So you wanna know how I do it?

Something I get asked a lot, mostly rhetorically, is 'how do you do it?' How do I manage being a single mom of two kids, work full time, compete in a highly competitive sport and still have flawless lipstick? (Ok, maybe not so much the last part, but if you must know, it's Stila Como and I fucking love it.)

I wish that I had some magic answer about how I meditate every morning and watch the sunrise and that the chi of garden fairies recharges my chakra or some bullshit. But let's be real here. That is in no way what really happens. This is how it usually goes.

I start my day with about 6 different alarms. No joke. Check out this screenshot. Go ahead and judge my battery level, I don't care. I live dangerously-ish.

I snooze to the second, check my phone until 6 and then I get up. The rest of them are because I simply don't trust myself. I hate mornings. I'm sure that will never change. After I drag myself out of bed, and pep talk myself for what I'm about to do. I got this. I am confident. I am strong. I can do this. I wake up the kids ever so nicely. I read somewhere that if you get woken up gently, then you wake up nicer. And these little fuckers need to be woken up sooo gently, it's like baking a souffle. I mean, I think it is. I don't bake fancy shit. 

Then I make coffee. Armed with caffeine, I wake up my son again. Then possibly a third time and I'm not being so gentle as I threaten him with whatever creative form of punishment I can think of after only half a cup of coffee. After I have confirmed that his preteen angst has been fully awakened, I put on pants. Because it's too early in the school year to be that mom at the bus stop with no pants. Next month. 

Fight with angsty child about the woes of having to have a sandwich in lunch. Threaten with creative punishment until he makes said sandwich. Pat self on the back for enforcing a balanced lunch and then sigh heavily when I realize he'll probably just throw it away. Fight with angry troll child about taking his meds in the morning until he finally just gives in and check his mouth like a prison guard. He's a slippery one that troll. Get the kids out the door to the bus, cheer not so silently as it pulls away then proceed to get ready for work. 

Getting dressed and putting my make up on happens in various degrees based on how many alarms I had to use that day and how many wake up calls it took to rise the darling little heathens. Some days, it's a blessing I brush my hair. I usually wear a dress because it requires less thought and I look super put together. Fake it til you make it. Jump in car, usually late, and drive an hour to work. Congratulate myself on a fantastic commuter karaoke that I am positive my traffic neighbors enjoyed. Work all day which consists of answer questions as snarky as I can get away with, helping customers with issues and telling people no. That's my favorite. 

Drive an hour home. Pick up children who refuse to stop talking the entire car ride home, which thankfully is now only 3 minutes. The longest three minutes of my day. Get the low down on a bunch of kids that I have never met, teachers that I should probably know but don't and activities that I'm not really paying attention to because I'm trying to remember if I took out something from the freezer for dinner. Spoiler alert, I didn't. Get home, tell kids to feed the dog and cat and tortoise. Get told I'm the worst for asking them to help. Figure out dinner. Top Ramen is super fancy with frozen veggies in it. Rewash that load of laundry for the 4th time. I'll remember to move it tonight. Spoiler alert, I won't.

Get through dinner. Break up about 2394 fights. Take 395684030 deep breaths. I'm very oxygenated. Tell myself I should start doing yoga again, I mean, I won't but I should. Stop the dog from eating cat poop. Be told I'm mean because I said no sleep overs on a school night. Told I'm mean because I told them to brush their teeth. Told I'm mean because....I'm not really sure why that last time, I stopped listening. Answer text messages. Facebook messages. Hid on the toilet for 20 minutes. Realize it's bed time and say a silent prayer of thanks and also for strength to get through this. Realize I need more then prayer, and get the wooden spoon. Put kids back to bed 2 times. Grab a bag of chips and dip, wine if I have it and cry in my closet because fucking balls that was a hard day. 

Get up tomorrow and do it all again. 

So long story short, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how I do it. Some days are autopilot. Some days I get through counting the seconds to bedtime. Some days, thankfully more days then not, I am so blessed that I almost forget how hard it is. Almost in the same way you forget how much contractions hurt. You know they hurt, but you can't quite recall the pain in which you wanted to paint the walls with your significant other's blood for what they did to you.  

Also, I laugh. And maybe drink more then I should a little. And I have a great tribe of women who have my back. That's how I do it. 

