Some days the numbness just takes over. It’s usually when I think things are going better. When I’ve had those “lightbulb” moments in a bathroom and I thought I could see the light. That’s when the light just either just stays in place or fades away again. I continue to function. I continue to love my penguin. But the rest? The rest just doesn’t phase me.

The questions I ask at the end of these days are simple. Does the penguin feel loved? Does the penguin feel secure? Has she been fed, clothed, cared for, and is in bed next to me? If I can answer yes to those questions then when I look around at the other stuff I feel nothing. I am completely numb about my situation. 

I am numb that my husband was used as a scapegoat in a larger corruption case and now he is away from me most of the time. I have no desire to wash clothes. It’s not laziness, it’s really not. I’m not lazy. I go to work at 4:00 am. I just feel nothing else besides taking care of her. My feelings, my needs have all gone away.

Maybe it’s just the mother instinct. Maybe it truly is a problem. I know it is resentment. Resentment that has turned me into a smiling “yes, dear” robot. What else is there? Nothing will change. I’ve talked, cried, screamed, all until I’m blue and his stupid pride wins every time. 

And my numbness just sinks back in…..

The SB guide to those 5 things…


A friend shared a blog post from Money Saving Mom titled 5Things You should Do Every Single Day-Even when life is Stressful. I read with an open mind, but I still ended up on the floor laughing. Please understand, I AM NOT MAKING FUN OF THE WRITER or her ideas!!! I simply find them hilariously funny when trying to apply them to my real, every day life. 

I also understand that there are some people who live real lives that follow these, my mother is one. I just can’t seem to find the sanity to fit these 5 mundane things into my already over stretched day. I have enough trouble making sure everyone is fed to worry about some of this other stuff. 

So here it goes. My take on the  5 Things You should do every single day…. 

1. Write a Short to do list

I suggest no more than 5-7 items on your to-do list each day, otherwise, you’re probably setting yourself up for defeat and frustration.

Yeah, um, so the small OCD tendencies that I have left screaming to be let out really do like this one. But, the borderline crazy, hanging on by a thread person that’s taken over is laughing. My to do list consist of work, pick up penguin, sleep, work. If I’m lucky a load of laundry may get done but that isn’t because I don’t right it down. 

2. Make your bed 

Truth be told, this is something I’m still working on myself. However, I’ve been much more committed to making this a priority after watching this video. (Yes, go watch it. I’ll wait for you!)

Honestly, I didn’t watch the video, so I may be missing out on an earth shattering reason as to why I should. Truth be told I like a good ole made up bed. However, it’s not practical. The penguin sleeps in the bed until I pick her up asleep at 5:00 am to take her to the car. So, waking my 5 year old to make a bed is not an option.

3. Get Dressed in Something That Makes You Feel Great

Working at a prison on a medical floor makes this difficult too. Scrubs, scrubs, and more scrubs. But, on a positive note I have started to assecorize my eyeglasses. The weekends I make an effort but I can’t think straight and I just want to get out of the house. Plus I am making sure the penguin isn’t dressing in 5 layers. This one I am working on.

4. Do one Load of Laundry From Start to Finish

This one I actually do. When it’s just me and the penguin. Then my husband comes home with his eleven days worth and it creates a huge problem. Then the problem becomes one that I don’t want to deal with. So this one is more stubbornness then anything. 

5. Keep your kitchen clean

I can do this by not cooking! And we eat oatmeal, cereal, yogurt. We rinse out our cups or use disposable. But then of course the husband comes homes and starts competing for the Next Top Chef and all hell breaks loose. 

So, it’s mostly true. Even for someone as crazy as me that that’s 5 things can be done. Maybe not to the perfection the author suggest, but to the level your comfortable with.

Where are my underoohs? I just crapped my big girl panties!


I have come to despise the ever popular “put your big girl panties on and deal with it ” saying. I can attribute my dislike for this mantra  probably because of its overuse in pop culture and its overuse in my immediate family’s vocabulary. You may be thinking, “well, maybe you need to quit whining AND put your big girl panties on!”. Blah, blah, blah is what I say to that in my most mature voice. First off, this is my blog and I will wine if I want to, secondly I will wear whatever panties I want while I do it.

