I remember 4/12/00, 10/1/02 and 5/11/07 down to the moment. The moments I locked eyes and introduced myself to 3 separate people. And this says a lot, because I don’t remember much, let alone meeting anyone. And making eye contact is equally as rare.

These 3 dates I met my children.

And when we made eye contact, moments after leaving the most sacred place in my body, I made them a promise. It started non verbal, but as they began to understand some speech, I reaffirmed the mantras ” I will always be here” and “I love you so much” as often as I could.

They are now 12, we will call him 10 since its less than 2 weeks away, and 5 yrs old. And I’ll body them all. Then bandage them and give them brownies. Being a parent is so much more than I expected the first time in 2000. I’ve improvised and attempted to perfect my method for 12 whole years on 3 different kids. Wow.

They are individuals now. Well, I guess they always have been. Each pregnancy was different than the others. The characters who danced in my belly for the human incubation period are the same characters that run through my house like their mother didn’t raise them right. Watching them go from the babies I snuggled and cradled, that I cried over every night checking to make sure they were breathing, into these young people is scary.

Will I have taught them enough to survive in this world? Will they be receptive to my lessons? Will they respect me as a parent? So many fears go through my head as by nature I worry about any and everything.

At this point, all I can do is have faith and reminisce on the love we had……



It’s a wrap…..


I want to go home. I plan to go home. I don’t know when or how , but I can’t do it here.


All of my kids hate it here. I hate it. I still feel like a single parent because the reason I came is always at work or sleep.


I can’t do it. I’m going to lose my mind here in Fuckville, KY. I gave if a go, but I don’t have the support I’m used to and when you relocate, that is vital.


I’m formulating my plan as of right now. Yeah, yeah…there was a wedding happening but 1) it was in MN anyway and B) Fuck that. I want to go HOME.


Has a…..

Point to prove

Let’s role play!!

With my upcoming nuptials….I want to explore the “roles” of a man/husband and woman/wife as thought by someone other than myself.

Let’s discuss.

Like donor, like son…

It’s no secret, my oldest son has a different father than my other two. And it is evident now that he is getting older. Even though he has been raised since virtually conception by said other “baby daddy”,  and has not seen his bio-half since he was 2 years old, he is noticeably different. By different, I mean just like HIM.

And that is NOT a bad thing. No really…it’s not.

But when he begins having image issues, there is nothing I , nor the man whom he calls “dad” can do to help him. Genetics has won, yet again, and he behaves just as much like his donor as he looks. My son, by nature, is sensitive. Easily distracted. Gullible, if you will. As was ( is) his donor. Now in his first year of middle school, in a completely new geographical setting, I’m seeing his other side come out full throttle. And I am TERRIFIED.

Yesterday he tells me there was an “incident” at school , did the counselor call me, but everything is fine now. *blink blink* He won’t tell me WHAT has happened, and as a mother wanting to protect her cub, I dig; I pry. I need to know all of the “w” questions so I can rectify this situation. Still nothing. I have since spoken with the administrator and she was wondering the same thing “What is going on??”

Which brings me to my thoughts….was his donor like this when he started a new school? Was he teased? Was he different? The world may never know as he and I don’t communicate at all. Not my choice; his. At first, I got it. We were young, things didn’t work out, other random events that I won’t get into, but I got it. But NOW that I know he is married with more children, it angers me that he has absolutely no desire to meet his first-born son. Whom, mind you, hasn’t done a damn thing to him besides leave his body and enter mine then exit mines 12 years ago.

I digress….

Is the absence and mystery of the man who donated half of his DNA to create this beautiful boy tormenting my son as he enters adolescence? Puberty, junior high, relocation…these are already issues that I can see being confusing to a 12-year-old, but to add insult to injury there is a man out there who KNOWS I exist and doesn’t care enough to pick up the phone and call me? If you’ve never had your child ask you why another motherfucker doesn’t love them and you have no answer for them, you don’t know PAIN. I’m trying to help raise a man who only knows half of himself. And I can only offer a fraction of information.

Here I am off the subject again.

Maybe that isn’t the issue he is dealing with. Maybe it is simply he is like his donor. Awkward. Shy. Gullible. Timid. Hell, he could really just be homesick. Since he won’t tell me though… 

I don’t know, but the similarities to the boy I created this child with are eerie and I sure wish I had a frame of reference to compare to. Or the option to phone a friend.

Life in the fast lane

Today after the 20 minute drive to the mere vicinity of my sons middle school, I sat in one lane traffic and was struck with how similar life is to traffic. In life, sometimes you are in lanes that you can’t pass because people are flying past in the lane to the other side. So you have to sit, bide your time and wait your turn. You can be held up from reaching your destination waiting for some one ahead of you to make a left turn. This is often held up by those pesky people in that other damn lane trying to reach THEIR destination. But do you REALLY care where those people need to be? Not really, you are concerned with your OWN arrival to your destination. Do you recognize that the people behind you and probably at some point in the other lane are quite possibly thinking the same thing about you?? Do you REALLY care??

Conversely, notice how you wait longer behind a person making a left than a right. If by chance you ARE stalled behind a person turning right, it’s because of their hesitance to go RIGHT.

Let us now examine the HIGHWAY. Yes, the pathway laden with curses and accidents. How often do you find yourself speeding down the highway, bouncing in and out of lanes and then BAM!! Some asshole going the minimum speed limit in YOUR lane *pause* has caused you to slow down and meet their pace? Think of all of the expletives and threats you spew, are they really necessary? Why are you so angry that someone else is moving at their pace and not yours? Because they are stalling you from reaching your destination or because they have the leisure to not have to travel so fast??



Fitty Shades of Gray

Yes. The spelling was intentional.

I have been graying since I was around 22 years old. I had 2 children, a wayward relationship and a stressful occupation. Oh, and that thing called genetics as well. Over the following years, life indeed became more stressful and my hair coloring expense increased. I’m not ASHAMED of my gray, per se….but c’mon Chris…..a baby face (smirk) and a bang full of gray does not sense make. My first cousin has also been graying, coincidentally in a similar area, since he was young as well. DNA is clearly a powerful drug.


Image Last night after I colored my hair, I straightened it all while singing “no more grays” to the tune of “no more drama“, I realized that it’s not a temporary situation. This will be the rest of my life, this abuse I have to do to my hair when it finally decides to grow a bit. My hair has ALWAYS been my vanity, so now I begin grieving for my hair.

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