.....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

  

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.

...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.

...Back from Sabbatical

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste, Bitches!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

...Sex, Race, Bullying and Breast Buds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

...a bad case of TMS

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

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

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

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

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

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





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


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

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

We love hard in this house.

...Sh*t Just Got Real

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers

...Crazy mom seeking cheer

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

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

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

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

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


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


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




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

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