...I'm different.

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

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

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

I. Get your life together

    a. get your shit together

    a. no really, get your shit together

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

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

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

I'm different, yeah I'm different

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

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

xoxo

mythreeandme

.....04%

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


xoxo
mythreeandme

  

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

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

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

apples and oranges,

_mythreeandme 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

Dearest Blog.....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...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.

..."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.