The End for Now

There are a lot of transitions going on in our household, I won’t go into them right now, but I won’t be blogging at this site anytime in the near future.  I am very sad to see it end.  It’s been eight years of memories, funnies, happy times and some sadness.  It will stay up, but there won’t be any additional posts.

I will be starting my own blog.  Much of it will be private but there will be some public posts.  If you would like to follow it, please send me a message via the contact form below.  I’d put my email here but spambots would be all over me like a 3-year-old on a ring pop (that turns her mouth blue, resulting in strangers asking, “What’s wrong with your mouth?”).


Handwriting With Tears

For those of you in the homeschooling community, you’ll get the little play on words in the title.  For those of you who aren’t, well, you’re not missing much.

I’m done.  I am throwing in the towel after this miserable year.  I am too ill to do this.  I cannot motivate my child.  He is too hard to handle, too stubborn, too hard-headed, too much like me.  I can hear the anti-homeschooling crowd cheering now, ‘We told you so!  Public school is superior!  Only “qualified” teachers should teach and you aren’t one, you’re “just a mom.”  This was a mistake from the beginning.  Congratulations on seeing the light!”

Yeah, no.

It’s not like that at all.

If I were healthy, things would be different.  If I had a built-in sense of time, things would be different.  If I didn’t have periods of time where I literally could not function, things would be different. But those are problems that I face.

I don’t hate public school, I think it’s fine, it’s just not what we wanted for our family, and I’m devastated to see it end.  Statistics show that homeschoolers fare as well, if not better than public-schooled children, so I’m not worried I’d be “ruining” them, were we able to continue, I’m sure they’d thrive.  There are many other websites out there with similar statistics, just so you don’t think I’m being biased here.

I am angry.  I need to get off Facebook.  Everyday I am bombarded by articles that tell me what all I’m doing wrong by not being the “typical” American mom.  No, I don’t send all my kids to public school.  No, I don’t vaccinate on schedule.  Yes, I use essential oils on them.  I refuse to use Tylenol.  I won’t let them use electronics, iPads, Xboxs, the Wii or any of those “normal” things that kids all do these days.  I’m an unapologetic Christian and we’re raising our kids to be Christians.  We don’t picket funerals of dead gay people like many atheists on Facebook would have you believe, or smack people in the head with Bibles at the grocery store.  I don’t do “womanly Bible talk,” like Beth Moore.  It kinda makes me sick to my stomach, it’s so gooey and comes across as disingenuous.

I’m just me:  self-educated later in life because I really didn’t pay attention in public school (the irony), homeschooling mom failure, Tupperware sales lady, hater of dish-washing, once-organized but now awash in chaos, lonely, sad, depressed, manic, and feeling out of touch with everyone I know and love.  I have been insulted, humiliated, rejected, dejected and subjected to conditional love lately and I am revolted.  I am disappointed.  I am deflated, defeated.

Ha!  And if I have a bad day, just your run-of-the-mill bad day, I get,

“This is just your disease talking.”

Nope, pretty sure bipolar people can actually have a bad day like everyone else, like the day that it rained and the car leaked all over my pants and shirt, or when I tripped and fell onto my bookcase edge and gave myself a concussion.  That is a bad day, that has nothing to do with being bipolar, unless my van needs a diagnosis I am unaware of.  Or if I try to tell a funny story, I’m told, “Stop, stop, you’re just ‘cycling,'” whatever that means.  No, no, I am not “cycling,” I’m just trying to tell a story and communicate if you’d stop to listen to me and not talk over me.  I get so fed up with being bipolar thrown up in my face at every opportunity.  It is NOT MY IDENTITY.  Do people go around being like,

“Hi, I’m Bill and I’ve the diabeetus?”

“Hello!  I’m Marilyn and I have ‘the arthur’!”

“I’m Craig!  I’ve got cellulitus on my testicle, it’s nice to meet you!”

No they most certainly do not!  But it might be funny if they did.  And quite helpful if they have leprosy, ebola or active TB.

Dear Lord, I’ve just been repeatedly told what a burden I am on people, how they hope I appreciate them, how I’m just so difficult to live with, be around, deal with, “handle,” how “extremely rude” I am during the times I’m manic (I’m sorry, that does tend to go along with the territory, especially if it’s reciprocated).  Does it not occur to these people that these words only serve to push me deeper into a hole of shame, despair, guilt and feelings of worthlessness?  How do I deal with this Lord?  Guide me, Lord.

