My son was Baker Acted yesterday.

He has ADHD/ODD and clearly did not want to do his work for the umpteenth time. So I got a call. Then his father got a call. And he spoke to his father the way he speaks to me for the first time ever. He knew he was in deep shit with me and his father and decided to divert our attention and tell everyone that he wanted to die. He proceeded to bang his head on a desk that is almost always designated for him in the school office.  When asked why he was purposely banging his head, he said that he wanted to “crack his skull open so he would die”. That’s the video I was sent via i message from the vice principal of the school.  I was on and off the phone all morning since I dropped him off. With this message, I ran. I left my computer on, coffee hot in the mug, and smoke behind me. My son was crying out for help.

I got to the school. He was already in the protection (from himself) of the Resource Officer at the school. She had to restrain him from hitting his head repeatedly. She asked him in my presence, several times, if he was sure he wanted to kill himself. He didn’t deny it nor did he show any kind of remorse for the display.  I cried. His father came. My fiance came. I cried some more. He cried. I had to explain to him what a Baker Act was.

Have you ever had to explain to an 8 year-old what a Baker Act is? The only thing he could hyper-focus on was that he would be somewhere for 3 days without the luxury of his home or seeing his mom or dad. He never uttered the words “I’m sorry” to me or anyone.  He was sorry, alright. But sorry for himself.

The counselor at school asked him what he thought the word “advocate” meant. He thought she said “adjective”. She said no, advocate is someone who fights for someone and speaks for someone. That his mom is an advocate for him. That I walked into the school this year for the first time and laid out what I wanted for him; the things I wanted him to accomplish and what I thought it took to get him there. She said that no one fights for him like I do. That i’ve made enemies trying to get everyone on the same page. That she envies him because he has such a strong and persistent mom.

I wish he felt the same.

We made it to the Emergency Room at the Children’s Hospital. My ex-husband, future husband, and me and my son. They watched me interact with him.  They watched me give up my license, walk him to the room, sit with him, talk to him. I felt sad eyes on us. Pitiful eyes. Concerned eyes. I wanted to scream at them and tell them to stop fucking staring. I wanted to explain that he isn’t normally like this; that he has never threatened suicide, ever. I wanted to explain that I really am a good mom; a great mom. YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME!

He was released after a brief intake. He was found to obviously be in his right mind. That he was angry because he didn’t want to do his work. Because my step daughter broke her arm and got a gift from me to make her feel better. Because he doesn’t get anything from me. Because he has less attention. You name it, he used it as an excuse.

Later on, he was fine. As if nothing happened. As if all was right with the world. I can’t explain it. Or understand it.

The fiance and I fought. He called off the wedding and with my chin in the air, I said that that was fine with me. I knew he didn’t mean it. But I let him think I believed him. I told him to sleep in the other room. I told him that he needs to tell his family that HE called it off. He didn’t. He apologized. I forgave him. But I am still extremely angry.

So I went off the diet I have been on for a month. I ate four pieces of pizza.

Tonight I drank a bottle of wine.

Fuck it.




Crying, Aging, and Pizza

So, I am really sucking at this.  For those of you that actually read what I write and like it, I apologize for my laziness. But I’ve been aging. And crying. And eating pizza (just now, actually).

Why am I crying?  I couldn’t fucking tell you! I cried in the car on the way home from school last night. I cried on the way to work this morning. I cried when I got to work. I cried during work. I cried eating said pizza, above. I cried when it was done. I just cried. For no goddamn reason.  Or at least, so I think.

I have battled depression my entire life. I began an abusive relationship when I was fifteen (fuck him) and it triggered my crazy I suppose. My mom was depressed all the time. My father was an alcoholic. My brother was favorite. So yes, I was depressed. Needless to say, I am on anti-depressants. Have been. But that one time of the month-you know this ladies-I want to cry, eat pizza, and kill people in no particular order. Apparently as you grow older, your Premenstrual Syndrome goes bat-shit crazy and out of control! I not only think I am going through pre-menopause at an early age (is it really at 38?) but I cannot handle this PMS. I emailed my psychiatrist that I haven’t seen in years and told him. He proceeded to tell me that if he puts me on this or that I’ll get fat (love him) and to schedule an appointment. Fine. March 7. At least my cycle will be going on and I can exhibit the nightmare I am when it is that time.

Aging is scaring me. I am a little over my ideal weight (ok so maybe 15 lbs over) and so my chin…or two…are exaggerated…or multiplied. I look in the mirror and only see this droopy skin and it reminds me of the nun that taught me in 8th grade and her “wattle” as coined by Richard Fish. So I have lotions and creams and try the exercises but all I want to do is have it removed. I should lose weight before I do that just in case it is weight related. I looked up Kybella and the needles going into my chin aren’t my idea of a good time. Cool Sculpting? Expensive. Botox? Not invasive enough. So not drinking, dieting, and running are what I am working on. Hopefully the fat on me will be shaken off while I run. Here’s hoping.  But first…pizza.



All is Calm, All is Bright

Well, maybe that isn’t the most time-appropriate title for this post, but it fits.  My son is out of school for winter break like most kids.  It has been quite a challenge here and there keeping him calm and entertained all the while getting things done around the house while I’m not working (to be honest I’ve called out three out of the four days back to work anyway this week…shhh).  But I digress.

