I loved, and am I where I need to be. To be honest, I feel lost most of the time I am constantly trying to figure out where I fit in this world and what do I want to do with my life? The only idea that I can manage to catch when my world is spinning inside my head...the only idea that anchors me when I feel like I am floating away....I want to matter. I believe we all are searching for a spot where we matter in this world...where me mean something, where me can make a difference.

Just today, I finally realized why I always manage to volunteer too much. What makes me join numerous volunteer boards. What makes me sign up for every holiday party? What makes me say yes to another activity that will require my limited time and energy? I long to mean something. I really need to help make a difference...not in some kind of martyr way. My soul feels better when I know I'm at least trying to make a difference whether I am giving my time, my talents, or my money.

After helping with a big fundraising project during the school year, I swore off volunteering. Partly because I had developed a twitch in my eye and a tendency to drop f bombs at any random time. I has also developed a "hit list" of people who I was going to take out if approached in public. I know...so not loving. The fundraiser was hard, but the one thing that brought me comfort was not the checks written for big amounts. My soul was revived by the happiness the children felt by donating change. Let me tell you, pennies can add up. I was amazed with amount of money collected via coins. Coins that I often toss in the bottom of my purse. These children proudly brought in their change and it made a difference. They felt proud. They felt like they mattered. They felt apart of something.

When it comes to giving, I have often fell victim to worrying about the amount I give. I have given to charities and campaigns with my head slightly bowed because I thought it was not a substantial amount to make a difference. I have had the Divas run up to me and ask for money to give to an organization set up outside of our local grocery store. I would feel this wave of guilt wash over me because I don't carry cash around. They would plead to just give something and I would hand them my change and try not to make eye contact with those collecting donations. Each time as I walked by with my head slightly bowed, I witnessed 3 little girls with the biggest smiles hand over nickels and dimes. They felt so happy to give just change. They were proud and they were satisfied.

I realized then that I have been missing the whole reason for giving. It is not the amount you give. It is the act of giving that trumps everything. Society has made us feel that only high dollar amounts make a difference. Give big or go home. So many times we don't give for that reason. We lose a chance to be apart of something. We lose the chance to matter. We lose the chance to make a difference.

The sexy bald fella and I are currently trying to raise money for an aftershool program called Leap Frog that tutors/mentors 140 1st-3rd grade children found at risk for academic failure.

To raise funds, we are running for the title of Mr. and Mrs. America and asking friends and family members to donate on our behalf. I will confess...I love a crown!! I still have my crown from homecoming queen 20 years ago and I have been know to wear it in car rider pick up line during the school year. So, yes I want that crown. But I also want to raise money so more children can attend this program. I have never had so much fun raising money before and it's not just because there is a crown at the end of the yellow brick road. I have had the best time watching others give. A chain reaction has started and I absolutely love it. But know this...

It's not the amount that makes me so happy. It's the act of giving. A $10 donation means just as much as a $50 donation. So, don't make the mistake I did a while back. Don't deny yourself becoming apart of something by thinking the amount of your donation will not make a difference. We all deserve to feel like we matter. We all deserve to feel like we can make a difference.

So, I am asking you to join me and my friends. You have 2 days left to give to this cause!!

Click on this link and just give:

https://www.crowdrise.com/fundraise-and-volunteer/donations/timekaandjoshdavis/teresaadams

If I am fortunate enough to win the crown, you will hear me scream like a banshee! And if I don't, I have still been fortunate enough to witness over 160 hearts opening up and giving!!

If you want to learn more about Leap Frog, go to this link: http://www.theleapfrogprogram.org/

Please note: I did have to tell Miss B that we don't keep the money raised on our behalf. She asked "well, if you lose...can we keep the money?" As you can see, the teaching goes both ways.

...#thankaparent

2015-05-26T11:00:00.001-05:00

We are on our last leg of school in the Davis household and all I can say is "shit just got real". I tapped out 3 weeks ago. I started the year with good cheer and as the months passed I have turned into the wicked witch of west side (insert my gang sign).

Miss B has learned to read by the grace of God and her saint of a teacher. The middle Diva has learned how to stand up for herself against bullies and how to be passive aggressive. The oldest Diva has learned how to maneuver her way through the social circle of mean girls without cutting a bitch. So, I think the year has turned out good.

The last few weeks have included teacher appreciation celebrations and 1000 end of the year parties. I'm all about showing gratitude and appreciation for others. And everyone knows I love a party. So, I tip my hat, raise my glass, and give a thumbs up to the amazing individuals who have nurtured and taught my Divas. You did good. You did damn good. As for the students, way to go!! You worked hard and played hard. Enjoy your summer.

I would like to take this moment to reach out to the parents. Confession: I want a parent parade. I want a celebration, appreciation, dedication, to US!! I want to parade down the streets and have people scream my name and throw beads at me. I want to sit on the back of a convertible with my Prosecco bottle in hand and have people shout wonderful affirmations mixed with profanity. I want a trail of parents in cars, walking, and turning cartwheels. I also want a band. One of those bands from New Orleans playing "Oh when those saints go marching in..." I want confetti and sparklers.

We deserve it. We have survived another year. We have spent late nights doing homework and projects. We have baked cookies and chaperoned field trips. We have cried behind closed doors because MATH just makes people cry. We have raced through car rider lines to get our kids to school on time. We have angrily cut the edges off of sandwiches for lunches. We have quietly plotted a way to jack up the asshat that keeps giving our child grief. We have volunteered our time, our money, our energy, our talents, and our brain cells to various projects. We have taken off work to catch projectile vomiting in our hands. We have found strength to not knock the hell out of a kid for talking back to us. We have gotten out of bed and cooked breakfast after spending all night shitting lava because our kids gave us cooties. We have ushered our kids back and forth to birthday parties and extra curricular activities. We have forgotten a child and spent all night praying they not be ruined forever.

We have prayed for those kids that are not one of our own. We have taken the oathe..."It takes a village". We have smiled at the parent for giving us the stink eye because we forgot to bring cookies to the Christmas party. We have flipped off the condescending email from the parents who have their shit together and want to make it know that we dropped the ball. We have written our names in the blanks on sign up sheets knowing that we just sold ourselves to the devil. We have nervously answered our cellphones from the nurse at school praying that an ER visit is not in store. We have fled work on two wheels to make it to the play only to have our kids not even acknowledge us.

We are at the end of the road. We can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Summer is approaching and we welcome it. We reach our arms out to the days approaching that will be full of sunshine, sleeping in, fights, boredom, vacations, temper tantrums, tears, no structure, sleepovers, sunburns, bee stings, tons of television, babysitters, expensive camps, childcare, and the inability to satisfy our children. We will find ourselves in the closet crying not because of MATH but because our families have gone MAD.

So, I want a pat on the back for the year and the summer. I do and I know it's selfish. But, I want to have people scream..."good job", "your kid is just a little shit right now. It's okay", "20+ tardiness aren't that bad", "you tried", and so forth. I want other parents there right in line with me. We deserve it. We have done our job whether our parent appraisal may be good or bad. Some of us kept trying.

I appreciate you and you and you. I see you struggling to not slam on your breaks to show the little shit in the backseat that seatbelts are necessary. I see you piecing together summer activities, camps, vacations, and child care. I see the tapped out look in your eyes. I see you and I am giving you a high fucking five. The struggle is real and has been real all year. And look at you...still marching on.

So, why don't we march together. Start a parent appreciation movement. Throw a party. Bake a parent some cookies. Send a parent a "happy". Send a parent a shout out. Toss me some beads and I will raise my glass of Prosecco to you.

...It's not you, it's me

2015-03-29T17:10:00.001-05:00

It has taken dropping my basket of complete "shittery" to realize that I need to come home and home is here. My blog is my therapy and my outlet. My blog is my voice that is not interrupted by the SBF asking me "What did I buy for $210 bucks at Kroger?" at which time in my head I always answer..."groceries, you dumbass." My voice is not interrupted by Miss B asking me to come look at her shit this one last time because there is something weird in it. To have a decent phone conversation nowadays, I get in my car and back out of the driveway and close the garage door. Seriously, I spend 80% of my conversations with friends in my car in the driveway. Miss B can read text messages now and loves to spell the word S-H-I-T. She will spend a good hour asking when would be the appropriate time to spell it...like when could she get away with it. Can I spell it on vacation? Can I spell it at home? Can I just spell it in the car...this one time? Have I allowed her to spell it to get her just to shut the hell up...yes. The struggle is real around here.

The Divas are getting older and their social lives, homework, and extracurricular activities have rendered me their bitch, their butler, their Benson, their Hobson (etc)...some of you may have to google. Giggle. Anyway, I am basically their "do boy" which was all fine and dandy, until I forgot that you can't be a "do boy" and a "volunteer whore". I have had the honor to serve on very wonderful organizations that have had the most wonderful effects on my community. To these organizations that I just tapped out and quit on the spot a couple of months ago...."It's not you, it's me". With my sick sense of humor comes this insane passion to help others. I go all "balls in" with a majority of the stuff I participate in. THIS IS NOT HEALTHY! It took several crying spells in my bedroom closet and thoughts of "choking out" other volunteers to make me realize that my basket was full. So, I dropped my basket then picked it up and proceeded to drop kick it into the yard. I tossed cigarette butts in it and walked away. I left that damn basket in my neglected yard and cut the damn porch light off. For the first time, I tapped out. AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENED...the world did not come to an end. These organizations kept on without me. Someone else picked up the torch and the heavens opened up and I started to see the light. I started to see the greater good, humanity, all of the warm and fuzzy shit that makes you believe there is good in the world.

What started out as "just wanting to help out" became too much. I caught an STD while whoring myself out in the world of volunteering. The STD is called "I give 0 fucks now." I blame myself. You can't "do" everybody and "do" everything without it catching up with you. So, I have almost completely phased "working for free" out of my life for now. I am still PTO president and my term will end in May at which time I shall go underground. To those women out there that are tired, frustrated, fed up, exhausted, and on the edge of losing it....JUST QUIT. I am a quitter now and the shit feels awesome. I know some may read this and think that I am shitting on volunteering. I am not. I am shitting on myself. Again...it's not you, it's me. Public service announcement: the worst things you can do to a volunteer is not tell them thank you, take them for granted, be mean to them, and believe they owe you their services, time, energy, and money. We have created a world where service is expected by some. I grew up in an environment that "nobody in life owes you shit, so if they take time to acknowledge you...you sure as hell better show gratitude."

So, my free time is no longer consumed with opportunities to serve others. I gladly placed the golden baton in the next person's hand and I wished them much more wisdom and patience than I had. My sabbatical has allowed me to focus on myself more and I suck at it. For some odd reason, I think I am only of value if I am helping everyone but myself. I am not in anyway trying to be Mother Teresa. If I see something empty, I must fill it. If I see a need, I am drawn to conquer. I love to fight for the underdog. This shit sounds all noble and wonderful, but I don't know how to balance it. I do too much and then go bat shit crazy! For now....some days, I don't do shit. I focus on my house. I watch shitty TV. I ignore my kids. I have cocktails. I workout. I daydream. I let the laundry pile up. And every day, I learn the world is okay with me doing just that....not a damn thing. More of us out there need to realize that...the world will be okay without us.

It took weeks, but I decided to open my front door and go find my basket. Let me tell you...the weather did a number on that basket. Seriously, the fucking cold weather resulted in too many snow days, too many illnesses, and too much time indoors with my family. In one day, I experienced one Diva mumble "gummy bears" and proceed to faint in the doctor's office after being diagnosed with the flu and another Diva collapse in her own vomit in the kitchen with her pants around her ankles. Why did I find her with her pants around her ankles...in the kitchen...face down in vomit? Well, she had diarrhea and had to vomit and needed to run across the house and tell me....duh!!! Back to my basket, I found that bitch. I have pieced her back together and I have carefully placed strips of paper back in her. I read a book. I actually made time to read a book that a dear friend gave me about giving your "best yes" and it helped treat my volunteer STD. I can now just say "no" instead of "hell, no. fuck you. you life suckers. you dream killers, etc". I forget to return emails. I don't answer my phone sometimes. I don't respond to texts immediately. I no longer fill in sign up slots with my name. I even started working out. Planks have become my friend. I am filling my basket with strips that make me better, not everyone else better. I am still a work in progress. Some days, I feel myself being drawn into a FB war, a rally, a cause, and I simply tell myself "Nope. Not today. It's me. My basket just isn't strong enough."

Realizing "it's not you, it's me" has allowed me to breathe. It has allowed me to find peace and let go of the anger and resentment I was carrying around. I can fix myself, but I can't fix others. I can't make them care as much, do as much, or fight as much. Deciding that I was the problem made me feel better about not enjoying some things or some people. FOR EXAMPLE....Disney Fucking World. Please note that I have emphatically expressed that "it's not you, it's me". The SBF surprised us with a trip to Disney World for Christmas. I grimaced when he told me which came out as "I'm trying to fucking surprise y'all with a trip to Disney, but you keep spending so much money on Christmas!". I was shocked because the SBF and I went to Disney World after our first year of marriage with my family. I thought we both agreed to never ever return. But, I fell in love with his effort. He doesn't do holidays. So, this was big. We surprised the Divas with a trip full of magic, bliss, fun, and all that good shit.

