GASP! There are children at Disney World!!!



That’s right people. I know this may be a surprise to some folks, but there are children at Disney World. A lot of children!

My family and I recently were able to take a family vacation to Walt Disney World in Florida. The penguin is 5 years old so it is a perfect age for her. So we loaded the sit and stand stroller every day with wipes, extra clothes, and anything else one might need. I pushed that stroller up and down hills, through lines, and around people. I heard the childless people say, “I really don’t like children”.

I get it. Besides my precious penguin, I’m not a fan either. I never really babysat, I’m not the woman who holds all the new babies, it’s just not me. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t dislike them, I just don’t go all googly for them either. However, I do appreciate the innocence and untarnished heart that children have.

Look. I’ve done Disney both ways. I’ve been the carefree, childless couple able to bob and weave in and out of the masses of people. Yes, the people with strollers. And children. Multiple children and sometimes multiple strollers. But that’s okay. I knew that when I walked inside that magical place. I have now done Disney with the stroller and the child. As much as I enjoyed myself in the carefree days of roaming Epcot drinking myself through each country, nothing can compare to how my heart felt watching the awe and wonder on my penguin’s face this time.

So I will say this once again. Disney World has children. So don’t go with the intentions of not seeing any or not having any get in your way as they stare aimlessly up at Cinderella’s castle. Instead of the grunts, the huff, and the “now I know why I don’t have children” comments, how about you stop, breathe in the popcorn smell, and stare up at it with them.

The Belle won an award

Thank you to the nice bloggers at Old Folks at Homestead for nominating me for the Liebster award! I am honored and flattered.


Once you are nominated, make a post thanking and linking the person who nominated you.

Include the Liebster Award sticker in the post too.

Nominate 5 -10 other bloggers who you feel are worthy of this award. Let them know they have been nominated by commenting on one of their posts. You can also nominate the person who nominated you.

Ensure all of these bloggers have less than 200 followers.

Answer the eleven questions asked to you by the person who nominated you, and make eleven questions of your own for your nominees or you may use the same questions.

Lastly, COPY these rules in the post.
As part of this award, I am to answer eleven questions asked of me by my nominators. Here it goes…

1. Is this your first blog?

Yes, this is my first blog

2. Why do you blog?

I have to get it all down

“If I get all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to.”

3. Do you know Jesus as your Lord and Savior? Yes, I do

4. What is your passion?

My daughter

5. Do you have a favorite author?

Not any longer

6. What kind of music do you like?

60s, country, “songwriters”

7. If you could live anywhere, where would it be? Right where I am

8. Where do you find the most inspiration? Everyday

9. What is your favorite food?

Sandwiches of any type

10. What person, living or dead, would you most like to meet?

That one makes me think

11. What are your long term goals?

To raise my daughter continuing to be the free spirited child she is today

Trapped, like a bug in a jar


While waiting on my mama recently to come out of a store, I observed two wasps in a brawl, or mating ritual, I’m not sure which. In either case, one wasp was left the victor and flew away freely while the other suffered a leg amputation and began to hobble around the sidewalk. I continued to watch as I waited, simply because these mundane events of life are calming to my overworked brain, and the injured wasp continued to stumble and eventually ended up in a sidewalk crack. My mama came out of the store about this time and I voiced my condolences to the wasp by offering to “write a witness statement” if needed while my mama insisted I get in the car before someone called the police on the “crazy lady” outside. 

In light of recent events, I can relate to the trapped feeling of the wasp. Of course, he may have flew away right after I drove off. But the bugs we trapped in jars as children didn’t always fare so well. No, I’m not dying a slow, airless death. At least not that I’m aware of, but I am trapped. I have nowhere to go. That’s what it feels like. I’ve never felt so suffocated by the lack of choices before. Maybe the lack of realistic choices. That stick put in jars for the bugs….that’s what I’ve got. One end or the other. Neither end really offering an immediate, viable solution. No leaves in sight. I must’ve eaten all those when I was a younger, naive bug and I thought the leaves and air were endless. 

Yup, that’s me. A bug trapped in a jar. I can see out, see where I need to be, what needs to happen, but I’m stuck in this jar and I can’t seem to make it happen. Time is running out I fear. I do fear that the time spent being trapped I will miss the meaningful parts of the little bug outside the glass. When I was the younger version, I would have flown away. Now, I fear I reached my peak and I’m stuck in the crack of life. 

So, this is what happened….


I know I posted on my Facebook page about having good material this morning. And I did. This morning. I know it. I remember while it was happening thinking, “this is going to make for a good blog post”. But then the next eleven hours or so happened and all seems to be lost.

