This is supposed to be the “funny” and “witty” blog. I PROMISE to be funny and witty as much as possible (I’m making the Girl Scout gesture)… why do I always feel the need to keep it light? Oh, well. There’s always next time. Per usual, I’m writing about something that pertains to me. Selfish, right? However, I always hope when I write that even just one person sees him/herself in my writing or can relate. That’s what writers do, I suppose… we say the unsaid.

I’ve had a cold this week (along with the rest of the United States). At least it’s not the flu. However, I feel pretty rotten and I’ve dropped the ball on picking up around the house, errands, and so on. Sounds very mundane. “Middle-age teacher mom gets a cold and doesn’t feel well enough to do everything “. Big whoop. Well, I really wish I could just sit here and unload ALL the burdens of my heart, but there are things we all deal with that are not necessarily for posting/publishing. When I say we all do, I mean men, women, teenagers, children, rich, poor, middle-class, educated, uneducated. I dare you to find someone not in pain, coming out of pain, or on their way to feeling some kind of pain.

My heart has been heavy this week. I’ve heard these type of burdens referred to in churches as “unspoken prayer requests” and “special intentions”. Whatever you call them, these are common to us all. Sometimes only God knows and that’s okay. The phrase “we carry unnecessary burdens” is a fairly common one. I personally (and no one asked me) think the more appropriate phrasing is that “we carry burdens unnecessarily”. The first phrase implies that our burdens are “unnecessary”. The second implies that we have bonafide burdens, but we carry the majority of the weight and we shouldn’t.

Little one unknowingly taught me a lesson about this today. I love how children are conduits of God unawares. We got him a small training bike for an early birthday present. He kept pulling it behind him to the door to go outside. He fussed because it was heavy, and more so because I told him we couldn’t go out today. It was very windy and wet. He pulled and struggled. I kept telling him I would help him and we could play inside. He just kept struggling with the bike and fussing about not being able to go outside. It hit me as I was watching him. I’ve been carrying the weight of my burdens this week. Struggling. Instead of praying about it (continuously), I kept trying to fix everything myself.

Eventually, I got him settled in the playroom and we listened to worship music and played with Play-doh. He and I felt much better and a weight was lifted off me. The burdens remain, the problems, too, but the weight of them is now lighter. Lay it at His feet. Every day, several times if you must… but lay it down.

This clutch belonged to my Grandmama, my paternal grandmother. She loved to dance, and I’m glad I have this to carry.

Many years ago (22 exactly), a new bride and Coast transplant attended her first Mardi Gras Ball. She didn’t know what to expect, but wasn’t too nervous because how big could it be? Right? On a drizzly, , unseasonably warm evening in February she donned a strapless, black velvet dress that she still had from a college formal at Mississippi College. She wore her curly blonde hair in a French twist. She tried to wear heels not so high as to hurt her feet. Her makeup was simple.

Her husband was a member of the Young Men’s Business Club and this was their yearly ball. She knew he would have to leave her temporarily during the ball to hold the rope that separated the Royal Court from the audience during their walk off the stage before the dance. As she and her husband approached the B.E “Mac” McGinty Civic Center, her heart skipped. “There are so many cars here”, she thought. Naturally shy, she realized there would be much more people there than she thought. Concerned about her hair (naturally frizzy) in the outside humidity, she prodded her husband to move more quickly.

As they stepped inside, she immediately regretted not bringing a coat or wrap. It was FREEZING. There were two long tables, and familiar faces took up tickets from guests. A YMBC member offered his arm, and the young woman readily obliged, surprised by the formality of it all. As they walked from the foyer into the open ballroom space, she was taken aback by the extensive decor. Shimmering curtains, white lights, rows of beautifully decorated tables, and a long red carpet were just a few of the sights to take in.

The court was presented by the emcee as well as the history of the ball. The part about the secret committee choosing the court especially got her attention. The rest was a blur, except that she remembers to this day struggling with her strapless dress and vowing not to wear another strapless gown ever… obviously a sign that she wanted to attend again. Her updo was the other challenge. She hoped the weather next year would be less humid as she had struggled her whole life with her naturally frizzy hair. Other than that, she was taken by the experience and felt like Cinderella might have felt (complete with a handsome prince).