Imagine Christmas Day, Magic Kingdom at Disney World, 3 Divas, and 10,000 people wanting to be apart of the magic....shit looked like the apocalypse. Miss B tried to go apeshit because she wanted a $350 Mickey Mouse nutcracker to the point I wanted to tell her to "crack deez nuts" in the store. I dry heaved over several rides in Magic Kingdom. I screamed "fuck" when someone rammed my ankle with their wheelchair and it was not a soft "fuck". I screamed that word in slow motion making sure to enunciate every single letter. Where was all of the magic, happiness, and the squeals of joy?? I witnessed husbands and wives turn on each other. I witnessed sibling relationships being destroyed. I witnessed parents basically telling their kids to "suck it the fuck up and keep walking". Oxygen should be pumped into Disney like they do the casinos in Vegas. After spending $80 on Mickey Mouse ears (we had to buy one Diva another set because the other Diva slapped it off her head in the Haunted Mansion), the SBF decided that he was no longer feeding us. We were on our 12th hour of Magic Kingdom and this asshole refused to purchase anymore food. Pause...the SBF is frugal to say the least and thought a $100/per diem budget for a family of five would suffice at Disney. Anyway, I mentioned that I was weak and starving after fighting to see the fireworks which my kids chose not to watch but ride the teacups for the 5th time. Well, this asshat looked at me and said "No!". I don't remember what I said to him on the bridge in front of the castle that was glistening like Frozen. Whatever I said caused Miss B to ask if I was going to divorce daddy. I reassured her that we were not getting a divorce...I would just kill him instead. How did we miss the magic? "It's not you, it's me". Disney World lovers are a special breed. My kids failed to appreciate the magic, the fairytale, the beauty...all those bitches wanted to do was ride. They gave 0 fucks about Mickey. They only wanted the thrill of the rides. So, we realized that we are more of a "Six Flags" family and not a "Disney World" family. We're also a family that can only enjoy spending that amount of money on a trip that includes sand, ocean, and cocktails. So, if you love Disney..."Do you, boo", because "It's not you, it's me."

I have also tried to fill my basket with friendships. I am surrounded by 4 completely insane individuals that mean so much to me, but I feel so lonely sometimes. I often wonder if volunteering gave me a different kind of human interaction that I was craving. I expected people coming together for the greater good would spark harmony, thought provoking conversation, and laughter. Well, it didn't. Again..."it's not you, it's me..." I was expecting too much from people I didn't really know. So, I have gathered up my friendships and placed them back in my basket. I have focused on grabbing more of the strips of friendships that feed my soul and less of the surface bitches. HA! I just need a little more and I don't have much to give.

Just the other day, I met a group of women. Within 30 minutes, all three women looked at the size of my wedding ring, asked me what the SBF and I do, and where I lived. I almost said..."who the fuck cares?????". The size of my ring says nothing about my marriage. I don't have a rock on my hand and I am in no way knocking those who have some bling..."Do you, boo!!". I like big diamonds. They are pretty to look at. If I have a friend with a rock, I am happy for her. But, it says nothing to me. I have a wedding ring that was purchased by a fella who scraped together every dime he had and I cherish my ring. I look at my ring when my marriage gets really hard...the really dark kind of hard and it brings me home. My ring reminds me that we were willing to accept each other as we were almost 14 years ago and vowed to make it work. As far as asking me what the SBF does....he "does" me. As far as asking me what I do....I "do" the SBF and all kinds of off the wall shit that would be far more entertaining to hear about than my occupation. I often return to my vehicle after grocery shopping only to find my trunk has been open the entire time. Ha!!! My job does not define me and won't tell you much about me. I am an audiologist. I look in ears. I have many close friends and I don't know what they do. Seriously, I just don't care. I know their secrets...well the ones I can remember because often times I forget. I only retain the information that is important. I know their heart and to me that is enough. Asking a stranger, where they live baffles me as well!!! WTF...are you trying to plan a "late night"/"after party", do you want to come over, is this some type of financial litmus test??? I live in the country is my normal response. The size and location of my home will not give you any information about me. You will not know the harmony, the chaos, the laughter, the tears, the heartache, and the love from the size and location.

Since, this post has turned into a "Take Me to Church" flow....I will end with one confession: When people see me in public without my kids and say "How did you manage to get out without all of the kids?", my ears start ringing. Seriously, the bubble over my head is saying "Fuck my kids right now. I'm free!" or "They with they daddy." I always muster up an explanation. I realized I never ask people where there children are if they are alone. I don't care. I assume they are safe and well. I know this sounds harsh, but I will pray for your child when he/she is hurting. I will fight for your child. I am all about "it takes a village". It's just...I dropped my basket and tried to set it on fire. So, I have to be easy with myself right now. I have to fill my basket carefully with strips that are colorful and meaningful.

In the most simplest terms....

"It's not you, it's me."

...slowing down

2014-11-05T22:31:00.000-06:00

This is my fourth day into the "time change". Not only did the clocks "fall" back an hour on Saturday night, but my capacity to behave in a sensible manner decided to "fall" back into an abyss. Yep, it's happened again. I am on the bat shit crazy bus, but this time I'm driving. Halloween turned into a season and I didn't know it!!! You no longer trick or treat one night for 3 hours. It's a week long event now. It's a fucking season...like Christmas season. WTF???? Halloween was the last holiday that the Divas and the SBF had not ruined for me. The SBF doesn't celebrate shit that's on a calendar. So, I'm the Holiday Cheerleader. I allowed the Divas to pick their costumes, I painted costumes, I bought bits of pieces and shit and made them happy. By the third day of dressing three Divas in full costume, I
decided I hated Halloween. I did not come as the cute little witch with the "witch and fabulous" apron at Miss B's Halloween party. I came as something better..something real. I came as the tired, unshowered mother with store bought fruit already cut up and in the container it was packaged in. I did not tap into my pinterest loving creative side. I tapped into the "keeping it real" side. And you know what...the world did not come to an end. The kids had fun and that's all that mattered. I even shared with everyone that I had not showered that day.

As I walked into the house this afternoon and the Divas were fighting, I caught myself wanting to go look in the mirror and cry. You know...one of those hard cries where snot runs into your mouth and you don't bother to wipe it. This kind of cry is only good for me if I can look at myself in the mirror...weird shit...I know. The behavior is so disturbing, but comical at the same time. I almost feel like I'm not the one crying when I look at myself in the mirror. It's like I'm acting. FYI: I'm a damn good actor when I'm crying. Unfortunately, I took a xanie and I can't cry when I take xanies. I have tried to cry only to sit and wait and wait. My medication renders me "cryless". Ha!! So, there will be no Oscar handed out tonight over my stellar performance of sobbing into a mirror. Instead, I have chosen to blog. Blogging has proven to be more healing than my meds.

What has brought on this sense of hysteria.....just plain ole life shit. Nothing really special and thank goodness nothing really bad. I have seen really bad before and that shit is no joke. Maybe it started with Miss B.'s obsession with midgets. For at least an hour everyday, I have to answer questions about midgets. She is horrified of them and I don't know why. I can't seem to find out where she learned this term. All I know is that she has a never ending list of questions for me:

Where do they live?
What do they eat?
How do they pay for their stuff if there is not a stool around?
What kind of cars do they drive?
If they grow their hair long, will it touch their butt?
Do they have regular size babies?
Do they have special powers since you they are special?

Let me put it in conversation for you.

Me: "They don't have special powers. They are just like you and me." Miss B: "I just saw a midget house" Me: "No you didn't." Miss B; "Yes, I did. It was little"
Miss B: "I just saw a dog or a midget." Me: "You saw a dog." Miss B: "It could have been a midget because it was short and brown."

I want the world to know that I am not trying to offend anyone by using the term "midget". I have struggled over the appropriate term for what is turning into an every day topic. Should we use "dwarfism" or "little people" in our house? I feel like I'm failing Miss B. Why can't she just get it like she gets the fact that her cousins are all colors of the rainbow? So, I have been carrying that monkey on my back. I am doing an injustice. We teach the Divas that all people are created equal and are special. I am walking around with this guilt of not being socially correct and not taking the time to research this problem in our house. Why don't I have the time for something so important in her life......

Homework, car rider line, after school activities, work, church, friends, family, the Divas etc. My oldest Diva got in the car and informed me she learned how to "tongue" which caused me to black out. After asking her to repeat the word 10 times, she informed me that "tongue" was a band term. My middle Diva asked me what begins with "F" and ends in "uck"..........."firetruck". Before running off and laughing, she informed me that she knew I was going to say the "F" word. My language has not been the best lately. "WHAT SHIT WHAT" has become the go to phrase that I ask Miss B during her numerous temper tantrums. I have even resorted to pretending to check their homework. I stay in the car during their extracurricular activities. Asshat has become my favorite word during car rider line. Seriously, I have tried to shake my steering wheel off in car rider line because "Susie" can't get "Jimmy" out the car fast enough. "Susie" does not prep her child 2 miles before and have him unbuckled and almost out the door at the drop off location. No, that does not make sense in Susie's world. Susie is going to wait until the last minute and hold up the whole damn line of parents trying to get somewhere. Susie is going to hand Jimmy his backpack, lunchbox and instrument case...one at a time. Then kiss him goodbye and watch him walk in. The other day I sat behind a "Susie" that just sat in her car. No child ever got out. I swear...I never saw a child exit the vehicle. She just stopped her car in line for 2 minutes. Two minutes in car rider line is an eternity. When, she drove off and I realized that no child got out. I wanted to run engage in a high speed car chase. Here's another one...the "Susies" that think you are cutting line and won't let you in. They literally try to rear end each other just to keep one car from getting ahead of them. They even have the nerve to tell you to go to the back of the line at which time I have to mouth "fuck you. let me in."....then Susie's face turns red and I flip her off and my ears turn red and then I promise to hunt Susie down and challenge her to a street fight. I spend at least 4 hours a day waiting to transport children back and forth. I try my best to remain considerate of others, but I swear there is a generation of parents out there that don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. It's the weirdest shit ever. What happened to sharing, kindness, and fucking manners and shit? Have we become a world so self absorbed into making our life comfortable and the lives of our children that we ride around oblivious to others?

AND....What's up with all of the competition to one up each other. Public service announcement: the types of parties I throw, the items I make, the ways I decorate my house, the clothes I wear, the things I volunteer for...don't have shit to do with Susie. I'm not competing with Susie because in my world...I am always winning. Hell, I won a long time ago...right around the time I stopped giving a shit about what other people had or how they were living their life. I can say this...I am one of the best type of friends to have because I am so busy with my life that I don't have the need to judge your

life. People tell me shit all of the time and I totally forget about it...it passes through me. I hear it in that instance and offer assistance, but I don't have room to judge or analyze it. When some of my friends approach me with information and say "Don't tell anybody". I always tell them "Don't worry. I won't remember it tomorrow." I am not offering up this information to boast. I am offering this information up as a coping mechanism to the basic bitches or "Susie's". I see them multiplying each day and I am afraid. They are afraid people are cutting them in car rider line. They make snide remarks if you don't have your children in certain clothes. They jump at the opportunity to tell you that their child outscored your child. They love to tell you how you are not doing shit right. They look at the ring on your finger as soon as they meet you to decide where you fit in the socioeconomic scale. Guess what Susie....my ring does not say shit about my marriage.

Speaking of marriage....that shit is hard. There are good days and really shitty days and then good days and then some pretty fucked up days. Shout out to everyone that is married, that wants to be married, and that has tried marriage. I love the SBF. Do I wish we could break up sometimes...hell yes? Just last night I was at a public event surrounded by people and the SBF called and hung up in my face twice. I had to pretend I was still talking to him both times it happened because people were around. As I rushed home, I thought about the things I would do to get him back. Confession: One time, I threw his pencils away in the garbage can outside because he screamed at me for no reason. When he asked me if I had touched them, I pretended like I was appalled at the accusation. "Is this where we are in our marriage now? You are accusing me of taking time to steal your pencils? Pencils? Really, our marriage has come to pencils?" The joy I felt over the act was wonderful and crazy at the same time, but so is love and marriage. So, I took the two hang ups in the face and "charged them to the game".

Right now I feel like I am at crossroad with humanity and insanity. I really fucking care about people. I really want the world to be a better fucking place for everyone. I love the shit out of the Divas and the SBF. I love giving back to the community. Those three things define me. They are the hard, but they make me feel alive. If I was meeting with my shrink and she asked what was wrong, I would say "the usual". The Divas are "life suckers". the SBF is a "dream killer", and I am a "volunteer whore". She would ask me "What can you give up or change to make it better?" and I would say "nothing". We always have an awkward silence that follows and I promise to try to slow down and do more for myself and say "no".

I had one hour of free time today....one fucking hour and I used that hour to catch up on volunteer stuff. I rushed into Office Depot and literally ran up and down the aisle grabbing items. I made my way to the check out counter to find my buddy waiting on me. Yep...I have a love/hate relationship with the little old man who works the check out counter at Office Depot. When I saw him, I took a deep breath and released a long "shiiiiiitttttttt" under my breath. I know this old man very well. He is painfully slow and very thorough. Today, he was wearing a Christmas hat. I prayed for the patience needed to get through yet another transaction with my old buddy. It never fails that he knows I am in a hurry and he could give zero shits about my sense of urgency. He slowly scans every item at least 5 times and even talks to some of my items. Today, he paused for a second because he had a phone call. He said "Hold on just a second. This may be my wife calling." I stood there and tried not to burn him with the lasers in my eyes. He was oblivious. Then something came over me.....Holy Hell, I was slowing down. I was breathing. I was still. Something happened as I watched his hands shake while holding the phone. I was present. I spend so much of my day holding my breath and rushing to the next destination that I don't consider "slowing down" an option. Hell at this point I would have to put "slowing down" on the calendar and there's no fucking room. Well, the old man finally hung up the phone and finished scanning my items. I was completely calm and enjoying the moment. This old man makes me slow down every time I get in his check out line. He could care less if I am in a hurry. He normally makes an off colored remark like "you got a lotta them suckers running around"...suckers being the Divas. Well today, he helped me find the time to slow down on a day that I needed it the most.

He even insulted me at the end....It was raining horribly outside and I asked for a plastic bag. My old buddy: "You want a bag because of the rain. Well, here's a big bag for a big head. HeeHee." I burst into laughter and teared up. Laughter heals my soul. I crave it daily and I it was given to me in the form of a little old man with a Christmas hat on.

This blog was typed by a mommy to tired to edit
Excuse any errors

...I love my Louis Vuitton

2014-09-23T09:56:00.001-05:00

Every mother, every woman, shit.... every person in the world deserves a moment. A moment of sheer fucking delirious delight. A moment of insane happiness. A moment of unfiltered, uncensored, and selfish joy.

I had that moment just a few days ago and let me tell you....shit is addictive. I attended our local Junior Auxiliary Bash on Friday night with the SBF. We happened upon free tickets for my service on another board. So, I felt it was a sign to re-enter the world of Junior Auxiliary....at least as a bystander this time. I quit Junior Auxiliary last December. I was not a quitter at that point in my life. I was an "all balls in" kinda of girl. Well, I was in charge of the silent auction for the 2013 JA Ball. Real talk...I lost my shit and quit. I put all of my time, effort, energy, and eggs into one basket and dropped that basket. The auction was successful. We raised money for the children in the community, but I never bounced back. So, I quit and the heavens opened up.

