...#thankaparent

We are on our last leg of school in the Davis household and all I can say is "shit just got real". I tapped out 3 weeks ago. I started the year with good cheer and as the months passed I have turned into the wicked witch of west side (insert my gang sign). 

Miss B has learned to read by the grace of God and her saint of a teacher. The middle Diva has learned how to stand up for herself against bullies and how to be passive aggressive. The oldest Diva has learned how to maneuver her way through the social circle of mean girls without cutting a bitch. So, I think the year has turned out good. 

The last few weeks have included teacher appreciation celebrations and 1000 end of the year parties. I'm all about showing gratitude and appreciation for others. And everyone knows I love a party. So, I tip my hat, raise my glass, and give a thumbs up to the amazing individuals who have nurtured and taught my Divas. You did good. You did damn good. As for the students, way to go!! You worked hard and played hard. Enjoy your summer. 

I would like to take this moment to reach out to the parents. Confession: I want a parent parade. I want a celebration, appreciation, dedication, to US!! I want to parade down the streets and have people scream my name and throw beads at me. I want to sit on the back of a convertible with my Prosecco bottle in hand and have people shout wonderful affirmations mixed with profanity. I want a trail of parents in cars, walking, and turning cartwheels. I also want a band. One of those bands from New Orleans playing "Oh when those saints go marching in..." I want confetti and sparklers. 

We deserve it. We have survived another year. We have spent late nights doing homework and projects. We have baked cookies and chaperoned field trips. We have cried behind closed doors because MATH just makes people cry. We have raced through car rider lines to get our kids to school on time. We have angrily cut the edges off of sandwiches for lunches. We have quietly plotted a way to jack up the asshat that keeps giving our child grief. We have volunteered our time, our money, our energy, our talents, and our brain cells to various projects.  We have taken off work to catch projectile vomiting in our hands. We have found strength to not knock the hell out of a kid for talking back to us. We have gotten out of bed and cooked breakfast after spending all night shitting lava because our kids gave us cooties. We have ushered our kids back and forth to birthday parties and extra curricular activities. We have forgotten a child and spent all night praying they not be ruined forever. 

We have prayed for those kids that are not one of our own. We have taken the oathe..."It takes a village". We have smiled at the parent for giving us the stink eye because we forgot to bring cookies to the Christmas party. We have flipped off the condescending email from the parents who have their shit together and want to make it know that we dropped the ball. We have written our names in the blanks on sign up sheets knowing that we just sold ourselves to the devil. We have nervously answered our cellphones from the nurse at school praying that an ER visit is not in store. We have fled work on two wheels to make it to the play only to have our kids not even acknowledge us. 

We are at the end of the road. We can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Summer is approaching and we welcome  it. We reach our arms out to the days approaching that will be full of sunshine, sleeping in, fights, boredom, vacations, temper tantrums, tears, no structure, sleepovers, sunburns, bee stings, tons of television, babysitters, expensive camps, childcare, and the inability to satisfy our children. We will find ourselves in the closet crying not because of MATH but because our families have gone MAD. 

So, I want a pat on the back for the year and the summer. I do and I know it's selfish. But, I want to have people scream..."good job", "your kid is just a little shit right now. It's okay", "20+ tardiness aren't that bad", "you tried", and so forth. I want other parents there right in line with me. We deserve it. We have done our job whether our parent appraisal may be good or bad. Some of us kept trying. 

I appreciate you and you and you. I see you struggling to not slam on your breaks to show the little shit in the backseat that seatbelts are necessary. I see you piecing together summer activities, camps, vacations, and child care. I see the tapped out look in your eyes. I see you and I am giving you a high fucking five. The struggle is real and has been real all year. And look at you...still marching on. 

So, why don't we march together. Start a parent appreciation movement. Throw a party. Bake a parent some cookies. Send a parent a "happy". Send a parent a shout out. Toss me some beads and I will raise my glass of Prosecco to you. 

