Life and Times of a Mommy(:

Listen up, Interweb!!

I’m going to make this short and sweet!! Guess what!? It’s SPRING!!!

Spriiiiiing!!! Source

Spriiiiiing!!! Source 



It’s time for baby animals and pretty flowers!! It’s time for little girls in the cutest dresses ever and little boys in button ups and khakis! Time for random rain showers and sandals!! Time for it to be warm and comfortable outside!!!

Oh to walk down this path!! how gorgeous!!  Source

Oh to walk down this path!! how gorgeous!! Source


And the flowers!!! Don’t even get me started on the flowers!!

Flowers! Flowers everywhere! Source

Flowers! Flowers everywhere! Source

Yup... Definitely going to have plant some roses by the front door! Source

Yup… Definitely going to have plant some roses by the front door! Source





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O Medicaid, How I Despise You……too…..




Medicaid in my state is called Arkids (Arkansas Kids. Cheesy right?) It’s government funded. And like almost anything the government does, its ridonculously complicated. Why? BECAUSE THEY CAN!!!  And getting anything done takes, ya know, however long they want. My oldest will be three in April. In the past almost three years I have almost pulled countless people through the phone, almost ripped their face off, and almost shoved said ripped off face down their throat. (This was of course after I almost pulled their head out of their ass.)

For medicaid, like any other insurance I’m sure, you have to assign a Primary Care Physician (PCP) to the child. The first time we had medicaid the hospital helped us me set it up. Because, as I had literally just turned 18 the day before, I had medicaid and it (somehow) automatically went to my son. (I think. I mean, I just had a long, thin tube stuck in my back, pushed a watermelon out in 15 minutes flat, and moved rooms like three times. The nurse could have been asking me to sign my soul over to the devil, which was basically what I did anyway, and I would have closed one eye, stuck my tongue out, and try really hard to sign on one of the two or three lines I saw in a semi legible scripts. Which is probably what I looked like signing it…) So the hospital told me to pick one of the doctors I had seen in the three days that I was there and that would be the PCP.

Then, according to the court, his daddy had to put my son on his insurance. Alright. No big deal. The surgery on his foot (story for another time) and for the tubes in his ears were paid for already so whatever. And I thought medicaid was hard to deal with…. The court decided his daddy needed to have insurance on him in June after he turned one. He got insurance  on him almost right away. Then it was cancelled and he didn’t have insurance for a good six months to a year. At which time I broke down and got him medicaid again.

Being the good mommy I am, I set up a PCP. At a totally different clinic than where he went when he was born. WIth a doctor I’d never met. Then my second son was born. And I set up a PCP for him. With a different doctor than my oldest. Across town. With a doctor I’d never met. Our first appointment with that doctor? Sat in the room with a fussy baby who got shots for three hours and forty-five minutes before the doctor ever came. After she walked past the door three times looking for his room. A 15 minute visit was all we got. Oh, and the doctor informed me that I was doing things wrong and treated me like an incompetent child. This same doctor proceeded to misdiagnose my child during later visits. Another doctor looked in his ears and said “I don’t think he had an ear infection. I couldn’t really get a good look in one ear but the other looks fine.”

Excuse me.

You don’t think my son has an ear infection….

“No, but if he gets a fever or anything, come back.”



I’m sure you are staring at your computer screen right now with the same look I gave the doctor and trying not to do a face palm. And you are probably wondering why in the heck I haven’t changed doctors. Well. It’s government funded so everything has to be hard Including assigning and changing a doctor.

You see, only certain doctors take medicaid and they only take a certain amount of said medicaid patients. Once they reach their limit, they don’t take any more. So, of course, since the universe hates me and all, every. Single. Doctor. I want, in my county, has a full case load. I can call everyday and check if I wanted. Why don’t I call every day and check you ask? Simple, my friend, very simple. I spend an average of five minutes on hold after listening to the automated voice list menu options. For three minutes. And I mean really, who had time for that crap?!




And if you didn’t realize how ridiculous my current doctor’s office and medicaid is, let me reiterate it for ya.

Back story.

I’m trying to get my oldest into a free program at a daycare called the ABC program. For this I need a hearing test and physical. Along with some other paper work. Physical, you say, no problem. WRONG!! That is all explained here. Hearing and eye test for a 2 year old? is probably your next question. Really? Yes, dear reader, really. Really, really. So guess what time it is?! REFERRAL TIME!! Woot woot! ……………………just kidding.

