Allow me to reintroduce myself....

And they lived happily ever after....
separately 

I'm back. I think. Giggle... Where did I go? I wish I could entertain you with a wonderful story of a sabbatical about me touring the 10 most beautiful places in the world and learning the meaning of life, love, and true happiness. I may not have left the country, but I left my marriage. Ha! Yep...the big "D" word. I am divorced AF. Many have asked me why? What happened? I am into year one post divorce and honestly I don't know what happened anymore. Meaning there was no life changing event that occurred. I changed my mind. Some may gasp at my attempt to keep my reason simple, but in hindsight I simply changed my mind. I let go of what I thought I needed my life to look like to survive. We live in a world where we often hide behind the idea of what we want our to life to look like and forget to make sure the photos on social media, trips, inspirational quotes, funny videos truly represent the life we are living. It's a hard pill to swallow to realize your present reality may consist of how things used to be or how you wanted them to be. A marriage is a union of two people, but nothing guarantees those two separate individuals will continue to want and need the same things. I find it odd that many of us can understand that most things come with an expiration date except when it comes to marriage. I know the vows I took said "till death do we part" and by damn I meant it. I didn't realize the death I would experience would not be in the physical sense. You cannot thrive in an environment that becomes unhealthy. The part of me that was willing to continue to ignore the fact that I was drowning in something that had become toxic...died. We were no longer bringing out the best in each other. Holding on to a relationship of that nature, will eat away at your soul. So with the help of friends, I collected the pieces of me that had not died, changed my mind about what I wanted, and signed the papers in the parking lot of UPS. That was my "till death do we part".



I have learned knowing the details of why people split up does not change the outcome. A marriage still ended. Rarely, am I given a high five when faced with telling people....except from the fella at Tuesday Morning. I remember I was in line purchasing items one afternoon and someone asked "Where have you been???? How's the family? How's the sexy bald fella?" It's funny how these questions or comments never hurt. If anything, I feel sorry for the individual that is going to feel like they just stuck their foot in their mouth. So, I said "Girl, divorce. I am divorced now." Of course, she gasped and teared up. She managed to get out a "NOOOOO!!!!!" I of course tried to lighten the mood by suggesting she spread the word. I am not ashamed of getting a divorce. Hell, I beg my friends to gossip and spread the word. Anyway, the guy at the counter looked at me, looked at her and looked back at me and said "Hell yeah! You do you girl!! I'm happy for you. Time to celebrate!!" I have never enjoyed high fiving someone so much before. Those who have gone through divorce know that leaving something familiar to enter into the abyss is treacherous, gut wrenching, paralyzing, debilitating, and suffocating. The valleys are like quick sand and the peaks are like ant hills. But by damn, there is light at the end of the tunnel. You can celebrate deciding that two individuals no longer brought out the best in each other. You can celebrate having the courage to realize what you had was not what you wanted anymore. You can celebrate shedding the facade that you or your partner had your shit together. You can celebrate dying and being reborn because divorce is a death of a union and individual deaths of the participants. You will not come out of a divorce the same. Divorce affects your children, your friends, your family, your financial security, your mental health, your emotional health, your physical health, etc. I am thankful for the friends and family members that have supported me. There is no better way to love someone than to love them even if their life no longer resembles yours. People will talk. Friends will not make the journey with you. Family members will put you on every prayer list in the state. Folks will avoid you in fear that they may catch it...divorce. And I'm pretty sure at some point I thought I saw a colonial woman on the wing of an airplane. But...when it's over, you get to start climbing out of that damn quicksand and up the mountain again with another piece of paper that you have collected.