...It's not you, it's me

It has taken dropping my basket of complete "shittery" to realize that I need to come home and home is here. My blog is my therapy and my outlet. My blog is my voice that is not interrupted by the SBF asking me "What did I buy for $210 bucks at Kroger?" at which time in my head I always answer..."groceries, you dumbass." My voice is not interrupted by Miss B asking me to come look at her shit this one last time because there is something weird in it. To have a decent phone conversation nowadays, I get in my car and back out of the driveway and close the garage door. Seriously, I spend 80% of my conversations with friends in my car in the driveway. Miss B can read text messages now and loves to spell the word S-H-I-T. She will spend a good hour asking when would be the appropriate time to spell it...like when could she get away with it. Can I spell it on vacation? Can I spell it at home? Can I just spell it in the car...this one time? Have I allowed her to spell it to get her just to shut the hell up...yes. The struggle is real around here.

The Divas are getting older and their social lives, homework, and extracurricular activities have rendered me their bitch, their butler, their Benson, their Hobson (etc)...some of you may have to google. Giggle. Anyway, I am basically their "do boy" which was all fine and dandy, until I forgot that you can't be a "do boy" and a "volunteer whore". I have had the honor to serve on very wonderful organizations that have had the most wonderful effects on my community. To these organizations that I just tapped out and quit on the spot a couple of months ago...."It's not you, it's me". With my sick sense of humor comes this insane passion to help others. I go all "balls in" with a majority of the stuff I participate in. THIS IS NOT HEALTHY! It took several crying spells in my bedroom closet and thoughts of "choking out" other volunteers to make me realize that my basket was full. So, I dropped my basket then picked it up and proceeded to drop kick it into the yard. I tossed cigarette butts in it and walked away. I left that damn basket in my neglected yard and cut the damn porch light off. For the first time, I tapped out. AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENED...the world did not come to an end. These organizations kept on without me. Someone else picked up the torch and the heavens opened up and I started to see the light. I started to see the greater good, humanity, all of the warm and fuzzy shit that makes you believe there is good in the world.

What started out as "just wanting to help out" became too much. I caught an STD while whoring myself out in the world of volunteering. The STD is called "I give 0 fucks now." I blame myself. You can't "do" everybody and "do" everything without it catching up with you. So, I have almost completely phased "working for free" out of my life for now. I am still PTO president and my term will end in May at which time I shall go underground. To those women out there that are tired, frustrated, fed up, exhausted, and on the edge of losing it....JUST QUIT. I am a quitter now and the shit feels awesome. I know some may read this and think that I am shitting on volunteering. I am not. I am shitting on myself. Again...it's not you, it's me. Public service announcement: the worst things you can do to a volunteer is not tell them thank you, take them for granted, be mean to them, and believe they owe you their services, time, energy, and money. We have created a world where service is expected by some. I grew up in an environment that "nobody in life owes you shit, so if they take time to acknowledge you...you sure as hell better show gratitude."

So, my free time is no longer consumed with opportunities to serve others. I gladly placed the golden baton in the next person's hand and I wished them much more wisdom and patience than I had. My sabbatical has allowed me to focus on myself more and I suck at it. For some odd reason, I think I am only of value if I am helping everyone but myself. I am not in anyway trying to be Mother Teresa. If I see something empty, I must fill it. If I see a need, I am drawn to conquer. I love to fight for the underdog. This shit sounds all noble and wonderful, but I don't know how to balance it. I do too much and then go bat shit crazy! For now....some days, I don't do shit. I focus on my house. I watch shitty TV. I ignore my kids. I have cocktails. I workout. I daydream. I let the laundry pile up. And every day, I learn the world is okay with me doing just that....not a damn thing. More of us out there need to realize that...the world will be okay without us.