The light at the end of the tunnel warmed my face and I said good bye to my friends and an organization that I hold dear to my heart. If I can't give someone my best, I don't give them any of me. This is not always good. This has lead to outrageous fucking birthday parties for the Divas, sprinkling powder on the floor for Easter Bunny footprints, doing bizarre Elf on the Shelf shit, etc. I am currently working on finding my area of "grey".

Anyway, I entered the JA bash this past Friday with the SBF on my shoulder. And there he was....I blushed. I knew he would be there. I wanted him. I came for him. I tried to not make eye contact. I could hear the song "Take My Breath Away" coming from the speakers. I felt weak....a chocolate beauty was right before my eyes and it wasn't the SBF. It was a Louis Vuitton bag being raffled off for $10 tickets. A $1650 bag bought in the flagship store in Paris was right before my eyes. I approached the table with the SBF. All, I could manage to say to him is "give me all of your cash." That asshat quickly replied "I only brought $20 bucks". I could have slapped the dog shit out of the dream killer I married. A lady had purchased $100 worth of tickets and all I could manage to do was $20. I could have stabbed him. I snatched the $20, bought my 2 tickets, and decided I would visit the ATM to get more cash after I ditched the SBF at the bar.

Well, the wine went in and my cares went out. I got to visit with dear friends, enjoy good food, and dance a little. All was well in the world. Until, I noticed it was time for them to draw for the Louis. I almost had a panic attack watching the slips of paper being tossed around. I downed my wine to help ease my anxiety. I couldn't take it. I literally wanted to shit myself. I know it's wrong to pray for material items. But damnit...I prayed.

The next thing I know...I heard the MC say" oh my gosh. I can't believe it...Timeka Davis".

http://youtu.be/ABwNzW9qQxg

Black out. Black the fuck out. Screaming. Running. Tossed my wristlet and cell phone. For 45 minutes, I jumped and screamed...not even a cute scream. It was like a roar of a wounded bear. I couldn't stop it. It was my Price is Right moment. I jumped. I jumped up and down in a maxi dress with no spanx. So, I'm pretty sure my ass was literally "clapping" with the audience. I hugged strangers.

I have never been able to not contain myself. Let me rephrase. I was not shit faced wasted and unable to control myself. I was sober for the most part. I did whatever my body would allow. I won a LV bag and for one second I felt like Beyoncé. Then, I said a "bitch please" and I felt like just "Timeka Davis". Not Timeka the mommy, the wife, the volunteer, the audiologist, the PTO president.....just me.

Side note: the SBF was making his way down the stairs when they called my name. He assumed my name was being announced because I was getting kicked out. He heard "Timeka Davis" and thought "I can't take this bitch no where. She's always acting up".

I screamed all the way home. I swear I screamed out while sleeping that night. I couldn't wait to show the Divas. I was so happy. I woke up the next morning and the sun was coming in and I heard in my head the song lyrics..."It's a new dawn, it's a new day and I'm feeling...."

The Divas walked into the door and I told them to sit down. Mommy has something to show them. They looked at the bad and said "neat". Miss B started opening the box and messing with the shopping bag. This bitch was searching for her "happy". I informed them I had nothing to offer them as a gift. This was just for me.

I asked them to take a picture of my prize. It took about 20 takes and finally I was like screw it. Miss B was hungry. I could have kicked her ass off the bed for a second. All of the Divas were like "oh, cool. I'm hungry". For one second, I wanted to shout out.."But, I have a "Louie" dammit."

I love my "Louie". I look over at him and squeal. I try my best to not get caught up in the material world. I try not to get lost in the "name brand" obsession. But, there are a few things that mommy likes...Frye Boots, Louis Vuitton Bags, Tom Ford sunglasses, Free People, Tory Burch flats, and Nars cosmetics. These items speak to me. They are my little pick me ups. They don't increase my self worth. They don't put me in a certain social or financial category. It's just shit that I like. The items speak to me. They don't tell me that I'm a better person or that I'm beautiful. I can feel drop dead fucking gorgeous in a Target dress. They are accents to me.

Let it be known that I could never afford to buy a LV bag, but I am damn sure exited about winning one. The purse costs more than what we spent on my engagement ring in 2001. Ha!! I like some

nice things. I don't need a lot of nice things. I'm a weird mix of things. I am the owner of a LV bag that costs more than my wedding band and engagement ring. And I covet my ring and band. They are a part of me. They represent who we were and still are today. I would never upgrade my rings. I am currently in my office at work aka as a previous closet with 10,000 gnats flying around. They are flying all around "my Louie". Ha!! That's some keeping it real shit.

I still have to sit an hour in car rider line. I still have to go home and help with homework. The carpets in our bedrooms are for sure health code violations. My walls and house are still full of items I have painted, repaired, repainted, bought at Goodwill, etc. Miss B is still gonna place her hand that smells like "ass" on my shoulder to whisper in my ear that she's afraid of midgets. For the last couple of days, the carpet doesn't seem so dirty, and Miss B's hand doesn't smell that bad. Maybe, it's because I keep my "Louie" in sight to remind me that I got to experience just being "me" for a moment.

Confession: sometimes I think just hearing my name called was right up there with winning the purse! It's weird and crazy. But I have replayed winning and how it felt over and over again. If I could bottle that feeling up, I would walk around spraying the shit outta people. It felt good. It was complete euphoria. The day I won my purse. I found out the two oldest Divas won an art contest at their local dentist's office. I was so happy for them. They worked so hard. They deserved to be recognized. I even accepted their winning as a win for me. I felt maybe those were the ways I would receive my pats on the backs and my high fives. I was ready to accept being their cheerleader. Their sideline mommy. My days of "winning just for me" were over. I was winning every day through them.

Then I won a Louis just for me......

And my world changed a little and I let go of those BB feelings. Giggle

Bruh...this purse is nice as hell. For real, for real.

...Back from Sabbatical

2014-09-11T12:48:00.001-05:00

Yes! I am still among the living. I have missed blogging. I have missed being able to share the ins and outs of my everyday life. So, what the hell happened....."Well, it goes a little bit something like this..." (cue some rap music). I went on a sabbatical. I would love to lie to you and I say I spent the summer walking the streets of a little town in Italy...painting, tasting wine, and shit. I spent the summer with the Divas. I spent every waking second with the Divas. We took two family vacations to the beach. Destin and I got back together and I found a new lover...Hilton Head. It's something about the beach that just makes shit better. I don't know if it was the fact that I started drinking Mimosas at 10 am everyday or what, but watching the Divas frolic in the sand made life better. I even found time to read a book!!!! Holy hell...The Valley of the Dolls. I was living the life......

Then, I realized that around mid July that our vacations were over and I had nothing to do with these broads for the next month. So, the madness of play dates, sleep overs, parties, and pool time began. Four hour days at any restaurant that had an indoor playground became a norm. Instead of looking to Pinterest to find ways to entertain my sweet dear life suckers, I let them run free. They went to bed after midnight and woke up everyday around lunch time. They watched hours of television. One morning, the SBF woke me up to inform me that our oldest Diva was still up watching "Dr. Who"at 6 am. My response: "Wtf do you expect? She has 95 episodes recorded. And for the love of God don't ever wake me this early again." Oh, the SBF......the sexy bald fella became the son of a bitch father that would come home and give me "judging looks" every afternoon. Most days we were all still in our pjs and the house resembled a frat party minus the drugs and alcohol. I surrendered. I let them win. I didn't have the fight in me. They consumed every part of my day and because of that I LOST MY VOICE!!! I lost the ability to form sentences. The ability to think appropriate, normal thoughts. At my best, I could only concoct a slew of curse words and gestures. I wanted out of this bitch. I even found out there was a Monastery about 20 miles from where we live and I swear I wanted to check myself in. I started pulling out my old self help books for guidance only to be interrupted by Miss B screaming that once again her "asshole was itching" to which I would scream back "it's because you don't wipe it." Let me tell you, it is unnatural to invest every part of yourself into your children. It is not healthy. We are meant to raise them...not be them. I headed into a downward spiral of anger and resentment and guilt.

Oh, guilt is a bitch!!! I know I am blessed. I know so many women who have lost a child or would give everything to have just one child. And when I am at my lowest, I cry hard for those mothers and myself. It never fails, the tears finally stop and Miss B finds me in the closet trying to hide my breakdown and I look at her as she stands there rocking side to side. She smiles at me...that damn smile that gets me every fucking time. She draws me back in. I have always believed she was my "saving grace". She came at a time when my priorities were all screwed up and my marriage was not at it's best. She brought me back home. So, I look at her with tears still in my eyes and I smile. She rewards me with a play by play of a movie she's watching where a mommy and daddy are laying on top of each other kissing......Shit!!!!!!!!!!

Well, the light at the end of the tunnel has surfaced. My "permanent resting bitch" face is starting to fade. What changed...my meds, a vacay to a remote island, a nanny, or a housekeeper???? Nope!

Back to School Bitches!!!! I know some moms groan at the idea of routine and homework, but at this stage in our life...WE NEED ROUTINE! WE NEED TO GET THE HELL AWAY FROM EACH OTHER FOR AT LEAST 6 HOURS A DAY! They have been in school for three weeks so far and I have come to the realization that I think my ass went through a minor state of depression. Seriously! I go to a shrink. I love my shrink. I should know the signs by now. Over the summer, I had to cancel two appointments because I did not want to take all 3 Divas with me. My middle Diva tagged along for one visit and walked away fine. I couldn't risk it. So, I got into a fucking funk. The end.

I have an appointment scheduled next month along with a list of shit that we need to discuss and I can't fucking wait. To have someone just sit and listen to you talk about your problems and never once mention what they are going through is unbelievable. Someone to confess all of your shit to and not judge you...amazing!! We live in a world of texts, emails, Facebook, Twitter, group chats, etc. I love social media. I love being able to "like" pics, casually comment on something, and even get into a full on Facebook fight which results in me threatening to bend over and shit lava on the face of the person that made such a ridiculous comment. But, I realized the other day that I go days without "really talking to someone...verbally...like out loud" that is an adult. I crave conversation and contact that is not in typed words all of the time. I crave deep conversations full of laughter and soul shattering shit. Lately, I imagine these wonderful morning conversations with my mother. If she were still here, I imagine her calling right when I am dropping the last Diva off and we talk for an hour. I imagine her asking me "How are you doing?". I know that may sound simple to some of you, but I'm not talking about the casual "How are you?" I am referring to the "How are you?" that is checking up on my soul...my mental state...my well being. The experience is so foreign to me that when I do have a friend ask me "How are you?" I don't know what the fuck to tell them. In my mind, I find myself saying "Shit, how am I? I am okay...right? Oh shit, is something wrong?" Ha!!!

The only way I can find peace with this longing or void is through the three little girls that I am raising. I am blessed to have the Divas. I often imagine phone calls where their kids are screaming like fucking morons and the Divas are silently crying because "Bobby" keeps pulling at his penis and "Sarah" said "eat shit" during church. I will listen proudly as they tell me that "Tommy" scored 100 on his spelling test and their husband just got promoted. And after all of that...I will ask them "But, how are you doing?" Sounds all sweet and sappy and "circle of life" kind of shit....right? PAUSE...For the last week, the excitement of school has worn off. The Divas wake up in shitty moods and move at a snail's pace which requires me to scream and threaten the most awful things. As, I rush them to three different schools and they whine about the clothes I bought them, the sun is in their eyes, and whatever else they can imagine to complain about....I imagine a completely different conversation with these selfish bitches.

I imagine them calling me and I don't pick up because I am enjoying a glass of wine after strolling the streets of a little town in Italy. Giggle. So stay tuned folks!!! I have found the yellow brick road. I am slowly but surely putting myself back together. I am finding my voice again.

And warning (in the low voice they use on "those" commercials) this post or future posts may not be suitable for "Basic Bitches" aka BB's.

BB's that rat other mommies out for cutting line in carpool.
BB's that judge mommies for dropping their kids off at bible study and leaving to go have a drink.
BB's that think PTA mommies don't work.
BB's that judge mommies for sticking their feet out the window during an hour wait in carpool line.
BB's that compete with each other.
BB's that tell mommies who ride around in ridiculous masks with their children that they have too much time on their hands.
BB's who think private school is the only way.
BB's that judge mommies and their children who have complete fucking breakdowns in public.
BB's that ask mommies who have rushed to get to a girl's night out..."what do you have on?"
BB's that judge mommies for letting their kids stick their heads out the sunroof while at a standstill in a parking lot during carpool.
BB's that judge mommies for confessing that they lost their child one time and caused a mad search only to realize they never got the child out of the car.
And last but not least, the BB's who will find my use of the word "bitch" highly offensive because I have three daughters...yada, yada, yada and these BB's will judge me for it...because "judging" is always better than saying "bitch". Giggle

Namaste, Bitches!

...Happy Mother's Everyday

2014-05-07T07:43:00.001-05:00

Mother's Day is approaching and I want to get right to the nitty gritty. I have needed to blog so badly, but unfortunately I have been hidden in a dark world called mommy trafficking. I know I will get eye rolls with comparing my role as a mother to some form of trafficking, but I am going to have to enlighten you today with what we call in our house "real talk". For example..."Real talk: I may just punch a mother fucker out very soon." Note: real talk will not allow me to ** out my curse words. So, proceed with caution. FYI: the recipient of my punch out will not be an innocent bystander, but a bitch that has been given a pass one too many times. And by bitch I am referring to a male or female.

