Mommy guilt bites ass


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mom-put-self-first-.jpg-I think it is so sweet my friends think I am a good mother.  And my dear husband always tells me too (let’s be real..what else is he gonna do..if he wants to live a long happy life?).

If being a good mother means I kiss my kids, tell them I love them (and mean it), feed them, clothe them, want the best for them…then I am a terrrrrrrific mother.  Society may disagree though.

I have recognized that I am a selfish person; a selfish parent.  And, I am ok with it.  Mostly.

I have been told ‘that’s just an excuse, you can do better (be better) if you want”.  Ok, then I don’t want I guess, cause I really do like my goals, my life, my time.

My husband and I have been in many (many) situations, where another couple will tell us they haven’t been on a trip, by themselves, since they had their kids.  What the what?  My husband and I always glance at each other, and usually don’t say anything back.  Or we do.  And if we do, it comes out something like, “Are you crazy?  We go on trips alone at least once every other MONTH.  ALONE.”.  This usually happens if we have had a glass (or three) of wine.  Yes, by the way, we do drink.  And enjoy it.

My philosophy here is that my kids will move out someday (dear Lord please) and I don’t want to then be living with a stranger in which we only know each other as parents of our kids.  My marriage is my first priority (AFTER myself), and I hope I am teaching my kids to look for a spouse that puts them first.

My husband and I also subscribe to the philosophy that our kids get to participate in one activity at a time.  One (or none is fine with me).  I could say the reason for this is because I don’t want to teach my kids to be stressed out, over scheduled adults- this, unfortunately is what we are teaching our kids when they have an after school activity almost every night of the week, every weekend and sometimes two in a day..or more.  I used to own children’s art studios and would see time and time again parents coming in so frazzled and unhappy from carting kids from one activity to the next…to the next…to the next.  My auto response is, “Don’t then”.  Which was followed by the deer in the headlight return look.  Here is the thing- I don’t allow our kids to do more than one activity, not because of the damage it could do (this is not a blanket belief in all scenarios), but truthfully- cause I am not willing to spend each evening and every weekend carting kids to and fro.  No, I am not.  I am, however, looking forward to going to my daughters basketball game tomorrow night, and then her next game, the week after.

I just want my kids to kinda, you know, fit in my life.  MY life.  It is mine you know.

How’s that for blunt honesty?

I truly enjoy nothing more than taking my kids to the zoo.  It is one of my favorite things.  Or a themed park.  Or on a bike ride.  Or to the movies.  I love, love doing activities with my kids (let me also say, I do NOT love playing leggos or barbies for hours on end…so not my style).

I also love working.  I love creating.  I love going to the spa.  I love reading.  I love PRIVATE baths (without kids banging on the door).  I love painting (by myself).  I love cooking.  I love drinking wine (and vodka..and tequila..).  I love locking myself up in a room, with no one else, and just being.

So, I tell myself that by taking care of myself I am teaching my kids to take care of themselves.  Why do people feel that kids are the holiest of holy and should come before everyone else’s happiness?  Cause we choose to give birth to them and bring them into the world?  Fair enough.  So, we put our lives on hold, our wants, our desires, to fully engage, raise, nurture, love the future generations with no regard for our own wants, desires and goals?  What does that teach?  Is there an endpoint, or is everyone’s role in life to raise, nurture, and focus on future generations?  Like, forever? We get the time frame of high school graduation (for some) till the birth of a child, and then again when all kids move out till our death where we can be the adult version of us?

Can the two not be done at the same time?  Where is the line?  What are our obligations as parents?

I see so many approaches to parenting.  The full, hands on, helicopter affect, the hands off self motivating affect, the ignore and hope they make it affect (and everything in between).

I also see that kids grow up and be who they are gonna be, almost regardless.  Almost.  Some parents that are the most dedicated have ended up with the lazy, dishonest children, and some parents that were so disconnected they didn’t know their own child’s birthday have ended up with self-starting, honest and successful children.  The spectrum is vast and wide.

I do carry that crap mommy guilt sometimes, but mainly cause I allow society’s expectations to affect me.  However, I am usually tuned in enough with my kids to know when I need to put away a little bit of my selfishness (which usually includes adding a bottle glass of wine to my day).  I know this ‘time’ with our kids will go fast (sometimes it doesn’t seem fast know..sleep deprivation in the first year sucks ass, potty training sucks ass, teenage attitudes suck ass..) as I have a nineteen year old that has moved out.  But, do I wish he was still living with us and miss his childhood?  No, not really.  I love his visits, and love that he is starting his life, his journey.