Divorce papers...I kept the originals and shredded the copies. I contemplated burning them. Something about burning shit and divorce automatically go well together. Luckily, the part of me that refused to let a piece of paper define me did not die. My life is a collection of strips of papers. Two College Degrees ✔ Marriage License ✔ Job ✔ Three birth certificates ✔ Deed to a home ✔ etc, etc, etc....Divorce Papers ✔. Life is not about collecting these perfect pieces of paper and placing them in your LIFE book. Yes, each degree, each birth, each new job should be celebrated. Just know that to live a life that is manageable...you are going to have to ditch the book and buy a big ass box because life will shred those papers. Screw taping them back together to put in a book. You collect those shredded pieces and let them create a beautiful hodgepodge of all that you are. One item no matter how bad you want it will not define who you are. So, shred that shit, toss the pieces in the air, and let them fall as they may. The last year has consisted of many "D" words...divorce, disappointment, dancing, decisions, deal breakers, delirium, delight, devastation, dreamlike, disgust, etc. All I can do is toss most shit to the wind. Some days the wind is a hurricane and I swear I think this will be it. This will be the event that gets me locked up in a pink padded room with unicorn stickers and a helmet. Some days, I feel like I am one more life changing event away from starting my own underground fight club and punching people in the damn throat. Then, the wind settles and life keeps going and you think "well, damn, not fucking today...I guess. Not fucking today. Ha."


My three girls have been the most understanding souls throughout this process. They have experienced pain and disappointment with grace and mercy. There is something to be said when you tell your children you are getting divorced and they don't beg you to not do it. Sure, there was shock, questions, tears and fear, but they saw our flaws and let us have the opportunity to do right by them and to do right by each other. They have even found the humor in having their parents split which I baptize myself in everyday. Maintaining a solid sense of humor throughout the entire process has allowed us to laugh through the tears and it feeds my fucking soul. They joke about the night we told them. They were expecting a pregnancy announcement. HA! They tease me about having to change my email, log in, and social media pages because "mrsdavis0601" is not who I am anymore. I have told them plenty of times that particular choice is right up there with the strawberry tattoo on my ass that now resembles a strawberry patch. I thought it was so cute at the time. HA! If anything, I hope through this process they have learned that they can change their mind. They can decide to let go of what they thought their life should look like or what they wanted their life to be like and toss it to the wind. In anything we try, we may not get it right the first time and that's okay.

So....that's basically where I am now. I'm raising three girls as single mother and every day I realize how much better of a mother I am to them now. A year into being divorced and I'm slowly finding my voice again. I have learned so many lessons like the first thing you should buy when moving into a new home is a plunger. I have learned the importance of having some awesome fucking friends. I have experienced unconditional love and forgiveness. I have learned my daughters are stronger than I could have ever imagined. I have learned who is in my tribe for life and who was in my tribe for a season. I have realized I never liked the color red though it was a prominent color in my house before I got divorced. I have noticed some shit is just not worth sharing, saying aloud, or giving energy to. I am slowly figuring out how to share my stories, my truths. I have learned to love my life and my flaws. I am starting over and I am trying my best to be better. I am watching wounds start to heal and folks move on. I am at peace with my marriage ending. An aspect of peace that I feel to my core every time my head hits the pillow at night. I have realized I will be okay...even on the days I'm running on "E", questioning what the hell am I going to do with my life, who am I, how will I support myself and three girls, and rushing to the car to bring dinner home only to find one kiddo howling in the car because her sister is on bluetooth screaming because she called Alexa a "dodo" and Alexa said "ordering a dildo" and everyone's screaming "cancel the order" and I am feverishly searching Amazon Prime on my phone praying to sweet baby Jesus that I can stop the madness and at the same time stop the kid that started the whole saga from screaming "what's a dil-do-do?" and my ears are ringing, my arm pits are sweating, and I want to put on my hazard lights and speed to get home to make it all just fucking stop....And there you go.....You just read one long ass run-on sentence, but that's the closest way I could possibly share what my life is like most days. A long ass run-on sentence. Yet, no dildo was ordered. The girls ate their dinner in silence and fought back laughter as the youngest sat confused as to why I snatched Alexa out the wall. All I could manage to scream aloud was "IT'S a bad word. STOPPPPP saying it. No more calling Alexa names. Don't talk to Alexa!" I checked Amazon Prime 18 times and played out horrific scenarios of possible recipients under my saved addresses. The thought of their father, my friends, or family members receiving a dildo from me sent me to bed early that night with a twitching bottom lip. I never bothered to ask how the oldest two knew about a dildo. I decided to save that PBS special for another day. I just plopped my head on my pillow because I knew I dodged a "bullet"...literally that evening....fire away.

...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.

What my Divas taught me about giving...