Back to Mother's Day, I was reading an article today that asked people to nominate their mothers as the "best mother" or some shit. As I was reading some of the submissions, I realized that I wanted to be fucking nominated. I wanted to nominate my own damn self. I didn't want the Divas or the SBF to nominate me because they don't know me. They have no fucking clue about who I really am. They don't know my cares, fears, dreams, and desires. They think I am bat shit crazy and I am suppose to grant their every wish and desire. Silly rabbits...they live in a delusional world. They have not seen the late nights where I have watched them breath, prayed for them to be healed, cried over their troubles, stitched up their clothes, prayed for strength to keep trying, and contemplated whether my meds should be doubled. Who can tell my story better than me? I know all of the ins and outs, all of the shits and fits. How can I expect them to be able to properly relay the fact that I continue to try to do my very best while they continue to act like fucking morons??? I want more than one fucking day dedicated to mothers because nowadays people celebrate their fucking birthdays an entire month. All month they focus on themselves for just being born. Shit...really? How about I celebrate every fucking day...the decision to grow something that fed on my body and continues to shit on me everyday. Yikes...was that too harsh? Sorry...real talk is a bitch sometimes.

So, I have been thinking about what I would write to deem myself necessary of such an honor. I came up with the following: I would like to receive a spa package because Miss B shit herself five times in one day and once in the tub last week and I took it like a pro. I would like to receive a gym membership because my middle Diva told me that my boobs looked like pickles while I was attempting to try on clothes for an upcoming Vegas trip. Fucking pickles....really??? Miss B added that they were "bumply" like pickles. I just stared off into space while all three of them bent over to see if their boobs looked like pickles. I said nothing. I did not scream "they look like pickles because I breastfed all three of you ungrateful bitches". What I did instead was bend over in front of the SBF about ten times all while sobbing "but they do look like pickles". I want a gift certificate to my favorite retail store because I got bitched at by the SBF for spending money....on get this...his damn children. Guess what happens to most children...they grow every 2 months and need new clothes. Then, the seasons change and they need more clothes. And in Mississippi it's 37 degrees one week and 80 degrees the next which leaves a mother little time to crawl up in the fucking attic to get down 18 rubber maid containers of hand me downs.

I would like to receive a years supply of my favorite wine because I have spent endless hours reading some horrific shit on google trying to cure an ailment or behavior. I would also like to receive a getaway package because the getaways I have taken for myself in the past have resulted in me feeling guilty and undeserving. The getaways....where instead of drinking and passing out...I tried to remind myself that I was a mother....blah blah. The getaways....where the first two days involved me sitting numb in a corner or sleeping because I was too fucking tired from every day life to enjoy my getaway. I would like a parade also. A parade where I walk down the road looking all cute and shit and people yell my name and I wave at them. They even scream "you rock", "you the shit", and so forth. The Divas yell my name 1000 100 times a day and it's usually to get me to do something for them or tell me that I didn't do something for them and because I respond 75% of the time...I want a damn parade. I see a Mother's Day parade in the future. Get ready...bitches!!!

Since I am ranting, I would like to address the community. It would be unfair to paint a picture that the perps in mommy trafficking are only the Divas and the SBF. Oh no, it's some mommies, and daddies, and community leaders, and volunteers that have helped contribute to my anguish over my motherly duties. I would like to have my next two therapy sessions paid for because there are some shitty mommies and daddies out there. I am addressing the "mean greens" that have produced little assholes that are creating havoc in my home. I have had to exercise too much of my so called love and goodwill to all mankind lately. Real talk, I want to stop you in the carpool line and tell you to kiss my ass or better yet kick your headlights out while I scream "Get your shit together. We are raising the future, you son of a fucker!!" Note: the son of a fucker instead of mother fucker because it's Mother's Day. I would like a massage because I have volunteered too many times only to end up being used and abused. I'm not referring to the times where I have taken on more than I can handle. I am referring to the times where people seem to ask me to do all kinds of shit for them like I don't have anything better to do. Often times, these requests involve free fucking labor of some sort.

I would like my cellphone bill paid for three months because I have sent out numerous texts, emails, and phone calls that people seem to ignore. Let this be known...all mothers are busy. If a mother takes the time out to contact you for any reason, please do her a favor and respond within a week. Don't let the mother walk around feeling like she is crazy because she's constantly checking for a response or wondering if she ever even initiated contact. I only have time to stalk my kids not other bitches. I would like a manicure because I have burned myself on hot glue guns trying to create shit for a party, sliced my finger from cutting up fresh fruit to send to class, or watched my fingers cramp up from writing notes, typing up minutes, signing checks etc. Volunteering and being a mother are both thankless jobs. So, why do I do it?? I don't fucking know. I guess I want the world to be a better place. I want to do my part.

I could write an essay about how to be a good volunteer, how to treat a volunteer, how to be a quitter and how not to end up as member of a "strategically put together mommy mafia". There is nothing like spending your excess free time doing shit for free only to find yourself telling your husband that you are going to "fuck that bitch up at the next meeting." I would like a designated parking space at the local Kroger because I have tried to educate our community leaders instead of going on a "shit throwing streak". Real talk: don't fuck with my rights. I am a leader of a small tribe in my house...you don't want a war...you don't want these problems. Funny, how I wished for a designated Kroger parking space and 95% of my Kroger purchases are for other people.

So that's it folks. You just read a little real talk mommy essay entry for a Best Mommy Contest. I know I am blessed. I am thankful. I know shit could be worse. I have seen worse. I have seen good as well. I have seen miracles and beauty. I have seen a love transpire that I did not know was humanly possible. I have also seen a five year old go ape shit because she couldn't find her pink scrunchie. With the good comes the bad. Both sides have to be acknowledged. It's hard out there for a mommy. If I were ever in a Miss Mommy Pageant and the judged said to me "Mommy Davis, what is your motto? I would so eloquently say "Do no harm, but take no shit."or better yet "Mommy Davis, what's a mother?" I would recite the following:

***drops mic and exits to the left***

Happy Mother's Day to all of us not just this Sunday, but every fucking day.

..."F**k it. It's spring break."

2014-03-16T21:25:00.000-05:00

I grew up spending many of my spring breaks engrossed in the "MTV Spring Break" series. I would spend all day watching young people dance, party, and enjoy life to the fullest. Well, I would like to take this moment to thank MTV for giving me such a false sense of what would become "my reality". I envisioned graduating high school, going to college, and spending my spring break participating in debauchery at it's finest. BULLSHIT...In college, I was in the minority called "broke as shit". So, I
spent my spring breaks either working or sleeping. I felt somewhat cheated, but I saw light at the end
of the tunnel. I graduated college and moved on to graduate school. Well, I was even more broke. Dammit!!! I still held on to hope. I graduated, got married, and entered the workforce. Hallelujah!!! I had money and the SBF to party with. MEXICO...here we come. BULLSHIT...I didn't know that you had to have shit called "personal leave" that you had to accumulate. So, I patiently saved my "personal leave to rock out with my cock out"...only to use every damn hour I banked on the first Diva. F**K!!! What the hell happened and I was broke again. F**K you MTV. F**K you.

I have been very fortunate over the last years to have a very flexible work schedule. So, when spring break hits...I'm all like..."woohoo, hell yeah!!! let's par-tay!!" It always fails to occur to me that these three little bitches will be so selfish that they only want to do shit that makes them happy. This year, I was faced with spending spring break without the SBF. So, I decided to get the hell out of dodge with the three Divas in tow. If we were going to fight, argue, and cry, we were not going to do it at home. A different environment would do us all some good. I began frantically searching for a "family friendly" location that I could drive too. Chattanooga, TN would be our spring break poison. I booked a Victorian train car to stay in, researched the town, and typed out an itinerary of activities. We were out this bitch!!! In hindsight, I am thankful that a friend offered to tag along with her four year old son.

The day before we left, my OCD was in full force. I had stocked the cooler with grapes, orange slices, chocolate milk, Coke Zeros, water bottles, and mickey mouse shaped cheese slice. I spent hours packing ziploc bags of homemade chex mix and popcorn. I had a "treat" bag full of Dollar Tree shit as a reward for the obvious good behavior I expected. Each Diva had their clothes placed in labeled ziploc bags. I had gathered every DVD we owned. I HAD MY SHIT TOGETHER. I went to bed at 3 am. It was all good though...Girls Trip Spring Break 2014!!

I woke up 30 minutes before the time of departure. F**K!!! I stumbled through the house and managed to get everyone dressed and in the car by 8:30 am. Not bad...we were just an hour or so behind schedule. By the time I arrived to pick up my friend and her son, I was already regretting not having bathed in coffee. Needless to say...by the time we left our town , we were all like f**k the schedule. We ran errands, grabbed coffee, and embarked on our journey. A five hour drive somehow turned into an 8 or 9 hour drive. I didn't take into account the piss breaks and having to feed the kiddos. We found the cutest little pizza place in Alabama and watched the kiddos draw the most wonderful pictures with chalk. We smiled at them while we sipped our adult beverages and all seemed right with the world. I felt like a hipster. Never mind that we had gotten lost numerous times and we were using a GPS, the kids were laughing and everyone knows laughter is good for the soul. We finished our lunch in better spirits. We beckoned the children to get ready to leave and they stood up with chalk all over them from head to f**king toe. Holy hell....f**k chalk. It looked like they had literally rolled around in the shit. Despite our efforts to clean them, we gave up and told them to get their dirty asses in the car. So what if they look like shit when we arrived..."F**k it. It's spring break".

"Fuck it. It's spring break" became the mantra for the trip. You want to drink four cokes in the car..."F**k it. It's spring break." You don't want to eat dinner. You don't want to take a bath. You want to watch TV until midnight. You want to stop wearing socks. You want to eat 8 suckers in one sitting. You sharted and need to change your undies. Sure...go ahead..."F**k it. It's spring break." For three days, we went to bed after midnight and scrambled to breakfast rocking robes and sunglasses 30 minutes before closing. We toured the cute little city and let the children do basically whatever would keep them from calling our names. Did they have the times of their lives?? Hell yes. Were there dark times? Hell yes.

Good Times Take 1: They loved the room and the hotel. Staying in an actual train car was splendid to them. Downtown Chattanooga was beautiful, clean, and safe.

Darkness Take 1: The oldest Diva had a massive nosebleed as soon as we entered the first aquarium. FYI: I could give a shit about aquariums and museums, but this trip was not about my wants and desires. The nosebleed resulted in her vomiting up blood clots in the bathroom. I snarled at a couple of parents that had the nerve to stare at us like we were a circus act. Someone must have finally reported us because a sweet old lady came in to help. I assured her that it looked a lot worse than it was. I assured her that I myself had nosebleeds so bad that finally I had to have a vein cauterized. The bitch was not convinced and decided to sneak off for backup.

Darkness Take 2: I went into survival mode and shoved a tampon up the oldest Diva's nose. I felt quite proud of my ability to improvise until a f**king medic came in with a bag and blue gloves. She looked stunned and I glared back like "bitch don't judge me." She kindly removed the tampon and replaced it with gauze. At that point, I looked at myself and thought as usual....WTF was I doing with my life????? I was wearing a leather jacket, a backpack, and Sperry's. Perfect spring break attire.....FOR A MOTHER!!! I wiped the blood off of my jacket, fixed my hair, put my lipstick on, and told myself...no matter what..."MAMA, STILL GOT IT!"

Darkness Take 3: By the time we caught up with our crew, I was damn near delirious. I had dry heaved several times. I was hungry. I was tired. I kissed my oldest Diva on the forehead, gave her a big hug, and decided to replace her bloody t-shirt ASAP. I should not have entered the gift shop in the shape I was in. My guard was down. My nerves were bad. So, we bought t-shirts, coffee mugs, snow globes, butterfly house shoes, pink ass turtles, and plastic cups shaped as "soda bottles". When the guy told me the total, I politely whispered..."What the f**k?" The amount I spent in that gift shop was obscene. "F**k it. It's spring break." The rest of our trip was a blur. We went to an IMAX movie on Sharks and the middle Diva informed me she was not there to watch an educational movie and took her ass to sleep.

Darkness Take 4: We made it to a cave, took a tour, saw a big ass waterfall, and went to dinner. As we sat down for dinner and ordered our adult beverages, the cute waiter informed me that my trunk was open. Shit!! I stood up and closed it from inside of the restaurant while sipping my Kumquat Mojito. I ignored the complaints of the food being nasty. I lost my appetite after everyone had to go take a shit during dinner!! The waiter kindly approached us with the check and in unison he was asked by the mothers of this lively crew.."Can we get a to go cup?" He was shocked and I was all like "I'm serious!" Our pleas for him to sneak us cups fell upon deaf ears. He did offer me a to go box at which point I asked if he was prepared to look away as I poured my drink in it and slammed a straw through the top. We left empty handed.

Darkness Take 5: We returned to our little humble abode and as promised, the crew got dressed to go frolic in the heated indoor swimming pool. It was 10:30 pm. The pool closed at 11 pm, but I was told that as long as you were quite...you could swim. Wink. Wink. I watched them skip to the pool. Three out of four jumped in and the gates of heaven opened up. At 11:05, the maintenance man entered the area and told us to get out of the pool. I stated I was told by Joy at the front desk that we could swim no matter the time as long as we were quiet. His response: "Ma'am. I gotta treat this pool. Y'all gone have to come back." I had to drag three crying children out of the water, wrap towels around them, and look at their "you failed us" faces. Two security guards entered. The first guard informed me that the treatment in the water could eat them alive. The second guard informed me that the pool closed at 11 pm and it was already 11:10 pm. I responded "No shit sherlock" and guided the crushed souls out of the pool. By the time we arrived to our train car, I had kindly relayed a "don't give me shit about this pool. I'm sorry, but you can swim another time." They went to bed with broken hearts and I searched for a bottle.

Good Times Take 2: We scurried to breakfast on our last day and their was a wonderful buffet of all you can eat. Despite the chaos at times, there was a sense of sadness while eating breakfast. Miss B stated she did not want to leave. They were laughing and smiling and my heart felt full. Did we do everything on the itinerary? Hell no. It didn't matter to them. They were on spring break and they were happy.

Darkness Take 6: The ride home was a little stressful. Miss B had developed a notion of entitlement and whined and fussed the majority of the drive home. It was cold and windy as hell. I drove 85 mph most of the way because the "F**k it. It's spring break" mantra had morphed into "shut the f**k up. you whiny little bitch". I didn't realize how stressed I was until I asked the drive thru lady at Hardee's to please take my plastic cup from my car and throw it away. She refused before I could really finish my sentence. I blacked out for a second and came to with me throwing the cup on the ground right in front of her and all of the innocent eyes in the car. Holy hell...mama littered.