It took weeks, but I decided to open my front door and go find my basket. Let me tell you...the weather did a number on that basket. Seriously, the fucking cold weather resulted in too many snow days, too many illnesses, and too much time indoors with my family. In one day, I experienced one Diva mumble "gummy bears" and proceed to faint in the doctor's office after being diagnosed with the flu and another Diva collapse in her own vomit in the kitchen with her pants around her ankles. Why did I find her with her pants around her ankles...in the kitchen...face down in vomit? Well, she had diarrhea and had to vomit and needed to run across the house and tell me....duh!!! Back to my basket, I found that bitch. I have pieced her back together and I have carefully placed strips of paper back in her. I read a book. I actually made time to read a book that a dear friend gave me about giving your "best yes" and it helped treat my volunteer STD. I can now just say "no" instead of "hell, no. fuck you. you life suckers. you dream killers, etc". I forget to return emails. I don't answer my phone sometimes. I don't respond to texts immediately. I no longer fill in sign up slots with my name. I even started working out. Planks have become my friend. I am filling my basket with strips that make me better, not everyone else better. I am still a work in progress. Some days, I feel myself being drawn into a FB war, a rally, a cause, and I simply tell myself  "Nope. Not today. It's me. My basket just isn't strong enough."

Realizing "it's not you, it's me" has allowed me to breathe. It has allowed me to find peace and let go of the anger and resentment I was carrying around. I can fix myself, but I can't fix others. I can't make them care as much, do as much, or fight as much. Deciding that I was the problem made me feel better about not enjoying some things or some people. FOR EXAMPLE....Disney Fucking World. Please note that I have emphatically expressed that "it's not you, it's me". The SBF surprised us with a trip to Disney World for Christmas. I grimaced when he told me which came out as "I'm trying to fucking surprise y'all with a trip to Disney, but you keep spending so much money on Christmas!".  I was shocked because the SBF and I went to Disney World after our first year of marriage with my family. I thought we both agreed to never ever return. But, I fell in love with his effort. He doesn't do holidays. So, this was big. We surprised the Divas with a trip full of magic, bliss, fun, and all that good shit.

Imagine Christmas Day, Magic Kingdom at Disney World, 3 Divas, and 10,000 people wanting to be apart of the magic....shit looked like the apocalypse.  Miss B tried to go apeshit because she wanted a $350 Mickey Mouse nutcracker to the point I wanted to tell her to "crack deez nuts" in the store. I dry heaved over several rides in Magic Kingdom. I screamed "fuck" when someone rammed my ankle with their wheelchair and it was not a soft "fuck". I screamed that word in slow motion making sure to enunciate every single letter. Where was all of the magic, happiness, and the squeals of joy?? I witnessed husbands and wives turn on each other. I witnessed sibling relationships being destroyed. I witnessed parents basically telling their kids to "suck it the fuck up and keep walking". Oxygen should be pumped into Disney like they do the casinos in Vegas. After spending $80 on Mickey Mouse ears (we had to buy one Diva another set because the other Diva slapped it off her head in the Haunted Mansion), the SBF decided that he was no longer feeding us. We were on our 12th hour of Magic Kingdom and this asshole refused to purchase anymore food. Pause...the SBF is frugal to say the least and thought a $100/per diem budget for a family of five would suffice at Disney. Anyway, I mentioned that I was weak and starving after fighting to see the fireworks which my kids chose not to watch but ride the teacups for the 5th time. Well, this asshat looked at me and said "No!". I don't remember what I said to him on the bridge in front of the castle that was glistening like Frozen. Whatever I said caused Miss B to ask if I was going to divorce daddy. I reassured her that we were not getting a divorce...I would just kill him instead. How did we miss the magic? "It's not you, it's me". Disney World lovers are a special breed. My kids failed to appreciate the magic, the fairytale, the beauty...all those bitches wanted to do was ride. They gave 0 fucks about Mickey. They only wanted the thrill of the rides. So, we realized that we are more of a "Six Flags" family and not a "Disney World" family. We're also a family that can only enjoy spending that amount of money on a trip that includes sand, ocean, and cocktails. So, if you love Disney..."Do you, boo", because "It's not you, it's me."