I am just tired of this grown up stuff and these big girl panties. It just keeps coming, even when I think I am getting a break. I am not talking about the normal every day adult stuff like jobs, bills, children, etc…. Those things I can handle. I knew they were coming with the adult world. I embraced them. It is all of the damn curve balls that keep coming at me that I am exhausted from dodging. Just when I think I can put on my footed, fleece pajamas and curl up and relax just a moment it is time for those stupid big girl panties again.

Are their big boy panties? Or big boy underwear? I have never once heard someone say to a man for him to put on a pair. Why is this? I think my husband needs a pair. Christmas list. Check. If I have to wear these things then by golly someone else is gonna wear them with me. I did not sign on for this alone. Can anyone argue that I have not worn these damn panties with the best of them? I am just weary from it. And they are chafing me. I think it is time to share some of the load.

So this is me. This is my blog. This is me taking the big girl panties off, stepping into my underoohs with Wonder Woman on them (because I am still Wonder Woman) and with my hand on my hips I am stomping my feet and I am screaming at the top of my lungs……………………….

Boy, do I feel better.

Another birthday down the tubes….

I wrote my first post of the month, That Bull was much more fun than the one I’ve been riding, with much reflection on the month of November. If you’ve read that post you would know despite the month being a great month because I came into this world, it also has held some pretty dark memories too. 

It’s ironic? Maybe that’s the right word. There are birthdays I’ll never forget. And now there are birthdays that I’ve blocked out. 

My sweet Sixteen was a quaint celebration with my closest friends over chili and checkered table cloths. My 18th was a complete surprise at the catering company/restaurant I worked at. My 21st was in Augusta with a group of friends I barely knew but would become family over the next two years. I definitely remember my 32nd. I had recently given birth to the best thing ever. 

My 29th I’ve blocked out. My now ex-husband finally decided he wanted a divorce around that time and it’s all been buried somewhere. My 35th isn’t completely forgotten because it was pretty fun, however it is shadowed with my husband’s job loss. We are now at 37. Wow! I’m pretty sure it will get buried.

What started off as a normal day ended in a jaw dropping turn of events. My husband of course is not home. But I’m used to that. A dear family pet as been struggling for awhile with first, the loss of our pug, and then the life change when her master, my husband, left for the road. Tuesday, my birthday, was her most difficult day. In actuality she suffered “minor” physical injuries that were treated with surgery easily. However, it’s the mental anguish that I worry about and what I came home to that will leave this birthday buried. 

She cut herself. My house looked like a murder scene from a horror movie. Something from The Walking Dead. From one end of the house to the other. Blood. Splatter. Walls. Baseboards. Windows. Counters. Tables. Furniture. Doors. The floor was covered all throughout. The computer was knocked over. My daughter’s bathroom looked like the shower scene from Psycho. It took 2 days to clean.

My husband has no idea. He is in complete denial. If not for my parents I honestly don’t know what I would have done. I want to shake him. 

**The dog is fine. She is in the care of a vet. We are working on re homing her. Please no comments or suggestions on what I can do…..I’ve done everything I can!!! The vet says the dog needs more human interaction than what I can give with my work schedule***


Not even sure….

Shouldn’t I be the one to be moody? I am the one left here. Alone. Eleven days. Depending on my parents to get OUR child from here to there so I can still work the job demanded by our budget. Am I saying things are unicorns and rainbows for him? No. But, do I give in to the “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” attitude? Yeah, I think not.

Remember, I’m that stubborn. I’ve been on this roller coaster when he was only standing in line. I know my feelings. You would thing 8 hours plus driving would give you insight into your feelings. But, apparently not. We are still at the “I’m just going to bed” stage of psychology. Great. I don’t know if I have the patience to figure it out. Haven’t I worked through enough?

No running. I understand that. I don’t have on my New Balance. I’m just frustrated. I can’t draw it out of him. I have no third world tactics of getting the truth. Sigh. He wants things to be different when he comes home. Every eleven days. How? Our life, my life, the penguin’s life, this life, it’s what it is. I can’t have champagne and streamers every time he comes home. I’ve just ran the dirtiest of the “Spartan” races with no training, by myself, keeping that penguin and this house standing. Doesn’t he get that?

No running. 

Why college football depresses me


College football has deep seeded roots in the south. I’m sure other parts of the country would argue their traditions just as strong, but the south is what I know to be for fact. Starting in September, southerners plan life events around college football. I can attest to that. I had to get married in September, on a Saturday, on a non-SEC game day, and the Dawgs had to be untelevised. Yes, what I know to be true is that Saturday in the south changes in September. Or, it used to for me.

