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One. Day.

I wake up cold. I roll over and hit my phone, because it’s beeping. Incessantly. That doesn’t stop it, so I sit halfway up in the bed and fiddle around with it until it stops making that horrible noise.

I look at the time and mumble, “Five more minutes.”

I roll over to shake my husband awake and my hand lands on the cold bed. He’s not there. I sit up, yell out his name before I realize that he doesn’t live here anymore. In my near-sleep state, I’d forgotten. Again.

The shock hits me anew, like it does almost every morning. My body shakes and I fight back the urge to scream and throw something.

No, not because we’re getting a divorce, because we aren’t.

Rather, I feel cheated.

Absolutely cheated.

I miss my husband so much that it hurts. I want to talk to him every second of every day. I have heard my entire life that the whole “obsessive” crazy thing wears off after the first two years of marriage, after the first kid is born, after the first time you walk in on the other using the bathroom, after you gain weight. All of these lines have been crossed, sometimes by accident, but they’ve been crossed.

We’ve been married almost 7 years and I want nothing more than to crawl in to bed next to him, tangle myself in his blanket and snuggle up next to him.

I want nothing more than his kids to be able to jump on him in the morning, giggling with glee at waking their daddy up.

I want nothing more than our lives to, for once, be normal and completely and totally in sync with one another.

For some reason, whether it’s Fate or God or just us being stupid, this doesn’t seem to happen for us. Being married isn’t easy for us.

It’s hard work.

To try to keep up the smiles, the happiness in the face of overwhelming sadness and depression, and to keep up the “normal” feeling of having a happy “home” in the same state.

I feel like I can’t tell him any of this, and it’s driving me insane.

I know, I know, there are many wives out there that have to live with the fear of having someone tell them their husband passed away during war. I lived with this fear for a while, although he hasn’t deployed since we’ve been worried, the possibility was always in the back of my mind, and I thank God every day that he decided to get out of the Army and think of his family.

I know, I know, there are many things worse than only seeing him for one week a month.

I get told this everyday by people that are just trying to make me see the glass as half full.

But, once, I’d just like for someone to see it as half empty with me, because although I have empathy for all the bad things that happen to other people, sometimes? I just want to feel bad for me. For my kids. For my husband. For my family.

So, yeah, I get it, things suck for everyone. But today? I just want to focus on how much things suck for me. Just for today, ok?

I just need that one day.


Halloween Costumes & Presents

We finally tried on the costumes. By “we” — I mean “the kids” tried on their costumes, cuz Mama don’t dress up.

As you can see, the costumes are adorable.

And the costumes seem to fit well.

Now to the “presents” part of my title. My birthday is next month and it’s kind of a big one (25) — so my wonderful, adorable, great husband has decided that buying me presents now is a good idea, as well as buying me presents then.

Do I mind this? Hell to the no. I do not mind.

This is what I got yesterday:

Isn’t it PRETTY? You know what it is? It’s a model of the solar system. In the form of a bracelet.

I’m a geek, and I embrace it.

Apparently, so does my husband.


*tap* *tap* *tap*

This thing still works, right?

Gosh, y’all, I am so sorry I haven’t been around. I am *failing* at this whole Being a Mom, a Wife and a Big Bad University Student thing. I’m not sure why I am barely surviving it, but it’s planning on killing me by December, and I’m determined to not let it.

Of course, it doesn’t help that my husband now lives 614 miles away (where he works) and I only see him every few weeks. No, we aren’t getting divorced.

I have had to drop two classes since the beginning of the semester, putting me under full-time student status, which ticks me off, but I can’t juggle everything at once until I get used to juggling everything at once. Clear as mud, right?

I wanted to write about my experience at the Inner-City school that we visited in my Education class, but it feels like forever since then. Let me just say that the experience was good but SO sad.

I wanted to write about the fact that I had to drop TWO classes because strep throat swept through my house like the bubonic plague and my son has been put in speech therapy and I needed a morning every week that I could use to refresh my brain and not have to rush to classes after the ten other things I had to do.