I have also tried to fill my basket with friendships. I am surrounded by 4 completely insane individuals that mean so much to me, but I feel so lonely sometimes. I often wonder if volunteering gave me a different kind of human interaction that I was craving. I expected people coming together for the greater good would spark harmony, thought provoking conversation, and laughter. Well, it didn't. Again..."it's not you, it's me..." I was expecting too much from people I didn't really know. So, I have gathered up my friendships and placed them back in my basket. I have focused on grabbing more of the strips of friendships that feed my soul and less of the surface bitches. HA! I just need a little more and I don't have much to give.

Just the other day, I met a group of women. Within 30 minutes, all three women looked at the size of my wedding ring, asked me what the SBF and I do, and where I lived. I almost said..."who the fuck cares?????". The size of my ring says nothing about my marriage. I don't have a rock on my hand and I am in no way knocking those who have some bling..."Do you, boo!!". I like big diamonds. They are pretty to look at. If I have a friend with a rock, I am happy for her. But, it says nothing to me. I have a wedding ring that was purchased by a fella who scraped together every dime he had and I cherish my ring. I look at my ring when my marriage gets really hard...the really dark kind of hard and it brings me home. My ring reminds me that we were willing to accept each other as we were almost 14 years ago and vowed to make it work. As far as asking me what the SBF does....he "does" me. As far as asking me what I do....I "do" the SBF and all kinds of off the wall shit that would be far more entertaining to hear about than my occupation. I often return to my vehicle after grocery shopping only to find my trunk has been open the entire time. Ha!!! My job does not define me and won't tell you much about me. I am an audiologist. I look in ears. I have many close friends and I don't know what they do. Seriously, I just don't care. I know their secrets...well the ones I can remember because often times I forget. I only retain the information that is important. I know their heart and to me that is enough. Asking a stranger, where they live baffles me as well!!! WTF...are you trying to plan a "late night"/"after party", do you want to come over, is this some type of financial litmus test??? I live in the country is my normal response. The size and location of my home will not give you any information about me. You will not know the harmony, the chaos, the laughter, the tears, the heartache, and the love from the size and location.

Since, this post has turned into a "Take Me to Church" flow....I will end with one confession: When people see me in public without my kids and say "How did you manage to get out without all of the kids?", my ears start ringing. Seriously, the bubble over my head is saying "Fuck my kids right now. I'm free!" or "They with they daddy." I always muster up an explanation. I realized I never ask people where there children are if they are alone. I don't care. I assume they are safe and well. I know this sounds harsh, but I will pray for your child when he/she is hurting. I will fight for your child. I am all about "it takes a village". It's just...I dropped my basket and tried to set it on fire. So, I have to be easy with myself right now. I have to fill my basket carefully with strips that are colorful and meaningful.

In the most simplest terms....

"It's not you, it's me."

...slowing down

This is my fourth day into the "time change". Not only did the clocks "fall" back an hour on Saturday night, but my capacity to behave in a sensible manner decided to "fall" back into an abyss. Yep, it's happened again. I am on the bat shit crazy bus, but this time I'm driving. Halloween turned into a season and I didn't know it!!! You no longer trick or treat one night for 3 hours. It's a week long event now. It's a fucking season...like Christmas season. WTF???? Halloween was the last holiday that the Divas and the SBF had not ruined for me. The SBF doesn't celebrate shit that's on a calendar. So, I'm the Holiday Cheerleader. I allowed the Divas to pick their costumes, I painted costumes, I bought bits of pieces and shit and made them happy. By the third day of dressing three Divas in full costume, I
decided I hated Halloween. I did not come as the cute little witch with the "witch and fabulous" apron at Miss B's Halloween party. I came as something better..something real. I came as the tired, unshowered mother with store bought fruit already cut up and in the container it was packaged in. I did not tap into my pinterest loving creative side. I tapped into the "keeping it real" side. And you know what...the world did not come to an end. The kids had fun and that's all that mattered. I even shared with everyone that I had not showered that day.

