How do you know you’ve met “the one?”  I mean, is that even a thing anymore?  The One?

I’m talking about the peanut butter to your jelly…the up to your down…the sun to your shine…the ebony to your ivory…the salt to your pepper…your soul mate…your perfect match…your other half…the missing piece to your puzzle…the one who is said to “complete” you.

How do you know they’ve made their entrance, stage left and are ready to take their role?  

Are there fireworks in your brain?  Are there googly eyes and unicorns and rainbows?  Is there music playing?  

I mean, I’m going full romantic comedy here but really…I’m asking for a friend.

Fun Fact: I don’t pick the best male partners.

I’m pretty sure my parents would agree with this statement. My track record is a bit questionable. And I guess I use the word “partner” very loosely.

From the stage where I stand right now, I see my twisted dating journey so clearly. I see the lack of self worth, low self esteem, and loss of control. It’s so clear to me why I turned into Richard from Saturday Night Live–“I do it myself!” Once my marriage ended, I took control. Out of both necessity and desire.

Since my divorce, I’ve been on an I-am-woman-hear-me-roar kick. Full-on look-at-my-independence, I-can-do-this-myself, step-to-the-side-please, single mom pedestal. I’ve told y’all about my “I-don’t-need-you-I-want-you” perspective on relationships.

Enter Mister, stage left.

I wasn’t even prepared for his entrance. Matter of fact, his entrance came below the radar of my heart due to the time and head space I was occupying. Even saying that, though, I can identify exactly how I felt when I first met him.

No fireworks. No music. No googly eyes. Ok, maybe googly eyes. But I knew. I could feel it in my bones. This man is my person.

But the timing wasn’t right. I wasn’t ready to have the right thing yet.

Fast forward. Two years later. The land has been claimed. The flags have been captured. The label has been given.

Scary? Yes. Intimidating? Yes! Worth it? YES!

My 20-year-old self wasn’t ready for this type of love. My 30-year-old self couldn’t have handled the way he looks at me. My 34-year-old self wouldn’t have let him take care of me. But my 35-year-old self? She’s ready. She’s ready for that soul-touching, top-shelf love.

It makes me a little sad to think that I was missing this. It hurts my heart to know that I could have been experiencing this selfless love way sooner. It baffles me that I thought I didn’t want this or, worse, didn’t deserve this.

But I DO deserve this. Everyone deserves this. Every person out there should feel this crazy, unexplainable happiness. Everyone should smile uncontrollably and giggle for no reason. Everyone should connect on a level so deep that no words need to be spoken. Everyone deserves to KNOW that someone loves them; to feel it way down deep. Everyone should be so confident and secure in a relationship that no fears or worries or doubts exist. Everyone. Deserves. This. This happiness. This connection. This trust. This support. This love.

So, y’all get you a man who sees down to your soul when he looks at you. Get you someone who makes it hard to lock eyes with because of the butterflies he gives you. Get you someone who’s main objective is your comfort and happiness. Get you one who cleans up when your kid (not his) throws up in the middle of the night. Get you one who has your car detailed while you’re out. Get you one who lays in bed and watches the church service. Get you one who shows you off. Get you one who can’t keep his eyes off of you. Get you one who makes you feel loved. Get you one who wants nothing from you…except you.

Cause y’all….I got me one of those. And I’m riding first-class on this train.

Y’all ever taken a mental time-out?  A retreat, of sorts, to clear your head?  Gotten really real with yourSELF?

I’m presently returning from one of those trips.  I’m a frequent flyer.  Don’t judge.  Or gawk.  I told y’all…I’m a mom; I’m a teacher; I’m dating; I’m divorced; etc, etc, etc.  I have lots of reasons to dive into my head and my heart.

It’s a slippery slope, though…that slide into the mind cave is NOT paved with speed bumps, stop signs, or curbs. It does not have stop lights or no wake zones. It’s a straight shot. A downhill straight shot. So you have to tread lightly. Be aware. STAY aware. Because you can get stuck in there. Continue reading “Mind Cave” →

Session #2: Train Wrecks

Y’all grab your pen and paper again…therapy is in session.

So, I’ve mentioned a couple times that I’m divorced. Again, happily. I also casually mentioned somewhere in the middle of a paragraph that I’m dating. Kinda. <shrugs> If that’s even what you call it in your thirties. With kids. And an ex-husband. For sake of conversation, we’ll use “dating” for lack of another, more accurate word. Continue reading “All Aboard!” →

Parenting. <deep sigh>

Jesus take the wheel.

Somebody find Rhonda, and tell her to help me.

Push the Life Alert button.

Sound the alarm.