I wanted to write about how much of a whiner I am that I can’t handle everything, all because my husband isn’t here, he’s there, and I would suck at being a single mom. But I am also in awe of mothers that do it themselves, because parenting is hard.

I wanted to write about my son’s school pictures and how I forgot about them and rushed him to school with a somewhat dirty face and how in his pictures he has dirt on his face and I feel so *bad* about it, but not bad enough for re-takes.

I wanted to write about how I was so excited about the iPhone 4s that I practically begged my husband for one for my birthday, which is not very far away. He said he’ll get me one. I love that man.

I wanted to write about how for our anniversary (which is also coming up soon), I asked for a gun, because living by myself is not the most mind-easing thing I’ve ever done.

I wanted to write about the Wall Street protests, because they scare the crap out of me.

I wanted to write about my professor that wants us to call History “herstory” – and how I laughed out loud until I realized she was serious.

I wanted to write about how I’ve found Foster the People (a band) and how they complete me and make my soul happy.

I wanted to write about how now that I have a Macbook, I have totally taken a huge swig of the Apple Kool-Aid and I want at least two of  everything that they make.

But all those things came and went and now it’s almost Halloween and I probably haven’t been here in a month. I suck.


Hope y’all are around, because it’s about to get more entertaining.

The Keeper of All Things….

I’m not sure how this happened, but apparently everyone in my house is insane. I say this because the moment I married my husband, I was promoted to The Keeper of All Things In the House. I’m not sure how this happened, and it didn’t come with a crown (which I’m very bitter about) or any kind of cool uniform or anything, it just happened. And I think my family is insane because of it.

Here’s the thing about being the Keeper of All Things in the House: I don’t know where all the things are. No idea, actually. Blissfully unaware most of the time, even.

My son? He knows where every freaking toy he’s ever gotten from McDonalds ever is located. I? Can’t find my backpack three seconds after I sit it down in the afternoons. I’ve also lost every single scrunchy I’ve ever owned within two days. I run around my house every morning screaming things like, “Where are my keys?”, “Where are my pants?”, “Where’s my breakfast?”, “Where are my keys NOW?”.

So I ask you, how did I get this elevated status in my household? Why would my family do this to me? Are they Actually Insane?

Here are some Actual Conversations about missing things over the last few days, which I will contrast with things I’ve lost and where I’ve found them when (hardly) anyone was around…..

Conversations with Others:

  • Son: Mama, where’s my backpack?
    Me: Where’d you put it?
    Son: Right where you’re sitting. Why don’t you know where it is?
    Me: Because I am not the keeper of the things. Check the hook in the hallway.
    Son: FOUND IT! Thanks Mom!
  • Daughter: Mama, where are my clothes?
    Me: In your drawers.
    Daughter: Oh, ok.
  • McHusband: Where’s the toothpicks?
    Me: Honey, I have no idea, I haven’t used them.
    McHusband: You hid them?
    Me: *sigh* NO. I haven’t *used* them.
    McHusband: But why don’t you know where they are?
    Me: Because they aren’t something I use.
    McHusband: (pouty face) But. But you know where everything is.
    Me: OHMYGOD. NO. I. DON’T.
Now, here are things I’ve Actually Lost & where I found them, over the last few days:
  • My phone. Where was it? I was on it.
  • My backpack. It was on my bed, under a blanket. Which I was also under.
  • My iPod. Which was in my backpack. I went to the car to look for it five times.
  • My phone. Again. Yep, still on it.
  • My glasses. They were on my face. I did this three times.
Apparently? I can find other people’s things, but not mine.

How did I get here? And where are my shoes?

Have you ever driven home one day and get there and realize that you remember little or nothing about the drive and that your body and reflexes took over and did it all for you?

I had that moment today, only it was with my whole life.

Have you ever had that? That moment where you look around you and realize that Oh! Holy Donuts! The government is turning to facisim in lieu of freedom, I’m in debt up to my freaking eyeballs, I have too many kids, my car really needs an oil change and the man I married is not exactly who I thought he was and where have all the cowboys gone?

Ahem. I mean, maybe not exactly like that, because that didn’t happen to me.

