Operation Lose The Gut!!

Yo-Yo as it goes I have been stuck at my current poundage an eternity it seems. I SEE how much my body has changed through CrossFit and AdvoCare but I am not seeing the change in my mid-drift that I want to see.  So my new operation is to lose it.  I do not care if I stay 230 for the rest of my life, but BYGEORGE I will see an ab again before I die….. My ab(s) that is.

My first major battle is to stop complaining about my body.  Everyday I criticize myself for this or that,  I look in the mirror and see the twenty-something I used to be that was fit and I start picking myself apart.  This is my biggest problem and I need to get over myself.  I have a friend that does this same thing to herself daily and it annoys the hell out of me because if she could see what I see she would think differently……..

Then, all of a sudden I hear BAZINGA…. If I see her so much differently than she sees herself then maybe just maybe the people who keep telling me I am looking good are telling the truth.  So my mission is to start loving the me now,  to still love that twenty-something chick too and down the road to love the me that I will be then.

This pic was taken a couple of months ago, I finally started wearing shorts to the gym even though I my legs are one of the many things I like to beat myself up over – but that was a huge step and I didn’t take the time to enjoy the moment.  In this “love myself” phase of my operation, I am going to take my own advice.

Every morning when I wake up:

  • I will write 5 things on my bathroom mirror I like about my appearance
  • I will compliment myself
  • I will make myself invest time to fix my hair, put makeup on and dress up

Not major deals here but a few things that are reasonable and reachable.  My inside has to match my outside and if I am not happy with myself in my own mind, how in the world could I help others be happy with themselves?

#operationlosethegut is happening.


The dreaded Birthday.

In my fascination to make my children have the greatest birthdays ever year after year, I have a dread factor going into each and every one of their big days.  Of course, the normal dread is that it will not be perfect for them, something will go wrong, should I have gone with red plates or blue ones, did I send all of the invites out on time, did I remember to get the _________ and the rest of it.

This year my dread is COMPLETELY different.  I’m not worried about the parties, or the Day of dinners, heck I’m not as overly worried about the events for the little ones like I normally am. I’m worried about this birthday, what this one means from this point forward.

Jager is a teenager.

That means that back when I didn’t know what the hell as I was doing as I mother I did something right because I have kept a human alive for thirteen years.  This means that of all the battles I have fought with him thus far are nothing compared to what we are about to encounter.  This is the start of my little cottontop boy being a man.   It hurts.  The dreaded birthday.  He’s growing UP not just physically but mentally and emotionally.  He is such a good boy.  YES he is his mother’s ill-tempered, stubborn thing but he has a heart the size of Texas and he just loves to be happy.

He has the best parts of me, his dad, my mom, his grandmom, his aunt and uncles all wrapped up in him.  He looks a lot like me but then he favors he dad a lot, he has his grandmom’s fierce blue eyes, his hot head I will attribute to his nana (my mom), his love and compassion for people comes from my sister and his grandmom, his love of sports are a mixture between all of us and most of all his goofiness comes straight from his dad. (insert laughter) He has always been my hero but the way his little brother and sister look up to him is something of what you’d see a small little boy seeing Superman for the first time.  It’s unexplainably precious.  He is precious.  He is the precious little bundle of baby boy who was placed in my scrawny to-young-to-be-a-momma arms and he has grown up to be this incredibly, wonderful human being.

He is and always will be my baby boy, my first understanding of unconditional love, the first true test of my patience and the first one to take me through the crazy train of motherhood.

THIRTEEN; so begins the journey of parenting a teenager.




Once upon a Story Book.

I get a message a month or so ago from a girlfriend saying “you have got to sign EmK up for this photo road show”.  I’m all like “how much is it, nah I don’t want to do it”, etc. and so on.  Thankfully my friend is persistent and basically made me participate.  So I asked EmK what she wanted to be and of course Cinderella was her choice and it was already taken so then I start trying to come up with something more suited to her.

She’s not a prissy priss, even though she loves to dress up, she’s a tomboy for sure because she has two older brothers but she is a mixture of everything so picking  a character was hard for me.  Then my friend suggests Joan of Arc, “that would be badass” – she says.  I think on it for a while, google search it for a little longer and then I’m hooked because of all things I definitely think my girl is a badass.  She can rock a tutu with glitter shoes while going into battle with her older brothers and come out unscathed, I have witnessed this.

