Bitches Spelunk.

I am the mother of three small children.

I am the only child of an ailing parent.

I am a wife, a friend, and a person.

It’s a tight space, where I live. It’s often dark. The oxygen feels low. I have to concentrate to breathe. Sometimes, the air gets squeezed out and I’m breathless.

It reminds me of the time I went spelunking in college. I’ve never been a fan of small spaces, but it sounded like a fun adventure. I could do anything at that point in my life. I was fearless, and would try anything once … which is probably why I have done a whole lot of things exactly one time.

The darkness in that cave was suffocating. I’d never been in a place so pitch-black before. I had to focus my breathing, continually reminding myself that this is fun and I will not die. When we finally burst back out into the open air, I nearly wept with relief.

That’s what this tight space feels like. It feels like spelunking.

I hate spelunking.


I won’t sit down on the cold cave floor and wait for my circumstances to change. I’ll keep moving, keep bumping around and fumbling in the dark because THAT IS WHAT BITCHES DO.

Now, if you know me in real life you know that I’m not a bitch at all. I’m actually a very polite, kind person — the opposite of a bitch, actually. In this case, I am using “bitch” to mean a woman who isn’t lost in the fire, but is made from it. That’s a quote I read somewhere recently, and I love it.

Bitches don’t sit and wait to be rescued from their life. Bitches make their life awesome in spite of. Bitches take situations around the neck and OWN THEM.

I have a good life even though it is happening in a very tight, very difficult space. And I’m still breathing, even though sometimes I have to work at it.

20150317_134010~2This is a picture of my son making the most of his current situation. No, he doesn’t have a swimming pool to play in, but you know what he DOES have? A BIG PLASTIC BOX.

So darkness be damned, I will make the best of today because that’s what bitches do.

I’m going to OWN IT.

The Optimists.

I have been dealing with two sick toddlers on and off for the past 10 days, I haven’t been exercising, I’ve been eating terribly and yelling a lot. I think I might be half-sick myself, I can’t think of anything funny to say, and I’m cranky because I’m hungry. Now that I’ve gotten the whining out of the way, I can tell you about the little optimists I’m raising.

We went on a boat ride this weekend.

Because something is wrong with me, I dressed us like it was still summer. We were the only people on the river without jackets, and my children were huddled and shivering by the end of it all. I just held my head high, like yeah.





I drew the arrows on the picture above because apparently some of the good people on Facebook thought the entire log was an alligator. Um … if that were the case, I wouldn’t be smiling. It was a baby gator sunning itself, and I heard myself yelling, “WAIT! LET ME TAKE A SELFIE!” because I’m quickly becoming that person.

Now, no disrespect to anyone, but we saw several houses with slides or rope swings, which I assume means people actually swing or slide into the very same river that the baby alligators and the mama alligators live in. What the hell are they thinking? River people must be optimists.

Afterwards, we went to McDonald’s and Maverick dropped his ice cream cone on the floor. He quickly picked it back up and tried to continue eating it. I took it away (i.e. shrieked and jerked it from his grasp) and explained why you can’t eat anything that has landed on a McDonald’s floor … E-V-E-R.

He looked at me and said loudly and with zest, “At least it landed on my pants first!” And then he proceeded to lean over and lick ice cream off the leg of his pants.

Optimists, man. They don’t worry about Ebola, Salmonella, or being eaten alive. They just live.