It was literally like a jolt went through me, and I looked around and was all, “Uh….What and Who and Where, now?” I mean, it’s not that I don’t love my life. I do. Really.

But, this wasn’t the plan. My plan was to go to Florida State University, to live on my own until I was 22-23, to have a few serious boyfriends, but then settle down with the Wrangler-wearing, farm-owning cowboy and have twelve kids, thirty head of cows and a few horses on our Little House on the Prairie-esque ranch, and we were gonna live happily ever after.

Uh, yeah, I’m serious.

It’s funny that we can plan, and hope and dream about how we hope our lives turn out, but honestly, we don’t know until we’re driving down the road towards the corner of Old Age and Death (yeah, that’s not scary at all) on autopilot and we wake up and go, “Huh and What Now, and where are my shoes?”

In other words: Don’t plan too much.

You’re welcome.




I, like most sixteen year olds, could not wait to get my driver’s license.

When I got it, I knew that I would need to get a job. I knew that I would need to take on more responsibilities in the house. That was totally fine, because the freedom of driving was more than enough pay-back for me.

Two days after I got my license, I got into a car accident. My hand-me-down Chevy Malibu was completely totaled. I was devastated. It wasn’t my fault, but I felt horrible. My mom had just sent in the last payment on that car and I loved it.

My mom got me an Oldsmobile Cutlass that had squirrel nests in the trunk. The driver’s side door handle didn’t work either, so I had to Dukes of Hazzard it into the front door most of the time, or crawl in the passanger side and crawl over. It sucked.

After that, I got a Pontiac Grand Am that was my baby. I loved her and her pretty silver-ness. She was the most beautiful car ever.

That car got cramped after I had kids.

Now I drive a gas-guzzling SUV that is perfect for me and my soccer-mom-ness. (Although, no, my kids don’t play soccer. Yet.)

I said all that to say this: driving, for me, is almost as good as therapy.

I love to listen to music, which is super-duper convenient in a vehicle. Mostly because of the built in radio and all that.

There are many days, especially when it’s in the 90’s (and we have no AC, so that means it’s 90 degrees in the house, too), the kids and I will flee to my vehicle and just drive. We make loops around town, or hop on the interstate for a few miles.

It’s great.

We sing along to songs, we talk about the different things we see outside, they take a nap.

Sometimes, it gets me through days that are back-to-back house chores, endlessly answering impossibly hard questions, and having to explain why school can’t start right! this! second!

Most of the time, it’s the kids that are begging to go for a ride. Sometimes, it’s me.

Today, the driving was cathartic when my husband told me he may be taking another job where basically, I’ll go back to being a single mom, seeing him maybe once a month. Today, the driving was very needed.

Tomorrow, it will be too.

Sorry I’ve been so down the last few days, sad things have been happing in me casa. I hate it, but it’s something we all have to walk through, I suppose.


Last weekend sucked. I got into a fender bender (my car is totally fine, the other car? Not so much.), I ended up sleeping all day on Sunday, but there was this wonderful, fantastic silver lining: I found out I was pregnant. Which means that all the suckiness floated away. It was such a great feeling to find out that I was going to have another baby. 

But something felt wrong.

I was excited. I was happy. But I didn’t feel pregnant. I felt, well, empty inside.

I took pregnancy test after pregnancy test until Wednesday, which were all positive, and then I thought to myself, “Everything is fine. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, apparently.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon in the hospital. I lost the baby.

Although the Doctor kept saying that my pregnancy had been non-existent.

Over and over and over again: Non-existent pregnancy.

In other words: I was pregnant and now I’m not. Not sure how to classify that, other than a miscarraige.

They did ultrasounds, HCG tests. Everything. Everything pointed to my baby being lost.

Although that’s not what they call it, it still feels like a loss.

I cried all day yesterday. Today, though, I’ve decided that I can’t cry anymore. I can’t continue to cry over it and expect to actually get through it. 

So, today, although I feel a staggering amount of loss, I am vowing to focus on the things outside my body. The beauty of things around me, and, of course, my beautiful babies that I have here with me. 

Today, that’s what I have to do.