I….I am just out of things to say.

*drops mic*




I’m Having a Cyber Monday Sale!

Okay, not really me, but my sister from another mother.

My best friend is an essential oil guru and has helped me through many an ailment, and when I broke my toes this summer, she instructed me on a series of oils to put on my toes that got rid of the pain better than hydrocodone (and the lovely constipation that goes along, gggrmpmh).  I was skeptical this would work since my toes felt like they had been, well, snapped completely in half – SINCE THEY HAD – but to my unbelievable delight, IT WORKED.  So now I am a believer, and I use them for things from headaches to broken limbs.  Like the finger I broke a couple of months later.  It was a fantastic summer for appendages.

In reality, she is having a Cyber Monday sale.  She sounds like me, except she’s being quiet in her video because she’s taping while the kids sleep and she’s being professional.  I am not a professional blogger so I wear Christmas glasses and such and you get the point.

Here is a link to her page on Facebook and you can see the video where she explains the benefits of oils and her deal.  And if you don’t want the Xinja Red, please mail it to your favorite blogger, me.

FB page:

Direct link to her business:

She is FULL of wisdom and so is the group she’s in.  Once, I thought Sarah and I were napping together but Sarah didn’t, and she got into my oils.  I awoke when I realized my lip was numb, along with part of my face and I thought I was having a stroke.  Then I smelled pine, mixed with every other natural scent you can imagine.  Oh, Sarah was just having a tea party in the bed with my OILS.  I quickly called Andrea and told her which ones she’d opened and asked if I needed to call 911 and she assured me the ones she had fiddled with were okay and then instructed me  how to bathe her to get the oils off her properly so she would absorb as little as possible (and also to smell her breath – it stunk, we were good).  Upside?  I got a new quilt out of it because her “tea party” was so…aromatic…downside…bye bye some of my favorite oils.  Fortunately I had the really strong, dangerous ones dangling from a 31 make-up bag on a hook in the bathroom and she couldn’t reach them.  So now everything is up VERY HIGH, though I am still thinking we need a gun cabinet for my EOs.  Oh, Sarah.  You are 10 times more mischievous than both boys put together, all the years of their lives combined.

Please give her a look and a like!  She’s in western NC, so she may be local to you and she’s seeking to do classes at local venues.  If you’re interested, contact her!

PS – I’m having a great party over at my Tupperware site – come see all the new things Tupperware has for the holiday season and for everyday use!  Free shipping on website/party orders over $75!

Make Yourself Comfortable

My kids are learning all sorts of things in public school that we didn’t really learn/choose to learn when we were homeschooling.  Rhys came home yesterday and recited the Pledge of Allegiance (yes, I didn’t bother teaching them this – that is a post unto itself).  He got it right and here’s how it ended:

“…one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all, you may now be seated.”

I’m guessing the pledge is last on their list of things they stand up for in the morning.  Hehehe…


For those of you who have never homeschooled, let me just say I feel like I never see my children and the school runs our entire family’s schedule. Our school is great and the teachers are wonderful, but they see my boy more than I do. Some random kid in class sees my kids more than I do. We’ve got approximately 39 minutes to play with neighborhood friends afterschool because then they need to do homework, shovel down dinner and race to baths and bed. Homeschooling was not like this and we were able to read for 30-45 minutes every night, unlike now, which ironically, is a requirement of the school.

I miss my old family life, the unhurried way we could learn and read and participate in CC. Now I know where my kids’ shortcomings are: Henry needs to write a lot more, Rhys needs to keep on with the reading and anger management 😂. But everyone in my family says I am incapable of doing it. I probably am. Henry is a task unto himself. Rhys gets frustrated easily. Sarah gets ignored. A dedicated homeschooling room with no distractions and toys for Sarah might help, but it might not.

I miss them. I am not used to this. Sure, “kids have to grow up,” but not all in the same mold. Goodness knows you never know what will come out of my mouth, and most of that can be attributed to self-study as I’ve aged. I just don’t march to the *normal* beat of the band. And it extends to education as well. I studied different methods when Rhys was still in diapers, found that the Classical method was simple, yet all-encompassing, and I wanted this for our kids. Dave agreed. But I don’t think I tried hard enough, did enough extra-curriculars or fun sheets. I’d change that now. Rhys has brought home the most precious artwork, makes my eyes fill with tears it’s so cute. And I think, “Why didn’t I do this to keep their interest?”