As I walked into the house this afternoon and the Divas were fighting, I caught myself wanting to go look in the mirror and cry. You know...one of those hard cries where snot runs into your mouth and you don't bother to wipe it. This kind of cry is only good for me if I can look at myself in the mirror...weird shit...I know. The behavior is so disturbing, but comical at the same time. I almost feel like I'm not the one crying when I look at myself in the mirror. It's like I'm acting. FYI: I'm a damn good actor when I'm crying. Unfortunately, I took a xanie and I can't cry when I take xanies. I have tried to cry only to sit and wait and wait. My medication renders me "cryless". Ha!!  So, there will be no Oscar handed out tonight over my stellar performance of sobbing into a mirror. Instead, I have chosen to blog. Blogging has proven to be more healing than my meds.

What has brought on this sense of hysteria.....just plain ole life shit. Nothing really special and thank goodness nothing really bad. I have seen really bad before and that shit is no joke. Maybe it started with Miss B.'s obsession with midgets. For at least an hour everyday, I have to answer questions about midgets. She is horrified of them and I don't know why. I can't seem to find out where she  learned this term. All I know is that she has a never ending list of questions for me:

• Where do they live?
• What do they eat?
• How do they pay for their stuff if there is not a stool around?
• What kind of cars do they drive?                                           
• If they grow their hair long, will it touch their butt?
• Do they have regular size babies?
• Do they have special powers since you they are special?

Let me put it in conversation for you.

•  Me: "They don't have special powers. They are just like you and me." Miss B: "I just saw a midget house" Me: "No you didn't." Miss B; "Yes, I did. It was little"
• Miss B: "I just saw a dog or a midget." Me: "You saw a dog." Miss B: "It could have been a midget because it was short and brown."

I want the world to know that I am not trying to offend anyone by using the term "midget". I have struggled over the appropriate term for what is turning into an every day topic. Should we use "dwarfism" or "little people" in our house? I feel like I'm failing Miss B. Why can't she just get it like she gets the fact that her cousins are all colors of the rainbow? So, I have been carrying that monkey on my back. I am doing an injustice. We teach the Divas that all people are created equal and are special. I am walking around with this guilt of not being socially correct and not taking the time to research this problem in our house. Why don't I have the time for something so important in her life......

Homework, car rider line, after school activities, work, church, friends, family, the Divas etc. My oldest Diva got in the car and informed me she learned how to "tongue" which caused me to black out. After asking her to repeat the word 10 times, she informed me that "tongue" was a band term. My middle Diva asked me what begins with "F" and ends in "uck"..........."firetruck". Before running off and laughing, she informed me that she knew I was going to say the "F" word. My language has not been the best lately. "WHAT SHIT WHAT" has become the go to phrase that I ask Miss B during her numerous temper tantrums. I have even resorted to pretending to check their homework. I stay in the car during their extracurricular activities. Asshat has become my favorite word during car rider line. Seriously, I have tried to shake my steering wheel off in car rider line because "Susie" can't get "Jimmy" out the car fast enough. "Susie" does not prep her child 2 miles before and have him unbuckled and almost out the door at the drop off location. No, that does not make sense in Susie's world. Susie is going to wait until the last minute and hold up the whole damn line of parents trying to get somewhere. Susie is going to hand Jimmy his backpack, lunchbox and instrument case...one at a time. Then kiss him goodbye and watch him walk in. The other day I sat behind a "Susie" that just sat in her car. No child ever got out. I swear...I never saw a child exit the vehicle. She just stopped her car in line for 2 minutes. Two minutes in car rider line is an eternity. When, she drove off and I realized that no child got out. I wanted to run engage in a high speed car chase.  Here's another one...the "Susies" that think you are cutting line and won't let you in. They literally try to rear end each other just to keep one car from getting ahead of them. They even have the nerve to tell you to go to the back of the line at which time I have to mouth "fuck you. let me in."....then Susie's face turns red and I flip her off and my ears turn red and then I promise to hunt Susie down and challenge her to a street fight. I spend at least 4 hours a day waiting to transport children back and forth. I try my best to remain considerate of others, but I swear there is a generation of parents out there that don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. It's the weirdest shit ever. What happened to sharing, kindness, and fucking manners and shit? Have we become a world so self absorbed into making our life comfortable and the lives of our children that we ride around oblivious to others?