Darkness Take 7: The Divas and I arrived home and I told them to GET OUT!!! For the first time ever, I left every thing in the car...snacks, cooler, and luggage. I wanted to distance myself away from the shit in that car.

Good Times Take 3: I watched them cuddle their turtles. I listened to Miss B beg to return. She even asked me if I would make a vacation book for this trip. The last one, I made was for our Cozumel trip and she was so proud to take it for her Share Day. I spent five hours creating a photo book with little sayings and poems.

Darkness Take 8: The bitches have barely looked at the book. Miss B stated she didn't want to take it to school anymore and she wants a toy from Wal-Mart.

Darkness Take 9: My father sent me a text two days after our arrival home informing me that my grandmother died

Good Times Take 4: I drove back to my hometown to meet with my family over the death of my grandmother. We put the "fun" in dysfunctional. There were tears, but there was also laughter. Funny, how death can bring a family together. Our family has experienced quite a few deaths over the years and from it we have developed a weird sense of humor to deal with the loss of a loved one. When a family member threatened to jump in the casket, we laughed and threatened to record it and throw dirt on her ass. When one relative described how another family member jumped on top of my grandmother and refused to believe she was dead because she was pulling her eyes open...I ached from laughing. One poor family member didn't even know she was dead. He walked in and sat down beside her thinking she was sleeping until a relative walked in screaming. We all have separate lives and issues in my family that prohibit us from getting together and getting along. But when we do find our ways back to each other, the antics that transpire are not only comical but therapeutic. We all have a common thread that is not just "blood"...it's the ability to accept that we all have yet to get our shit together and it's okay. We see it. We embrace it. We roll with it.

I spent the last two days of spring break in bed and un-showered. I zoned out on pinterest and took my sleeping pills early. My house is a wreck. There are American Girl dolls lined up across our fireplace. Someone is crying because their American Girl doll just got voted off the island. Five baskets of laundry are scattered through out the house. The Divas have eaten an insane amount of food and snacks. We can't figure out where the piss smell is coming from. I have informed them that I am no longer here to provide their every wants and desires in the world. So, I welcome the end of spring break even though it will bring back the routine of school, homework, dance class, music class, work, meetings, and now a funeral.

Do I feel cheated....HELL NO!! I wouldn't change a thing.."It was the best of times, it was the worst of times". You cannot have the good without the bad. You cannot have the darkness without the light. Accepting my life with the simple notion of "it is what it is" has allowed me to grow, to love, to laugh, and to be happy. Cheers to all of the parents in car pool line tomorrow. I will have my Bailey's in my coffee and shaking my pill bottle to "Happy" by Pharrell as I bid the Divas farewell!!!

...Sex, Race, Bullying and Breast Buds

2014-03-09T12:24:00.000-05:00

What the f**k have I been doing over the last month?? Well, let's just say there have been some serious PBS specials going on in the afternoon at the Davis household and not the good ole message filled PBS specials. These Parables of Bull Shit (PBS) have involved profanity, name calling, crying, gasping for air and death threats. Yep, we have been keeping it classy.

Sex has become an ongoing topic in our house since the "talk" with the two oldest Divas. They love to ask me questions that cause me to choke at random moments when I am at peace with the world.

The oldest Diva: I read there is a woman with 20 children. Did she have sex 20 times? That's so gross.
Me in my head: Pretty sure she is having a lot of sex, but I can't say this. Maybe, I need to let her believe that every time a person has sex they will get pregnant and that sex is gross.
Me: Yes. She has had sex 20 times.
The oldest Diva: So, you and dad have had sex at least three times.
Me in my head: WTF is wrong with her??
Me: Yes at least three times. I don't keep count.
Me in my head: SHIT!!!! What did I just say to her?? What message am I sending? I think she does this shit on purpose just to see my startled response that I try to hide from her.

She then proceeds to skip off like everything is just fine and dandy. I secretly want to get stoned, but I learned in college that getting high and going to the hospital is not good for me. So, I just stare off into space and wonder how I will make it through the years. Miss B knows my soul. She can sense when I am in turmoil about something because that little bitch walked right into the kitchen and said "Can I see a picture of your dead mother? What was her name again?". I just look at this beautiful

This should be a yoga pose called "Mamas trying to keep it classy"

child that I have been blessed to create for a couple of minutes with my mouth wide open. I literally want to do flips backwards out of the kitchen while screaming "Help me Jesus!" Instead, I proceed to pour a glass of Prosecco and pull out a photo album full of pictures of my dead mother. Times like this make me jealous of the sexy bald fella. I try to tell myself that it's not a conspiracy against me. I try to believe they don't get together in a room and say "Let's see what we can ask mama to make her take an extra pill, curse, and drink champagne". I also tell myself that they don't ask the SBF because he's a dumb ass...giggle. He's offered his commentary on certain topics many times in the past, but made sure to inform me that he will never discuss "BJs" with his daughters. Well, shit who else is going to do it. I'm not. They have a mother who thinks "road head" is the ultimate trump card, but I shall never let them know. I mean a mama has too keep it classy. Doesn't she?

On to Race....I may only go to church twice a year on Sundays (but we do go almost every Wednesday...giggle). I may drop the f bomb occasionally. I may flip the bird to strangers and friends in front of my children. BUT...I have engraved one truth I know for sure on each one of their souls...the color of someone's skin says nothing about them. I am very fortunate to come from a very blended past and present. So blended that the girls do not blink an eye at interracial dating or marriage. The SBF and I both dated outside of our race. The Davis's have friends of all races. There is no tolerance for racism. So when a little shit tells my middle Diva "he doesn't like black people. he's a racist", all hell breaks loose. I bypass "mama bear" and go straight to the "clown from the movie "It" by Stephen King". I want to f**k someone up. I know the world is not perfect. I know children repeat what they learn at home. I know this. I also know that silence will not change the world nor mold a child. One can hate math. One can hate Chinese food. One can hate RHOA. One can hate working out. One can hate anything, but the color of a person's skin. I live in Mississippi and struggle with some of the racial issues that are still present. I went to a college that is still fighting an image supported by racism. Hating a race is deplorable and will not be tolerated. I want to tell so many racist "sons of f**kers" to hate CANCER because that shit can kill ya. We need cancer to go away permanently. I have talked with the Divas. I have let my guard down and threatened to beat the shit out of the little boy's parents. I have offered to teach him. I have encouraged the middle Diva to take her lunch box and slap the little shit across the face...not one time, but many times. I know others may disagree with this advice. But little children that have no fear of allowing themselves to hate will grow up to be adults who will act on their ignorance because they never had a life changing moment to teach them better. The life changing moment may show itself through education, communication, or maybe an "ass whooping". If it works, I think the little shit deserves to take one for the team. The world will be a better place because of it.

You would think two weeks of sex and race would end this Parable of Bull Shit special, but not for us. This special just got picked up for another season starting right off with "bullying". First of all, I had the shit beat out of me until I was old enough to get a boyfriend. We moved around a good bit when I was younger. So, I was the "new girl" quite often. Well, let me tell you...."bitches don't like new girls." I was small, so I didn't learn how to fight with my fists. But, I learned how to spew balls of Hell fire out my mouth. My dear mother helped me with the language and even offered up "family secrets" of the bully to share. I did go back and reiterate very shameful things and got my ass whooped again, but finally I would come up with something so foul they would walk away. Some may look at this as a "not so shining" point in my childhood. I look at it as survival. Have I carried the propensity to read a bitch from the rooter to the tooter into my adult life...yes I have. BUT, I don't bite unless provoked. I am not sure how to teach the Divas to find balance, but I want them to stand up for themselves and each other. I guess the SBF finally had enough because just last week he told my middle Diva to tell a little shit to "GO TO HELL." The middle Diva is a lover not a fighter. She is a saint not a sinner. She is truly the salt of the Earth and I am not sure how she managed to end up in

I created this lovely pic on my lunch break. Nice?

this household. She gasped and almost collapsed at what the SBF told her to repeat. He toned it down some by stating tell him "MY DADDY SAID TO GO TO HELL!!" I chimed in with "make sure you whisper it in his ear." She was dumbfounded. Poor child. The other two Divas were present. The oldest Diva laughed with excitement and muttered something like "you are so lucky that you get to curse." Miss B just took it all in and calmly added "I don't like him" which translated in my head to "I would f**k him up if I could." I go back and forth with which is worse...mean boys or mean girls. Mean girls can cause some major damage and then the bitches grow up to be mean mommies. Through all of this, I have learned I am the mother that will tell a kid to "stay the f**k away from my child or endure a lifetime of anal leakage". Before you judge me, we teach a shit load of kind words. Manners are mandatory. Shut up is a bad word. I am not striving for an A+ in parenting. That is ridiculous and unattainable and not necessary for them to be functional, loving people. I just need to get shit right most of the time.

And last but not least....breast buds. Lucky for me, I get to discuss breast buds on a daily basis because of the book I introduced my Divas to. They couldn't take just one discussion and walk away pleased with the knowledge. Through several discussions and photo comparisons, I decided it was time to purchase a bra. I embarked on the bra journey with all three Divas to JCPenney. I am surprised we were not asked to leave the property. Three little girls in a dressing room is not healthy. Miss B spent most of the entire timing pulling her breast buds because she wanted them to grow. The middle Diva was sulking because she wanted a "bra-ra" as Miss B kept calling it. When Miss B proceeded to grab another Diva's breast bud, I decided to leave. Screaming "stop touching her breast buds" in a small dressing room is not a good look for a "normal" family. It took hours to pick out the right one...not because of fit, but because they are putting decorations and shit on "bra-ras". What the hell??? Some of them even snapped in the front. We walked away with 2...gray and hot pink. The hot pink almost killed me, but our choices were slim. The ladies checking us out laughed because I was nauseous and rocking back and forth. But, I did it. I can check that shit off my list for now.

I have come to realize that raising these three beautiful souls is one of the hardest and most important jobs I have. The rules change daily. The discussions are getting crazier. Their need to understand how this world works is growing daily. I have a long time to screw shit up and scar them for life. So, I have learned one thing...pick your failures cautiously because it's a long road ahead of us. My kids go to school looking like shit some days. I forget to show up for some school parties. I may purchase $40 worth of bull shit at a General Store on a 15 hour field trip as a bribe to skip the last part of the itinerary....f**king Chuck E Cheese visit. I may lie about not being able to attend a field trip because I just don't want to fucking go. I don't consider those my low points. I just recently had to take my middle Diva with me to go see my psychiatrist. She had been sick the previous day and I couldn't find a sitter. So, I packed her up and I drove an hour to go see my shrink. As we walked in the waiting room, she looked around. Finally, she asked "What kind of doctor is this?". I paused for a moment. Finally, I said this is a doctor I get to go talk to about anything I want. She helps me calm down when I get stressed or worried. She really listens to me and gives me good advice. Sometimes, I get really nervous because of things that have happened to me. This doctor is like a best friend that you can tell your secrets too. She smiled and "that was that". I left her in the waiting room with my cellphone as entertainment and talked to my shrink. Maybe, she will remember this as a moment where mommy told her it's okay to not have your shit together and talk to someone about it. Maybe, this will be a comical story that will resurface at Thanksgiving Dinners..."remember that time mama took me along to see her shrink". Both outcomes would be just splendid because that kind of shit builds character. I may not always get it right, but I keep it real.

...a bad case of TMS

2014-01-19T21:38:00.001-06:00

I have a serious case of TMS (Tired Mommy Syndrome)....

Every night, I go to bed with every intention of waking up like f***king Mary Poppins and shit. I envision rising early, cooking a wonderful breakfast, sweetly kissing the SBF, and crawling into bed to snuggle with the Divas. I hear birds chirping. The sun is shining into the kitchen and the warmth from the sun puts a smile on my face. I pray for this "beautiful kind of morning" every night.

Instead, I wake up to Miss B pulling my eye mask off while stepping into my ribs with her cold ass feet and whining "I'm hungryyyyyyyyy. Wake upppppppp". She then proceeds to re-enter the womb literally. She lays on top of me and and rubs my arm, leg, stomach, navel, and face. Sounds so cute...but after 5 minutes of this, I find myself slapping her hand away. I swear I only breastfed her a year. The skin to skin contact that she requires from me daily would make one think she is still on the "tit". I pull my eye mask back over my eyes and pray for numbness all over my body. Minutes later, the middle Diva comes in and wedges herself between me and the SBF. I finally kick off all the covers while screaming..."okayyyyyyyyyy" and I stomp to the kitchen to prepare pop tarts. Screw pancakes. Screw homemade biscuits and bacon. By the time coffee is ready, I just want to pour the whole pot over my damn head. All the Divas manage to make it into the kitchen in just enough time to fight over one of the eight chairs in our kitchen, the special pink plate, and certain cups. I look out my kitchen windows and find myself wanting to run away. But, I don't and won't because I love the shit out of each one of them. They possess my soul. So, I look back at them and give a half ass smile. I walk to the living room to find the longest show they can watch and I crawl back in bed. I attempt to bury myself under the covers. The SBF and I then began a nasty game of who will ignore them the longest by refusing to get out of bed.

I have TMS which has lead to some shitty mom behaviors. I give them the answers to their homework. I let them eat snacks for dinner. I let them watch the same movie two times in a row. I zone out when they are talking to me. I pretend their flips and cartwheels are fabulous. I buy them shit hoping it will give me a good hour of free time. I don't like playing with them. I have resorted to using my ear buds as earplugs. I wait until bedtime to throw their toys away. I lie to them. I threaten. I bribe. I scream. I curse. I lose my patience. I have said "Well, hit her back!!"

The cravings that come with TMS are off the meter!! I crave alone time. I crave dinner with the girls. I crave getaway trips. I crave silence. I crave solitude. I crave senseless television. I crave dirty jokes
during happy hour. I crave sleeping in without any guilt. I crave dirty music. I crave champagne and dancing. I crave being selfish. I crave having the SBF all to myself.