Mean Mom

Tonight, I am a mean mom. I'm literally the worst. I mean, they don't get any worse then me. What did I do that was so terrible? I asked them to go to bed. After the courtesy 5 minute bedtime warning. Who the hell do I think I am? How dare I yell at him after asking nicely 3 times? I should be shipped off to Azkaban and wait for 12 years until I learn how to transfigure into a dog to escape. I should be grounded forever. I should be marched around the neighborhood while all the neighbors watch my kids shame me ringing a bell.

After being told how I was such a mean mom, that I hate him and other random grumbling of a ten year old that just been told the tragic sentence of bedtime, I thought to myself "One day, one day he'll call me and apologize for being such an asshat. That reminds me, I should call my parents..." I can't possibly be the only mom who accused of being mean. I'm mean anytime I tell them no. Tell them they need to do something. Tell them, well, basically anything it seems now-a-days. I just can't win for losing. What did I do to deserve this? I birthed you out of my WOOOOMB! I GAVE YOU LIFE! I GAVE YOU THE LAST SLICE OF PIZZA AND THIS IS HOW YOU THANK ME???

Deep breath

Then I just have to remind myself. Kids are assholes. They are selfish. They can't think of how their actions affect others sometimes. They don't get how leaving a puddle of water on the bathroom floor will later lead to their mean mom slipping and pulling a groin muscle in a not so graceful reenactment of an Olympic gymnastic routine. SO selfish. But there are glimmers of hope in there. When they call strangers sir and ma'am. When they go out of their ways to play with the special needs kids at school. When they are gentle and kind to the neighbor's baby. The rare moments that they are sweet to each other right before someone gets slapped in the face and another war breaks out. Those moments, those are the ones that make being a mean mom worth it.

So I say to you, fellow mean moms, keep being mean. Keep setting boundaries and enforcing them. Keep on making the rules and showing you mean business. Stand your ground, cause you're a mean mom. And a damn good one.

It's time to admit, I might need some help.

Ornithophobia - a type of specific phobia, an abnormal, irrational fear of birds.


Most people know that I suffer from this phobia. A lot of people think it's a humorous phobia and will tag me in pictures of birds and send me photos of flocks of birds hanging out on the telephone wires. I'm not really sure people understand how big of a phobia this is for me. I mean, I get it. It's kinda silly. It's an irrational fear. Part of my brain realizes that it's silly, and I am incredibly thankful for that part. Without that part of my brain, I would probably have crashed my car a million times by now. 

I have to take a moment and collect myself right now. Even writing about this topic is making my heart race and is making me sweat. But I've got my Abita Pecan beer here, so I'll drink my way though this. What prompted me to really face this happened today. I really had thought I was getting better with this fear. For those who don't really know, my fear is of large flocks of birds in particular. I can do one bird, or pretty tropical birds in pet stores. But a large flock....forget it. Okay, so I was getting better, or that's what I thought. There is an intersection that I drive through on my way to work that has hundreds of birds just sitting on the wires, making so much noise I can hear them over my radio. But, every morning, I don't loose my shit. I feel my anxiety raise, my palms get sweaty, and I have to check my breathing but I don't lose my shit. I make it through the light. 

I can coach myself through the birds if I can see them coming. I don't get panicked by smaller flocks anymore. It still stresses me out, but I can manage. I thought I was doing better. But today....I was driving to my mom's house to feed her fish. I haven't driven over there in awhile, and not since most of the birds have come down for the fall. I forgot about this intersection. 423 and Main. The birds love that intersection. Fucking love it. Must be the 7-11, I dunno. As I am approaching the intersection, at least 200 birds start to do their flock-swarm-flying-birdnado bullshit. I lose my shit. I mean, I literally lose my shit. If that light had been red, I would have ran it. If a cop would have tried to pull me over, not today buddy. I screamed. I broke out into an immediate sweat. I got chest pains, and was lightheaded. I couldn't catch my breath. I was on the verge of tears. 

It. Was. Terrifying. I realized, not in that moment because all I could think of was get me the hell out of here, I need to get help for this. This is just out of control. I can't live like this. Unless I plan on moving out of Texas, which apparently is the migration destination....I'm screwed if I can't get over this fear. 

I wanted to share this to a)maybe help me get over it b) help people understand just how big of a phobia it truly is and c) to ask...no beg of you, please stop tagging me in bird shit. I mean, really. Otherwise, I'm going to find out your fear and start posting that shit on your wall. Don't be an asshole. 