I know it was going to be about my comical, yet stressful morning with my 4 year old penguin. But seriously, now that I have time to post, it has all left me. Maybe it was the “hold me” plea as I sat on the toilet. Or it could have been when she told me she wouldn’t tell Spazz, the dog, to “have a good day”. But then there were some musings in the drive thru. Oh wait!! 

Cheese biscuits from a arched fast food chain are one of her all time favorite foods. For a 4 year old she has a well balanced diet and we don’t focus on food in our house (another post all together). So, I ordered the precious biscuit. From the back seat I hear, in her best ‘I’ve -been-wronged’ whine, “where is the white cheese?”. I’m thinking she is referring to the provolone cheese that she will only eat on her samwhiches so I say “they don’t have white cheese. What wonderland are you living in Alice?”. Giggles take over in only a way my penguin can giggle and she says “no, silly, they put white cheese on it!”. They did! The arches switched it up. Who knew? I said “well, I guess you are in wonderland”. 

Now, I know that’s not much, and I know there was more. But, maybe Penelope can find it tonight filed in between my files labeled “are you really going back to college?” and “are you really going back to college?”. If my little file keeper retrieves the “good material” I’ll post again. I’ve learned now to take voice memos.

WTF am I doing? Really? 

Panic attack. Check. Questioning my sanity. Check. Defiantly feeling like I’m falling off a cliff after taking another step towards going back to school for a big career change. I’m taking deep breaths and talking it through with my husband so he can help me back up from the edge. The first time I went to college I was too naive and full of myself to realize that I could fail at it. The older, life experienced me of today knows the cruelty and reality that failure is a possibility. That self assured side of me says I’ve never failed at anything (that practice marriage doesn’t count), and I’m scared out of my mind. Like horror movie, zombies chasing me with no weapon scared.

A Letter I Wrote To Myself About Getting Fat

Put On Your Happy Face

Screen Shot 2015-06-28 at 16

Shall we talk about your body?

Your body, which used to be thinner. Which you took for granted, because it fitted into cheap, tight dresses. Your body, which took you up and down Brixton Hill, every day, twice a day, never unheralded by catcalls, the stream of men and their “Oh baby hey baby nice tits nice ass hey WHERE YOU GOING?”

Your body was a girl’s body, made from dancing and late nights and skipped dinners, of hopefulness and sleeplessness and sadness. It took care of itself, or rather, you didn’t care that it couldn’t. It wasn’t for you, and so you didn’t mind that you couldn’t always afford to feed and nurture it. The admiration of others was nourishment enough. You often went to bed feeling empty. You thought it was heartbreak. It was probably hunger.

Then your body became plump with love.

Late dinners and later breakfasts…

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Cheese biscuit, potty, or monster school


This is a short post, but too good not to share. 

The choices in life. The things I say to my child. Oh my. How they all intertwine.

We have a crazy morning routine in our house. And because of my work schedule and my husband’s work schedule it changes every 11 days. So, just as things smooth out and become “normal”, they flip again and my 4 year old penguin is out of sorts again. 

Friday mornings are my morning to take her to “monster school”. It started out dramatic, which is inherited, because she told me “I can’t get dressed. I didn’t sleep well”. Yes, I said she is 4. We finally made it to the van, without letting the dog out, which is a success in itself. But then she melts down. “I can’t buckle myself”. “I can’t do it”. Over and over and over. So, being the original drama queen, I know the best way to handle this is to stay calm. So, I calmly told her that we would sit in the car until she put her seatbelt (car seat) on. And I did. I sat there through many more “I can’t mommy”, and finally it was done and I turned around and started the van.

We were on our way. Knowing we would be too late for breakfast at monster school I opted for the precious cheese biscuit from McDonalds. We proceeded to drive through line and the people in my town cannot follow directions so they form two lines before it actually splits off. So, I’m stuck in this line, contemplating asking someone to get me coffee and deliver to my window, when I hear the whining start. “Mommy, I have to go tee-tee. They have one of those pottys don’t they?”. SIGH “Yes, they do but I’m stuck in line. Do you want to eat or me get out of line when I can and go straight to monster school to use the bathroom?” “I want cheese biscuit”. “Okay, then you’ll have to wait.” I get to the menu to order, being reminded not to forget her chocolate milk, and get it ordered. Almost at home base. “Mommy, I really have to potty”. Here is where the choices come in. “Okay, I can get out of line and go to school, but I’ve just ordered. Cheese biscuit or bathroom? We all have to make choices.” Yes, that’s what I said. Her answer? “Cheese biscuit”.

The choices we make start early. And no, they won’t always be simple, but next time ask yourself “cheese biscuit or bathroom?” And remember the simplicity of it all. 