I do not come from a line of college football fans. I am an only child and my daddy was really more into baseball. Yes, I cheered one year of high school football, but I had no idea what the defense cheer even meant. I am a new college football fan with my roots only being newly planted in the late 1990’s. But oh man, did I fall in love. I mean really in love. Not just for the parties, but for the commrarardie and the game itself. And, as any good southern belle, my entertaining gene came out. I did love to have a good spread on a Saturday with everything in my University of Georgia dishwater. Everything had to be cooked ahead of time and on the table before kick off. After kick off the only think I moved for was another cocktail, not to cook in the kitchen. 

Yes, sigh, my Saturday routine was in full swing. It even managed to survive a divorce and transition nicely into the new marriage (the one planned around the game). Then the last two years happened. My husband went on the road, friends have moved, and it seems that the only one I’m left to watch football with is the penguin. She isn’t as impressed with my Georgia vs. Florida decorations as I’d hoped. 

Yes, I’m just as excited as any southerner for Saturday’s  in September to come back around. I have taught the penguin to yell “Go Dawgs” with the best of them and we will wear our red and black with pride. But, I still long for those days when the house was filled with people and the aroma of delicious  food. The way game day used to be. 

I remember what cheerleading taught me….

(photo credit)

Some of you may wonder what cheerleading and the main photo of this post have in common. Believe me when I say, A LOT!!! After the last month or so of anxiety ridden day and nights wondering what to do, I finally took a breath, prayed, had others prayed, and the memory of what happened during 9th and 10th grade reminded me to slow down and take a step back. I remember the last time I did something hastily and without really thinking it through and what the results were. Enter the cheerleading reference.

I never have been an alpha girl. A mean girl. None of the cliques found me interesting enough or fitting enough to really “fit” in. But, I was a dancer! I loved to dance and learned to do basic gymnastics also. I remember sitting in the gym one day during the football season of 9th grade watching the cheerleaders lead the Pep Rally. All my friends who also did not have an identity but longed to be a part of that “cool kid club” went on and on about how they were going to be a cheerleader. It was the topic of so many lunch room table conversations, locker meetings, and standing around trying to be noticed that I got sick and tired of hearing about it. Why you ask? Not once did these conversations ever actually involve me. These friends talked around me about trying out for cheerleading like it was not even a possibility that I would want to or even could try out. Now, in their defense I could understand how I may have given off the impression that I was defiantly not interested in being a part of “that” group, but what really made my red hair turn fiery was the attitude that I couldn’t do it. The fact that I could dance circles around these girls and I could do gymnastics just seemed to fall by the way side.

So, what does a young, red-head with a temper and full of pride do? Well of course the first thing I thought is, “well I’ll show them”. That’s right, the dark horse signed up for cheerleading tryout for the Varsity squad. Gasps could be heard throughout the halls for days. Not only was I a nobody, but I was a nobody that used to be an overweight nobody and that is how EVERYONE still saw me even if I had bones sticking out of my neck. Yes, the pride in me of knowing that I COULD dance, and that I COULD do gymnastics, and yes, I COULD be a cheerleader put my name on that sign up sheet.  I showed up, rocked it, did a back hand spring, (the only one I might add) and sat back and waited for the results to be posted after school got out for the summer.

I can remember my mama driving to the front of the school where you could see the flyer taped to the front doors flapping in the wind. I casually got out, because I really could care less either way. Of course I wanted to do it to say I could, but if I didn’t make it my life wasn’t going to be crushed. This wasn’t a Lifetime movie moment. A few other girls who had devoted their lives to the Junior Varsity squad were pulling up at the same time. They of course spoke in a “why are you here, you know you didn’t make it” kind of tone as we walked up the steps to view the list. There it was, about 2 names down, MY name. “Uh”, was really my first thought. Then it was replaced with a little giddiness and I can still remember the faces of those other girls as they had to say, “you made it”. Not sure if they were congratulating me or questioning me. And so it started.

Endless fundraisers, nightly practices, weekend practices, poster making, ribbon making, the list goes on and on and this was just the summer BEFORE school started again. Then it was decorating the gym, gifts for the football players, and of course the Pep Rally. Every Friday night!!!! And we had to wear I hair all the same with the same ribbon. Really? What had I done? Was proving that I was a good dancer worth all this? My saving grace, so I thought, was that we had a TERRIBLE football team and our season would be over soon. Then someone broke the news to me that we also cheered during basketball games too. I could have died!