Eye test? Scheduled. No referral. No problem!

Hearing test? Act of friggin Congress!!


I call his current doctor and tell them I need a referral for a hearing test. Well. They can’t just hand out referrals because that would be to easy. And there has to be a reason. Um…it’s for daycare. Not a good enough reason. Ok. He has tubes in his ears and he need them checked. Ok. They can do that. Awesome! (This was yesterday.) Ready to get confuzzled??

(Today.) I call the ear, nose, and throat clinic to see if they got the referral. Nope. Ok. Back to the doctor’s office. Well they can’t write a referral because they aren’t the clinic that wrote the referral for the tubes in the first place. Alright. I call the doctor’s office that wrote the original referral. They can’t write the referral because they aren’t the PCP. The ear, nose, and throat clinic has to have a referral or I have to pay for the visit. Which costs anywhere from $150 to $300. Crazy right? It gets crazier, just wait.

So I call the daycare that hosts the program. The director tells me to just have the doctor’s office write a letter sating they can’t/won’t write a referral. Ok. No prob! Wrong, yet again. The doctor’s office can’t/won’t write a letter saying they can’t/won’t write a referral. Why? Because they just don’t do that. After hearing this I proceed to tell the nurse that if it wasn’t the for medicaid, I wouldn’t fo to that office because it was worst on I have ever dealt with.
(In the end the director simply had me write a letter a letter and told me to get it notarized.)

But, I mean really, does getting this stuff really need to be an act of God? Do I need to have the great man Himself come down and tell you my kid needs this stuff? Or do I need to get Congress to pass a law? Oh….wait….. They would never agree on anything. Maybe I just need to change my skin color…. Apparently I’m the wrong color to get help…. Hmmm…. What to do, what to do…






**The above statement is in no way, shape, or form, meant to be rude or racist. Just stating a fact.**


Haunted at 17 (But Not By Ghosts or Anything Cool Like That)

So in my pursuit of interesting blogs to read I came across a post titled “Haunted at 17”. Now when I read this, my first thought was “Whaaaaaat?! Someone is haunted?!” Clickety click click…. I found distraction99’s blog. The series she is doing is called the Haunted at 17 series. (Go check it out. It’s pretty awesome! Libba Bray, author of the Gemma Doyle series is in there!!) It’s not, in fact, about being haunted by ghosts or anything, but about physical things that haunted them. Like their hair, and sex, and a past that was better than the present.

Me at 17 and about 3 months pregnant.

Me at 17 and about 3 months pregnant.

It got me to thinking. What haunted me at 17? Well, many things, frankly. And these things were somewhat different from the beginning of my senior yearto the end of it. I was haunted by fear. Fear that I wouldn’t get into to the school I wanted (Oklahoma State), fear of leaving everything I knew to chase my dreams. Then it was fear of being a single mom, fear of not being a good mom, fear of failing myself and my unborn child.
Senior year is supposed to be a time of having one last hurrah with your friends. A time for obsessing about college essays and scholarships and ACT scores. A time to say goodbye to the beloved teachers you had, and rejoice in never seeing the ones you didn’t ever again. For me, that’s how the first two or three months went. I mean I worried about that stuff through the whole year but after September, I had some more pressing matter on my mind.

Now I was never regular when it came to my…lady stuff. (I know, too much but I have a point, I promise. Do not click away!!) So when I was late and pretty much couldn’t remember when my last…lady thing…I didn’t really give it much thought. Until I almost blew cinnamon roll chunks all over the dash board of my dad’s truck. (And I can guarantee I would have been the one cleaning it up, no matter how sick I was.) Instead of heading to school, we stopped at my grandmother’s which was on the way. Once there, and after my dad decided to let me stay home that day, thinking I had the flu or a stomach bug, I texted my best friend and told her we needed an emergency sleep over with a pregnancy test that weekend. Before I could do that, however, my dad and step mom took me to the doctor to make sure I didn’t have the flu after the second day of almost redecorating the inside of my dad’s truck with yet another cinnamon roll.