Z has ADHD which was diagnosed in 2015 and it has been somewhat of an uphill battle since then. He has attended two summers’ of camp at a school that specializes in ADHD and behavioral therapy.  This is where he was first diagnosed since his last school asked me to get him to the camp STAT over the summer.  They obviously saw something I didn’t and I am so glad they did.  You see, his grades are incredible; IQ high as a genius.  His behavior?  Not so great.  And the OCD quirks that sometimes travel with ADHD are a bit more than I can handle some days. More about this when the time comes to rant about it.

But today I stayed home. I worked a little and then decided to take Z to get some new shoes for school and run some errands.  And he was happy to go, although it took some coaxing to get him away from the Xbox. Once we were out of the house it was all about us and his desire to help me, open doors for me, and ask me where we were going and what we were going to do when we got there. We listened to The Beatles in the car and danced in the parking lot. We stopped at the pet supply store to look at the animals and then went on our way to buy shoes that he picked out himself. He was so proud of his shoe selection.

When we got home, we then went with B to dinner. The other three kids weren’t with us as they went back to their mom’s house this morning. His dad and their mom have time-sharing every other weekend.  So, Zach was quiet at dinner since it was just him.  He and I played the typical kids’ menu games, Tic Tac Toe and Complete the Square. He ate his food and was rewarded with dessert. He was polite. He was calm. He was at peace.

I looked at my son and wished a thousand times for him to be comfortable like this all the time; even when the kids are with us. I wanted to squeeze him and whisper in his ear like so many times before that it isn’t a competition; that he is the only one I will ever love and the only one that is a part of me.  I want him so badly to understand this and remember.

For a day, he was my little Z again and I was his Mommy and things were good.  Even when with B things were good; family-like even.  There was no fighting or yelling or tattle-telling or anger or crying or resentment. It was calm. And the future seems bright again.

Shine on, little man.


Depos and Demons

B and I met about 3 years ago. He was in the process of getting a divorce and it got messy. Very messy. While I do not believe in trash-talking on social media, even when it’s anonymous, I will say that she is a narcissistic witch of a woman. They have three kids, A, C, and H. They have become my family; my kids; my demons. You see, if it weren’t for them I wouldn’t have to make a New Year’s Resolution to let shit go. Let the little things roll off. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Because the ex? “L”? She’s certainly been a source of anger and resentment on my part these past couple of years. And if B hadn’t been as loyal and such a good man as he is, he wouldn’t have tried as hard as he did to keep his small and eventual large family together. I say small then large because he had the hopes of having babies to fix crazy.

Didn’t work.

Quite the opposite.

But he tried, bless him.

But let me say this.

Ladies, if you have children with a man that you once loved and wanted to have said kids with, please don’t be a C U Next Tuesday and ruin it for them by freaking out when it comes time to get a divorce. Especially if the divorce is your fault. Move on bitches. Hold your head up high and move the eff on. Focus on your kids. On yourself. On finding a better life. Just don’t ruin everyone’s life in the process!

I had a child with my ex-husband. He basically decided one day that he did not want to be married anymore, so he asked me to leave. I proceeded for the next three months to find a condo and move our 2 year-old son out with me. (Yes I took my child with me because it was better than the alternative-more about this in later blogs) He didn’t blink an eye. I blinked several. I should have fought for the house we bought together. I should have fought for more child support because I have Z all the time except for every other weekend. I should have fought. But I didn’t. I valued my sanity and my mental health, however fragile, more than the fight. I wanted to be strong and sound for Z. So we remained friends and off and on still friends even now.

But she? She fights for everything. Time sharing. Calls. Money. Receipts. Schools. Haircuts. HAIRCUTS!

It’s so over-the-top it’s incredible. Which is why I have given up worrying about it. He’s frustrated tonight because a deposition was moved to a week late and a hearing to next month or something other or that.

Did I mention that they are actually divorced? Oh yeah. Have been for about a year or more. But the hits keep coming. When you’re dealing with a psychopath they usually do.

It’s unfortunate. Sometimes I wish my kids didn’t exist because it would be easier. But then I realize I refer to them as “my kids” and I bring myself back out of that hot mess of a thought.

Eff the system that doesn’t support good fathers.

Eff the women who think they know it all and are better than the fathers.

And eff the fathers that take advantage of the bad-ass baby mommas like me.

Just. Be. Kind. To. Each. Other. For. Christ’s. Sake.



My first

an intro to me and mine

This is hopefully the first of many blog entries that I will be doing. With that being said, I don’t know how I could possibly fit more into my busy schedule. But I will try.

For those of you wondering what a 38 year-old mother of one, stepmother of three, post-mortem examiner, mortuary student, and girlfriend to a true geographer would have to say…the answer is plenty. I experience new things on the daily, it seems, and invite you to experience them with me, if you’d like. If not, move along. We don’t need your kind here.

It is currently about 50 degrees in Florida and my windows are open as are my sliding doors. It’s beautiful. Apparently, it’s even snowed about an inch in Tallahassee and Jacksonville!  Amazing. The horses just outside the neighborhood are frolicking in the chilly wind and I miss the days I used to have my own.

I recently saw snow fall for the first time last month.  My love (of nearly three years) took me to NYC at Christmas time which was one of the top things to do on my bucket list. Then it snowed. Another bucket list item. Having him get down on one knee and propose in the middle of Central Park while it snowed at Christmas time in NYC; now that would have been something. But alas, he did not.  I was ecstatic nonetheless.  I had no idea what cold was until the day after the snow; the wet, messy, cloudy day after the snow. I could live without that.

Tonight B and I are taking the kids to the drive-in theater to see Jumanji.  We are heading out in our pajamas and picking up food to eat there.  Should be fun if they don’t freeze to death.  Floridians.