Regrets galore.

Christians and Depression and Please Y’all, it’s a Disease not a Demon (usually) (I guess) (but I’m not expert) (at least mine’s not) (I’m pretty sure) (no one exorcise me, please)

What a timely article from Relevant Magazine.  I’ll wait while you read it.  Dooo do do do dooo….

Last week was the worst week I’ve had this year. I couldn’t cook for my family; I place undue burden on Dave and his mom and (not this time, but many others) mine. His mom came up Sat – Tues and took over the house and washed probably 12 loads of clothes and took care of the kids and more or less did the work of 5 people;  I don’t know how she did it.  “She’s a worker,” as my mom says.  Meanwhile, my 37-year-old abled body laid in bed sleeping from (emotional) pain, zonked out on anti-psychotics. I am a little different, I’m bipolar so you get a side dish of anger, spending sprees and on top of that, I have nonstop anxiety.  My drug routine is going to be different from the typical person who only suffers from depression, but that’s how this journey to sheer hell (for my whole family) started.

Depression is a real disease, it hit me at about 14 out of the blue. I didn’t know what it was at the time, I just knew I wanted to stay in my room and cut my arm. What a weird desire. I wanted to release pain, but I didn’t know where the pain and sadness was coming from.  Remember, this was around 1990 and “cutting” was NOT something you heard of, ever.  I was on the “cutting edge,” I guess you can say.  I don’t know when it went mainstream, but it had to be at least 10 years later.  But back to the whys of my sadness:   I had a best friend that could simply make a noise and cause me to honk with laughter, who is still my best friend today (hey, make the noise, Andrea! I need it right now! It’s hilarious!), I was in the “new” part of SW Jr. High and it was soooo cool at the time, 9th grade was my favorite year in school – ever – I was a cheerleader and had a sweet new uniform and big hair to match…so why the tears? I kept them to myself at the time, I think. I’m sure my mom saw but probably chalked it up to hormones. It was more than that but would take four more years before I sought help.

I’ve been told the “pray it away method should work,” and asked if it doesn’t, “Where’s your faith?” before. This would be like praying and tossing the Epi pen away if Rhys ate a bag of peanuts, or just praying Henry if got mauled by a hippo when there’s a zookeeper next to me with a tranquilizer gun.  Hippos are very fierce, did you know this? They are so cute. It’s like decorating your nursery with copperheads – think about it!

I was not on Facebook a lot last week. I got a few texts, “Are you ok?” “Where are you?” “Is everything okay?” “Praying for you.” Interestingly, the last came from a psychologist. :) If I text you back and say no or give some BSish answer, and you have time to call me, or come see me, PLEASE DO – I would never ask you to do this via text, that is very un-Southern and imposing so I am asking now to plant it in your brain. I know I live on Mt. Everest and we’re going to move – oh how I want to move – and if there was one quote that resonated with me from this article it was this one:

Crying out is always the first step to healing—because depression is a disease that thrives in isolation. It wants to pull us into the prison of loneliness, where it can break us down in weakness.”

Bolding is mine.

I am crying out. I used to blog regularly and cry out if needed, but even this has become burdensome. And I figured people got a little tired of my moaning, honestly, I did.

I was broken down in weakness, though I feel much better these last few days.  It is amazing how quickly God can turn us around, if we ask Him and His timing lines up with what we want our timing to be.  You see, we don’t choose.  He does.  A lot of non-believers don’t like that aspect of Christianity because they find it patriarchial, but I find comfort in it.  Yes, the most anti-authority, cannot even stand to have my kid in public school because I feel like I’m being held down by “the man’s” schedule woman, finds comfort in laying back and embracing someone else’s timing.  He knows the plans he has for me.  Why should I try and take the wheel only to screw them up?  It’s hard, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, oh it is hard.  Dave’s probably reading this muttering “WHA?  You always take the wheel!”

If only he knew how many wheels went unmolested.  There’s a lot of untouched wheels out there, and all for the better.

If you or a loved one have depression – please seek help immediately.  If you cut your arm off, would you just stand there staring at it?  I mean, for more than a few seconds.  I admit, I would look.