Here is where my fear of deans and professors turns into fear of disappointing the one person I loved more than anything in the world. My hero. My protector and savior. My daddy.

So when my flu swab came back negative, my dad walked into the room and said “you have morning sickness”. I said yup and broke down in tears. After confirming my eggo was, indeed, preggo, we set up a meeting with the baby’s father, who had dumped me a few weeks before. (When I describe what the guy meant to me back then, people tell me I sound like a bad country song. So I will spare you that horror.) A few months later he’d walked out of mine and my son’s life, only to decide to come back when it was convenient for him.

Here is where the biggest fear, that still haunts me almost three years and another baby later, comes in. The dear of being an utterly terrible mom. The fear of failing my child(ren).

Over past two years, I’ve had people tell me I’m a great mom despite the challenges I face with depression/anxiety and a baby daddy that, I swear, is only around to make my life complicated and hard. I still have the fear of letting my kids down and damaging them somehow, but I just take it day by day, and hope they end up with more sense than I did.


For anyone who may not catch it on the original blog, here it is again!

Parenting And Stuff


April 2 is Autism Awareness day.

3 of my not so many really close friends have children with autism.

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O Doctor’s Office, How I Despise Thee

But no. Seriously. If I had it my way, some people who work at doctor’s offices wouldn’t work there. Because at the moment I’m tempted to pull half of them through the phone/window (which ever one I’m talking to them through), rip there faces off, and shove it down their throats! Today, when a nurse neglected to tell me important information on the phone, I almost did just that.

Back story.

I’m trying to get my two year old into a free program offered by a daycare. For that I need a whole list of things, one of which being a physical. So. Being the smart mom I am, I called to schedule one ASAP. After sitting on hold for a good 3 minutes, the nurse at his current doctor’s office informed me that, because my son has medicaid (how much I despise medicaid is for another day…) he can’t have another “well child check up” until after he turns three, or in June (which is when he had his last one). Not real sure… I was pretty upset by this point. She also informed me that the office that did the check up in June of last year could get me the records. I not so politely informed the woman I was talking to that I didn’t know what clinic it was that did the check up. That was 9 months, part of a pregnancy, and a baby ago.

So. After spending a good three days trying to find this clinic in the phone book and through other doctor’s offices, I finally contact them on Thursday of last week. The lady on the phone tells me that she will have the paper work I need faxed over to my office by two that afternoon. Great, I think. This is going perfect. Well. Two in the afternoon comes and it goes. No paper work. The rest of Thursday and Friday are crazy! So I don’t get a chance to call until today. (Yes I realize I left out Monday, but to be honest I’m not totally sure Monday happened at this point.) I tell the lady on the phone that the records where supposed to be faxed by two Thursday. She asks if I signed a paper. Uhhhh….. No. I called your office. On Thursday. At like 11. I didn’t sign crap…. So on my lunch, I haul ass to the doctor’s office to get the paper work I need thinking “Oh this will be no big deal. I can get them and get back to work no problem.” Boy was I WRONG!!!

I get there. I again inform the chick at the counter that I needed these paper faxed, that they weren’t faxed, and I need them today. She has me fill out that I need to have the papers faxed, while informing me that it will take five to seven days to get the paper work. Which is literally right behind her. Now, I understand that doctor’s offices are busy. But… There was one family in the waiting room and some other chick sitting at the counter next to the one I was talking to. So. You’re telling me that it takes you five to seven days to get off your ass and find records I need? Awesome…… I need these papers by Monday, but obviously that isn’t happening. So I responded to her with “So if my child doesn’t get into daycare it’s your fault.” The nurse then looked at me, shrugged, and said “No, it’s yours for not coming in sooner.” My response? The same response any stay at home/working mom would have: “I’m sorry but I had sh** to do.” And then stormed out.

