Yoga pants and cold coffee

Growing up I always wanted to be a stay-at-home housewife. I enjoyed cleaning, organizing, and making those I loved happy by providing for them. Then I became a housewife and the reality was not the wonderous picture I had painted for myself all those years ago. I had no time to myself, no matter how I arranged things such as naptime, bedtime, or outings. I still don’t.

When my children were young my partner at the time worked ungodly hours and was not much help when he was around. I had no family around to help me when I was overwhelmed, nor were there friends I could lean on in my time of need. As they have gotten older it has gotten slightly better but I have grown accustomed to not leaving my house nor letting my husband take over. I have created my own little chaos filled cocoon and it is miserable.

I want to change things. I want to be able to leave my house and not worry about what is happening at home, but it is not so easy. Now I am sure that some people would say, “You got what you wanted, now deal with it” or “Maybe you shouldn’t have had so many children”. But by the time I had realized exactly how deep in the mud I was, we already had five sons and I desperately wanted a daughter. By the time I got a grip on the house I was ready to try for a girl and we got pregnant within a month of trying.

She is now four years old and a little ball of sunshine, on most days. But there comes a time when the little one’s become constant energy sucking, snack machines…LOL! I love that little girl but I cannot tell you how many times I am trying to work on something and she is determined to cause chaos at every turn.

How stay-at-home parents get anything done is beyond comprehension. Honestly, I am amazed on days when I can fit in a shower, laundry, and eating three meals while they are warm. More often than not, I am eating food that is cold, I am staring down eight baskets of laundry, and haven’t showered in three days…well unless I am anticipating sex LOL. Instead, I find it easier to throw on yesterday’s yoga pants, yesterday’s cold coffee, and a cold piece of bacon from the fridge. Nonetheless, I feel that other people should know how underrated it is being a stay-at-home parent is. How long the hours. How exhausting. How unappreciated. I have worked at many different jobs but they all pale in comparison to this. There is no health insurance, no pay, no vacation time, and no employee of the month. You are Mom or Dad 24/7 and while it is one of the most arduous tasks I have ever taken on, I would not change it for the world.

Nonetheless, I feel that other people should know how underrated it is being a stay-at-home parent is. How long the hours. How exhausting. How unappreciated. I have worked at many different jobs but they all pale in comparison to this. There is no health insurance, no pay, no vacation time, and no employee of the month. The only recognition you get is when someone comments how sweet your child(ren) are, or the unexpected hugs from your children, or when they write you a note telling you that you are their “greatest Mom”. You are Mom or Dad 24/7 and while it is one of the most arduous tasks I have ever taken on, I would not change it for the world.





Today is a tough day…My anxiety is doing well enough, but my focus is way off. I am distracted, feeling pressure, and hoping that it changes will not make it so.

I need attention…affection…love…

I need to be cradled, cuddled, and stroked…

The loneliness I feel is pervasive, uncomfortable, and burdensome.

There is little I can do to change the circumstances as they are immutable. It is not feasible to have my partner dote on me at any given moment when my cup of love is dry as a sun-worn bone. Nor is it possible to comfort myself during this time either. There is nothing I can do but go through it alone the intense feelings of pain, abandonment, and yearning. The irony is that once he is by my side, I cannot reach out…I cannot ask for him to comfort me. I feel so childish and it prevents me from seeking his attention, instead, I push him away or I just simply let things be how they are.

It is my fault that things are not changing, I know it…he knows it. Getting out of my own way is not my strong suit. But I feel as if asking for more from him is unreasonable given how hard he works day in/day out. He is tired and worn and just wants to forget about the long day that has played on repeat for far too long. I feel guilty.

My heart is heavy. My mind an unorganized mess. My body weak from exhaustion. I need a lap to curl into, a hand stroking my back, and a kiss on my forehead as I drift towards much-needed rest.



“I wonder if she knows I still love her? I wonder if I’ll ever stop? How can I cut the tether if my heart is still with her?”