Here is what I do know- I would take a bullet for my child.  For any one of the four.  I would go to prison for murder if anyone hurt one of my children.  And that really would suck cause there are no spas or baths in prison.  I am grateful, for each crazy, loud, messy, stressful, beautiful moment.

I don’t have the answers here. I am not in any way saying my way is the right way, or that anyone else’s is either.  I have most of MY answers, for me at least.  This is MY life.  I just happen to be a mom too.


Happy trails to me


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Let’s squat, shall we?

Where in the heck have I been?  I have been asked that by many of you.  A short answer- I have been in a battle.  A war.  And I am winning!

Ok, really, I have started a new trail in life, and it is a long, rigorous, exciting, hard, intensely satisfying trail.

No, not parenthood.

Though that is a hard, long, rigorous, exciting and sort of satisfying trail.  Ok, mostly satisfying.

But, a new trail.

I have went back to school to pursue a passion I have had since I was a child.  It is no secret that my family has had its trials with mental illness.  And for those that know me well, know that I myself struggle with anxiety and its treacherous claws too. Because of this, I have always wanted to educate myself on how to not only prevent my own struggles (with more than just a bottle glass of wine), but help others who may struggle as well.  I have studied nutrition, health and fitness and am now in the last stages of finishing my masters in mental health counseling.  My goal is to work with women who struggle with anxiety and depression and help them think differently about how they go about life (eat, move, feel).  That or share a bottle of wine with them.  You know, for support.

So in my sleep deprived brain, (I stayed the night in Children’s hospital last night with my 12-year-old who has pneumonia…you know…just another night in the life of a parent), I realized I needed to share this trail with you!  I have been writing a lot in my other blog lately, but have missed many interactions with you all.

The good news is…in my own imperfectness, I can understand the struggles faced.  I still face them, though I can honestly tell you me and my best friend, the wine bottle, have had to have less nights together (don’t for a minute mistake that sentence..we still have our fun times..they are just not mandated as know, where if I don’t drink a bottle glass, I will have to find a large chest with a broken latch to lock myself into…).  Instilling some of my own teachings into my life have done amazing things.  Life is good.  If it is not for you, it can be.

We are only given one.  This one life.  Let’s enjoy it, shall we?  Will you join me on this health & happiness movement?

Or, if all else fails, enjoy a nice glass of wine with me?



Look how happy my niece looks.

PS- I fear I have become that person by the way.  You know the one.  Where you don’t bring up nutrition or fitness or health stuff because that person will spout off the ways you should be living.  You should be eating xyz, you should be doing xyz…

Good grief.







My sister. Such family love.

I am SO bad, that even at the hospital last night, we were doing squats and planks.  Yes, yes we were.  Why?  Well because sitting for hours is bad for you.  So you should get up and move.  You know, one of the xyz’s.Thank goodness my family loves me.  Like really loves me.  My sister and niece just adore me.



PSS- don’t for a minute think we didn’t sneak wine into Children’s hospital.  Yes, yes we did.


Assuming the worst


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Igirlsonstool have been blessed to have lived in many areas.  Different states, cities and over 60+ neighborhoods (yes, you read that right).  I have met a crap ton of people.  In Executive positions, millionaires, po-dunk town folk, to homeless shelters and drug housing hoods. Some I instantly connect with, and feel a life long bond form- only to be adjusted by spending more time with said person to realize we don’t line up like I originally thought (which is totally ok), and some I immediately wrote off upon meeting assuming the initial impression was not for me- only to be dislodged by spending more time with said person to realize they are completely different from what I originally thought (this usually occurs by a happy accident since I had already written the poor sap off- or perhaps because we started sharing mucho wine together, either way- yay).

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WTF…simmer down


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gossiprumorI thought being a mother of toddlers was hard.  Wait.  It IS hard.  As hell.

Being a mother of a teenage boy was pretty hard.  And now with him as a young adult, it kinda makes me scream silently in my head still too.

But being a mother of pre-teen and soon to be teen girls?  Oh hell shoot me now please.  And don’t miss.

I am not cut out for the drama.  I am just NOT.  I do not give good advice in general, let alone when it comes to female drama.