AND....What's up with all of the competition to one up each other. Public service announcement: the types of parties I throw, the items I make, the ways I decorate my house, the clothes I wear, the things I volunteer for...don't have shit to do with Susie. I'm not competing with Susie because in my world...I am always winning. Hell, I won a long time ago...right around the time I stopped giving a shit about what other people had or how they were living their life. I can say this...I am one of the best type of friends to have because I am so busy with my life that I don't have the need to judge your

life. People tell me shit all of the time and I totally forget about it...it passes through me. I hear it in that instance and offer assistance, but I don't have room to judge or analyze it. When some of my friends approach me with information and say "Don't tell anybody". I always tell them "Don't worry. I won't remember it tomorrow." I am not offering up this information to boast. I am offering this information up as a coping mechanism to the basic bitches or "Susie's". I see them multiplying each day and I am afraid. They are afraid people are cutting them in car rider line. They make snide remarks if you don't have your children in certain clothes. They jump at the opportunity to tell you that their child outscored your child. They love to tell you how you are not doing shit right. They look at the ring on your finger as soon as they meet you to decide where you fit in the socioeconomic scale. Guess what Susie....my ring does not say shit about my marriage.

Speaking of marriage....that shit is hard. There are good days and really shitty days and then good days and then some pretty fucked up days. Shout out to everyone that is married, that wants to be married, and that has tried marriage. I love the SBF. Do I wish we could break up sometimes...hell yes? Just last night I was at a public event surrounded by people and the SBF called and hung up in my face twice. I had to pretend I was still talking to him both times it happened because people were around. As I rushed home, I thought about the things I would do to get him back. Confession: One time, I threw his pencils away in the garbage can outside because he screamed at me for no reason. When he asked me if I had touched them, I pretended like I was appalled at the accusation. "Is this where we are in our marriage now? You are accusing me of taking time to steal your pencils? Pencils? Really, our marriage has come to pencils?" The joy I felt over the act was wonderful and crazy at the same time, but so is love and marriage. So, I took the two hang ups in the face and "charged them to the game".

Right now I feel like I am at crossroad with humanity and insanity. I really fucking care about people. I really want the world to be a better fucking place for everyone. I love the shit out of the Divas and the SBF. I love giving back to the community. Those three things define me. They are the hard, but they make me feel alive. If I was meeting with my shrink and she asked what was wrong, I would say "the usual". The Divas are "life suckers". the SBF is a "dream killer", and I am a "volunteer whore". She would ask me "What can you give up or change to make it better?" and I would say "nothing". We always have an awkward silence that follows and I promise to try to slow down and do more for myself and say "no". 

I had one hour of free time today....one fucking hour and I used that hour to catch up on volunteer stuff. I rushed into Office Depot and literally ran up and down the aisle grabbing items. I made my way to the check out counter to find my buddy waiting on me. Yep...I have a love/hate relationship with the little old man who works the check out counter at Office Depot. When I saw him, I took a deep breath and released a long "shiiiiiitttttttt" under my breath. I know this old man very well. He is painfully slow and very thorough. Today, he was wearing a Christmas hat. I prayed for the patience needed to get through yet another transaction with my old buddy. It never fails that he knows I am in a hurry and he could give zero shits about my sense of urgency. He slowly scans every item at least 5 times and even talks to some of my items. Today, he paused for a second because he had a phone call. He said "Hold on just a second. This may be my wife calling." I stood there and tried not to burn him with the lasers in my eyes. He was oblivious. Then something came over me.....Holy Hell, I was slowing down. I was breathing. I was still. Something happened as I watched his hands shake while holding the phone. I was present. I spend so much of my day holding my breath and rushing to the next destination that I don't consider "slowing down" an option. Hell at this point I would have to put "slowing down" on the calendar and there's no fucking room. Well, the old man finally hung up the phone and finished scanning my items. I was completely calm and enjoying the moment. This old man makes me slow down every time I get in his check out line. He could care less if I am in a hurry. He normally makes an off colored remark like "you got a lotta them suckers running around"...suckers being the Divas. Well today, he helped me find the time to slow down on a day that I needed it the most.