Is anybody in the universe killin’ the parenting game? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller…Bueller…

Y’all…<deep sigh> I keep breathin’ hard because inserting “blank stare” isn’t as effective. But I employ both. Regularly. My oldest just said to me tonight, “what’s that stare for?” So I sighed, and he said, “what’d I do, mom, just tell me.” So I stared. I use this tactic when I’m struggling to control my emotions and my mouth and my hands all at the same time…it’s overwhelming, so something has to shut down in order for my brain to turn involuntary reactions into voluntary non-reactions. Even for a minute. It’s tough. I have no words. My brain is working too hard controlling myself to produce words and send them to my mouth. So I continue this tennis-like reaction to his behavior–sigh, stare, sigh, stare, sigh…the cycle is only broken when the weakest caves and walks away. I’m not too proud to admit that it’s me. Sometimes. Ok, rarely. Fine, hardly ever. <hard sigh> ok, fine, like 1 in 8 times I walk away. I already told y’all I was stubborn.

The universe loves to scream “SIKE!” at me regarding parenting these two lovely little human beings I call my offspring. Loves to scream it in my face like a dude who’s just jammed an opponent’s dunk attempt down his throat in a tied playoff game with 10 seconds left on the clock. And I’m left standing there like Kobe, hands up like “you gonna call that, ref?!”

My parenting game is like a rollercoaster. 30-minute intervals. If one half-hour is good, I’m preparing myself for a horrible half-hour to follow. Ok, sometimes it’s not 30-minutes. I shouldn’t be so extreme. Sometimes it’s 10 minutes. No lie. Sometimes it’s 4 hours. Sometimes it’s 2 days. And when it’s longer periods of unicorns and rainbows, I’m in my head like, “uuuggghhhhh come on man” because I know my kids. They’re just trying to trick me into lowering my guard so their “comeback” can be epic. It’s serious mountains and valleys, y’all. Continue reading “Sighs and Stares” →

I’m killin’ this teacher thing.  Thirteen years has given me the confidence to speak that into the universe.  I. Am. Killing. This.

Lies!  Y’all, those are lies!  Thirteen years at this thing has taught me that I’m not killing it, have never been killing it, and never will be killing this teacher thing.  Every year is different.  Every semester is different.  Every month is different.  Every day is different.  Every student is different.

You know what’s NOT different?  The stories.  The stories that your precious offspring bring to show-and-share’s around the world.  Priceless does not even begin to describe these insights into your homes, your weekends, your families.

These nuggets give me life. 

Continue reading ““Miss Teacher Lady!”” →

I mentioned that I’m attempting to go organic and natural.  Key word: attempting.  Like, I’m giving it a good ole college try.  Both my SIL’s have been hinting at eating organic, changing lotions and skincare regimens, switching deoderants, and using natural remedies for illness.  Ok, let’s be real…by “hinting” I mean dropping bombs.  Like, almost sidewalk-gathering, sign-making, shout-it-all-together demands for change–NO meat!  Make your own deoderant!  Elderberry syrup!  No sugar!  Dairy-free!  I have 15 chickens in my suburban yard!  I mean, I almost expect to see hairy armpits and vans down by the river soon.  All this pressure finally peaked my interest.  I mean, I wanna be a cool kid, too…

2019 is my year to clean our systems.  Ok, ok…to a point.  Let me be clear, I have some very boujee, non-organic, unnatural habits.  For example:

• I dye my hair a range of colors every 8-9 weeks.  Judging by their scent, I’m going to confidently say that they are not plant-based or natural.
• I have my nails done every 3 weeks.  I believe it’s safe to assume that the dip powder and chemicals used to soak it off are NOT all-natural or organic.
• I drive an SUV.  It uses a lot of gas.  In my defense, I mentioned my two boys–they play every sport imaginable…and sometimes they get on my nerves.  I need the back seat.  Aaannnddd the back-back seat.

So, with those exceptions–because, let’s be honest, I’m not ready to give them up–I’ve decided that 2019 is our year for cleaner systems. Continue reading “Going Green…ish” →

Therapy Session #1: Narcissism

Remember when I told y’all I don’t see a therapist anymore?  Well, here you are…about the kill it as my new confidant.  Let’s put your mad skills to use.  Pen and paper out…session #1 begins now.

I am divorced.  Quite happily, actually.  The fifteen-year relationship I deemed the most important in my life at the time was dark, unpredictable, unhealthy, and fake.  I stepped into the light…tentatively and with lots of hesitation, but stepped nonetheless…and have never looked back in longing or regret.  Not ever.

My ex-husband and I dated for seven years before tying the knot.  I knew.  I knew he wasn’t  the one.  I knew he had a major issue.  I knew I was going down a dark path…possibly one of no return.  But, I’m stubborn.  I’m not a quitter.  I like to be right, to prove people wrong, and to fix problems.  He was a problem that I couldn’t fix, but I wouldn’t accept that for fifteen years. Continue reading “A Piece of my Fabric” →