Breaking up with someone is hard on even the strongest person. My last break-up was with someone I had been with for going on 9 years. It was messy, complicated, and muddled with drama. My break-up before that was not a clean break; it was wrought with intense emotions, trauma (for both of us), and could not have hurt more. For a while, we did not contact each other for a long time, years in fact. Then with the advent of social media, I looked her up. I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough to actually make contact but I was content watching her from afar.

There came a time when my inner thoughts finally got the best of me, as they usually do, and I decided I needed to say some of the things that I failed to say long ago. I messaged her and proceeded to word vomit all over the place. Apologizing for all that had happened, telling her that I couldn’t believe I let harm come to her, and everything else that probably only made me feel better. In my heart, I felt like all I was doing was letting go of the hurt I had selfishly been carrying.

I believe that if a relationship has a clean break, without drama or trauma, then both individuals will be able to move on and heal…over time, that is. On the other hand, if something happens such as cheating, lying, or one of them doesn’t get to purge all of the hurt, one or both will have a much harder time letting go.

In our case, I think the deck was stacked against us from the start. We started off on the wrong foot and ended with a twisted ankle…limping from one step to another. Instead of letting her go, I wanted to hold onto her as tightly as I could from a distance. I held on, not because I thought she would ever love me again, but because having just a microscopic connection to her was better than losing her forever. Wondering what she was doing, how her day was going, or if she was happy, was better than the coldest drink in the hottest desert? And, I’ll tell you what I was in the fucking Sahara.

That was almost ten years ago.

The invisible thread is still there. There have been a few times when we have talked on a consistent basis but usually one of us can feel the emotions get stronger and we take a couple steps back. The ironic thing is, is that when people talk about still having ties to their ex’s no one talks about how hard it is. It is work. Now I can probably guess what you are thinking to yourself, “Just stop doing it, Dumbass.” But it is not that easy despite how simple is sounds.

Typically speaking most relationships have a natural, usually linear path. A beginning, middle, and end. But for her and I, we did not have a typical relationship. So when it came time to “end things” I could barely think, feel, or breathe. She didn’t yell, say mean things or call me on the bullshit that had happened. It was almost too much to think about and it felt impossible that I was losing her after seeing how perfect we were for each other (and my son). I did it anyway though because I felt I had no other choice.

Are you wondering if I regret it? Yes, every day I wonder what would have become of us.

I know, I am a married woman who should just focus all of my attention on my husband, children, and home. To a degree, I would agree with you. I know it is wrong. If the tables were turned and my husband was carrying a torch for someone, I don’t think I would be able to handle it as gracefully as he does. The fact remains, he knows I still care for her…to what degree I don’t know. But I am not the kind of person who can simply walk away with something undone, I need closure or accomplishment to let go. It’s a quirk, what can I say?

In all honesty, I dread the moment she tells me she can no longer be tied to me. I will mourn the day she finds a wife to make an honest woman out of her (lol). I still love her after all these years and even when she gives me the boot, I do not believe that the torch I hold for her will ever burn out.

In fact, I know it won’t.


Works in progress

I have been a writer for as long as I can remember. I wanted to be a journalist in High School but that is just not the way the cookie crumbled. Instead, I became a habitual runaway, addicted to cocaine, and in a relationship that was not healthy. Over the years I have put pen to paper through some of my most difficult times and it has served its purpose more often than not.

While not writing here I have utilized my outlet to begin a story. This story has some elements of my life but the characters and places are entirely random…Here is a chapter from the main project I am working on. It is untitled at the moment as it is not finished. Any feedback is welcome, please be courteous and respectful. I am rocky and still trying to simply type, I will go through and edit things after the first draft.