My 6th grader is experiencing some major girl problems and when she tells me about them I seriously have a knee jerk reaction to it… “Just knock the b*&$ out!”.  Yes.  This is my knee jerk reaction.  And if I am completely honest, I DID tell her to just knock the crap outta this one girl in particular.

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I am such a FAKE


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I am many thousands of feet up in the air.  No, I don’t know how many thousands, and I don’t care to know how many thousands.  It is enough to know that it is too many.  Like way too many.  It is not NORMAL to be thousands of feet up in the air.  We were NOT designed to fly…in a tube…thousands of feet in the air.

I do believe, one of the sole purposes of alcohol invention, is to allow people to do things they wouldn’t normally do.   For some of you sick minded souls…you may be thinking gutter thinks (that IS a word)…and I do agree..that happens..when alcohol is involved.  For me..alcohol allows me to fly.  In a tube.  In the air.

And to somewhat survive motherhood.

I just walked..or the back of the plane to go potty (yes potty..don’t you SAY potty too?).  And while waiting for one of the miniscule-closet sized-better-not-eat-a-big-sandwich-lavatories to become available, I stared at a mother and child in the very last row.


Ok…as I was saying…I was staring intently at the mother cradling her small child in her arms as they both slept. And my heart twisted.  Yearned.

My.  Heart.  Yearned.

For my own babies.

You see people, I do love my sweet little babies.  All four of the satanic off springs.

And as I stared at this sweet picture, it made me realize that sometimes, I paint a fake picture of how much of an ass-wipe mother I am.  I might hint that I don’t care as much as I do..actually…care.

I care.

A lot.

Sweet love being 'wheeled' out after her surgery.

Sweet love being ‘wheeled’ out after her surgery.

I cared a lot..when my two-year old went in for double eye surgery this last week.  And I couldn’t breathe waiting in the lobby area for her.  Making all kinds of promises to God. Wishing…praying..that I could take her place.  Second guessing.  Crying.  Shaking.  Holding her sweet hand after surgery, waiting for her to wake from anesthesia, with an IV in her teeny tiny arm, thinking I would swap places with her right that minute if I could.

I cared a lot…when I got a call last night from the university my son attends, with a very odd voice mail…at 8:30pm AT NIGHT.  Then when he didn’t answer his cell.  When his room-mate was being very obscure about where he was.  When I became a stalker and called his work pretending to be someone else. When I called the campus police and begged them to go to his dorm for me. And then waited.  While I called his cell over and over again.  For over an hour.

I care.

I love my babies.  So much.

But let me be frank.  I also struggle.  A lot.

I struggled a lot with being loving and sweet to my precious two-year old, when two days after surgery, she was being quite a shithead brat, having temper tantrums and throwing things to get her way (don’t EVEN give me the ‘but she is confused and hurting from her poor traumatic surgery’).

I struggled a lot with being NICE to my son, when he FINALLY called me back..from a girls number..saying he doesn’t know WHY the university called me, that his battery was dead and that all was just honky dory (“oh and mom…did you send the police to my dorm…?”…”no son..not sure why they showed up there….”)

I am sure, the lovely mother in the last row, struggled a lot with her little sweet pumpkin pie, as we were taking off, and I heard him screaming bloody murder….for over 22 minutes.

This is the REAL reason alcohol was invented I do believe.

I am sometimes a fake.  I am.  I huff and puff about my seriously bad antics as a mother.

But mostly, I care.  Usually.

Oh and I care…a lot..about not crashing in this damn plane.  Where in the world is the flight attendant?  I really need another glass of wine.




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Last-VegasRecently my husband, best friend and I were in Beverly Hills and while retrieving our car from the valet, we saw one of my favorite actors retrieving his car ahead of us (he is one of the gentlemen in the picture to the left).  I was thrilled and did my best discreet star watching (he was less than a foot from me so being discreet wasn’t really an option- I did my best to not STARE with my jaw open).  My excitement started to dwindle as I watched him interact with the cashier.  It really plummeted as I watched him get into his $120k car (non judgment sarcasm..I swear)… without tipping the valet.  Without smiling.  Ever.  Not once.  Not one smile.  Not just no smile, but a very closed off unfriendly face.  Stiff countenance and an overall feeling of “I DO NOT WANT TO BE AROUND YOU”.  I was crushed.