He even insulted me at the end....It was raining horribly outside and I asked for a plastic bag. My old buddy: "You want a bag because of the rain. Well, here's a big bag for a big head. HeeHee." I burst into laughter and teared up. Laughter heals my soul. I crave it daily and I it was given to me in the form of a little old man with a Christmas hat on.

This blog was typed by a mommy to tired to edit
Excuse any errors

...I love my Louis Vuitton

Every mother, every woman, shit.... every person in the world deserves a moment. A moment of sheer fucking delirious delight. A moment of insane happiness. A moment of unfiltered, uncensored, and selfish joy.

I had that moment just a few days ago and let me tell you....shit is addictive. I attended our local Junior Auxiliary Bash on Friday night with the SBF. We happened upon free tickets for my service on another board. So, I felt it was a sign to re-enter the world of Junior Auxiliary....at least as a bystander this time. I quit Junior Auxiliary last December. I was not a quitter at that point in my life. I was an "all balls in" kinda of girl. Well, I was in charge of the silent auction for the 2013 JA Ball. Real talk...I lost my shit and quit. I put all of my time, effort, energy, and eggs into one basket and dropped that basket. The auction was successful. We raised money for the children in the community, but I never bounced back. So, I quit and the heavens opened up. 

The light at the end of the tunnel warmed my face and I said good bye to my friends and an organization that I hold dear to my heart. If I can't give someone my best, I don't give them any of me. This is not always good. This has lead to outrageous fucking birthday parties for the Divas, sprinkling powder on the floor for Easter Bunny footprints, doing bizarre Elf on the Shelf shit, etc. I am currently working on finding my area of "grey".

Anyway, I entered the JA bash this past Friday with the SBF on my shoulder. And there he was....I blushed. I knew he would be there. I wanted him. I came for him. I tried to not make eye contact. I could hear the song "Take My Breath Away" coming from the speakers. I felt weak....a chocolate beauty was right before my eyes and it wasn't the SBF. It was a Louis Vuitton bag being raffled off for $10 tickets. A $1650 bag bought in the flagship store in Paris was right before my eyes.  I approached the table with the SBF. All, I could manage to say to him is "give me all of your cash." That asshat quickly replied "I only brought $20 bucks". I could have slapped the dog shit out of the dream killer I married. A lady had purchased $100 worth of tickets and all I could manage to do was $20. I could have stabbed him. I snatched the $20, bought my 2 tickets, and decided I would visit the ATM to get more cash after I ditched the SBF at the bar. 

Well, the wine went in and my cares went out. I got to visit with dear friends, enjoy good food, and dance a little. All was well in the world. Until, I noticed it was time for them to draw for the Louis. I almost had a panic attack watching the slips of paper being tossed around. I downed my wine to help ease my anxiety. I couldn't take it. I literally wanted to shit myself. I know it's wrong to pray for material items. But damnit...I prayed. 

The next thing I know...I heard the MC say" oh my gosh. I can't believe it...Timeka Davis". 

http://youtu.be/ABwNzW9qQxg

Black out. Black the fuck out. Screaming. Running. Tossed my wristlet and cell phone. For 45 minutes, I jumped and screamed...not even a cute scream. It was like a roar of a wounded bear. I couldn't stop it. It was my Price is Right moment. I jumped. I jumped up and down in a maxi dress with no spanx. So, I'm pretty sure my ass was literally "clapping" with the audience. I hugged strangers. 