The last girls trip that I took, I was shocked to come home somewhat frustrated. I had a fabulous time. Weird how I found myself frustrated with the smidgen of freedom I had possessed for a mere 24 hours. Instead of being refreshed, I wanted more of it. It was like a drug. Then the guilt sets in and I question my decision to be a mother. Shit....wth?????? I immediately ask God for forgiveness for these thoughts.

Just the other night, the middle Diva came to me asking for "family time," Immediately, I said "f**k" in my head. The SBF woke up from his evening nap and went to the store and purchased a game. He returned with a game called "Beat the Parents" and I literally mouthed..."WTF, dude!!". I was amazed by several things that night. I saw my three Divas get in a huddle together. Holy hell!!! Of course, Miss B's interest did not last long and resulted in her watching a show and laying in my lap. Still, the other Divas were determined to beat us. And to my surprise, the game got a little competitive. Yes, I accidentally screamed out "bullshit" when I answered "Count Dracula" as the vampire on Sesame Street only to be told I was wrong and that it was "Count Von Count" or some shit. Yes, the SBF got upset when the the oldest Diva would not accept his answer Earl of Grey for Earl of Greystoke. He caught the "mother...." that almost came out and instead whispered in my ear that he would not help her with her homework. There was laughter followed by Miss B pitching a bitch fit and Divas whining about going to bed, but overall it was a good night. We beat their asses. A memory was made and I gave myself a "keep your head up" pat on the back. The following night involved me zoning out and watching a 3 hour movie on my laptop and letting the Divas fall asleep on the couch. I'm not perfect.

It never fails that when the dust settles, the fighting ceases, and the crying ends. Out of nowhere, Miss B screams from the playroom or whatever room she is completely destroying...."I love you, everybody." And in unison, we all say "I love you, everybody" from wherever we are.

And for five seconds, it is well with my soul. I realize I am doing the best I can. I realize I am loved immensely. I realize that no matter what syndrome I am suffering from there is an unconditional love present that I am blessed to receive. No matter how much I think I am screwing shit up...there is love in this house. Amidst the banshee screams, dysfunctional conversations, inappropriate words, cat fights, and emotional breakdowns....

We love hard in this house.

...Sh*t Just Got Real

2014-01-14T14:00:00.001-06:00

It's a new year and how else would our house decide to "turn up" in 2014...with the SEX TALK!!! Oh yeah, we had a "PBS special gone bad" in our house last night and I was the star of the show. Let me start this off by saying....shit just got real.

I ignored all the signs yesterday. One friend had spent the day doing a wonderful job introducing her daughter to the ins and outs of "becoming a woman". A friend told me during pick up that her students knew about sex and that I needed to talk to my Divas. I knew the conversation was coming. I purchased a book last summer and had all intentions on fully reading and becoming educated on "sex". Giggle. Well, I didn't listen to the SBF when he said do it before school starts and I put it off. For months, that book has sat on my nightstand under two other books I should have been reading. I was thinking I had a couple of more months before the birds and the bees. BULLSHIT

As always, the car rides home from school involve the Divas filling me in on the drama of their lives. The two oldest have had trouble with a certain friend excluding them at school (typical Mean Girl shit). We have encouraged them to go make other friends because sometimes this particular friend talks about things that the Divas don't understand. How I have managed to raise innocent and conservative little girls is beyond me. I know everyone thinks their child is heaven sent, but these girls are the salt of the f**king earth. They are the sweetest, kindest, most generous and polite little bitches that I know. They correct me when I flip off strangers. They pray for me when I am having a bad day. They worry about hunger in the world. They secretly judge my second glass of champagne. We pray as a family every night....WTF??? They ask for forgiveness and patience and pray for their friends and shit. Who would have "thunk" it. Back to their little friend....well, when I made a comment about their friend saying inappropriate things....the oldest Diva chimed in with a "yeah...like sex".

I saw the light. The light that every mother sees when they think..."oh, hell this is it. This will be what destroys me." This light is not similar to what I believe people see when they die. This light is more like flashing strobe lights, screaming, and getting slapped in the f**king face. There is no peace and comfort. There is nothing but your past flashing before your eyes...every bad choice, every bad hook up, every lie, and any other thing you did wrong presents itself....damn KARMA!!! I managed to swallow and ask the oldest Diva if she knew what "sex" was and she quickly said "yes".

Oldest Diva: "Yes, I know what sex is. My friend told me."
Middle Diva: "I do too. It's male or female."
Oldest Diva: "No, it's when a man sticks his penis in a woman."
Me: "How did your friend find out,"
Oldest Diva: "She heard her mom screaming one night and went to go check on her and her
parents were having sex."
***I choked, coughed, pissed myself a little, ran off the road**
Middle Diva: "She was screaming??"
Me: WHAT??????
Oldest Diva: "Yes. Her mom told her because it felt good."

I stopped the conversation there because Miss B was all ears and I couldn't see or hear too well. They started sounding like the damn Charlie Brown teacher. I managed to get out..."We will talk about this when we get home." I know I mouthed WTF out my window 50 times while driving home. The Divas were laughing and shit. I was slowly drifting off into hysteria. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call my mom. I wanted to shit myself and take a nap. I sent the SBF a text of the convo and he pulled out the "I told you so" comment and I flipped off the phone. I managed to get them fed and finished homework. As they started bath time, I began reading that book like a mad woman. I had pen, paper, highlighter, and sticky notes. They would walk in every once in a while and look over with a little smirk on their face. They knew it was coming. Miss B was jumping on the bed and I was trying to memorize the stages of puberty. I'm looking at sketches of vaginas and Miss B is flipping off my bed.

I realize it's getting late and say "f**k it. Game time." I manage to find a barbie movie on Netflix and headphones for Miss B and place her at the foot of the bed. We hang out in our bedroom more than any other room. So, I felt it would be great just to cuddle up with my two oldest Divas and have the talk with this book. I called them to the room and these bitches were almost squealing. They jumped in...one on each side of me. I have my book, my highlighter, my pen, my paper, my sticky notes and I stated with the utmost confidence..."Let's start off with puberty...." I picked that because I had already discussed periods with them. So, I felt this was a good starting point....

They looked up at me and giggled and then "BOOM!" Those bitches tag teamed me. The shit that unfolded from our conversation...HOLY HELL!! I blocked some of the conversation out. I will share the highlights, aka, what I can remember.

Middle Diva: So, I have a pesticle?
Me: No. Pay attention. Stop laughing. You have a VA-GINA.
Middle Diva: My friend said it was called a "virginia". Okay. Do I have balls too?
Me: No. Your daddy has balls. Balls go with penises.
Oldest Diva: GROSS!!

Me: I'm on my period now. You have to have a period to have a baby.
Oldest Diva: So you can get pregnant? When can you get pregnant?
Me: I don't know. Let me look at my period tracker app.
Oldest Diva: So, you can get pregnant again?
Me: Yes. Well, No. I shouldn't. Your dad had a vasectomy.

Oldest Diva: I'm not using those tampon things. You will have to stick them in for me.
Me: I WILL NOT!

Oldest Diva: Do you and daddy have sex?
Me: Uhm..yeah!!!
Middle Diva: So dad sticks his penis inside of you?
Me: Yes
Oldest Diva: Gross!!! Why?
Me: Because it feels good.
Oldest Diva: I'm never having sex.
Middle Diva: Did you have sex before you got married?
Me: Yes
Oldest Diva: You did!!!!!! You had sex with daddy before you married him?
Me: Yep
Oldest Diva: Did you have sex with anybody else?
Middle Diva: That's none of our business.
Me: No

****LIE. LIE. LIE!!***** And the middle Diva knew I was not telling the truth. She looked into my soul.

The SBF comes home finally and sits down and joins the conversation. And it goes like this....
SBF: First and foremost, God created sex.
The Divas in unison: He DID!!!
Me in my head: F**k!!! Did I mention Jesus? Shit. Shit. Shit. He's so self righteous. Damnit!!

****I exit and go load the dishwasher****

Those are the highlights. I felt like I was at a press conference. I was not prepared for how comfortable they would be with me. I was not prepared for all of the questions. Then, I remembered they are my daughters. They may not have filters!!!!! Shit!!!!! I did the best I could in the amount of time that I had. I foresee many more conversations. There is so much more they need to know and so much they didn't need to know. My mom told me about sex in the 5th grade. I begged her not too. She sat down with a book and proceeded to tell me I was conceived in the backseat of an automobile when she skipped school. My mother was very open and honest for which I am so thankful for because I lost that beautiful woman at such a young age. I do look back and think that some of the stuff she said....I didn't need to know. Giggle

I have realized that this shit is going to be hard for me. One, I love sex. I think it's awesome. I like it. I think everyone should like it. I think it's pretty f**king amazing if you get the right person. I am pretty open about my life...sex and all. So, my filter is weak. I don't think my daughters need to be virgins when they get married. I don't think it's necessary. I do regret having sex in high school...in college...not so much. I don't want them to be prudes. I don't want them to just lie there. I want them to enjoy it. I want them to love their bodies and be comfortable with their bodies. I don't think sex and love are the same thing. I think little shits will say they love you to have sex with you. Note: I will kill those little shits. I don't want them to get pregnant or an STD. I am pro choice. I had an abortion. I want them to just date and have fun. I want them to know I will never be their judge or jury. I will be their beside them all the way...for as long as their is breath in my body. I will "catch a charge". I will seriously beat the shit out of the little asshats that hurt their hearts.

The night ended with the usual family prayer...like nothing had ever happened. Miss B did inform us that she knew we were talking about boys. KILL ME!!!

Let this be known: We did inform the Divas that what we talked about was "family talk"....private family talk that could not be shared with their friends. It's just the rules. Even if their friends ask them about sex, they are not allowed to talk about it. If their friends have questions, they have been told to tell their friends to ask their parents. We even went so far as to tell the Divas that their friends' parents would get upset if they were to tell their children about sex. They love their friends and would not do anything to jeopardize their friendships. It is not their place to educate other little girls or boys right now.

This is not a slut campaign. This is not an opportunity to judge. This is a warning. This is a lesson.

TALK TO YOUR KIDS SOON AND TELL THEM TO KEEP WHAT THEY KNOW PRIVATE FOR NOW!!

I have struggled with my feelings about the screaming mom. Part of me wants to high five her and suggest a pillow next time. Part of me wants to call her up and go WTF? Then I have a flashback of me telling the Divas that "Yes I could get pregnant. I mean...No, I shouldn't get pregnant because their dad had a vasectomy.". AND I REALIZE....shit happens. I tried my best last night. They may have whooped my ASS last night, but I'll be ready...next time...hopefully...who the f**k am I kidding........I raise my glass and my bottle of pills. Cheers. Best of luck. Cause shit just got real."

Cheers

...2013 Christmas Gifts of the Year: Coupons

2013-12-17T01:18:00.001-06:00

As I run out and attempt to purchase gifts for friends and family, I find myself wondering "what do I want for Christmas?" Of course the normal things pop up, I want world peace, a cure for cancer, and happiness for everyone. Those are my top things by far, but if I could have some "extra gifts"....I would want a shit load of the following coupons.

1. This coupon entitles you to one dinner at which you will be allowed to actually sit at the kitchen table as opposed to standing and eat your entire meal without interruption.

2. This coupon entitles you to one free pass from having to wipe Miss B's ass while eating out at a restaurant because she is bored, ready to go home, and has picked up an attention seeking behavior called "mommy I didn't wipe my booty good".

3. This coupon entitles you to one carpool drop off line at which time the giver of this coupon will pick your fighting children up in the morning and take them to their designated locations.

4. This coupon entitles you to walk away from the shit load of homework that your children brought home. The giver will tutor and thoroughly check the homework and also provide comfort for the tears and screams that usually come with the math problems.

5. This coupon releases you from any participation in the science fair this year. Giver will not only think of the winning project, but will also build the project away from the home.

6. This coupon allows you to go get shit faced with your friends and vomit in public with out being judged.

7. This coupon can be redeemed for a courtesy phone call at which time the giver will call you and tell you "It's not you. It's them".

8. This coupon allows one free bitch night fest (alcohol provided) with giver about the struggles of parenting. Shit talking about husbands will be permitted.

9. This coupon is for one laundry pass at which time the giver will sort through the shit stained underwear, smelly socks, and filthy clothes. All clothes will be washed, folded, and put in their assigned areas.

10. This coupon entitles you to one free pass to ask the mother judging you for allowing your children to slide across the floor in the grocery store..."What the fuck are you looking at bitch? Look away. Look away."

11. This coupon can be redeemed for help getting the children dressed for church on Sundays, so that you may actually attend church with sound body and mind and not feel like you may ignite into flames because you have screamed "get in the damn car because we are going to be late."

12. This coupon entitles you to a 2 hour nap in you car in the parking lot of your choice while the giver stands watch to make sure you are not robbed or attacked.

13. This coupon can be redeemed for a shopping spree that does not involve looking for seamless toed socks because Miss B has gone without socks so far this winter. Better yet...the giver will go out and find the damn socks.

14. This coupon will allow you to switch bodies with the giver when the SBF has decided to have a "come to Jesus" meeting about the budget.

15. This coupon is for one free pass of Taxi services at which time the giver will pick up the three Divas from three different locations, drop them off at three different locations, and pick them back up and bring them home. All of these things will be done within an allotted 1 hour time slot.

16. This coupon entitles you to a lunch free pass from the Divas' schools. The giver will show up after being given a ridiculous lunch request, rush to get there on time, and then sit as the Divas completely ignore you.

17. This coupon allows you to ignore the "Mom, come here!! I need you" at which time the giver will jump immediately and save the day!

18. This coupon entitles you to one prank phone call to the Nissan dealership.

19. This coupon is good for a "get out of taking down all the Christmas shit" card at which time you are allowed to leave the house after Christmas and return to home with your house back to it's normal condition.

20. This coupon is for a Sunday night meltdown at which time you are allowed to kindly throw all of your children's newsletters, field trip forms, and all other paperwork from school in the garbage. You are even allowed to say "Fuck this shit" for dramatic purposes.

21. This coupon is for a free night from trying to figure out what to feed your family who are not ever really pleased with anything but pancakes for dinner.

22. This coupon grants you one night freedom from attempting to pick out the Divas clothes from school only to have Miss B wear the same shit everyday. Short long sleeve shirts, leggings, boots with no socks, and a side ponytail are her favorite.