“Mom! Alan and Tommy are fighting again,” yelled Rachel from the top of the stairs with her hand on her hip. Kitt narrowed her eyes in frustration while taking a deep breath and trudged up the steps to see which of her two boys was causing the bulk of the trouble. It was a short walk from the kitchen to the raucous sounds emanating behind the door decorated with cutouts of construction trucks and schoolwork with brightly colored smiley faces. As she opened the door Kitt was hit with a barrage of stuffed animals from one side and balled up dirty clothes from the other. The boys froze as if they have been touched by one of those cartoon ice princesses. “Boys! What the hell do you think you are doing? Look at your room, it is a complete and utter mess!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. By the time she realized exactly how pissed she was her head was pounding to the beat of her heart and was left standing there breathless.


“It is the first day of school, this is not how I want to start the year,” Kitt said exasperatedly, “please just find your backpacks and come down for breakfast.” She headed down the stairs with a black mark on her soul, knowing that she could have handled things better but didn’t. After scrambling to make breakfast she sat down for a cup of coffee before acknowledging the other responsibilities calling to her. With the warm sugary elixir coursing through her she began to feel better by the time the kids were safely on the bus. Only 5 hours and 59 minutes until they are home again, dammit.


Turning the radio onto the local Top 40 station she tried to get into the groove of tending to the insurmountable tasks in front of her. She walked to the middle of the hallway and began surveying the damage from the Labor Day weekend. To the left were piles of questionable smelling laundry spilling out from the laundry room, the outline of muddy footprints on the kitchen floor going every which way, and down the short hallway was the tiny bedroom she shared with her husband, overflowing with things that had no place. It seemed as if every week the boys found some new and creative way to destroy the order from the previous cleanup, her husband would discover another abandoned bicycle that needed tending to, while she was left pondering how in God’s name she was supposed to rearrange things in their modest ramshackle cottage.


She shook her head and grabbed a notebook, found a page that had not yet been scribbled on and began her daily “ta-da” list. After years of making to-do lists and feeling disappointed when she couldn’t accomplish it all, Kitt came up with a solution. She would go from room to room and after doing any task she would write it down, by the end of the day she would be able to look back at all of the things that she completed. Sometimes the only things on her list would be that she did the dishes or the kids had a bath, but on good days her list would be filled with meaningful accomplishments that even her husband would be compelled to compliment her on. Today was not going to be one of those days, at least that is how she felt. She started some laundry, wiped the footprints up, and sat down on the kitchen floor to start looking up ideas for dinner on her phone. While scrolling through her favorite idea site she quickly became distracted by the multitude of crafts that could be made and sold. Her thoughts then drifted to how she wished she could have a job that she loved doing and would provide an income to their family, despite her lack of diploma or degree. Without seeing it coming she suddenly found herself doubled over sobbing and dry heaving. It didn’t take much these days to send her spiraling into despair, hopelessness, and regret.


Lately, she had become increasingly angry and frustrated by the lack of fulfillment in their lives. Her husband Bradley was a modest man with a decent job as the head mechanic at a local body shop. He was taller than average, clean shaven, well built, and had always stayed in good shape, despite having just turned forty. They had met fourteen years ago and it was almost love at first sight, he had been finalizing his divorce when she was introduced to him. Bradley was still dealing with leftover anger and disappointment making it hard to see the opportunity presented to him; he promised himself that if given the chance he would seize it without hesitation.


Lucky for Bradley a few months later they were re-introduced and immediately there was a deep connection, within the year they were married. He was down-to-earth, playful, outdoorsy, and comfortable with who he was. Bradley appreciated his job for what it was, a hands-on position that provided for his family. The thing that bothered Kitt the most was that he had no desire to move up the management ladder even though he already did everything a salaried manager was supposed to do. It was a running joke in the family that he would retire on a grunt wages and in truth Bradley did not mind the notion because he hated the thought of dealing with the bureaucracy of upper management.


After gathering her thoughts she got up from the kitchen floor and thought maybe it would be a good idea to distract herself with a workout when her phone started to ring. Instantly she perked up when she saw who was calling.


“Good morning gorgeous, how did it go with the kiddo’s?” Bradley asked sweetly.


