Day In the Life of A MOM

Lort hep me! (In my Madea's voice)

Do not let this T Shirt fool you peeps! I have a side of me I rather not show. Like when something makes me go from 0 to 100 in half of a second. Like when I start the day singing halleluyerzzz and somehow by evening I am in a war zone throwing F bombs cussing in between sentences.

It is not easy man! I try! I promise I do! God knows my ❤.... I hope!

So a day like yesterday. I woke up motivated and happy.

Things took a turn for the worse when my 14 year old showed up at my side with bleached h
air. Never mind just color dye which at her age I do NOT approve of anyways BUT even worse. Bleached! Like... did I say BLEACHED! A job done by my oldest 22 year old daughter who did not care to ask me permission. Who thought it was cute to encourage such abominable disobedience. Leading my 14 year old to a downward spiral of rebellion! I was livid! In my mind I shouted....I rebuke you Satan for influencing my children and taking my peace on such a beautiful day!

I was so angry. I felt truly betrayed. Back stabbed. Felt like my rights as a parent were stollen from me! Bleached hair? What is next, a tattoo, weed, teenage pregnancy!! I am about to lose it on these childrenzzz. Where is my phone cable cuz I am about to distribute some old fashioned can of woop a##.

I decided to handle this the next morning! After I had a chance to calm down and fix my halo.

Sat my oldest down and told her what it meant for her to disobey me and how disappointed I was in both of them. How she was to NEVER EVERRRR in her life step on my toes again! Then I sent her to CVS to get brown dye to fix my 14 yr olds hair... at her expense.... ignoring the face of annoyance and disgust she had on.

10 minutes later when she was walking out to the store.... "it's ok. Nevermind. You don't have to change her hair. Just don't do it again. Ok ☺?

Truth: I kind of like the blonde and it looks super cute. Plus I exaggerated. It was not her entire head. She only bleached the tips.

Moral of the story is: It is hard being a mom but even harder being a good child of God. Woooosaaa!

Comments

Choke-hold!

When I was 10 my dad incited a fight and then watched me be put into a choke-hold by a bully and left me to defend myself. Gotta love my dad and his ways of teaching survival skills. Forget the scouts lessons on how to make a fire out of rocks and sticks. Those tools didn't help in the projects where I grew up. This is what happened! One summer day while waiting in line at the ice cream truck, a boy on his bike hit me with the front tire and pushed me out of the way to cut in line. I was a frail child weighing a possible 49 pounds soak and wet. Soon as it happened I turned to find my dad for help. I go over to my dad and tell him that a boy hit me, pointing at the kid as I tattled. My dad walked back with me to the ice cream truck and called out to the kid. "You hit my daughter?" he asked in his strong boricua accent. I stood there with a 'that's right m*f and a grin on my face', waiting for the aftermath of what was about to happen. My dad was no joke! Then I...

Four years later

Today I started thinking that I really need to figure out what my purpose in life is. A voice whispered in my thoughts to help motivate women in bad relationships, those having a hard time dating and women who find it hard to love themselves first. I thought I could start a blog. To my surprise, I found this blog that I had started over four years ago. Reading my profile and my first two blogs back in 2010 brought me to tears. It was like if I was reading another person's hurt, yet it was my own. I just cant believe I went through all those years of pain. And here I am four years later with the love of my life.... remarried and happy! I cant wait to help my sisters out there find what I found.

My Weary Feet

From the moment my feet touch the floor each morning next to my bed, to the time I lift them from that same spot at night, they're in constant motion. The unnoticed details, like the gradual orange ring in the toilet or scattered spit on the bathroom mirror, seem to be my burden alone. Perhaps I'm overly meticulous or burdened by high cleanliness standards. Does it really matter if we shower in mildew-darkened tubs? Maybe it's just me. The mounting dishes, the lingering smell in the dishwasher, and the debris underfoot on my way to the kitchen for morning coffee shouldn't concern me, or should they? If no one else notices or cares, why let it bother me? Should I be indifferent to my son's morning routine, evident in his breath and teeth when I pick him up from school? Is it acceptable that his skin resembles a scaly snake, his lips cracked, and his grooming habits subpar? Am I merely a nagger, fussing over visible earwax and overdue clipping of his toenails? Could I...

Search This Blog