My husband was still drooling over the car as I started to immediately talk smack. “What the…f&%?”.  “What’s his problem?”.  “I can’t believe..”.

Listen people, I was really heartbroken because…well…just because.  You had to be there.

The valet driver was so classy.  He said, “no biggie, it happens”.

The tipping wasn’t even my biggest problem, cause to each their own on that I suppose (though it really does drive me crazy when folks don’t tip).  It was his whole damn demeanor.  I mean, really?

I talked about it for days.  Like days. OK maybe weeks.  To everyone.

Then the other day it hit me.  Hard.

Who the hell am I to judge his behavior? Is he not entitled to a bad day?  Perhaps he got bad news where he was just coming from.  Perhaps he got into a fight with a loved one.  Perhaps he was constipated (don’t ever underestimate how much that sucks..just ask my two-year old right now).  Perhaps…he had a run in…with a crazed fan…and just wanted to get home and away from anyone.

Just imagine being a movie star for a day.  Shoot..for an hour.  I have lived most of my life in Southern California..and have run into my fair share of stars and icons and although my pride has always kept me from approaching them…I still, of course, was a bit enthralled… and can only imagine the approaches they DO get..from the sweet, wonderful ones to the hate..ugly and bitter ones.  No thanks.

I have bad days.  I have a bad attitude sometimes (save it husband…I don’t need any feedback from you on this). Why is he not entitled to a bad day or bad attitude?  Just cause he is famous?  I think not.

Everyone is entitled to bad days.  It isn’t as if he cursed someone out.  Or got ugly, mean or physical.

So…whatever.  Shame on me for talking s$%& for weeks about it.

Why can’t I quit judging others?  No one should be immune from NOT being judged.

OK, enough of my rant today.  I will go about my NON judgy day and see about getting my two year old to take a dump.


Merry F’ing Christmas to me

T’was two weeks before Christmas….

Christmas Chaos“I have an idea” the wife says a little hesitantly.  As if she is not really quite sure it is a good idea.

“Oh ya, what?” the husband absently asks as he flips through some paperwork.

“Let’s take the kids to go see the Christmas lights in the square!” the wife forces out as if she is trying to convince herself that it is a good idea to take three kids, two being a bit sick, 8pm at night…. to go look at lights.

“Seriously?” the husband is now staring somewhat frantically at the wife hoping that she will read the panic in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, we said we were going to try to do something ‘Christmasy’ every day and the girls need to get out from being iced in and sick.”  the wife has now fully committed herself of her grand idea.

“Whatever you want” mumbles the husband.  “Ok kids, let’s go see lights!” he shouts with forced enthusiasm.

“I don’t wanna go” whines the 11-year-old.  “I have tons of homework”.

Cry.  Whine.  Cry. Says the two-year old.

Cry. Whine. Cry. Says the three-year old.  Because the two-year old did.

“You sure you wanna do this?  Let’s just put them to bed.” whispers the husband.

“No.  This will be great.” the wife adamantly states.

“Oooook” the husband says as he wrangles kids into the car.

“Its freezing.” says the 11-year-old.

“It’s too cold.” says the three-year old.  Cause the 11-year-old did.

“Wellll….let’s get in the car quickly so we won’t be so cold, shall we?” the wife sweetly, and not at all sarcastically, states.

“Water!” yells the two-year old.

Water?  Hummm, nope.  No water in the car.  No diaper bag at all for that matter was brought.

“Sorry baby.  Mommy will get you some water when we get back home.  We are almost to the light show!” the wife says in a ridiculous squeally voice hoping to distract the two-year old.

Doesn’t work.

“Waaaaaattttteerrrrrrr!!!” screams the two-year old.

“I want WATER!” yells the three-year old.  Cause the two-year old did.

“Mom.  Can you turn on the light back here?  I need to do my homework.” the 11-year-old says in her most grumpiest voice.  Ever.

“Waaaaaaatttteerrrrrr!!!!!!!” the two-year old shouts as loud as her small f*&%ing lungs will allow her to.

“The light mom?  I.  Need.  To.  Do.  My.  Homework.”

“How about we listen to some Christmas music?” the wife says.

Radio on.

Christmas music channel found.

Volume turned up.


Wife turns to husband and smiles.

Husband looks at wife in fear.  Waiting for head-spinning-fist-to-dashboard-cursing-explosion. (not that, that has ever happened…)

Lot’s of yelling, screaming and pouting in the back of the vehicle.