“Well, it was a tough start for the boys, but you should have seen Rachel. She has grown up so much, I just can’t believe she is in junior high this year,” said Kitt nostalgically.


“Well, love I just wanted to hear your voice and see how things went. They ran a company coupon in the Sunday paper so we will be having our asses handed to us the whole week. I might be a little late getting out tonight so don’t wait on me for dinner,” he sighed.


“Okay hon, I’ll keep your plate in the oven for you. I love you,” she said as the dryer buzzed loudly.


“Love you too.”


The rest of the day was filled with Kitt trying to beat the clock before the kids came home and keeping herself distracted from her earlier emotional outburst. She settled on making her turkey meatloaf, which always went over like a lead balloon, but she simply didn’t want to go to the store to get groceries for anything else. With the brunt of chores done she decided to take a nap, in hopes that it would help her to be refreshed for all the paperwork she’d undoubtedly have to fill out for the kids’ teachers. Once her head hit the pillow she was able to detach and breathe without the usual elephant on her chest, leaving her relaxed enough to rest. Her dreams were a mash-up of nightmares and flashbacks to a time in her life when she had little choice in the things that made her unhappy.


“Mom! Mom! Mom!” shouted Tommy from the door. “Guess what, Shannon down the street is in my class! We got to play tag at recess and the bus driver said we could be seat buddies if we are really good.”


Kitt slowly pulled herself up and realized that she’d slept through every single alarm on her phone. “Hey guys! Glad to hear you liked your first day, Tommy. Go put your things away and bring me all the paperwork that needs filling out,” she said fuzzily.


“Mom, Tommy was standing up on the bus. You know he’s not supposed to do that, right?” Alan huffed.


“Give your brother a break, it’s his first day. I remember a certain someone who used to get into trouble all the time for standing when the bus was moving,” Kitt responded. Attempting to get his brother in trouble was Alan’s newest hobby, anytime and anywhere.


“But Mom, maybe the bus driver ought to give him an assigned seat. That is what they did last year for the little kids,” Alan implored.


“Just drop it son, he will get the hang of things soon enough. And maybe, instead of tattling you could help to remind him what he should or should not be doing. You aren’t making yourself look better by telling me what he is doing wrong all the time,” she said irritated by his lack of brotherly love.


The kids were uncommonly good that evening as they cleaned their rooms and talked to each other about all the excitement on the first day of school. By dinnertime they were starving and ready to happily eat whatever was put in front of them.


“So Mom, how was your day?” asked Rachel as she shoveled a steaming pile of mashed potatoes in her mouth. “It was okay, had a rough start but after my fiver I felt better. How about you, how was your first day in seventh grade?”


“Honestly Mom, I think the boys in my grade have lost brain mass over the summer. It was so hard trying to hear what they teachers were saying from one class to the next because they were being so loud and rude,” she replied with frustration. Rachel had always been top of her class and eager to learn in any environment, especially school. Kitt loved how easy learning was for her daughter, it was about the only trait that Kitt passed on to her besides her stormy gray-blue eyes. They enjoyed light conversation and a few laughs and before long Bradley came home to join them.


“Dad, today was so awesome! We found out that this year we get to go on a class camping trip and they are looking for parents who want to supervise. Think you can take a couple days off?” Rachel beamed.

She had been a daddy’s girl from the minute she was born and the bond they shared was noticed by everyone who saw them together. “I don’t know hun. It’ll really depend on when it is and what the schedule looks like for the other guys,” Bradley replied.


Once bedtime came around it was back to the kids’ usual antics; constant trips to the bathroom for Tommy, Rachel getting bent out of shape because she misplaced her favorite shirt, and Alan getting up to see what his hermit crabs were doing in their aquarium. By ten o’clock the house had quieted down enough for Kitt and Bradley to talk for a few moments and smoke a joint. He always fell asleep before her, it was her curse but she had grown accustomed to being up later than the rest of them.