So Joan of Arc it was.

I have to admit here and sorry Jessica Sharpe but I was skeptical.  How in the world would these turn out when everyone else is wearing wings and glitter dresses and my daughter is in a suit of armor and a cape.  It took all of fifteen minutes, standing in a small wooded area;  there were no bells or whistles, it was quick and painless – oh and did I mention I didn’t even fix her hair before we got there?  I thought for sure that these would at best turn out like nice pictures of her in a costume.

Much to my surprise, every single shot I have seen thus far has me blown away…….

The handful of edited perfection that I have seen have absolutely taken my breath away.  In my mind I know my daughter is the most beautiful girl in the world but seeing her in this element has left me in complete awe.  I can only imagine what these images compiled into a story line are going to do to my heart-strings.

I am so glad that I followed through with this, if even for this one time to have this little piece of magic to look at and for her to have forever is so very worth it to me.  Jessica at Dalton Lane Portrait surely took the goal of “badass” and ran with it.  Words could never do justice to my feelings over these pictures and to see my tiny little princess looking like the true martyr herself is simply astonishing.


Jessica you are gifted my friend.  With each and every picture of every child that participated in the road show I see your hard work bleeding through.  Thank you so much for your time and effort with everything, the simple details are over the top and your unique skills are definitely something worth writing about and sharing with the masses.  Good luck on all your ventures, I cannot wait to see what else you have in store for everyone.  


“She was truthful when lying was the common speech of men; she was honest when honest was become a lost virtue; she was a keeper of promises when the keeping of a promise was expected of no one; … she was full of pity when a merciless cruelty was the rule; she was steadfast when stability was unknown, and honorable in an age which had forgotten what honor was; she was a rock of convictions in a time when men believed in nothing and scoffed at all things; she was unfailingly true in an age that was false to the core; … she was of a dauntless courage when hope and courage had perished in the hearts of her nation…” Mark Twain,Joan of Arc


Middle Child Syndrome

As a middle child, I do not know how to deal with my MIDDLE CHILD.

I do not remember openly telling my mother that she preferred my siblings over me, albeit it was pretty obvious and that tension does still linger just a tee-tiny bit in the depths of my soul, BUT I am not my mother.  To watch as a fly on the wall in my house you would think that my middle child is the chosen one.  He is either really, really testing my nerves lately OR he truly thinks in his wee sweet heart that his siblings are liked/loved more than he is.

He has recently embarked on a crying phase.  The hubbs likes to chime in and say that he’s just tired because of school and activities, I firmly believe he is rotten to the core and needs an ass whipping every time I hear a whimper that has no explanation.  So this crying phase comes in waves daily, from the time we rise at six in the morning, minus school hours where I do not see reports of this behavior from the teacher, to right at five in the afternoon when I pick him up  and it lasts until eight-thirty/nine at night or until I get him in the bed.  It’s constant.  It’s a “but I want a juice and EmK got the last one”, OR “Jager said I was ______” (you just never know).  It’s ALL-THE-FLIPPING-TIME.

It’s on the last fiber of nerve ending that I have left in my body.

I hear “but you like Jager more than me I know it”, “I never get this”, and on, AND on, AND ON!!!!!

In my quest to organize the house I have put all three children in their own beds, every night for four weeks now (and THE CROWD GOES WILD) that’s exciting y’all… I’ve spent many a moon trying to talk these spawns into getting into their bed so mommy can get some sleep without a foot in the back or head….. and it’s working. FINALLY.  So the night-time event is that I spend a good ten to fifteen with each of them starting with EmK because she still needs a little extra push to get into her own bed, I move on to middle man because he likes to say his prayers and read to me so I usually spend a little more time with him (on purpose) then I chat it up with Jag as I fold laundry and try to close up shop for the night.  I thought this little ritual was helping but I still hear the rantings on a daily basis and the whining is just out of this world.