  • If you are churched, see someone who counsels those with depression issues, someone who understands and WON’T shame you.  Get resources from them.  If you are in the RTP area, I have some names I can give you.  Some are believers, some are question marks.  As a counselor told me, “Good psychiatry should not change your faith or touch it in any way.”
  • If you need the name of a Christian church, period, I can give you the name of mine, or several others that are good, depending on your worship style.
  • If you already have a psychologist but cannot find a psychiatrist, I can give you the name of a few to check out.

I’ll leave you with this thought.  Believing Jesus walked this earth and died on the cross for your sins – past and future – is the only way to heaven.  I pray for my friends, people I care about, to encounter Christ.  If I have invited you to my church it is because I care about you, not because I’m trying to rack up numbers on some score sheet in heaven.  I don’t even think they have those, but if they do, I hope they’re Erin Condrens.

I’ve been bold and shared my dirty laundry that is neatly sorted in a Thirty-One bin.  Please be bold and come with me and Dave some Sunday.  It is an hour and a half you will not regret.



How does a man have “control over his reproductive rights?” assuming there’s such a thing as a “right” to reproduce.

Should my folks sue since they had to settle for adoption, forfeiting their “right” to reproduce?   It’s a little late, but I don’t see these “rights” written in stone anywhere so I don’t suppose there’s a statue of limitation on litigation.  Or perhaps there’s a clause that says you may infringe on other’s right to reproduce, if they agree.

But here’s something that’s interesting:  my biological father never wanted kids from the information I’ve been given, and he was as adult when this information was gathered.  So I guess he didn’t have control over his reproductive rights.  Where’s the ACLU?  Where’s Al Sharpton?  Where’s…?  Oh.  Because no one really cares about that half of the equation, because they know it doesn’t matter because there’s nothing the man can do if his “right” is violated.  Don’t believe me?  Try googling and finding an instance of a father legally stopping an abortion.  Or a parent – even of their minor child.

Men’s Roles

A man’s “control over his reproductive rights” ends at the front of his zipper.  Let us think logically – where else could it?  Nothing is fool-proof.   Do not let “safe sex” talks with various fruits woo you into complacency thinking condoms, and bags, and aerosols, and hot air balloons, and whatever crazy nonsense is now available on the “I can’t help but stare,” aisle at Walmart, work 100% of the time, or even close to that. (They have some really….interesting items now if you haven’t looked lately.  We got stuck in line beside them and I tried not to giggle because everything – I’m talking ever-eee-thing – vibrated or “jiggled.” 

A man can’t demand his wife or girlfriend have an abortion.    Out of desperation – a word we hear so many times relating to pregnant women when the repeal of Roe v. Wade is mentioned – this guy relabeled Cyototec as Amoxicillin and was found guilty of first degree murder of his 6-week-old baby (which is downgraded to just an “embryo” in the story).

I am in NO WAY defending what that guy up there did, but plainly, it is not fair to men in this country that women can abort babies that belong to both the woman AND the man without the man’s consent.  Some might say he’s “holding her hostage” but that’s his heir, too.  We should be civilized enough as a nation to have a rational dialogue about how to deal with a surprise pregnancy when it happens and come to an equitable decision regarding the child’s outcome.

Women’s Roles

On the flip side, his girlfriend could have strolled into Planned Parenthood without his consent or knowledge, done the same thing, and gotten “support” and a high-five from the pro-abortion community.  Granted, his girlfriend wanted the baby, but he did not.  Just like my biological father and many others around the country.

To quote an article I came across:

Women made the right to abortion a central demand of their movement because they understood that women could never be equal with men without control over their reproductive lives.”

How about, “No thanks, guy?” – this is the equivalent of where a man’s ends.  Why should we expect LESS of a woman?  That’s degrading and I thought we were going for equals, here.

How about not having sex unless you’re ready for kids.

How about birth control?

How about not not marrying someone unless you talk to them first about the number of kids you want and when you want them.

Finally, let me ask you: would you give an organ to a terminal relative that would allow them to live another 10 years?  You’re their only hope, you’re their lifeline at that point, they’re a “parasite” eyeballing that kidney of yours.  Would you give it to them?  Or would you keep it because your other might fail and you might need it?  How about sacrificing 9 months to give life to a child who will live upwards of 80 years?  Something to knock around the brain.