Southern Woman on the Skids

  We have Covid again. It got all of us and we are miserable. But I am home with all the girls and while we all sniffle, we sit in Weldon’s room, Daisy asleep and snoring on my chest, talking about Halloween costumes. We make pancakes that Weldon feeds to the dogs and I ignore the dishes. Ziggy is healthy so rushes out the door telling me of plans he has for the weekend that. As he walks away I squeeze Daisy a bit and take in the chatter and fussy noises of the house. Knowing it will be quiet again before I know it. 

  Sometimes I get sea sick. Not really sea sick. I’ve never really been in a boat long enough to actually get sea sick. But I feel like I have been on a boat for the past several months and I’m wobbling around trying to get back on real footing. Two under two. Rob back at work. A senior in high school. A tween that is torn between childhood and growing up. And then me. Trying to find out what I need to be doing next. I have applied for 1245 jobs and 10 internships. Yes. Internships. I may be 47 but I’m not proud. It’s not that I’m desperately searching for myself or anything. I know who I am. I am a mom. A struggling writer. I own a little online bookshop that I work on with my daughter. But for some reason I feel drawn to this hunt. Sometimes I get little nuggets. My favorite agent is looking for someone to help with manuscripts. Perfect! I applied. Then I envision myself, cup of coffee in hand, sleeping baby by my side. Flipping through manuscripts and finding beautiful books that I

  There is a ride at Six Flags that Heather and Anna Kate loved. I couldn’t wait to be brave enough to ride it. The Mindbender. And I did eventually.  I have been thinking a lot about Mindbender lately. My life has been similar. Unexpected and somewhat dangerous. Not sure what’s next then you realize everything is upside down and you’ve lost your hat. But before you know it, you're back to the familiar.  Daisy is three months old now. After a tough start of reflux and colic, she’s settling in and smiling at everyone. Weldon is all over the place and will start  preschool in the fall. Rob is excited to get back to teaching after months of physical therapy for his back. And I’m just happy to not be pregnant.  I have moments when I think, “I need to call mom.” I want her to see the little girls. To watch Charlie grow up and to cheer Zig on during his senior year. But she’s not here. So dad and I sit at my table and talk about her.  Rob and I are soaking it in while we can. Thing

  The tween has started yet another school. I know. But this is a good one. We tried public. It wasn’t for her. We tried homeschool. She got bored and I was too busy with the toddler. So now she’s in a Montessori school. She’s more confident and is challenged to face conflict as there are only 10 kids in the class and only three girls total. I knew that it was the right spot for her when the teacher told me that they had given her the nickname of “Madame President”.  The kid is beyond her years. As she should be. She’s been through some things.  Yesterday she came home and threw a little bit of a fit because she and her friend had an argument. I told her she needed to go upstairs until she was less emotional  and was ready to really talk about it. After about ten minutes, she came downstairs, took a deep breath and said, “Mom, I think I’m just frustrated because so and so and I have had several arguments and I’m just not sure how to resolve the issue.” This child is 11. When I w

  We are home with a six week old baby girl. I have four kids. 17,11, almost 2, and a newborn. I can’t believe it. Four kids. And remember, I’m geriatric.  Rob is back at work, but the days leading up to his first day I was nervous. Actually that’s an understatement. The man went through spinal surgeries, infections, unrelenting pain, and I’m nervous to be home alone with two small children. I’ve done this before, right? I have raised two kids. But two under two? No. I've never done that. I keep thinking about my mom. When both of the babies are crying and I’m stress eating chocolate chips out of the bag, I remember her with Ziggy. He just wailed and when she would sit him so I could get some air, I would come home and ask how she did it. “We just rock and rock.” Thankfully my Weldon is smart and independent and loves to just sit and play. So when Daisy has a hard minute, or I am feeling like I may not make it till naptime, or I’ve eaten all the chocolate chips, I think of my mo

  It’s been a while. Mom died. Things kept getting messy. Work, family, kids. All of it needed to be sorted and sat with a bit. So now I'm home with a baby and my Rob trying to nurse a new little life, spend time with the one year old, keep the tween from growing up too fast and  my almost out the door seventeen year old son talking to me.  But I'm just mediocre. So why would he want to talk to me? I mean that in the most wonderful way. I do. I love my kids. I fail but I try. I work at my sweet new marriage. I know how precious it is. I try to write daily, but sometimes I don’t. Or I just can’t. Sometimes life is all just too real. Too mediocre. Too messy and painful. But then I start to write anyhow. And it makes me feel better. I am not wildly talented. I may never publish a book or do anything world altering. My son tells me the house is chaotic. And it is. Four kids, two dogs, one cat and a bird. Two adults running between them all. I get it. It’s chaotic. But it’s life. We