...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