Finally the end of basketball season! It was over. I do have the “I used to be a cheerleader” comment in my back pocket for those conversations when you need to blurt out useless information. And, I did get a chance to cheer where High School playoffs are played because our squad was the first squad from our school to win Regional Championship and advance to State Championship (no such luck there). But, the most important thing I learned is that pride will get you into trouble. I should not have been so prideful about being able to dance and having the “I’ll show everybody” attitude. That prideful thought led to a year of misery!

While I rushed around trying to figure out my mid-life crisis degree, registering for those classes, and figuring out what I would do about work I was reminded of this. I thought about why I wanted to go back to school. The answer is, I do want to go back to school, and it has nothing to do with pride. But, I was rushing to do it in such a short period just to prove that I could. That has everything to do with pride. I’m not exactly sure who I was trying to prove it to. Probably the same people I proved to that I could cheer-people who really don’t care in the first place. So, after thinking about this lesson and reflecting on my urgency to get school done in two semesters I’ve decided to just slow down. I will still go back to school. I will still get out of the jar. But, I’ve learned that the view in the jar isn’t too bad and it’s not as bad as my view on the outside would be if I only escaped using my pride.

You can earn a mid-life crisis degree

Did you know? The local technical college is now allowing students to attend and earn a mid-life crisis degree? It’s not really labeled that under “courses of study ” in the hand book, but if you look it’s there. That’s how I sure feel right now (laughing hysterically to keep from crying ).

The Southern Belle is officially registered for college. AGAIN. After already earning a Bachelors degree at age twenty-one, I now feel the need at almost thirty-seven to Go BACK TO SCHOOL?!?!? I have finished orientation, I have a student ID, and a parking pass. The only thing I haven’t done is pay that horrifying financial “aid” bill. I’ve never seen one before as I was fortunate enough to attend my first go around on scholarship. Aid means help. Why, when you receive no help do they still refer to it as financial aid? 

I digress. So, yes, my student ID may say a different program of study, but as I try to push the knot out of my stomach and ignore the “wtf are you doing?” looks I feel from Penelope, I know it should say Mid-Life Crisis Program. Honestly, I WANT to do it, but really? What. Am. I. Doing? My husband is a truck driver, my daughter is almost 5, and as of now I get up at 4:00a.m for work. So, that’s what I’m doing. Trying to get out of that jar.

Maybe if I pretend to be an intern , a devoted , married, intern on Grey’s Anatomy I can get through it. 😊 But, until then, I think the following picture sums up my thought process of how I feel about right now:


My 5 year plan went bust about 8 years ago

My mama sent me a devotion from Proverbs 31 ministries the other day in hopes of reminding me how our plans don’t always work out in God’s time. The writer of the devotion talked about how she was a planner and had a strict five year plan she was following in her early adult life. I chuckled, okay, who am I kidding, I rolled my eyes and laughed hysterically when I thought about my five year plan. Especially when the writer explained how hers had changed into a somewhat fairy tale of love and marriage.

My five year plan actually did include love and marriage. My high school sweetheart (I know, so cliché) and I were both to finish college earning respectable degrees, find gainful employment, and have the wedding fairy tales are made of. Then we would, of course, live happily ever after. Imagine my surprise when my five year plan turned into infidelity and a painful divorce.

That’s when I gave up. I sort of quit planning. Not all together of course, seeing as though that Type A isn’t something you just can push aside. But, I began to just believe that no matter what the “other shoe was going to drop”. I know, it sounds cynical and jaded, but really it’s only a defense mechanism. I not doom and gloom most of the time. 

Looking back and reading this devotion did put into perspective some “plans” that I have right now that just are not working out. Every corner is a dead end, every street a u-turn, but I am reminded of how the demise of my 5 year plan ended up. Two years after my divorce I met a wonderful man and we married and one year later we were blessed with our penguin. How’s that for a plan? 

This is when I do just have to keep that Type A part of me pushed down and remember something greater than me is at work. I have to breathe in, breathe out, and move on (even got the tattoo to remind me). 

6 Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. 7 And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. (‭Philippians‬ ‭4‬:‭6-7‬ KJV)