When Life Gives You Lemons, It’s Okay If You Just Want To F*cking Chuck Them At People

This post is for anyone who is struggling.

For anyone who is sick and tired of blow after blow after blow.

For anyone who feels like they can’t catch a fucking break.

And I hate vague posts. Vaguebooking.

You know,  when someone posts something on Facebook along the lines of I just don’t know what to do anymore…

Or  even better, just one word.


But as much as I hate it, I’m about to do it.

Sort of.

I received some really shitty news yesterday.

Really shitty.

It’s not something I can share. Not right now anyway.

And before you go crazy trying to figure out what it is, all my family members are healthy. Nobody is in the hospital. There has been no infidelity in my marriage.

To be honest, it doesn’t really matter what the bad news is.

Bad news is bad news.

It’s fairly major bad news.

And you know what?

I’m fucking sick of bad news.

I’m sick of hardship and sadness and worry and anger and anxiety and the fucking resulting depression.


I know better than anyone else what I need to do to get through this.

I need to ask for help where I can get it.

I need to continue to exercise.

I need to get enough sleep.

I need to eat well.

I need to find a therapist. Like yesterday.

I need to take a shower and continue to show up for my kids.

I need to take care of myself so I can take care of them.

Because if I fall apart, then things will get seriously fucked up.

But you know what? I don’t want to do any of those healthy things.

I’m sitting here at the computer typing.

But I really want to be on the couch, binge watching Netflix in an effort to forget about reality for a little while.

I want to eat every single carb in my kitchen. And my neighbor’s kitchen.

I want to call in sick to work and drink a bottle of wine.

I want to call one of my friends who has a “prescription” for medical marijuana and go get completely out of my mind stoney baloney.

I want to be numb. Because this fucking blows.

You know what else I want to do?

I want to punch every single person who tells me that “God has a funny way of teaching us patience” or  “Sometimes you’re not getting what you want because something better is planned for you instead” or “God never gives you more than you can handle” directly in the face. Hard.

The Fall down seven times, stand up eight tattoo I got on my forearm in December?

I want to Indian burn that motherfucker right off of myself.

I don’t want to be inspired. I don’t want to be motivated. I don’t want to be challenged.

I don’t want to be positive or optimistic. I don’t want to look at the glass as half full.

I don’t want to fucking do anything.

I’m frustrated. I’m worried. I’m angry. And I’m fucking exhausted.

But my kids are counting on me.

So as soon as I hit publish on this post, even though I want to do every possible unhealthy (and ultimately ineffective) thing there is to do in order to deal with the bullshit I’m experiencing right now, I’m going to get out of this chair, exercise, eat, take a shower, and then get ready to go to work.

I am going to do my best to show up. I’m going to think about the people who are counting on me.

But I really, really, really don’t want to.

I just want to sit here and cry.

If you are in the same spot, if you are struggling, if you feel like you can’t catch a break, if you are fucking over everything, I’m not gonna try to pump you up.

I’m not going to tell you that Tough times don’t last; tough people do. I’m not going to tell you You’ll get through this. (But you will).

I just wanted to tell you that if you are tired and dejected and feeling hopeless because of whatever your string of shitty things is, I know how bad it sucks. It fucking blows.

I totally get it. Hang in there.

I’m right there with you.


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For Anyone Who Had A Shitty Mom Day Today

I had a shitty Mom day today.

Like probably one of my Top 10 Worst Parenting Days ever.

I had big expectations for myself in the productivity department, and then we had a snow day.

All the kids were home, my plans went out the window and I was really pissed about it.

Really pissed about it.

I was having an extremely hard time focusing on the positive. Or even finding it.

I tried to rein myself in. Repeatedly.

But one kid is sick (again!) and was hysterically crying at about fifteen minute intervals all day long.

The other kids were at each other constantly.

I tried really hard to reset my clock. I looked at my tattoo about a hundred times.

Fall down seven times stand up eight.

I tried to redirect and be present.

I tried to adjust my attitude over and over again.

But I just couldn’t do it. Every single thing was setting me off. I lost my shit more than once today.

And you know what?

When you get to that state, you cannot do anything logically or rationally.

That’s why sometimes when you go completely ballistic you often don’t even remember what the f*ck you said.

And so when I got to that point for the third time today, you know what I did?

I put myself in a time out.

Because that’s what time outs are for.

They are for cooling off.

The are for finding your shit once you lose it.

So I went to my room.

I told the kids I needed to be away from everyone.

That calmed them down way more than a full-on freak out did.

When I quietly said, “I need to be alone for a little while so I can calm down because I don’t like the kind of mom I’m being,” my kids were like HOLY. SHIT.

And for a full hour I stayed in my room.

I did nothing.

I tried to let go of the fact that I wasn’t productive today.  That I got nothing done.

Unless you count yelling at my kids. I definitely did that.

I really lost it on one of them.

That’s when I realized I needed a break. And I allowed myself to take it.

I wish I had figured this out earlier, but it’s okay.

Because while I definitely modeled some behavior I wouldn’t want my kids to copy, I also showed them something really healthy and responsible.

Will they put themselves in a “time out” the next time they lose their shit?

Probably not.

But we’ll be able to talk about it at least.

Remember that time I got really mad and I told you guys that I needed a time out? Do you think that would help you now?

I may have had some less than stellar parenting moments today.

But I ended with a good one.

And rather than focusing on today’s failures, I’m gonna focus on that significant success, get a good night’s sleep, and start over tomorrow.

Because there’s no manual for this parenting thing.

And there sure as hell aren’t any off switches for all those damn buttons our kids know how to push.

But there’s always a clean slate in the morning.

And, you know…

Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

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I’m never gonna stop getting back up.

When we were in the depths of our financial hell, I promised myself I could get a tattoo as soon as we were out of it.

I knew exactly what I wanted.

And today was the day.

I told the kids about it last night.

Number 4 and Number 7 immediately started crying.


I already had three other tattoos, so I didn’t really know what all the drama was for.

Number 3 ‘s response?

Mom! What would you say if I said I was going to get a tattoo? What if I told you I was going to get a tattoo on… my nuts???

I told him if he decided on that location, I’d recommend he bring some painkillers along with him.

So, my family wasn’t exactly supportive.

But it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t wait.

And today I got part one of my tattoo.

There is more I want to add to it eventually, but the important part is there.

Just as a reminder when I need it most.

To remember where I’ve been, to remember where I am, and to remember what I’m capable of


Because I know I’m gonna keep falling.

But I’m never gonna stop getting back up.






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