Loud, wonderful Christmas music all around.

Tears.  Screams. Pouting.

Wonderful Christmas music.

“Look its the light show!” the husband shouts loudly and switches the station to the one tuned into the light show.

Wife rolls down the windows for full effect ( is a total surprise that the frigid air takes the kids breath away…momentarily stifling them).

Beautiful twinkling lights.  45 seconds of admiration from the two and three-year olds.

“Mom!  I am FREEZING back here!” the 11-year-old whines as pathetically as she can.

Wife rolls windows up a bit.

“NOOOOOOO!!!!!! ROLL IT DOWN!!!!!” screams the three-year old.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!! DOWNNNNNN!!!!!!” screams the two-year old.  Cause the three-year old did.

Tears.  Crying.  Screaming. Pouting.

“F$%k it” says the wife. “Let’s go home.”

Channel changed back to the lovely Christmas station.

Volume goes up.


Husband looks at wife as he turns the vehicle back toward the home.

“Merry Christmas honey” he mouths.  Or maybe he actually said it.  Hard to tell.  Over the blow-out-the-speakers-volume of Christmas music in the car.

Yelling, screaming and pouting in the back of the vehicle.

Loud, wonderful Christmas music all around.

Tears.  Screams. Pouting.

Wonderful Christmas music.

Yes.  Merry F*&#ing Christmas.

My version of 50 Shades


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greatwolf2013My family and I just returned from Great Wolf Lodge.  If you don’t know what that is, it’s a giant indoor water park/hotel/arcade that is designed so that literally everything is kid friendly. From the restaurants, to the lobby, to the hallways of the hotel.  One big giant ass playground.

This trip, thanks to one of the million ‘groupon’ style sites, I splurged and got a two bedroom suite.  I have now concluded this is the ONLY way to travel with a tribe of not yet fully developed humans.  Just lock all the brats in the other room and pretend you don’t hear a thing.  Screw the neighbors-its a kids hotel anyhow, they just need to deal with the ridiculous volume of screaming coming from behind our door and walls.

Normally I am equipped to handle the pure joy of traveling and entertaining my family.  Normally I can plaster on the smile, take my extra vitamin C, use my cheerful voice, rally the troops and create memories for the monsters to remember in the future.

Normally I am NOT on a 30 day challenge that includes NO alcohol for a f*&$ing family trip. Cause let’s be honest…with the vitamin C is a bit of vodka.  But noooo, not on THIS trip.

AND, on this trip I didn’t have my 18-year-old to partner with the 11-year-old.  Well hell, sorry 11-year-old, you are on your own.  Ya never mind what I always say about being abducted…just kick and scream REALLY REALLY loud.

Isn’t it super awesome that also on this trip the two-year old AND the three-year old found, loved, and dedicated their entire water outing to the slides in the kiddie pool area?

This would be wonderful, probably, if I had a cocktail in hand whilst they played away. Or, perhaps, one in each hand.

**Listen folks….I NEVER, EVER said I wasn’t an alcoholic, so you go right ahead and put away your judgement hats that include phrases like, “sheesh the woman can’t even spend a day with her kids without drinking”…  “water park? Sounds wonderful..what is wrong with this lady”… What is wrong with me?  I AM A VICTIM OF A LIFE PRANK WHERE I ENDED UP BEING A MOTHER OF FOUR THAT ISN’T DRINKING ON A FAMILY FREAKING TRIP.**


I am at the bottom of the slide making sure that when the girls come down the slide they don’t submerge and drown…at least for too long…and I walk them back to the bottom of the stairs.

My husband is at the bottom of the stairs and he wrangles them up the stairs and makes sure they start off in the right position heading down the slide (not our fault they end up upside down, sideways or backwards).


Bottom of slide.  To stairs.  Back to bottom of slide.

Stairs.  Up to the slide.  Down the slide.

Bottom.  Stairs. Slide.

Stairs.  Top.  Down.







Fifty times I smiled at their precious faces as they slid down.

Fifty times I caught them as they giggled sweetly.

Fifty times I gave high fives. After I plucked them, asses first, from drowning in the water.

Fifty times I walked.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

Fifty times I grabbed the two-year old before she tried to head back UP the slide. So that she could be plowed in the head by the next child.  While the 12-year-old ‘life guard’ yelled at us to get her off the bottom of the slide.  “no shit sherlock, what the hell does it look like I am doing?”