Derby did more than just save my soul

So everyone who knows me knows that I have been doing Roller Derby for just over a year. If you didn't know that about me, then you clearly don't listen and you're probably not reading this any damn way. This past year has changed so much about my body and even more about my mindset. People say that "derby saved my soul". Some people don't find that to be the case. I can only speak of my personal experiences with derby and what it has done for me. If you can relate to this is some way, fantastic. If you can't....that's a damn shame. You should do something that challenges you and changes you. It doesn't have to be derby!!

When I started derby last year, I knew that this was something that i really wanted to do. I had been waiting and wanting to do this for about 4 years or so. There just wasn't a good time and always an excuse not to do. Granted, it is quite the investment to get started, what with all the gear you need to have. Finally, after many excuses and rationalizing why I couldn't spend that kind of money on myself, I was actually at a point where this was going to happen. 

Many people know what brought me here to Texas and if you don't, well I don't really feel like rehashing it. I'm here now and that's basically all that matters. I needed to find myself again. My confidence had been shaken, and I felt like an all around failure. I figured this was the time to put my energy into derby as a distraction. I needed something to focus on and I had no idea what this was actually going to do for me. 

Going to my first practice was a little intimidating. I didn't know any of these women. I had been living in Texas for a month and the only people I knew were family and the one friend I had here. My league is blessed to have their own facility, but walking in there for the first time on my own was a big deal to me. I didn't do things on my own, not if I could avoid it, but this was something I was doing for myself. This was a dream and goal coming to life and I was ready for it, well as ready as I could be. Expecting to feel like an outsider, I was not prepared for how warm and welcoming they were. I immediately felt at home there. I'm not saying that's how it will be for everyone, but that's how it was for me. This was what I was looking for. 

After that first practice, that was it. I had drank the kool-aid and I was not going back to life without derby. How could I? This was amazing. I might have become a little obsessed. I felt strong again. I felt like maybe my life wasn't such a mess. (I mean, let's be honest, it is. But at least while I was on the track, I didn't feel that way!) Things started to click and fall into place. Skating made me feel free and empowered. It became a metaphor for my life. You get hit, you fall, you get back up as fast as you can. Keep skating. It's not over until the final whistle. You keep chasing that jammer. You might laugh at me and say that's silly. It's just a game. I say to you, you don't get it and that's okay. You don't have to. It's not for you. It's for me. That's the other thing derby gave me back. My voice. I can say again, I don't need your permission. I don't need your approval. I don't need your validation. Because I'm not living my life for you. Do I want your support? Hell yes. But if you don't, and you can't understand why I do this sport where I go flying across the track and get back up and hug the girl who hit me, I'm not sure what to tell you. Because this sport is fantastic. Suck it. 

Derby also gave me a new respect for my body. I have zero desire to have a thigh gap. (My phone will surely fall in the toilet if I had one. That's why I can't have nice things.)I don't want to be skinny, I want to be strong. We have a saying on my team 'Bigger the ass, harder to pass'. For my birthday, my parents even got me a necklace that says 'booty by derby'. And Lord is that ever the truth. My ass can not be contained by single digit jeans. And finally, I'm okay with that. I own it. I wear booty shorts to skate it. I wore leggings as pants. A year ago, never would have happened. Today, I dare someone to say something about it. No really. Please do, because this booty is GLORIOUS! Actually, don't say anything about because I still don't know how to take a compliment and will end up doing my "dress has pockets" dance. 

​This is a lot of words. And props to you for reading them all. I just had a case of the feels today about derby and am trying to get back into writing (thanks for the push Piggy!). What better way to get back into it then writing about something you love. If you have any questions about derby, my journey or whatever, I'm a pretty open book. Just ask. 

All the small things...

There are times when you are reminded to slow down a little. Sometimes you ignore them, as I usually do, but sometimes you just give in to it. Today was a day that I just needed to take a moment. Sure, there is laundry to do, dishes to wash, organize something...a million things that need to get done. But it was time for Livi to take a nap. She's at that fun age where she totally still needs a nap (or else she'll just be hateful to everyone and everything) but she totally thinks she doesn't need it anymore so she fights every second of the way.

Sometimes I can bribe her to take a nap with the promise of something fun when she wakes up. Usually it's food. She is so her mother's daughter. Other times, all it takes is for me to lay down with her. I usually say no because I use that bit of time before the other two kids come home from school to get done those things that will be impossible with three hooligans running around. Other times, hell I could use a nap! Today, I just felt the need to take this time to lay with her.

