I love my friends

Seriously, I love my friends. Absolutely. Where would I be? Tonight, I would be on the brink of a full blown nervous breakdown.  Wait. Let me back up. Today has sucked on the most epic level yet! I always say that, and you never believe me . . . but today was seriously the worst yet.  Let me break it down for you. mmmm-kaaaay. Buckle up bitches, it’s gonna get rough.

So, Diva wakes up at 7:45 AM sneezing. “Good morning Mommy.” Now, I am asleep on the recliner part of our sectional, Boo is at the long end, sleeping restlessly all night, and Diva is head & shoulders in my stomach, hips, and upper torso, with her booty in the curved part of the sectional, and her feet just inches away from Boo’s feet. “Good morning,” I reply.

We all are feeling like ass, and that’s just as nice as I can put it.  “Mom, I think I’m gonna barf. My head is pounding – I’m at a 4 1/2 out of 5 on the pain, Mom. The pain is everywhere on my whole head. Can I please have some more ibuprofen?” I about killed myself trying to get out of the damn motorized recliner, stumbling in the dark, thanks to the Fall equinox and heavy clouds, not to mention all the toys and shoes that are all over the living room floor, but I got his prescription ibuprofen to him.  I got coffee made, and struggled through our morning routine. At least I didn’t have to get Boo to school, thanks to the ER visit yesterday. Oh yeah. I haven’t given you all the glorious details from yesterday’s epic fun. It was horrible. Epic horrible. Trust me. It involved me, a kid, and the ER. That alone, to any parent, is enough to deserve an entire bottle of wine, thank you, so I’ll leave it at that. Horrible. Boo was able to sit up & eat after about half an hour.

Boo has a concussion from playing soccer at recess. Did you know there was such a thing as a Concussions Specialist? Holy hell! I shit you not.  We walked through the doctor’s office this morning (again, we had to be referred here by the ER pediatric neurologist yesterday), and it was like a gym, but for little kids, and they were doing PT. Get. Out! And all the walls had framed autographed jerseys. Well, Boo isn’t as bad off as some, but it’s pretty serious – as in half days at school for up to 2 weeks, if necessary, possibly longer, no activity that would be considered risky, (including his beloved soccer, both recess & on his extra curricular team) eating lunch in seclusion (dark/quiet room). He can’t go on the camp/overnight field trip scheduled for next week, either. That is absolutely out.  The best part? I’m supposed to restrict/limit his use of electronics, watching TV, and NO gaming. And I know his dad isn’t going to make him do that . . . so, in 2 weeks, when we return, and he’s still struggling, it will take even longer for his brain to heal. This is what goes on in my brain. To the point I get pissed, and make myself sick. So sick, in fact, I had to bake tonight. Yeah, Hubs can’t have that sugar – he’s on a strict diet . . . I’m taking all the cookies to my son’s school in the morning. I have a meeting with his teacher, his PE instructors, his guidance counselor, some special needs counselor (like a case worker) for something called a Form 504, I think someone said, and the school nurse, as well as any staff that won’t be going on next week’s adventure camp field trip. Did I mention that meeting takes place before dawn? I was going to walk, but you know, I have to walk through a green belt, and after a man and his dog were attacked by a bobcat last week on a trail not too far away, I think I’m gonna drive that dark block & park in safety.

Not too bad, right? Did I tell you Hubs is sick? And he’s been sick with this ridiculous cough since the first of September, and it’s the first of November? That is as exhausting for me as it is for him. Seriously. It’s like the man flu, but worse. Mine thinks he’s dying. The good thing is that after our trip to the ER a few weeks ago, after testing him on every known medical condition known to man . . . he was all clear. The doctors all belive it is a combination of reflux (gee, he probably shouldn’t have had that V8 with half a bottle of tobasco, earlier today, huh?!?!), possibly lingering gunk from a previous upper resp. infection, and maybe the blood pressure meds, and most recently, it could be related to a post nasal drip . . . coughing for 2 months? ARE YOU SERIOUS? I’m about to lose my mind. Good news tho, he hasn’t coughed excessively all week. Bad news, as soon as I got off the phone with his ENT, specifically regarding his appointment tomorrow I just made for him, he hasn’t stopped coughing. Now, to be fair . . . he didn’t take his cough medicine today, so maybe that had something to do with it . . . I’m just saying . . . sounds a bit suspect, if you ask me.  Perhaps I’m just tired and bitter. He’s had some illness or sickness of one kind or another for 13 whole months, and I’m drowning. From the financial strain to the complete lack of any help around the house . . . I know he’s sick, but I’m damn near dead. I have my own fibromyalgia, asthma, arthritis, and raynaud’s to deal with (not to mention OCD & unmedicated ADHD), plus getting Diva ready for school . . . oh, she is so close to reading words, I can’t tell you how proud I am of her! But, I’m just bitching right now, because, well, I’m tired, and I can.

Back to my point. Between calling this doctor, talking to that doctor, cancelling with another doctor, then rescheduling, and scheduling, setting up meetings, and changing diapers, because Diva decided 2 weeks ago she no longer needed to go to the bathroom to relieve herself . . . meeting with doctors, talking to teachers, counselors, parents, friends, and family members, I just finally said enough is enough, and recognized I needed to get my happy.  So, I go to the fridge, and I reach for the most beautiful bottle of Malbec that has ever graced my presence. As I pour the first glass, I think of my friend who gave it to me for my birthday. I think of how we met, and how long we’ve been friends; almost a decade! All the fun nights we have shared – single and married; with and without kids. And I just adore this lady. Then I think of the afternoon she gave me this lovely bottle of hope I now grip in my hands since losing the glass in all of my haste tonight. It was my birthday present.


Souther hot mess birthday high tea

Mom Juice, as she calls it. She gave it to me at my birthday party. Our mutual bestie planned the most amazing birthday tea for me! The picture above is of me at said party – yes, I gained 40 lbs due to steroids from last spring’s asthma flare – so shut it. This reminds me of sheer joy for just a few brief hours . . . Indo is my college roommate, and I’m her oldest (American) friend, since she moved here in 1993.  ‘Mom Juice’ and Indo have been friends just a few years less, but Indo is the God Mother to both of our babies, so we are all kindred. And I realize, it’s not the wine that is my happy, although, let’s be honest, there would be a lot more hate if I didn’t have this bottle of red from ‘Mom Juice’, but just taking a second to be grateful for the women friends, and all of the special moments with them, that’s my happy. So, I’m about to set my alarm clock, and crawl into bed with Diva, who is LOVING Melatonin. God Bless my pediatrician for telling me to give her that. Seriously. Women. Stick together. Always build each other up. Never discount the joy you get just from a text or call . . . or a bottle of red – that reminds you just how lucky you are to be exactly who you are, where you are – because if you have just ONE friend, you are rich beyone compare! I love my friends, and I thank God for each and every wonderful memory that has ever made me smile.  Get your happy! Life’s too damn short to focus on the bad shit.

Peace, ya’ll.

About me

Ever wonder what it’s like to be a southern hot mess? Join me as I slam through life like a bull in a china shop. It’s better if you just go with it.


July 22, 2017
Found My Zen
July 22, 2017
southern hot mess
Oh, and bacon!
June 04, 2017
Zero Control
May 31, 2017
OCD southern hot mess
What I don’t say
May 24, 2017
No words for the last seven days
May 20, 2017
Southern hot mess
Third Row Problem
April 10, 2017
Some wounds don’t heal
March 14, 2017
southern hot mess
Southern. Hot. Mess.
November 01, 2016

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