You know way back before you had kids and you heard a whiny kid and wondered/or spoke the words out loud “why doesn’t the mother do something”….. I feel like this is my karma for those type words, back when I was completely DUMB in the way that children work and now this taste of my kid whining is my punishment.  *Another reason, I have nothing to say about other people’s kids, that mess will bite you in the behind.*

So here we are I am dealing with the rantings of my own little middle-child-alike spawn and scratching my head as to what the heck to do to make it better.





Yesterday I realized that I am out of my element,  I have no routine and our lives are seriously in disarray.

I cried myself to sleep.

I feel like my little family has been twirling around in the funnel of a tornado since last summer.  I can’t quiet pinpoint the event or maybe the multitude of events that took place but somewhere down the road I traveled, I made a turn that keeps me on a nascar track.  I’m just going round and round.

Life in general is better than it has been in a very long time, but my momma skills and having everything together is cracked. There are big gaping cracks in my routine and slowly I feel like I’m pulling myself back up to the norm but something is still a wee bit off.  For the first time in a VERY long time I have organized my house, room by room, I mean I have finally folded all of the clean laundry and put it in its place rather than staying in stacks on the dining room table.  Getting prepared for the upcoming birthday celebrations and all that entails, getting ready to do some demolition and update some of the house and just trying to declutter life.  It’s a MAJOR work in progress.

But yesterday I left work right at five o’clock – something that rarely happens, picked up both small ones, floored it to moms to change clothes for the ballgame and squealed in the ballpark right on time with a pumped up six-year-old in the back seat and his soon-to-be teenager brother standing on the curb waiting for us; only to realize that the game wasn’t yesterday, the game is TODAY.

The six-year-old cried, the soon-to-be teenager complained since I made him walk from the field house to the baseball fields, the princess sang and I crawled into a dark hole in my mind wondering “how the hell do you not have it together, you use to have it together dammit”. I saw red flashes of the word FAIL all the way home.

The six-year-old curled into a ball and fell asleep, the soon-to-be teenager griped about veggies for dinner, the princess sang, laughed and screamed while playing with the new puppy while I’m over here having a pity party about my FAILURE to have my shit together.

This is not a new lifestyle we are living, I’m not “just getting the hang of it”, I’m a veteran at living life in the singleishmom mindset, where book bags and school clothes are prepared the night before, where sports attire is packed in the car, when most days just run smooth……….. We have not had very smooth days in a while.  Something is always popping up.  My world got tilted last year and I have yet to be able to get it rocking back on the axis properly.

Need a bounce and need it fast before I lose my ever-loving mind.


Some Days

There are mornings that start off when you can actually understand why child abuse happens not the intense crazy stuff but the ‘might have left a mark there, type’.

You realize that you’ve grown up and did not claw the eyes out of someone who blatantly disrespects you and used you as a doormat.

You get so completely fed up you understand why cutting ties with all of society is a logical choice for some.

The tiny humans that control your heart and soul test your sanity to the utmost limit and look at you as though you just imagined all that horrid behavior in public.

You decide that being a registered civil servant is a penalty and conclude that maybe the ex criminals should have to be served with on little carbon paper in their mailbox and judge their own pool of criminal-activity-like-minded peers.

Laundry and housework can wait.

Bedtime for the tiny army means you can use the bathroom alone.

Pondering how to get the husband to get a taste of this maddness.

Beer and a recliner are your best friends while you take to social media to realize that #1 you aren’t in it alone, #2 it could actually be worse and you are an ass for not counting your blessings.




Most days I do not want to change clothes at work to get to the gym in ten minutes.

Most days I do not want to tell myself that my gym bag is in the car.

Most days I would like to go have a cheeseburger and dr. pepper.

But most days lately, I have done none of the above.

I drive the three-mile drive with no radio thinking of ways to motivate myself to go get tortured.  I pull in the parking lot thinking if no one sees my car then I don’t actually have to go in.  I walk in the door and catch the scribble print of a workout on the white board and wonder to myself – Can I do this.

Most days I can and most days I do.

It’s an everyday limit test that I keep going back to.  A struggle between what my body is use to doing (nothing) and my mind saying “you will finish that”.   Most days the best I can do is make sure my form is correct, then someday’s I do something to surprise myself.



My reward most days is a lung that doesn’t want to product oxygen for me, sore arms and legs, sweat dripping from every pore.

