...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!

...Happy Mother's Everyday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...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!"

..."SHE GONE"

Oh, I have gone and done it......I have lost my shit. The recent events and activities in my life that I like to think of colorful strips of paper have driven me to the breaking point. My strips are all scattered about like I went on a rampage with a leaf blower. Over the last few days, I have tried to narrow down the exact occurrence that has caused me to go into a dark place of giving 0 fucks. The best I can come up with is that my superwoman cape has wrapped around my damn throat and is currently choking the shit out of me as I type these words. I have always known that I am somewhat of a volunteer whore, but over the last month I have walked too many street corners. I also like to consider myself a warrior and this warrior has fought way too many battles. Seriously, I am not sure when I started swapping out happy hours for volunteer meetings, making school crafts instead of watching trashy TV, and scheduling play dates instead of girls night out. So, I am issuing a public service announcement: "SHE GONE"

I swear there are subliminal messages out there to mothers that say we must do it all, keep our shit together, and die trying. If you have not fallen victim to this phenomena, please do not judge the mother who has...send peace vibes her way. I think it will happen to all of us at one point in our lives. Either we are the bat shit crazy over the top mom or the mom feeling guilty for not being the bat shit crazy over the top mom. Both result in a mother hiding in a closet with her wine and her pills and whispering "Dear sweet baby Jesus please just let me make it to bed time." They both result in a mother feeling like shit at the end of the day and that my friends is just fucking nonsense. I read the funniest post the other week that made reference to "Namaste" and ever since I have wished I could purchase some "Namaste" water to baptize myself in...in hopes that I would resurface as a new, refreshed mother, wife, and friend. Hallelujah!!! Mama has risen...and yes I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell for the last statement.   

The very thought of volunteering, doing homework, cleaning, decorating, working, parenting, and just fucking caring sends me into slight convulsions. I have never pretended to have my shit together, but I think me losing my shit is starting to surface. I am all about letting my crazy show, but it's on my terms. I'd like to think I have some control over it, but my freak flag is flying higher by the second. I swear I caught the middle Diva looking at me today with a "what the fuck is up with my mom" look as I kissed her goodbye. I can't blame her. I would be worried too if my mom was walking around with pieces of silicone bandages on her arms and nose. When I get busy, I get clumsy hence the two iron burns on my arm that resemble suspect cutting behavior. When I get stressed, I tweeze and squeeze hence the Gorbachev scar I am currently sporting on my nose. The SBF thought it was quite entertaining to come to me and ask if I needed to "talk so someone". Me: "What the hell are you talking about?". The SBF: "I think this is how it started with Michael Jackson. Pretty sure he got stressed with all the demands in his life and he started focusing on his body and developed...". Me: "Oh, go to hell." I am pretty sure rumors will start to surface that I am in some sort of abusive relationship or either I did in fact go to the Nissan dealership and get into a fist fight with the owner. I have found myself having to bite my lip when people ask "how's it going?" because there is a beast inside of me that wants to verbally vomit some of the most foulest shit ever. These people include not only friends, neighbors, acquaintances, but also random strangers or anyone that manages to make eye contact with me. Wanting to mouth to random bystanders "this shit sucks" has forced me to make some changes in my life.

The truth is simple...I am tired as FUCK!!! So tired that I don't have the energy to fight the SBF over the fact that he put three 100 watt light bulbs in the very small hallway leading to the girls' rooms. When the middle Diva came to me earlier with a look of horror saying that the light was too bright, I just blew her off and put her complaint in the "middle child nothing makes me happy" category....that was until I cut the damn light on and proceeded to scream "Jesus Christ". The SBF is quite frugal and known for cutting the air off during the day causing the house to be a nice 81 degrees when the Divas and I come home. The shit he has put in this light socket is sure to run the electricity bill up $200 and I am too tired to express any concern. I just pray no one suffers sunburn while walking down the hall that I now call the "highlighter to hell". I am also too tired to find the energy to participate in the
schools' local fundraiser. Yep, the former Parent of the Year and PTA treasurer and VP has not sold one damn raffle ticket and she has three children in three different schools. I think the cause is great, but I cannot stomach asking one more person in this community for money. The Divas remind me daily that I have not sold any tickets...never mind the SBF...he has no obligation in this process. In their minds "Daddies work and mommies do EVERYTHING else" which will be great shrink material for them. I just finished helping raise a nice amount of money for an organization that helps the children in the community. But, in reality they could give two shits. They want the free Disney pins and lanyards for selling their tickets. I am contemplating confessing to them tonight that mommy is not going to sell one damn ticket and take them to Dollar Tree to help the confession sting a little less to them. I have also let the SBF and the oldest Diva do a school project together. Holy hell...the world is coming to an end. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer when I saw the SBF trying to help decorate a poster on Alaska last night. Then, I was reminded of  this wonderful woman I met on the beach a couple of weeks ago whose carefree personality was intoxicating. She told me the way she made it through homework and projects was by simply stating "I already earned my degree. You earn your own." I was totally dumbfounded and caught myself wanting to ask her..."is that allowed?"

So, I have realized one thing...the world will still go on without me. Other mothers are selling raffle tickets. The Divas have managed to pick out their own clothes. I even caught them putting little notes in each others lunch boxes which brought tears to my eyes. Just the other day I witnessed the oldest Diva taking the middle one to the side and telling her to slap a bully in the face...atta girl. Giggle. I tried to do it all and it sucked ass. Today, I declare that I will allow myself to give 0 fucks and let the pieces fall where they may. Funny, I never realized how much in control I thought I needed to be. So for right now... the calendar may just remain blank, homework and backpacks may go unchecked, meetings may be skipped, and emails may be ignored.

I do offer my condolences to those that will be affected by my behavior. If someone should ask, what the hell happened to me...just reply "SHE GONE".  It's just humanly impossible to be everything for everyone. So, I'm going to let my freak flag fly high in the world of not giving a shit for a little while. Join me if you would like....I'm getting on the "Peace Train".