Fifty times I watched OTHER parents smile, most sincerely, at their own children.  With cocktails in hand.

Fifty times.

FIFTY F*&%ing times.

Fifty times I thought, “yay, this is exactly what I pictured as a fun day”.

Fifty times I prayed, “what the hell was I thinking starting this no alcohol challenge TODAY?!”

Fifty times I watched my husbands face as he went up and down the stairs..wondering if he was thinking the same thing as me.

Let me quickly note, that right before we headed down to this ecstasy party, I had read a blog post, by I-don’t-give-a-hell-cause-we-will-never-be-friends, that talked about how wonderful it was to be a mother.  And I started reading several (SEVERAL) comments under the post agreeing.  One in particular stuck with me, “If I could have twenty kids I would!  I ABSOLUTELY LOVE EVERYTHING about being a mom!”.

WHAT THE F*&% IS WRONG WITH ME!?At this stage of motherhood I love VERY LITTLE about being a mom.  Like sleep.  I love when they sleep. Errrr…when they are quiet. I love when they are quiet.

Oh OK, I do love it when they laugh, giggle, play nicely, hug and kiss me and listen to my words. BUT WHEN THE HELL DOES THAT HAPPEN?

At least…they WERE laughing and giggling on the water slide.  While I played go fetch.

Fifty times.

So amidst my 50 Shades of water-logged-fanfuckingtastic-joyed moments, all I could think of was, “This would be so much funner (yes FUNNER) with a beverage in hand and a better attitude.  Or let’s be honest, I just stink at this parenthood thing, cause those LOVELY MOTHERS commenting on the blog post would be in PURE FREAKING HEAVEN right now”.

Crap. I suck.

Cheers….. (in 27 more days)!

Where did I go?


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sadsculptureI need to have a talk with my hormone doctor.

Yesterday I cried like a baby.  Cause I saw a poor young man on the side of the road, clearly stressed out about a small car accident.  And I immediately felt his stress.  Like I felt his angst and anxiety.  I read all kinds of scenarios, “I lost my job and now this”, “I don’t have insurance”, “How do I tell my (insert mother, wife, whatever)”, “This isn’t even my car”….and on and on.  And for some reason, I felt the need to carry his angst.  For a long time.

Until an ambulance went by.  Then I carried that angst, sadness and anxiety.  “The poor family”, “Oh it could be a child”, “The poor grandma that fell down”, ….and on and on.  And I carried that with me for a fun ride of time.

Until my friend told me how much pain she was still in from a recent surgery.  So of course I felt the need to carry that for a while (you can have that shit back by the way).

What in the sam hill?

My kids are scared.  More than usual.  Like they are hiding from me.

Cause I am giving lots of hugs, holding tight, crying out how much I love them and how lovely they are.

Clearly that is NOT me.

My husband is probably leery, though smart enough to not say anything.  He is so used to my roller coaster momentum of life, he truly wouldn’t be surprised if one day I woke up and told him I wanted to join a monastery.  Then changed my mind and said I wouldn’t mind joining militia forces to help control terrorist attempts.  He would respond like he always does, ‘no problem honey, if it makes you happy’, knowing damn well within hours I would have talked myself out of whatever I said I was gonna do.  This is the person I have developed into.  Some nutjob self-proclaimed missionary/wannabe athlete/philanthropist/whatevercrossesmymindatthemoment person.

Right now, I am a kinda crazed NICE and CARING person.

This crap has gotta stop.  It is confusing me.

I am gonna have to call my hormone doctor.  See what kind of crap she put in my last implant.  I didn’t sign up for this. Neither did my poor family.

They are wondering when crazed psycho mom is coming back.  See children need stability, and consistency.

I always knew it was good for them.  That I am consistent.

Maybe if I drink more wine it will balance it all out.  Worth a shot.





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Those that read this blog (am I fooling myself that people actually read this??) know my style is a self-deprecation humor style.  Or so I have been told.  This post is not that kind.  So if you are in the mood for some sort of serious stuff, read on.  Especially if you are in the mood to read more about what someone else thinks of ME.

If asked to describe myself (I will pretend you asked) I would say I am a so-so mother, an almost so-so wife, a sometimes great friend, a sometimes horrible friend.