I want to parent like a grand parent

This took me by surprise the other day. I feel slightly judged and on a short rope even at 36 years old with my parents. But, I watched the interaction between my mama and my 4 year old daughter and just sat there in awe. I could vividly remember doing something similiar as to what’s daughter was doing and my mama loosing all patience with me and I probably ended up with a spanking. But I watched as she slowly took her time to allow the experience to fully wash over the penguin. My mother never got upset or in a hurry. I know I would have already yelled, threatened, and yes, probably thrown out a curse word by now.

I want to be the grandparent parent. The one that does take their time, isn’t always frazzled. I want to enjoy this journey just as much as a grandparent wants to enjoy theirs. Yes, some of it a time thing. Some grandparents have more time, they aren’t rushed. But my mom, some days, stays busier than I do, minus the actual job. Grandparents often say “I can let them do what they want and give them back to their parents”. While that is true, aside from the “meth making granny”, most grandparents are still responsible at raising children. It’s not as if they let them just run like wild horses. 

I just think, as a parent, if I could slow down and parent like a grand parent, without the stress and struggle of being the actual “parent”, I may become a better parent. Grand parents don’t worry about time. Child wants to play outside? Sure! But as a parent when my penguin ask to play outside I immediately think of time. Time outside. Time it will take to get her inside. Time to clean up. I don’t want think like that. 

The Psychology of it all (Part II)

this would be the second part of my introduction, of sorts, to what has led me to deal with body image issues my entire life. Hopefully, by writing this not only will I gain some perspective but maybe someone else can too. ***THIS IS NOT THE BLAME GAME…. I do not “blame” anyone per se, I am only learning to understand the events that have helped shape the issues at hand

I left off in Part I with the family dynamics and the shaping of my young mind for such warped senses of my image and worthiness. Somewhere along the way it also became about control and proving to everyone, myself included, that I wasn’t the fat kid they thought, or I thought, I was. 

“But, your fat. How could you have had an eating disorder?” Yes, the stereotypical person recovering from an eating disorder doesn’t usually become overweight. First, I never formally was diagnosed with an eating disorder and second, as a result not treated for such. The reasons will be explained. But first, the disorder itself. Primarily I assume it would be classified as anorexia. I did try the bulimia route on more than one occasion, but I cannot really throw up in silence. (Another time, another blog) So I became in control. I was in control of what I did not eat! I lost a lot of weight on my frame and the results were mixed. The adults knew I was on he verge of a health problem. The dumb adolescents in my life still thought I was fat. But, the opposite sex started to notice. The first to notice was the first one I became smitten with. Now, do you see this body image equation working itself out in my already fragile mind? 

Being seen as fat=no boyfriend

Loose a lot of weight=boyfriend

Yeah, so now my mind associates my self worth to the opposite sex with my weight. And, I couldn’t have picked a better boyfriend to hammer that fucked up reasoning if I tried. At 16 I started dating who would become my first husband and 12 years later leave me because I gained weight. So, you ask, “well, if you thought you were only good enough because you were thin, why DID you gain weight?”. Because there was something stronger at work. My crazy mind for one thing, but beyond that the hope and belief that I could be loved no matter what. There may have been women in my family who unknowingly helped seal my fate an early age with the body shame, but there were men in my family who gave me hope. You see, despite the women in my family not loving and accepting themselves, their husbands always did. My daddy has always loved my mother no matter what size. My grandfather worshiped my grandmother no matter what size ( she eventually gave up the “thin” notion anyway). So all if this was in my lovestruck mind. He did love me? He meant his vows? There were years of mental abuse once I could no longer maintain the unhealthy weight I was when we started to date. His family was no different. I spent many family holidays listening about the latest fitness craze from his aunts and uncles and numerous times was told by his mom it was all about being strong. Overweight people were weak. But my grip on that weight slowly slipped away and so did the notion that I could just be loved. After being together for 12 years, married for 7 years, he left me for a skinnier woman. Imagine what body shame I had now . The equation of my youth once again proved itself in my young adult life. 

I finally picked myself off of the divorce floor. I did come to understand the problem was with him. I also came to realize that divorce was the best thing to happen. Now, I’m not going to lie and say it’s not a day to day struggle to not let his actions impact my life. And society reverberates those sentiments he had about weight. It’s everywhere. I have since married a wonderful man, my true mate, who met me at my heaviest. I can say that I know he loves me. But, I can also say that in the tiny crevices of my damaged mind I don’t think he should. 

This is where I am. I want to begin this with a positive view for my daughter. I don’t want her to learn that the scale or size in your clothes define you (my mother had to cut sizes out if my clothes as a child because I would freak if they were over a certain size). That is why I am starting this journey of self understanding and self loving, for her. May she never know body shame. May she always measure her self worth on the inside. May she always love herself as much as I love her.

#nobodyshame, #positivemind, #healthy, #learning, #selfworth, #throwoutthescale, #weightloss