My Divas have taught me many lessons in life. They have taught me the world does not and will not revolve around me. They have taught me that schedules and precisely laid out plans mean absolutely nothing. They have taught me how to still love friends and family members that have hurt me. They have taught me how to laugh at myself. They have taught me that the world will not end if I don't clean the house for a week...though it may stink. They have taught me that I don't have it together and that I will forever grow, learn, and change. They have taught me that laughter is a necessity for my soul. They have taught me that sometimes I just need to take a nap. They have taught me that I matter.

Many times, I struggle with am I enough, am I loved, and am I where I need to be. To be honest, I feel lost most of the time I am constantly trying to figure out where I fit in this world and what do I want to do with my life? The only idea that I can manage to catch when my world is spinning inside my head...the only idea that anchors me when I feel like I am  floating away....I want to matter. I believe we all are searching for a spot where we matter in this world...where me mean something, where me can make a difference. 

Just today, I finally realized why I always manage to volunteer too much. What makes me join numerous volunteer boards. What makes me sign up for every holiday party? What makes me say yes to another activity that will require my limited time and energy? I long to mean something. I really need to help make a difference...not in some kind of martyr way. My soul feels better when I know I'm at least trying to make a difference whether I am giving my time, my talents, or my money. 

After helping with a big fundraising project during the school year, I swore off volunteering. Partly because I had developed a twitch in my eye and a tendency to drop f bombs at any random time. I has also developed a "hit list" of people who I was going to take out if approached in public. I know...so not loving. The fundraiser was hard, but the one thing that brought me comfort was not the checks written for big amounts. My soul was revived by the happiness the children felt by donating change. Let me tell you, pennies can add up. I was amazed with amount of money collected via coins. Coins that I often toss in the bottom of my purse. These children proudly brought in their change and it made a difference. They felt proud. They felt like they mattered. They felt apart of something. 

When it comes to giving, I have often fell victim to worrying about the amount I give. I have given to charities and campaigns with my head slightly bowed because I thought it was not a substantial amount to make a difference. I have had the Divas run up to me and ask for money to give to an organization set up outside of our local grocery store. I would feel this wave of guilt wash over me because I don't carry cash around. They would plead to just give something and I would hand them my change and try not to make eye contact with those collecting donations. Each time as I walked by with my head slightly bowed, I witnessed 3 little girls with the biggest smiles hand over nickels and dimes. They felt so happy to give just change. They were proud and they were satisfied. 

I realized then that I have been missing the whole reason for giving. It is not the amount you give. It is the act of giving that trumps everything. Society has made us feel that only high dollar amounts make a difference. Give big or go home. So many times we don't give for that reason. We lose a chance to be apart of something.  We lose the chance to matter. We lose the chance to make a difference. 

The sexy bald fella and I are currently trying to raise money for an aftershool program called Leap Frog that tutors/mentors 140 1st-3rd grade children found at risk for academic failure. 

To raise funds, we are running for the title of Mr. and Mrs. America and asking friends and family members to donate on our behalf. I will confess...I love a crown!! I still have my crown from homecoming queen 20 years ago and I have been know to wear it in car rider pick up line during the school year. So, yes I want that crown. But I also want to raise money so more children can attend this program. I have never had so much fun raising money before and it's not just because there is a crown at the end of the yellow brick road. I have had the best time watching others give. A chain reaction has started and I absolutely love it. But know this...

It's not the amount that makes me so happy. It's the act of giving. A $10 donation means just as much as a $50 donation. So, don't make the mistake I did a while back. Don't deny yourself becoming apart of something by thinking the amount of your donation will not make a difference. We all deserve to feel like we matter. We all deserve to feel like we can make a difference. 

So, I am asking you to join me and my friends. You have 2 days left to give to this cause!! 

Click on this link and just give:

https://www.crowdrise.com/fundraise-and-volunteer/donations/timekaandjoshdavis/teresaadams

If I am fortunate enough to win the crown, you will hear me scream like a banshee! And if I don't, I have still been fortunate enough to witness over 160 hearts opening up and giving!! 

If you want to learn more about Leap Frog, go to this link: http://www.theleapfrogprogram.org/

Please note: I did have to tell Miss B that we don't keep the money raised on our behalf. She asked "well, if you lose...can we keep the money?" As you can see, the teaching goes both ways. 

...#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.