23. This coupon entitles you to "decline" the phone call from your mother in law. Giggle

24. This coupon allows you to tell your aunts that continue to question your choice to change churches ..."I see dead people, bitches!!".

25. This coupon entitles you a free pass from having to flip someone off for almost running you off the road while you are driving the three Divas and begging Miss B to roll up the window and to stop fighting her sisters. The giver will immediately step in and "flip the bird" as high as their alarm will allow it to go to the asshat that's not paying attention while driving.

26. This coupon is for a tag team pass at which time the giver will come in and play with Miss B. The giver will sit patiently and allow her to pretend to feed you with dirty ass play spoons she found under the playroom couch. The giver will also allow her to check his or her forehead for a fever with her hand that has probably been in her ass less than 5 minutes ago.

27. This coupon allows you to "tap out". This coupon can be redeemed in any situation at which time you realize that you are going to be once again sucked into doing something that will only add more stress and chaos to your life. The situation starts off with some lazy ass coming up to you saying "Do you mind....".

28. This coupon entitles you to one serenity shower at which time you will be able to lather up completely, wash and shave all needed areas, and not have to listen for screaming and fighting or have a conversation through the glass mirror.

29. This coupon allows you to walk away from the piece of shit that is floating in the toilet with no tissue paper. The giver will not only flush the toilet, but will find the culprit and wipe her ass and explain to her the importance of good hygiene.

30. This coupon gives you a free pass to think all of the bad shit, say all of the wrong things, forget some of the important things, and blow up over the little things because everyone knows you love them immensely. You love them so much so that you allow them to drive you bat shit crazy. They have your soul, your mind, your body, and your heart. They have taken all of that and yet you feel complete rather than empty the majority of the time. This coupon is for the day when "the shit hits the fan".

Feel free to change the names and pass these coupons on to friends and family. They are priceless!!

...Crazy mom seeking cheer

2013-12-11T14:07:00.000-06:00

I cannot believe that Christmas will be here in two weeks. What the hell??????? Our household has been a complete blur since Thanksgiving. Confession: I broke my rule of no Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving and I think I have whipped up a shitload of craziness because of it. Thanksgiving break brought cold wet weather and to keep myself from running through the neighborhood naked, I decided it would be fun to go ahead and get started on Christmas. The whole family was experiencing a serious case of cabin fever. So, nothing like a tree and some lights to show us the end of the tunnel. The SBF brought down 12 boxes of Christmas mania from the attic and walked away. His job was finished. I began the task of Christmas cheer. Ten minutes into the madness, I realized our prelit tree was no longer prelit, but I was prepared. I had purchased tons of Christmas lights. There was Christmas music playing in the background and I knew this would be a moment of happiness...true bliss.

Within thirty minutes of this process, my house looked like a fraternity party gone bad. The Divas had stepped on and smashed several strands of lights. They were fighting over who could climb in the boxes and the SBF had decided to put on some "African spiritual music". We are a family with a vast variety of musical tastes, but I wanted damn Christmas music. I wanted the f---king cheer. The Divas loved it and decided to turn over boxes full of ornaments and beat the empty boxes like drums. I think I bit a hole in the side of my mouth, but I did not say a word. I continued to "fluff" out the tree. For one second, I became fearful that one of my ancestors would come out of the tree and choke the shit out of me. Why???? Why did my house sound like this...the screams, drums, and mumbling had me thinking we participating in some voodoo craft. As they pranced around and the SBF sang into a microphone, I went through my ornaments. Long gone are the days of fancy ornaments. All of my ornaments bounce. It took me three years and numerous broken glass ornaments to realize that I had to make the switch. I was finding some peace in meticuously placing every ornament in it's

designated spot until the SBF decided to scare the shit out of the Divas with his "moans" on the mic. So, they ran to me wanting to help. I told myself this would be a moment they would remember. So, I foolishly accepted their help. The fighting and crying that erupted caused me to black out a couple of times. I watched them push each other into our Christmas tree, fight over ornaments, bite, wrestle, and snatch Christmas shit for the next thirty minutes. I stepped back and allowed them to put six ornaments on one limb only to watch them all fall to the floor. I said nothing. The rage inside of me had left me speechless. The oldest Diva began to chase Miss B around the house with a stuffed Grinch which she's scared shitless of. The SBF was still singing and I contemplated walking out the door. Finally, I could not take anymore and I let lose a good old "F--K" followed by some shit that sounded like I was speaking in tongues. They all stood there frozen as if I had lost my mine. They had their "mommy said "f--k" while putting up the Christmas tree" look....blasphemy!!! The SBF cut the music off and escorted them to bath time. I flipped him off as he walked by. I decorated the whole damn house by myself and it currently looks like I had a Christmas seizure. Every corner of my house is decorated with Christmas cheer to the point that I want to vomit.

(check out the shard of ice coming out of his cheek)

Miss B begged me to put up outside lights this year. So, I did...hoping it would make her Christmas extra special. Currently, there are lights going half way up the only three trees in our front yard because I didn't have the courage to climb a ladder and go all the way to the top. I also have three wooden trees that are lit up by 100 watt flood lights. They shine so brightly onto the trees and into our house that there is no longer a need to turn one damn lamp on. Matter of fact, I think those sons of bitches are actually heating the house. There is an orange forty foot cord going through our front yard and at the end is what is sure to be a fire hazard. But there are candy canes, lights, and an inflatable snowman damnit!!!!!! The front door is nicely decorated. So, I am at peace with the debacle and I could give a shit what the neighbors think. The shocking part....the Divas could give two shits about those lights. They only think of them when they want to bring up something mommy is not doing right. A couple days of ago, Miss B came to me in her scolding voice "Mommy the snowman is not up?" In my head, I said "f--k you" and then asked for forgiveness. I put on my green suede slippers on and marched through the wet frozen grass and proceeded to pry a frozen completely flat snowman off the ground. I screamed. I cursed. I yelled. That bitch ass snowman was going to inflate if it killed me. I snatched the wet cord and plugged it into the strip of hazard and prayed it would electrocute me...not kill me. I just wanted it to shock me to the point I would pass out in the wet grass for a while. It did inflate and there was a nice shard of ice sticking out the side of it. I felt it was symbolic of how I was feeling. I stomped my frostbitten ass across the yard, entered the house, and proceeded to scream to the SBF not to unplug one damn Christmas decoration... "EVER!!!!" and I called him a son of a bitch. Oh. Yes. I. Did.

To continue our Christmas cheer, I decided to purchase a gingerbread house. I went over a friend's house and fell in love with her nicely decorated gingerbread house. What a great idea for my Divas? I came home with the box and their faces lit up with joy. I cleaned off the kitchen table and vowed that I would be happy and joyful during the entire process. I told myself I would not get caught up in how they decorated the house. I wanted them to cherish the memory. First, the bitches began to plead with me to allow them to eat the damn candy for the house. Miss B could not understand why she couldn't bite into the roof. You would think I deprived them of sweets. I ignored the nonsense and the fighting over peppermints and began to squeeze out the white icing aka as white crack. Those bitches saw the icing and lost their mind. They begged to eat it and I started screaming "It's for the damn house". One of them suggested using glue and I almost went to a dark place. We put the damn house together and I ignored the fact that Miss B licked the icing off of one side. I ignored the fighting over gumdrops. I quietly watched them make a complete f--king mess. When it was finished, I decided to take a picture. I bullshit thee not....3 seconds after snapping a photo the damn house fell apart. They screamed and I just stood there. The SBF came running and had the nerve to rub my shoulder and comfort me. "You tried your best" he said. I politely whispered in his ear..."I could give two f--ks about that house. Y'all are driving me f--king crazy". The Divas tried to put it back together and were unsuccessful. I said nothing. I watched them eat the icing and candy. I even watched Miss B take at least 5 shots of green sugar crystals to the head. I left the shit of a mess on the kitchen table and climbed into bed. Miss B ran around for 3 straight hours in circles due to a sugar high and I watched TV.

Now on to our elf...Mr. Jingle Jangle. He is male and he likes to wear skirts. Don't judge him. I have developed a love hate relationship for this little shit. I hate to admit he is over Jesus in our house right now. Miss B will shit bricks if I tell her that I'm going to tell Jingle about how she screamed for five miles on the way to school because she didn't want to wear socks. Homework, extracurricular activities, and Christmas parties have taken over our life. So by the time I crawl to bed, I don't want to do anything nice to that Jingle. I seriously thought about cutting his damn arm off to traumatize Miss B. One night, he did not move because he was placed on the "No Fly" list due to the banshee like screaming that had occurred from all three Divas at supper time. My ability to create funny little situations have turned into some "Shining" shit. I giggled one night as I wrote a message from Jingle on our chalkboard in the kitchen. I wanted to write "redrum". Yep, that's where I am on the holiday cheer list. I hate the ELF ON THE SHELF!!!!! But for my children, I will still participate in the nonsense.

I am tapped out and still have two weeks to go. I am ready to remove all of the red and green shit in my house. I don't want to listen to Feliz Navidad on repeat every day. I want to drop kick Jingle's ass into the front yard by the inflatable snowman with the ice shard sticking out of him. I remember Christmas as a child and I would literally sit quietly for hours and stare at our Christmas tree. It was pure bliss or either my mother drugged me during the holidays with Benadryl and I was hallucinating.

After our Christmas Pageant at church tonight, I will have my cheer alright. It's going to come over me as I pop open my champagne and drink directly from the bottle. And I will sing loud and merrily "Cheers and to everyone....goodnight!"

....Thanks living

2013-11-27T08:01:00.002-06:00

The holiday season is approaching. Actually according to the commercials and stores, Christmas is here. I have had mixed emotions over the last couple of days of what seems to be the slow evaporation of Thanksgiving. The child in me still yearns for the Thanksgivings full of food, laughter, and fun. That child yearns for "home". In reality, that "home" is gone and that child has created her own "home" which is somewhat bittersweet. Sadly, my mother and her mother died within 1 year of each other, they were the most important and influential women in my life. They were total opposites, but they had one similarity....an insane love for the holidays. Since there is no "home" to go visit to recreate those beautiful distant memories, and there is not enough alcohol or drugs available to assemble together what is left of my dysfunctional family, I try to create my own.

Last year, we spent Thanksgiving at an Ihop. I was quite disturbed at first. The Divas were in heaven. They practically had the whole restaurant to themselves. As I sipped my coffee, I was comforted by their giggles. There was no dysfunction. Holy hell....was I happy and at peace? I did feel as if I were cheating the Divas. They needed the turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, and a game of Life to be complete in the world. They needed the homemade rolls, the pear salad, and the "good silverware" aka as the forks that stabbed the back of my throat. They needed the hams, and the pies, and the German chocolate cake. My mother's mom, my grandmother or as I called her my "Maene" managed to create a spread for years that could feed the entire community. I would watch as she scolded her three daughters, one being my mother, for giggling during prayer or sneaking a pinch of the caramel cake. It was seriously like fucking Camelot on that side of the family...surreal. From that side of the family, I got my ability to recreate some shit that would make Martha Stewart tear up. I have baked, cooked, hosted, and decorated some pretty fabulous fucking feasts trying to get a hint of that fix that I long for only to realize that after half a bottle of wine, I am pissed and frustrated. One year, I looked around at the attendees of my pieced together family and friends and realized the main characters were missing. No matter how hard I tried the ingredients I needed the most were unattainable.

Thank goodness, in my childhood, I was also exposed to my father's side of the family who offered something totally opposite from Camelot. My father's side offered a variety every year similar to Christmas Vacation. Barbeque..chicken...turkey and maybe even pizza were items on the menu. The only two things that were constant: the out of the box "sock it to me cake" and a 5 hour game of Spades. My father's mother aka Grandma Alice is still alive and a firecracker to say the least. She had a stroke in the 80s that left her "different". Some years (mostly around the holidays) she was blind in one eye and some years she wasn't. Some years she was apparently "paralyzed" until it was time to jump out of her chair to claim that my grandfather wouldn't touch her anymore and she was going to die the following Friday. My grandfather would kindly reply while playing spades..."Awe, Alice, nobody wants to hear that shit." And I would giggle and somehow my heart was warmed by the behavior. From that side of the family, I got my ability to recreate a comedic act that Richard Pryor would laugh at.

"Thanksgiving is the day when you turn to another family member and say, 'How long has Mom been drinking like this?' My Mom, after six Bloody Marys looks at the turkey and goes, Here, kitty, kitty." - David Letterman

Both families gave me two polar opposite pictures of Thanksgiving. A fairy tale and a comedy. I consider myself blessed to have had those two. When I am not trying, searching, or longing, I see a glimpse of both sides recreated in my everyday life. The scent of pecan pie or a good ole "nobody wants to hear that shit" reward me with the memory of "home". The "home" that takes up residence in my heart and my soul and where it must stay because as stated earlier the ingredients have expired.

The SBF finally decided a couple of years ago that the dysfunction was just not worth putting ourselves through....especially being that no one on my side of the family really drinks. BLASPHEMY!! I swear I think we would all get a long a little better if every one had a bottle of wine or too. For the second year in a row, I will not be up till 4 am cooking a fucking ham with pineapples and cherries strategically placed on it. I will not be at our local grocery store asking a random stranger how the hell do you cook a frozen turkey the night before Thanksgiving. I will not be up making my favorite sweet potato casserole. Awe......the infamous sweet potato casserole: one year, the oldest Diva came to me on Thanksgiving Eve and told me there was a "toon toon" on the floor. Well, "toon toon" is what we call our privates in the Davis household. Bewildered, I asked her numerous times..."What? Where?". Each time she innocently responded "there is a toon toon on the floor". Flustered, I grab her sweet little hand and asked her to take me to the toon toon. As I walked, I thought about all of the SOBs I would call the SBF that day for leaving out his "toys". I was shocked when she pointed down to a pecan half on the floor and looked up me with the a huge smile. "See mommy, there is a toon toon right there." Chopped pecans are obviously an important ingredient in my sweet potato casserole. Pretty fucking hard to cut up a bunch of pecans without thinking about toon toons. Toon toons everywhere. Pecan halves are no longer allowed in our house. Oreos are not either, but that story is for another day.