The stillness of the house bothered her, yet the “alone” time was something that she relished. Sometimes she would watch television or read, but more often than not she would play games on her phone or computer until she’d catch herself nodding off. She grabbed the stack of papers from the kitchen counter and mindlessly filled them out until her eyes became dry and painful from exhaustion. Turning off the lamp, she laid down and within moments their cat, Coffee, nestled himself into the crook of her arm.


The following morning was a bit calmer, which was a welcome change. Without the emotional distraction from the day before she set out to workout in the bedroom to an internet coaching video she had downloaded. She had only bought the first one because it was on sale and she really couldn’t bring herself to workout on a regular basis anyhow. After having Tommy she had lost all the baby weight within a a couple months but then was diagnosed with IBS and it changed everything. Her diet was so limited in the beginning of diagnosis that her metabolism went into “starvation mode” and she packed on the pounds.


Many times she would head to the local gym, plop Tommy in the daycare, and do her sets on the weight machines. Ultimately, she didn’t know what she was doing and they simply didn’t have the money for a trainer to get her on the right path. Eventually she would give up, like most of her hobbies. Instead, in the comfort of her own home, she could do jumping jacks and not have to worry about her flabby muffin top creeping over her sweatpants. A half hour later, sweaty and red faced, Kitt guzzled down her fruit infused ice water and jumped in the shower.


Later in the evening as she and Bradley readied themselves for bed they enjoyed the usual smoke session and talk, Kitt confided in him that she was feeling lost in their life together. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore. It has nothing to do with you or the kids, it’s me,” she assured him, “I don’t know if I need a hobby or to go back to school or what. I just know that I feel boxed in and unhappy.”


After a few moments of silent contemplation Bradley reached over and grasped her hand, “Honey, I love you and no matter what you need to do to be happy. I am behind you completely. I can try to get the boss to let me off early a few nights a week so you can go out and do something you want.” She smiled and felt better knowing that in all their years together he hadn’t really changed. He had always only wanted her to be happy, no matter what it took. They sat there talking for a little while longer and then curled into each other before he fell asleep snoring contentedly. Kitt lay there pondering what she could do to change her outlook on life but sleep came sooner than she expected and it was hard for her to tell her dreams from thoughts.

My Sabbatical is over…

I’m sure no one noticed…to be honest, I don’t blame you.

I am not a polished writer.

I don’t have that “thing” that draws you in and keeps you thirsting for more.

But nonetheless, I am back and am hoping to not lose faith in myself again. Hoping that someone, somewhere can draw from my journey, challenges, and my story that has yet to unfold.

While I have been away I have not accomplished an iota of anything worth mentioning. Well, maybe that is not entirely true…I got married in August. I lost someone incredibly important to me on Christmas Day. And, I have stayed pretty much the same weight as last year, yay for predictability am I right?

I am in a rut in my life. Feeling unable to move forward, crushed by the immense anxiety of stepping into new habits, and unhappy with how little I have done (recently and in general). I know I need to take my muffin top ass to the gym, find a trainer that has a ski-slope for a neck, and who will mold me into a bone-crushing beauty. But I just can’t bring myself to do it…well financially we cannot afford a trainer anyway but if I could I would be terrified that I would disgust the svelte Adonis into quitting his job and finding a new career.

At any rate, I will be posting more and more in the coming days but for now, I just wanted to say this:

Thank you to those who have not unfollowed me, those who check in to see if I am still alive and well, and to those who might still enjoy reading my crazy antics. I am nothing without you.


All my love,



A week ago while flipping through my emails I came upon a message that caught my attention. It was from a new blogging host who lavished me with praise about my writing and said that they wanted to feature my work. For a pessimist like myself all I could think was, “Yeah, right! Like someone…anyone would take a second glance at my ramblings.” I found it quite odd and something made me think that is was all “too good to be true” and you know what they say about that, right?