And most nights, I pack that bag all over again.

#crossfit #onetoughmother




I think/hope I’m pretty safe in saying that this is no longer “a man’s world” – women have made their presence KNOWN.

I am so proud that in my tee-tiny-yet-oh-so-big small town of Dalton Georgia there are more women starting their own businesses than I have ever known. I can tell you where to get an excellent hair cut, buy clothes for yourself, buy a gift for home or special occasion, where to buy your kids clothes, where to have your pictures framed, who can make you some unique jewelry and accessories, where to paint some cool art, where to get some great food and most recently where you can paint some pottery.

I truly admire these women for taking a little thought or big dream and following through and making a career out of something they love, bringing something new or different to our town and just being a presence for the female population.

Then you have hot-heads like me (and I’m sorry but most women are hot-heads when they do not get their way) that want to ridicule and tear another woman down the first chance of a “flaw”. 

I’ve walked into a hair salon and felt out-of-place so I automatically deemed every person affiliated with that salon as snotty.  I have purchased items from a store and been treated unfairly (in my eyes) and I certainly told all my friends that I vetoed the place for all of eternity.  I was snapped at by a store owner years ago during her busiest day of the year and slung my purchases on the floor as I walked out.  I have made a store owner cry because I did not think she completed my order in a timely fashion.

I’m pretty sure these people have called me choice words, I would have.

Looking back at those Oh-so-shiny-bitch moments, I realize  – I am not a hairdresser, I don’t understand the stresses of the missed or late appointment before me, or the fact that my pay that week is affected, or the fact that it is the most socially draining job EVER.  I do not own a clothing store and have to set strict prices and policies so I do not lose money, I do not own a gift store that is so extremely busy everything may not be properly priced or get misplaced during open house and I do not make things for people understanding there were ten more orders that came in before mine.

If we are always in the mindset that “We are the customer dammit and THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT”, we are not helping our fellow female companions succeed.  There may be conflicts, bad days, misunderstandings, but we have to stick together and promote each other.

I cannot get ahead in my own life by bashing other women, I’m pretty sure all of the people I have spit some words at wouldn’t want to come over to me for their insurance, who wants a tyrant as their agent??

Long-story-partial rant short, women need to learn some compassion for other women.  If something goes wrong – put on your big girl panties and deal with it, or grow a backbone and discuss the problem face to face with the woman who clocks in everyday to her dream.  You could possibly gain a friend, you could walk out no better than when you came in or you could come to an understanding that this isn’t for you – but it could be for someone else you know.

Promote your fellow woman.

There is a special place in hell for women who don’t

help other women.”- Madeleine Albright


Mom Vs. Virus

Stomach virus hell hit my house Sunday and I have gagged to the ends of the earth, with watering eyes thinking to myself – my husband has never had to do this.

I’m the clean up crew of the foul-smelling remnants of my children’s lunch and dinner, the bed-stripper, the middle of the night shower giver, clothes changer, while daddy is gagging so hard he starts to vomit as well.

I’m the lucky winner who gets to clean the vom, stand by the toilet when it’s coming out the other end, I’m always the torturer with the medicine syringe, the up-all-night fever monitor, I am definitely the almighty holder of the lysol as I am silently hoping and praying this doesn’t hit me – because what then?

I do not have the luxury of being down for the count.  Mom’s in general do not have this luxury.  Mom’s have to be all of the above plus worry about the day-to-day that doesn’t function we are not.  Whether a stay-at-home mom or a working mom, there is no sick time for the momma.

The house has to be cleaned, the laundry done, Park has book fair this week, Jager has baseball, I have to work, Hubbs has to work, my sister is coming in to town…… OMG the random thoughts just kept coming while I was trapped under my precious yet pitiful toddler or laying beside my five-year old “petting” his back while his tummy grumbled after the nights events.

I’m sure there are dad’s out there that handle this type stuff but I really feel for the momma’s and honestly I feel for myself, because I still have to pull everything together and make it through the day at work, living on a prayer that I am not struck with this beast.

Stomach Bug: 3  Silvers Casa: 0

Jager and I woke up okay, we hope to stay that way and take care of our other three.