So, this year, we are eating at our local church that is serving the community. Once again, I was all like "Shit. What am I doing with my life?" I felt the internal struggle resurface on whether I am cheating my Divas again. I then remember I am chasing something that just cannot be and if I continue chasing that "home", I won't reap from the beautiful "home" I have now. My Divas will have various memories of many different types of Thanksgivings and I pray the varieties give them a
spark about them. A spark that will enlighten them, comfort them, and nurture them. I have many years to screw their lives up and I just can't let myself believe that eating pancakes on Thanksgiving will be the topic on the couch at their psychiatrist's office. If so....those bitches are pretty lucky. Confession: some days, I do dream of the Divas coming home on Thanksgiving with their families and the beautiful feast of food, flowers, cakes, cookies, wine, music, and games I will present to them and then the circle of life will be complete. Giggle.......

I wonder if Thanksgiving has lost it's appeal to some of us because we are yearning to recreate the impossible or that families are less "cookie cutter". Is it too hard for us to say, those memories were great, but they are not my current reality? Or my family is fucking nuts and I don't feel like being bothered? Basically..."It is what it is". Maybe we have all bought into what it should be and have rejected what it truly is. For one day, you are suppose to put aside all of the skeletons in the closets, feast, and avoid drinking too much and cussing out your uncle. There's just food and fellowship...fellowship that can bring up memories both good and bad. Fellowship that can lead to family fights, inappropriate comments, cursing, drinking, medicating, sneaking out to smoke a cig, and vowing never to return....

Unlike Christmas, there are no gifts presented at Thanksgiving to mask the sight of the empty chair of the loved one that is no longer present or the gifts from the cousins that you only see once a year but manage to get you something that proves you are indeed related and not complete fucking strangers. It's just a time for giving thanks. A thanks that may come out as a "thanks for being a jackass all those years" after that second glass of bourbon. Or "thanks for biting my nipple out of anger over a doll that time when I was seven" which really made breastfeeding go sooooo well. Found this to further support my theory........

Whatever your "story", "situation", or your "home" may be, Thanksgiving should still be celebrated and celebrated for what it simply is. A day to fellowship with whomever...wherever....however and give thanks. A thanks to just living. Plain and simple

So however your Thanksgiving turns out...whether it is good or bad...you are living and that is something to give thanks for and celebrate. Living takes balls. Giggle

"Thanksgiving is an emotional holiday. People travel thousands of miles to be with people they only see once a year. And then discover once a year is way too often." – Johnny Carson

Cheers and Happy Living!!

...he called you a "what"????

2013-11-04T18:50:00.001-06:00

Public service announcement: To the little boy that called one of the Divas a "hoe". Your mama is a hoe and I wish I knew her name to relay the message. Real talk

The above statement may be harsh and tacky to some. I know fighting fire with fire is not something I want to pass down to the three Divas. I know it it best to turn the other cheek and walk away. The problem is how do you teach those values, but instill in them that they have permission to stand up for themselves by any means necessary.

I was bullied from the kindergarten to the 9th grade. I vividly remember pissing on myself while standing in front of the teacher on the playground in kindergarten because I was horrified of two bullies in the bathroom. These girls quite often pushed me, called me names, and pulled my hair. The shame I felt that day destroyed me. Unfortunately, that day was just the beginning. We moved around quite a bit in my early childhood, so I was often the "new" girl. New girls get both positive and negative attention. It didn't help that I was very small for my age and rocked a nice Eddie Monster unibrow.

At every new school, the bullying always started with just name calling and moved on to physical threats and interactions. I was pushed in a fucking locker in the 7th grade and my clothes were thrown on top of the locker. I was also bitch slapped that same semester for getting a girl out in dodge ball. In the ninth grade, a young girl got so upset because I was riding in the backseat with her boyfriend during Driver's Ed. I could see the look of rage in her eyes and I quickly exited the car and tried my best to run to the front steps of the school. I made it to the last step and felt like I had just slid into home base. Until a big ass rock, hit me on the side of my head. Yep, the bitch took a rock and hit me in my head with it.

My father spent countless hours at school because I was hysterical most of the time. Who the hell wants to come to school and get their ass beat??? I remember the principal pleading with me to not call my father one day after a girl knocked my books out of my hand and pushed me into the wall. He called me "Jones" which is my maiden name. "Jones, now don't go and call your daddy and stir up a ruckus. Just go back to class and avoid the girl" he pleaded. I was dumbfounded. The son of a bitch basically said I was the problem. Luckily, they had payphones at school and I called my father. My father came to school that day to whoop somebody's ass and was not going to stop until his daughter stopped getting her ass whooped. My dear grandmother even resorted to giving me a sharpened pencil to stab a little girl at church. This little girl beat my ass literally 6 days a week. My only off day from her was Saturday. Luckily, my mother questioned me about the sharpened pencil I was holding tightly in my hand. She took the pencil away from me and told me once again the words that have stuck with me forever. "It's cause you're pretty and they're ugly". She told me those words over and over again for the 15 years I had her in my life.

The majority of the time, she would add personal information about the family in her pep talk and gave me permission to repeat the information verbatim. And I did. I would walk up to the bully the next day and say word for word what secrets my mom had revealed. "You're just mad because your daddy left your mama for another man." BAM....of course, I would get slapped again and I would run to the principal's office and the whole damn cycle would start over again. I endured hell until I was old enough to get a boyfriend. If I didn't have a boyfriend, I had a shit load of male friends that were willing to beat the hell out of anyone that dared to approach me. I actually became well liked and walked away from high school with many titles: Miss THS, Homecoming Queen, Hall of Fame, Class Favorite, etc.

The bullying I experienced as a child and throughout my teen years were physical and verbal. The verbal shit that I was told hurt 10 times more than the physical stuff. Unfortunately, I didn't learn how to fight with my fists. I fought with words and I played dirty and hard. To this day, I frighten myself with the words that can come out of my mouth when I feel threatened.

So, I was not shocked when my first response to the little shit calling my Divas a "hoe" was to go straight into a ratchet verbal assault. My two oldest Divas had no idea what a "hoe" was. They just knew it was a bad word. I tried to explain that "hoe" was short for whore and that a whore was.....hell....a lady with a lot of husbands and boyfriends. I know...but it was the best I could come up with. Miss B was listening in and of course started repeating "hoe" over and over again. I'm trying to get her to stop and she's screaming "Santa says it." Shit....I could shake the hell out of the little bastard right now. His mama is such a "hoe"!!!!!!

Fuck, now I feel like a hypocrite. How I will maneuver through the next couple of years will be shocking to say the least. How do you find a middle??? I want my Divas to stand up for themselves. I want them to scare the shit out of someone with their words if they are ever bullied. Confession: they have been given permission to knock the hell out of anyone that touches them. They are small for their size. So, they have been told to fight dirty.

Seriously, I didn't even know what the word "hoe" meant at their age. So, I worry about their generation. I worry about cyber bullying. I worry about mean girls. I work about shitty boys.

My job is to protect them, to nurture them, and to build their self esteem. I'll be damned if some little shit messes with that. Mama plays dirty.

We have an obligation to teach all children that any form of bullying will not be tolerated. I will gladly take on that responsibility one "your mama is a hoe" little prick at a time.

...Holy Halloween

2013-10-28T09:03:00.000-05:00

Halloween is approaching and it may very well be what I need to get me out of this damn funk. Confession: I love it and I am not sure why. The middle Diva asked if we were celebrating the birth of Satan and I just looked at her. What in the hell happened to the fucking fun in Halloween? Why must the devil be involved? Halloween is about candy and scaring the shit out of little kids. Sadly though, I wish I could say we had some rock out Halloween "adult party" to go to and have found the best costumes. One year, when there was just one Diva, the SBF and I attended the local bar in our college town and I was like a kid in a candy store. There was a guy walking around like Tom Cruise in a pink button up and tighty whities, a guy walking around with a shower curtain built around his body and the skanks....oh the skanks where magnificent. It was a freak show and I loved it.

I hinted to SBF that I may dress up like a Xanax pill this year and happily go door to door with my children. He has encouraged me not to. "What would people think?" he says. Maybe they will think that I am fucking happy and they should get some too. So instead, I will probably show up in my normal Halloween costume: The tired, angry mother of three walking down numerous sidewalks in the dark cursing under my breath and pissed that I forgot my flask of Bailey's for my coffee. I will see the local bars in a distance and spit at the college kids enjoying their life and shit. The Divas will be dressed as Cleopatra, a mummy, and a pink ass Bratz tiger. Guess who is the tiger....yep, Miss B. The costume is not one of my favorites and I find myself calling her "Richard Parker" from Life of Pi. Picking out costumes for the three Divas caused me to question the costume industry and if I had passed down some "slut genes" to these three girls. It took hours to convince them that the Bride zombie looked like a Meth Head, the Pop Star Diva looked like a stripper, and the Southern Belle looked like she was the "Head Madame" at a Brothel. What the hell is going on? I swear there was a picture of a five year old girl posing seductively as a cop with handcuffs in her hands. I know my past. I know my genes. I know there is a pretty good chance that I could end up with a tramp as a daughter. I am not putting that idea in the universe as a for sure, but I know there is a possibility. I will do my best to fight it and love the tramp unconditionally.

The girls love to ask me what I dressed up as for Halloween when I was a child. In the fifth grade, I swear I went as a hooker. I wish my mother was alive to confirm this, but I promise I was a hooker with a mole drawn on my face. Giggle. She was a young, wonderful, free spirited mother...don't judge her and I turned out fine.

My love for Halloween has caused me to fall off the wagon. I am in deep. Let the crafting madness and Halloween parties begin. Right now my kitchen table is a mass of newspapers and orange paint. Pinterest is my poison and I may OD this week. Miss B has a party this morning and once again I was up past midnight cutting ribbon and painting bags. I looked at the beautiful pile of shit everywhere and I was at peace. The SBF came through and stated that it must bring some peace to me because there is no way in hell he would do that shit. He seemed to have forgotten he had just finished spending over an hour cutting out jack-o-lantern faces for me.

In my defense, I have not gone fully ape shit crazy into the Pinterest dark hole. At 12:30 am, I said the hell with trying to tie cute bows through the holes of tags that I created for goodie bags. I grabbed a stapler and stapled tag, ribbon, and the whole damn bag. Ha!!

...I'll be watching you

2013-10-15T00:06:00.000-05:00

The NISSANITY I have suffered from has come to an end. Purchasing another car last week (NOT A NISSAN) was just the right medication to cure this evil disease. Mama is happy. My new lover is an Aucra MDX and I love it. As I pulled up to the Nissan dealership to remove my items, yes I was blasting rap music..."U.E.O.N.O" was my song of choice for my entrance. To some this may seem a little over the top, but I don't give a shit. I stepped out of my new vehicle and approached my former lover and my sandal broke. WTF really...my sandal broke. It was a sign, but not some sort of bad karma sign. It was the laws of the universe confirming that I was indeed dealing with "shit" and would continue to experience "shit" until I relinquished myself of all associations with this company. As the service lady cautiously approached me, I made sure to tell her that every time I step on this lot...my shit breaks..."look at my sandal".

She was not amused with the comment and again I didn't give a shit. I was there to get my personal items and cause no harm. She offered a box to put my things in and I felt like I had just gone to an ex lover's house to get my shit. "Hell no, I don't want a box. I will carry my items like a lady." I refused to be the wounded ex girlfriend picking up her items with tears running down her face. Been there...done that. I think I literally skipped back and forth as I went back and forth.

They bought the car back in full and I don't feel a need to be appreciative of their actions. They only did what was required by law and that's all they did. Never once did they attempt to go above and beyond. When I approached the Twerk Tank, I experienced flashbacks of what I thought would be a happy life for us. I would be lying if I did not say that a sadness did come over me. I very well know this is just a piece of metal...an item in my life used to get me from point A to point B. This sack of shit did a detour though and took me to hell and back. So, I had two choices: get my items and "keep it classy" or be me. Why hide the frustrations and pain I had felt over the last month? I did not do shit angels. I did not sing Ceelo's song "Fuck You". I decided to just be me...giggle.

I kept my car blasting my theme music the entire time as I switched back and forth with my items. Yes, I slammed car doors. Yes, I had a full on commentary out loud. Nobody wanted to make eye contact. Nobody wanted to acknowledge me really. They wanted me gone. I admit I wanted to leave something for them to remember me by. Tons of scenarios of the worst kinds of behavior that I could exhibit were going through my mind. I looked for "Sam I am" because I wanted to tell him that I didn't give a damn. His rules were for fools. Yet, I could not find his gray headed ass. So, I said farewell to the service men. Yes, I sang in my best opera voice as I stood like Rocky Balboa did when he won a fight..."This bitch has left the building. May God have mercy on your souls". The service lady interrupted me and told me I could not be in the service area for insurance purposes. I kindly replied.."Now, you want to follow rules. Fuck you." and I walked off with my broken sandal flopping still holding my arms in the air because I was "winning".

The SBF was frightened to hear of my behavior and reminded me that "God does not make cars. Man does." I know that and agree. God made man. And if anyone in that dealership or corporation had showed me any compassion and understanding, I am pretty sure my NISSANITY would have never
developed. I never asked for anything unreasonable, just a car that I could transport my Divas in. Our history will soon be a very distant memory. My new lover is taking care of me now and he's "the shit" if I may say so. I left the dealership with my new boy fraaand blowing my horn while waving my hand out the window and "woohooing" to the top of my lungs...

Best break up ever

But I end this chapter in my life with a song playing on repeat....

"Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake
I'll be watching you....."

And my friends will be watching you.....

Giggle

...Dancing Machines

2013-10-08T10:05:00.000-05:00

We are a dancing family. Friday nights no longer involve barhopping and clubbing. The three Divas make it very hard to do such, so we have learned that to bring the clubbing to us. I hope in the future when the Divas are "airing our dirty laundry" to their shrinks that they will remember that in the midst of all of the drama, the dirty house, the cries, and the screams....

"WE DANCED OUR ASSES OFF"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ip2N3m_bvi0&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FacfJV4BEkI&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=93rEpnWbnws&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=HJP4EpUwtog&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=G_2h-VDE1qA&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_