This new job/schedule continues to kick my ass and remind me just how old I am becoming. Yesterday I had a shift at the restaurant and by the end, I really felt like my feet may fall off and leave me balancing on some bloody stumps, still valiantly trying to put together a salad that is EXACTLY 2.5 ounces. I’m sure I’ll get used to it, but my day job is at a desk, so I am really not used to being on my feet for that long of a stretch. Plus, you know, it’s not like those feet are carrying around something SMALL, if you know what I mean.

In other news, can we talk about how my baby is turning SEVEN on Friday and I most certainly did not give my permission for this to happen. The other day we went to the libray and he told me that we no longer need to check out books for him, because now that he is seven he is too old for a bedtime story. Then he asked me why I looked like I was going to cry… I guess my face didn’t hide my emotion that well. But I’ve been reading to him since the day he was born; I used to read him my books when he was too little to understand, and every night since then we have had that quality time. It is our constant, and the only time when he slows down enough for me to stroke his hair, or take in the fine spray of freckles on his nose. Now I just…put him to bed. Oh, growing up is so hard! (on me!)

New Job for the Old One


So I went and got myself a second job. I have mixed feelings about this… on the one hand, we could really use the extra money, but I am also conflicted about spending even more time away from Cole and there are just other issues that I’m struggling with. But whatever, I got the job. It is at a little local place here in my town, and I actually worked at a different branch back when I was in college. It was my first serving job (and will hopefully be my last!)

Last night was my first night of training. Eventually I will be a server but first I have to work at the hostess desk and the kitchen to learn the table numbers and menu items. Said menu items have not changed in the slightest since I worked there fifteen years ago, but whatever. So I dressed in my oh so attractive khaki pants and green collared polo shirt, nametag secure.

My trainers had obviously just come out of the womb. They were both seventeen, a fresh faced boy with braces and a tiny girl with a braid in her hair. Very nice, but so, so young. I felt like I was from the Middle Ages next to them. The boy asked me when I had worked there before, and when I said the year he burst into laughter and said, “I wasn’t even born yet!” Way to make me feel better, little boy. Like I said, sweet kids, but that’s what they were, kids.

I will survive the children, certainly, and hopefully make some good money on the side. I still have my other job as well, and am working as a server on my off days. I’ll serve the pants off those kids!!



You guys, I accidentally adopted a dog.

Here’s what happened…we had gone for a drive and came across a place with a cheerful sign out front, asking us if we wanted to come in and play with the dogs. Of course we wanted to come in and play with the dogs! So we stopped and entered. The smell is the first thing that hit me, a combination of pee and fear and wet dog. It was deafening in there, dogs barking hysterically at different pitches. There were cages slung halfheartedly anywhere on the concrete floor, and some of the dogs were so oversized in their cages that their heads brushed the top.

Crouched in a cage, wearing a red collar and a look of terror on her face, was this dog. Half bulldog, half pug, her tounge slipped out a little, and she had an underbite that would make any dentist cringe. I was immediately drawn to her. A worker approached us and asked if we would like to take “Honey” out to the yard to play. The yard, which consisted of a strip of dirt and a few blades of grass. I held “Honey” in my arms and she very tentatively stuck that tounge out and licked me, softly. I didn’t even have to say words, I just looked at Adam and he knew that I was saying that I couldn’t leave her here, in this place… I had to take “Honey” home.

Of course when we drove off a half hour later “Honey” was in the backseat. I immediately changed her name to Denise, because that’s what she looked like to me. (Cole voted for Rita, but I vetoed him.) Denise laid her head on my lap for the entire ride home, shedding merrily and depositing bits of hair all over our pants. I was hooked.

And then we found out she was much older than we were told, and no one had ever trained her. She pees wherever she feels the need, including our bed (twice). I don’t think she can see that well, because she constantly falls off things or runs into walls. She is scared of everything, cowers when someone besides me tries to pet her. When we first brought her home she wouldn’t interact with Adam or Cole at all, but she’s getting used to them now. When she hears the car her little stub tail wags with all her might. She snuggles up to me on the couch and sleeps with the tip of her tounge sticking out of her mouth.

So my house is rug-less until she gets this housebreaking thing under control, all the doors are closed, and I am eaten up by mosquitos by spending inordinate amounts of time in the yard coaxing her to pee, please just pee! She is a lot more than we bargained for, and believe me when I say that a dog is probably the last thing we need right now, but I just had to take her home. I couldn’t leave her. So Denise is officially the newest member of our family.