This is obviously not me but this was my face after talking to that woman. Source:

This is obviously not me but this was my face after talking to that woman. Source:

I then proceeded to call my lovely step mom and complain to her about it. (She almost always saves the day.) She then told me to call another doctors office to see if they had any appointments. (This was after trying to tell my son’s dad that my son needs a physical. He, of course, ignored me. Heaven forbid he pay more than child support… But again, that’s another day.) This doctor’s office wouldn’t do it. The next office I called didn’t have appointments open. The next office didn’t even bother to look because as soon as I informed her that I was self paying, she told me about a cheaper clinic. A first visit at her clinic was like $130. So. I scored the phone book for this number. I texted Google for this number. (For those of you who don’t know, yes you can text google to get phone numbers! You just simply type “google” but with numbers!) Couldn’t find this stupid number

Again, not me but you get the picture. Source:

Again, not me but you get the picture. Source:

Finally, my dad calls me and tells me to call the doctor’s office that my grandma goes to. (This is the same office I went to for the longest time.) Hallelujah!!! They have an appointment at two today and I need to be there by 1:40 to do paper work!!!! Now comes the task of asking off from the job that I’m a temp at….. Oh. Lookie there. Not a problem! My boss totally understands!! I guess something will work out with all this!! 😀

Where I wish I was.... Being oh so happy about how things worked out. Source:

Where I wish I was…. Being oh so happy about how things worked out. Source:




This comes after I get pulled over for speeding, get cited for no insurance, and get a court date in a month. Which I will again have to take off from my temp job for. Awesomeness right?!

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Letter to the Snow Falling Outside My Window

Dear snow,

I’m not sure if you realize this but it’s March. March. Not November, or December, or one of those months months that ends in ary. It is spring. Time for flowers and rain and green grass. I’m pretty sure I speak for most people who are sick of wearing jeans and sweaters and thick boots. (I mean I wear jeans all year round but I mean some people like shorts.) We are ready for sun dresses, sandals, and peep toe pumps.

Now, I understand that Arkansas weather is very unpredictable. But, come on! This is just RI-freaking-DONCULOUS!! I mean, I’m not ready for scorching 105 degree weather, but I’m definitely over the 60 to 29 to 50 to 30 to 70 degree weather!

So please stop falling. Until a month that ends with ber. Like the cold, brr, December. Get it? Good!



One cold momma!



P.S. If you do insist on falling, snow, please do so as long as it’s enough for no work, a snow man, and a good snowball fight! Thanks!!

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A Day in My Mind

So in my about me section I said that I was diagnosed with depression during my junior year of high school, which was in 2008, but I didn’t really elaborate anymore than that. Well. Now I am.

I feel like I should explain a little of what happened before I was diagnosed:

My parents had divorced in February of my freshmen year, which was in 2006. During their fighting and problems and finally the divorce, I would stress out to the point where I would literally be throwing up. It was to the point that my dad took me to the doctor. Once my doctor explained what was going on it was easier to control. After the divorce my mom married a crap guy, which increased the stress (no more throwing up though) and caused more fighting. To the point that I was pushed down a hallway and, as a result had a busted vein on the front side of my arm and a scar near my elbow. Luckily that was all that happened during that fight and the arguments that occurred after.

After about eight months, my mom found out what a crap guy my step dad was and moved us to Little Rock, Arkansas where a lot of my family lived. I fell in with the wrong crowd while there and almost flushed my dreams down the drain. Thankfully, after everything, my dad realized if he didn’t step in, things would just get worse and worse. So he moved me back to the town I grew up in.

Here’s where the depression really starts to show:

My dad is a loud person. Plain and simple. He talks loud, he laughs loud, he commands attention loudly, he even works in a loud place. (He’s a diesel mechanic, hence the loudness.) But when I started crying just because he raised his voice a mere octave above his norm, he and my step mom thought something was wrong. At first the thought it was just because it was that time of the month. But when it was happening two and three weeks before and after, something just wasn’t adding up. The final straw was when I was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor with my laundry basket balling my eyes out before school just because I couldn’t find the shirt I wanted to wear to work that night. Some days, if I wasn’t crying, I was yelling at everyone and getting royally pissed off at everything that moved. When I explained what was going on to my doctor, she put me on an anti-depressant called Lexipro. It was later changed to Zoloft due to being pregnant with my first child.*

I no longer take medicine for my anxiety and depression. It’s rough sometimes. and I have my good days and bad days. Sometimes, I still break down crying because I can’t find what I need or because I just can’t handle being yelled at. Most days are okay. Many times, though, I find myself struggling to keep a level head and not scream and yell at everything. Recently, a therapist told me that the screaming and yelling is how young adults express the feelings. Which makes a lot of sense, as most days I will start screaming and be mad at the world for hours, just to turn around and start crying because I feel bad for yelling.