Entirely too soon, she's not going to want to be around me. Soon she'll think it's embarrassing when I bust out in song everywhere we go and will randomly have a dance party because that song on the store radio is my jam. Even though she swears to me that when she is a teenager she will still want to hang out with me, she's 5. What the hell does she know? Plus, she won't put it on tape, so I don't know how much I believe it.

It's really easy to get swept up this time year. Making sure that there are going to be enough presents under the tree, running around for last minute presents and trying to find that perfect ugly sweater. This moments don't come often enough and they don't last. I am going to start making a conscience effort to take these moments when they happen. The laundry isn't going anywhere, the dishes can wait and who am I kidding? I don't organize shit. Organized chaos, that's what I say. Nap time is sacred. Get it while you can.

Blame it on my ADD baby

I haven't written on this blog in quite some time. I think it was because there was a lot going on in my world, and who wants to put all their dirty laundry out there? That's what Facebook's for! Now that things have sort of settled down, I got an urge to write on here and so here I am.

Brief history of the last 4 months or so: Broke up with bf, was going to stay in Bama, shit got crazy, moved to Texas, joined Roller Derby, live with my mom and yeah, we're current now. So that's fun.

But right now, the biggest thing that's going on in my life would be with my son. He has developed some tics over the last year or so. We have been trying to figure out where these are coming from. First, we saw a doctor in Alabama who specialized in ADD/ADHD. After a long, end of the year conversation with his first grade teacher, we had agreed that could be a possibility and he should be evaluated. Off we went to the doctor. First, you have to meet with a counselor. They ask you a bunch of questions, you fill out questionnaires about your child's behavior and then they talk to your kid. I did not like that we talked about what was going on in front of him. I really was uncomfortable with that because the last thing I want to do is make him think that there is something wrong with him.

After meeting with the counselor, who determined he met the standards for ADHD, we met with the doctor. His plan was to start him on a stimulant medication and see if that improved the tics any. However, the medication said do not use if you have tics because it makes it worse. Perhaps he missed that. And, it did in fact make them worse. So I stopped giving it to him. (I was already told that this wasn't a medication that had to build up in his system and I did not have to give it to him every day.)

During this time, everything was kind of falling apart and we suddenly needed to move to Texas. I'm talking we were in within two weeks of deciding that this move needed to happen. This is a lot for even me to deal with, let alone a child. So I have taken into consideration that this could be a factor. Now that we are here in Texas, we are seeing a neurologist. He is taking a non-stimulant for the ADHD, which I'm on the fence on if it is even working and we are running down the list of possible treatments before we can reach the diagnoses of Tourette's. There is no test for that. It's basically if it's nothing else, and it doesn't go away then I guess that's what it is. Since he's not yelling out curse words like a dirty old sailor, I guess we just have to wait and see what happens.

Another thing it could be is anxiety. Which we are trying an anti-anxiety medication to see if that decrease and eliminates the tics. Now, I know a lot of people are against medication for treatment of this (you know who you are, you handsome man) but should this medication eliminate the tics, I plan to take him off of it completely and treat the cause of his anxiety. Until then, he's going to keep skating in Junior Roller Derby, kick ass in school and keep on tic-ing. (See what I did there?)

Might be time for Locks of Love Rapunzel

How did this:

Become this:

you ask? That is a good question. While helping Livi clean up her room yesterday, mainly because I couldn't find her bathing suit (which it turns out, I had put in a bag to take to the sprinkler park thing, oops) and I came across about 15 dolls which looked like they were crack addicts. They were half naked, and their hair was...well you saw the top picture. At least she was dressed though.

So I started to do some research on what I could do to fix their hair. I found one woman's blog about brushing the same doll's hair. (Cookie and Claire) I didn't have a wig brush, so I made due with a comb and a regular brush.

I made the detangler spray with fabric softener and water. I used the lavender vanilla scented on in hopes that it would relax me while I brushed all this stupid hair. When I began this process, I'm not going to lie, I asked myself what the hell I was thinking when I bought this doll in the process?! You would think that by this day in age, they would have created a way to keep doll hair from becoming so tangled. (I guess that was the point of this particular doll though....)

The whole process took about 30 minutes. I think Rapunzel lost about as much hair as she kept. I did break it up into sections to make the task a little easier. Half-way though, I about quit. I didn't think it would be as big of a pain the ass as it was. I guess I figured that homemade detangler would work magic and just untangle the whole thing on it's own. But I soldiered on and finished it up. Needless to say, that is the only doll who got her hair brushed.

On an added note: I started this post about a month ago....I still have yet to brush another doll's hair.