I asked my cousin to help with the blog the other day.  Mainly because her whole life she grew up writing and I know she LOVES it.  Then she sends me her first post this morning.  And she says, ‘Well here goes.  By the way, it is about YOU’.

Well shit.

I read it.  She gives me way too much credit, and I almost don’t want to post it for fear of sounding errr…I am not sure how to describe it…  But there are a few pointed truths in this.  I do care sometimes too much of what others think.  I have gotten better at it.  And someday’s if the sun rises quicker than usual, I don’t really give a f&$*, but then there are days when I want to hide away and pretend I don’t care….

Panther-chameleonI am a chameleon.  I even wrote about it, and her telling me.

Anyhooo, here you go.  For your pleasure reading, or scanning, or deleting, or whatever.  Next time I am gonna get her to write and include her amazing HUMOROUS side cause the girl can make me laugh till I piss my pants.  Just sayin’.

PS- Love you cousin.  Even though I am piss poor at showing it.


Guest Post from Maria Decker

When my wonderful cousin whom I hardly have 2 conversations with a year asked me to write for  of course I was thrilled! I have ALWAYS loved to write. It flatters me that she would even trust me to write on her blog (you don’t know me like she does). But what the heck was I going to write??!!!…

I have read the articles she has written. They are so well versed and although writing used to be a huge part of my life growing up I have fallen away from my dream of becoming the next Stephen King. But that is OK.  After careful thought and consideration I came to the conclusion that I should write about what I know or what I used to know anyway. So here it goes…

Growing up Shannon and I were very close. We had early life experiences that both of us had in common. We were the first born grandchildren; our mothers were sisters who married young, both divorced not long after marriage and both left their husbands in California to come to Ohio. That is where the line was drawn. Unfortunately my father was not allowed to know where I was. Shannon continued to see her father and did the back and forth thing going between the 2 states yearly, or so I think. Although I think what Shannon meant to me differed from what I meant to her. I had several friends but in those days she was my family, my best friend and the only one I felt truly ‘got’ me. I learned how it felt to miss someone. When she would leave on the plane to go back to her dad’s I would cry for days. It was like a piece of me was missing. My best friend was gone. But the knowledge that she would come back would always bring me back. Of course we were really young back then.

As the years progressed we branched off in 2 very different directions. She seemed to be in California longer and I seemed to use writing as my ‘out’- my new best friend. I was the class clown always making jokes out of anything and everything. Making someone laugh meant I had accomplished my goal of the day. This allowed me to make a lot of friends and my circle was not closed to anyone. I seemed to be accepted in whatever click I chose. I was always sympathetic to my peers who were bullied, or looked sad and displaced. We are all important and have value we just need someone to bring out that fire inside us that makes us want to be at our best. I didn’t understand why no one would stick up for them. Growing up is difficult no matter where you come from. So if I could make them smile then I made the world a better place even if only for a second.

Shannon seemed to care more about what others thought of her than I did. But her personality attracted people as well; she had a strength that I didn’t have. I had once told her she was a chameleon she could change depending on who she was with. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. I wasn’t saying this out of jealousy or to be spiteful or negative in anyway I was saying it because that was the only way I knew how to describe her abilities in one word. She had been privileged to live 2 lives simultaneously. Her life with her mother differed greatly from her life when she was with her father. While with her father she was the over achiever, she aimed to be the best and she was the envy of most of her peers. With her mother she seemed to turn into the risk taker. Doing things I believe she never would have even tried if she was with her father. But some of those risks were the best she had ever taken. They shaped her to be self sufficient and go after what she wanted, to know that there was more to life and to have that insight to know what she needed to do to obtain those goals.

As adults we see and speak less often than we would like. We continue to live separated by a number of states between us and different responsibilities, marriage, children, etc. But overall we are family. Shannon continues to be my family, my best friend and the only one that ever truly ‘got’ me. When we get together the years of separation melt away. We are those 2 youthful girls, laughing and finding more ways for her to get us into trouble, lol…

So in ending, Shannon this is to you, it is not complete, there is not enough time to put in words the impact you have had on my life growing up. I am proud of all you have accomplished. Never stop being you, never give up your true beliefs and never gain weight you would be an ugly fat person… lol… See, I went through the whole thing and this was my first joke, I did good, right? Seriously though whoever reads this I am not prejudice against fat people. Some of my best friends are fat (no, not you Shannon)… 😉