But I’m getting a little off track. The point of this post, like most people who have depression and write about it, is to let those people who are overwhelmed and don’t know what to do that it’s okay. You aren’t alone. There is someone going through close to or, sometimes, the exact same thing that you are. If you need help please reach out and ask someone. Yes. It’s very hard to ask, sometimes I even have trouble talking to my dad, step mom, and my husband about what’s going on. But there is someone who can help. Trust me. Just ask. And know that everything is going to be okay.

So. If some melancholy or sad or not up beat and happy posts pop up on here, I’m having a bad day. Everything will work out but I’m having a day. I thank you in advance for your understanding and support.

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This One’s for the Girls

When I was 11 a song called “This One’s for the Girls” by Martina McBride came out. (Yes, I know what you are all thinking, “Ewww country!!” But bear with me for a minute.) The song simply talks to us girls. That’s it. And yeah I know, there are like five bazillion female empowerment songs, but this one. This one is my JAM!!! Simply because it’s country. Well… That and that I can really relate to it. (And besides Taylor Swift wasn’t even a thought on the country music scene then.)


The first group of girls she talks to is the super emotional teenagers.

“This is for all the girls about thirteen,

 High school can be so rough, can be so mean.

Hold on your innocence,

Stand your ground when everybody’s givin’ in”


Now, this verse didn’t really his me until I was like 16 or 17. I had stopped listening to country for a while when my parents divorced and my mother moved me from my home town. When I moved back in with my dad it was either listen to country without your headphones in or listen to it with them in over whatever it is your listening to. So. Didn’t really have a choice and by the time I got my own, car I was back in the habit of listening to country. When I heard this song again, it really hit home. I mean, I compared it to my sophomore, freshman, and eighth grade year. But I could also compare it to my junior and senior year looking back.


The next verse speaks to those girls just out of college.

“This ones for the girls about 25,

In little apartments just trying to get by,

Livin’ on dreams and spaghetti o’s,

Wondering where your life is gonna go.”


I’m not yet 25 but this verse, as does the first, really resonates with me. I was 18 to 19 living in first a one, then a two bedroom apartment, with a baby, living on frozen dinners, and some crap cooking. (Thanks to my ex roommate who thought she could cook. But I have to say, it was better than spaghetti o’s. Blec!) Then, at least part of the time, I know where my life was going. Now I’m almost 21, married with two kids, renting a small, but cute house, and wondering where my life is going. Am I going to finish my dream? Am I going to find another? Am I going to be like the one thing I dread: My mother?

Only time will tell.


In the song, the chorus comes next. But we will get to that in a minute.


The next verse is for an age group I don’t yet know anything about. I don’t know what they are going through but these four lines help explain it.

“This is for all you girls about forty two,

Tossin’ pennies into the fountain of youth,

Every laugh line on your face

Made you who you are today.”

I don’t really know what to say about this other than to give myself some future advice: Embrace your wrinkles, you are still beautiful. So all you gorgeous ladies in this age group, feel free to give your view on this verse. What you feel and think, and if it speaks to you.


Ok. Here’s the chorus.

“This one’s for the girls

Who’ve ever had a broken heart,

Who’ve wished upon a shooting star,

You’re beautiful the way you are. 

This one’s for the girls,

Who love with out holding back,

Who dream with everything they have,

All around the world,

This ones for the girls.”

I don’t think I can elaborate anymore than that. This song is for every girl, everywhere.


So. Find this song, listen to it, and have a little inspiration for the day. If you don’t, well, whatever. Read through the lyrics and have a little inspiration anyway!

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What wonderful thoughts to live by!

The Belle Jar

1. Assume that you are loved.

2. Assume that those who love you find some kind of value in you and the things you do.

3. Assume, however, that you don’t need to be valuable in order to be worthy of love.

4. Assume that there is no one out there keeping a tally of all of your failings, ready to throw it in your face when you’re either feeling too good or too awful about yourself.

5. Assume that if anyone actually is keeping a tally of all your failings, that act says more about them than it does about you.

6. Assume that you can’t make all of the people happy all of the time; maybe not even some of the people some of the time.

7. Assume that you will, over the course of your life, sometimes anger or disappoint the people you love.

8. Assume that…

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