Welcome Denise. We love you, pee and all.



I am a bad friend. Social anxiety coupled with depression that makes it hard to leave the house makes it very difficult to be my friend. I will make plans and then break them, tell people that I will call and won’t. I don’t know what I did before texting, because I don’t like to talk on the phone either.

I feel bad about this, and about once a week make a resolution to myself that I will try harder. There are still a couple people hanging on the fringe, daring to invite me outside of my house. I tell myself that I will make an effort with them, that I will make plans and keep them, and then it always falls apart. I personally wouldn’t want to be friends with myself.

I was invited to a bonfire this weekend and have already caught myself trying to think of excuses why I cannot go. But I’ve cancelled on this friend a million times already, PROMISED her that I would make more of an effort, so I’m forcing myself to go. Maybe now that it has been written down I’ll HAVE to do it.

I really want to be a good friend, I want a friend that I can text all the time and she’ll know what I’m thinking/feeling without asking and will understand when I just want to stay in my pajamas all day and will sit with me and watch Netflix and eat junk food. But first I will have to make the effort myself and I am really going to try.



Things have been difficult the last couple weeks, to say the least. As I had written before, Adam lost his job and we have just been struggling to keep our heads above water. Being broke sucks! I’m not sure if we’ve ever been this bad off before. So my brain was taken up with figuring out how to get gas in the tank to get to work, how to get food on the table for dinner, how to pay the rent. As is my MO, I mostly just wanted to get under the covers and sleep. You are not hungry when you’re sleeping, nor are you worrying about money. It is blissful to me, but not that effective of a coping mechanism if you want to get things done.

Adam and I always fight more when we don’t have any money. Call me old fashioned, but I look to him as the man of the family to try and figure stuff out, though after this period of time I am really trying harder to step up and be responsible, because sometimes he just drops the ball. Then I end up resenting him, end up yelling, which is also something I need to work on. I am a yeller. I am also obviously a huge work in progress!

Cole continues to be the light of my life and the reason I throw those covers back every morning. The other day I was putting laundry away in his room and dropped a shirt on the floor; when I came back up I happened to be eye to eye with the huge SHARPIE MARKER-ED NAME that he had chosen to write on his closet wall. Did you know that Sharpie doesn’t come off that easily, even with a Magic Eraser? It mostly just takes the paint off the wall, so now there is a big patch on his closet wall where I made him try and scrub it off. He didn’t even try and deny, because he had written his own name. Kids.

I would give anything to have a vacation. Why am I not one of those bloggers that get offered stuff??? I would totally write a nice review!

So that’s what’s been going on and why I haven’t been around as much. Please know that I am still keeping up with all of you and as always, the blogging community continues to give me strength and make me laugh when I need it the most.



Coming back into the light, squinting. A rough week, two weeks, forever. I have been a bad friend, mom, wife. But I’m still here. Still standing.

Nothing cures the blues like a dog curled up on your foot. Someone always loves you.

Questioning everything, hard decisions lined up as far as you can see. And in the middle of it all, a kindergarten graduation, an end of the year picnic, running the bean bag toss.

Life sneaks in through the cracks, sunlight reaching under the blankets and forcing me out of bed.



He shyly looked at me with those big brown eyes, grinned that gap tooth grin, and whispered, “Want me to tell you a secret?”
He moved in closer, breath hot on my ear. “T (his best school friend) has a girlfriend.”
He sits back, gauging my reaction. I simply nod, a noncommittal “mmmhmm”. This isn’t it.
He leaned in again, and these words are said in a rush, one hurried stream.
“You do? You have a crush on Kaydence?” This is a name we’ve heard before, on the fringes of his constant chatter.
He nodded, not looking at me.
“Well that’s good, buddy. That happens to everyone. Just be nice to her and be friends.”
“Yeah,” he said, slipping under my arm, leaning into me. “Mom?”
“Did YOU ever have a crush?”
“Of course. I had lots of crushes in school. And my last crush was Dad.”
“Okay.” He is done now, secrets spilled. He is ready to move on. He skipped out of the room, and I called to him, ” Thanks for trusting me with your secret! I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’m going to tell Dad,” he tossed over his shoulder, and went off to find him.
I hope he always trusts us with his secrets, though I know this is probably unrealistic. For now, I will be thankful that he does.