So I started doing some digging on this new place. It is so new in fact that there is very little information out there to confirm my suspicions about its legitimacy. I read the email to my partner and he was seemingly proud of me, walking over to give me a big hug and “Congratulations”. But I was not convinced, I’m still not. I don’t know whether or not I should continue the dialogue with this company or chalk it up to bogus advertisement in a pretty little package.

Don’t get me wrong I would love to get recognized as a decent author, to be given the chance to get noticed by a publication, hell I would love to earn some money from my writing or simply to have more people read my work. Realistically though, not many writers get their time to shine until way after they are relevant. I am still considering my options, still thinking about whether or not I want to risk being let down if it is all a sham.

In the meantime I am going to keep on, keeping on and maybe dip my toe in some “healthy” risky behavior.


All my love,


The news.

I am so fucking tired of the news.

When I got a smartphone the first thing I did was download the ABC and CNN app so that I could be caught up with all the latest stories. Over the last two years I have felt less and less inclined to even open them because every time I do it is teeming with “negative news” or insane amounts of political rhetoric. Either way I am disgusted.

Between the Orlando massacre and the onslaught of police related deaths (on both sides of the fence) I am fed the hell up. I read comments on Facebook and it just fuels the fires in both directions. Personally I am for more aggressive gun control. I am for major changes in how police respond to incidents. I am for a serious open forum discussion between black communities and those that are there to protect and serve.

But the reality is, things are going to get much worse before they get better. Honestly, either there needs to be a revolution or a true changing of the guard. I support the Black Lives Matter movement because it is bringing to light that not much has changed since the Civil Right’s Movement.

I want high powered weapons to be out of the hands of the average American because we are losing far too many lives to a military grade guns because the NRA is able to line the pockets of the old cronies still in charge. The total lives lost is almost inconceivable and to me is too big a pill to swallow.

Here is a staggering fact, since Sandy Hook there have been 90,000 gun deaths.

To me this is deplorable…disgusting…insane!

I will leave you with this quote:

“The planet is not in peril. What is in peril is human life.”


All my love,


Repeating history

When I was young the best times I remember having with my mother was after she and my stepdad had, had an argument. We would leave and go shopping, to the library, or fishing. Many years later and I’m sitting at the park watching my kids play while I sit here seething pissed and repeating history.

It really shouldn’t surprise me that for my birthday weekend my partner and I are at odds. It seems to be a pattern. But I had hoped that things would be different this year. Instead he is sitting at the bar with his brother-in-law and after a snippy conversation I don’t want to be home. So I packed up the kids who couldn’t legally be home alone and started driving. I wanted to text him and tell him off but decided to tell him to take his time because we wouldn’t be home.

Maybe that’s what my mother was trying to do way back when, to not engage in the anger. It didn’t work then, why do I think it will work now? I didn’t realize until I sat down that I was repeating the process. I’m wondering which is healthier, stepping away to not scream or speaking my mind?

I don’t know. Either way I’m not going home until I’m less pissed off, less disappointed, and less let down.

All my love,


“Low self-esteem is like driving through life with your hand-break on.”
– Maxwell Maltz

From my earliest memories I have viewed myself as “less than”. Less than worthy of love. Less beautiful. Less meaningful. Less important. The list goes on and on. I think that more often than not it had to do with my childhood circumstances and family unit (or lack thereof) affecting my self-image and worth. Over the years it affected how I viewed myself, the value I placed on my importance in the world, and the risky behaviors I got involved in. This is not to say that I didn’t have a choice in the decisions I was making and the things I was doing. I am just saying that when a girl grows up fatherless, with a loveless upbringing, and abuse on many levels it can take its toll mentally and otherwise.

Lately I have been battling with some demons and boy are they fucking dark. As some of you may know I had a substance abuse issue at a young age, was anorexic, and had an ugly battle with abusing OTC diet pills. I have been clean for about 10 years and only had a minor setback with my eating disorder during the unraveling of my last relationship. The thing that has changed over the last 6+ years is that I am part of a family unit, I have a supportive partner, and I have a lot of people who genuinely need me. But none of these things have changed my outlook on my worth as a person.

