...I'm different.

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%

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

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...

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.