I have never been able to not contain myself. Let me rephrase. I was not shit faced wasted and unable to control myself. I was sober for the most part. I did whatever my body would allow. I won a LV bag and for one second I felt like Beyoncé. Then, I said a "bitch please" and I felt like just "Timeka Davis". Not Timeka the mommy, the wife, the volunteer, the audiologist, the PTO president.....just me. 

Side note: the SBF was making his way down the stairs when they called my name. He assumed my name was being announced because I was getting kicked out. He heard "Timeka Davis" and thought "I can't take this bitch no where. She's always acting up". 

I screamed all the way home. I swear I screamed out while sleeping that night. I couldn't wait to show the Divas. I was so happy. I woke up the next morning and the sun was coming in and I heard in my head the song lyrics..."It's a new dawn, it's a new day and I'm feeling...."

The Divas walked into the door and I told them to sit down. Mommy has something to show them. They looked at the bad and said "neat". Miss B started opening the box and messing with the shopping bag. This bitch was searching for her "happy". I informed them I had nothing to offer them as a gift. This was just for me.

I asked them to take a picture of my prize. It took about 20 takes and finally I was like screw it. Miss B was hungry. I could have kicked her ass off the bed for a second.  All of the Divas were like "oh, cool. I'm hungry". For one second, I wanted to shout out.."But, I have a "Louie" dammit." 

I love my "Louie". I look over at him and squeal. I try my best to not get caught up in the material world. I try not to get lost in the "name brand" obsession. But, there are a few things that mommy likes...Frye Boots, Louis Vuitton Bags, Tom Ford sunglasses, Free People, Tory Burch flats, and Nars cosmetics. These items speak to me. They are my little pick me ups. They don't increase my self worth. They don't put me in a certain social or financial category. It's just shit that I like. The items speak to me. They don't tell me that I'm a better person or that I'm beautiful. I can feel drop dead fucking gorgeous in a Target dress. They are accents to me.

Let it be known that I could never afford to buy a LV bag, but I am damn sure exited about winning one. The purse costs more than what we spent on my engagement ring in 2001. Ha!! I like some

nice things. I don't need a lot of nice things. I'm a weird mix of things. I am the owner of a LV bag that costs more than my wedding band and engagement ring. And I covet my ring and band. They are a part of me. They represent who we were and still are today. I would never upgrade my rings. I am currently in my office at work aka as a previous closet with 10,000 gnats flying around. They are flying all around "my Louie". Ha!! That's some keeping it real shit. 

I still have to sit an hour in car rider line. I still have to go home and help with homework. The carpets in our bedrooms are for sure health code violations.  My walls and house are still full of items I have painted, repaired, repainted, bought at Goodwill, etc. Miss B is still gonna place her hand that smells like "ass" on my shoulder to whisper in my ear that she's afraid of midgets. For the last couple of days, the carpet doesn't seem so dirty, and Miss B's hand doesn't smell that bad. Maybe, it's because I keep my "Louie" in sight to remind me that I got to experience just being "me" for a moment. 

Confession: sometimes I think just hearing my name called was right up there with winning the purse! It's weird and crazy. But I have replayed winning and how it felt over and over again. If I could bottle that feeling up, I would walk around spraying the shit outta people. It felt good.  It was complete euphoria. The day I won my purse. I found out the two oldest Divas won an art contest at their local dentist's office. I was so happy for them. They worked so hard. They deserved to be recognized. I even accepted their winning as a win for me. I felt maybe those were the ways I would receive my pats on the backs and my high fives. I was ready to accept being their cheerleader. Their sideline mommy. My days of "winning just for me" were over. I was winning every day through them. 

Then I won a Louis just for me......

And my world changed a little and I let go of those BB feelings. Giggle 

Bruh...this purse is nice as hell. For real, for real.

...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.

..."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.