Ever since my diagnosis with IBS 3 years ago I have been packing on the weight, at my worst I was 210 pounds and now I am averaging the low to mid 190’s on a good day. I have struggled with my weight for awhile now. There have been a few times when I have been at my local Wal-mart walking up and down the dieting aisle trying to find something that will melt the fat away. For those of you who think it is as easy as changing my eating habits and getting more active, you are clueless. I have tried counting calories with increased activity. I have tried upping my water intake. I have eliminated pop and coffee. I have tried.

There have been a few times when I have gone through our medicine cabinet and catch myself looking at my kids ADHD medication. It’s all old medicine that is leftover from a dosage change that I hold onto in case they run out of one or we misplace a bottle while visiting grandma. Sometimes I grab the bottle and shake it around, imagining a thinner self. Then the daydream ends and all the shame and disappointment begins flooding my mind and I set the bottle down. I think about how long would I be able to keep up the facade, about having to tell my partner what I did, and about how trust would be broken forever. I don’t think it is something he could forgive me for…let alone me trying to forgive myself.

This is not only the life of an addict but the life of someone who is so desperate to “be beautiful”. I wear the same clothes every week because I don’t want to go out and try on more because I will breakdown in the dressing room, again. I do not want to leave the lights on during sex because my pouch hangs while I am performing oral and who the hell wants to see that? I roll my eyes when he compliments my hips/thighs/ass because really I can’t imagine anyone being attracted to someone my size.

In my head I know I am wrong for putting myself down but it does not change how I feel or view myself. The worst part is feeling like I have no control over changing this. I don’t want to have thick thighs. I don’t want to have a pouch that needs hiding. I don’t want to have round cheeks. I want to be thin and beautiful. I want to go shopping for cute clothes that accentuate my hips and waist. But how can I do that when the traditional methods are fruitless? When life is too complicated to hire a trainer to push me until I puke? When there isn’t a pill to melt these 50 pounds that just won’t fucking go away?

I know my worth does not decrease as the scale goes up but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t affect how hard the battle is when mind and body do not match up. This topic is especially important to me given that I have 6 weeks before my partner and I say, “I do”. How can I be a good wife when I loathe everything I am on the outside?

I seek solace in the simple things for now because at the moment I cannot wrap my head around everything else.

With love,


Small accomplishments


Lately I have felt like I haven’t been doing enough. Like I am not accomplishing enough. So I have been trying to do things that I typically would snub my nose at; going outside when I feel like doing nothing, taking the kids to new places, or trying new things like hiking. The lead up is usually stressful but the achievement afterwards is wonderful.

Sometimes I wonder if my kids don’t like going to do new things because I am like that or if they are just genetically predisposed to not wanting to do shit. Today we went on an adventure, one I have never done, and I greatly enjoyed myself (I think they did too). After the little princess woke up from her nap, I gathered the boys up and we headed for the park to wait for their dad. Once we got there the boys shot off to play, jump, and enjoy the balmy Minnesota summer day. Within minutes the little princess had made a new friend and I was blissfully happy with the laughter and warmth of the sun.

As soon as dad got there we headed out for our top secret adventure that was driving the kids crazy because they hate not knowing what we are doing. We were going on a hike! No crazy hills or rocky terrain, just a nice 4 mile hike through simple trails. We walked and enjoyed the scenery stopping from time to time to take pictures, and looking for little critters. Don’t get me wrong there were times when I had to stop and scold someone for yelling or pestering each other.

Nothing will change how I feel about doing new things but if I keep pushing myself to step outside of my comfort zone I might be able to change how my kids feel/react to new experiences. To me that is all that matters, bettering their lives is what I can do for them when I feel I can’t do anything else right. So today I call it a small accomplishment.