YMBC 2019…in a twist of fate (see how dramatic I am?), my dress matched this year’s curtains. Of course.😂

Fast forward twenty-two years, three children, and many life changes. The young lady subsequently attended many more balls, missing a few years here and there because of pregnancy, new babies, illness, and, well, life in general. She has seen family serve in Duke and Duchess capacities and has celebrated with those whose daughters have been honored to serve as the Queen of Joy. She also dared to wear one more strapless dress. Crazy, right?

This year, the young woman, now a mature woman in her 40’s, attended once again with her handsome prince. She remembered her promise not to wear a strapless dress (and take a wrap), and her own beautiful princess (teenage daughter) did her makeup (telling her that she could camouflage her crow’s feet). The woman once again felt that quickening of her heart as they pulled into the parking lot and was escorted once again by another member of the YMBC. And, once again, she felt like Cinderella dancing in her husband’s arms… if only once a year.

Thanks to the YMBC for another beautiful ball. Also, congratulations on achieving 80 years! We were honored to be hosted by my brother-in-law, Richard Perkins, who served as a Duke this year, and his beautiful wife, Lindsey, who served as a Duchess in the 2015 ball.

So what if I told you that the interest over this Mardi Gras dress situation rivals that of Khloe Kardashian’s life? I mean, my house could burn down and someone will still be concerned about my dress situation. This is the South, and Southern women know that clothes are serious business. What’s a good ole Southern Baptist girl like me have to do with Mardi Gras? I live on the Coast, that’s what!

Mardi Gras is French for “Fat Tuesday”. This is the day before Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. I actually enjoy observing Lent because it calls for one to fast of something in his/her life that can help one become closer to God. I hope I’m explaining correctly (feel free to correct me as I’m not the authority on this).

I grew up in Jackson, Mississippi (Clinton, actually, a suburb nearby), the home of the Hal and Mal’s St. Paddy’s Day Parade, Sweet Potato Queen Parade, and Mistletoe Marketplace. Mardi Gras isn’t usually a big concern in the state capital. I married a Coast boy and moved “south”, however, and have had to learn the correct way to peel crawfish, pronounce names of towns correctly as in “Gautier” and “D’Iberville”, and find an acceptable Mardi Gras gown.

This is the Escatawpa River. The Coast is a beautiful place to live.

The Young Men’s Business Club is an organization in Moss Point, Mississippi. This group holds a ball each year in which Dukes, Duchesses, and a King and Queen of Joy are crowned. As an aside, I was confused when my husband first joined (he was twenty-three), because there were young men AND men about the age of Methuselah. Anyway, the king is usually a “mature ” fellow (i.e. grandpa material) and the Queen is a college-aged little thing. They, alongside the dukes and duchesses, are chosen based on their contributions to the community. It’s a fun ball, and a highlight in the community. Chosen participants are from Moss Point, Pascagoula, Gautier, and other surrounding areas.

The ball starts with the presentation of the Court followed by the King of Joy and then the Queen of Joy. The king and queen are masked to hide their identities until the crowning. There are usually cute little boys and girls acting as crown-bearers. We common folk sit at tables, but not just any old fold-out tables. It looks like a White House State Dinner complete with catered food and decor such as gorgeous floral and Mardi Gras arrangements. The court files off the stage for an opening dance, then the audience is invited to dance and mingle the rest of the night (usually this consists of husbands talking a lot and wives looking for them insistent on a dance or two). It’s almost like playing Cinderella for one night. “Here, let me forget about dirty diapers, housework, homework, teen angst, and bills for for five hours”…. a middle-aged mom’s dream.😂

So… the dress? I did find one. It’s acceptable. Passable. Whatever. You know the one. Sort of like saying you got a “C” in biology. Not spectacular. Not horrible. It will do. Now… to send the other one back. I promised I would write about it and I will (I have to because it’s equal parts funny and sad… and funny ). For now, though, I’m happy (finger quotes) with the long, navy, sequined dress I found (the price was right, too). Eat your heart out, Khloe, and laissez les bons temps rouler!

Raise your hand if you’re riding the struggle bus. I hope so, because I can’t be all alone. John Wesley is credited as saying “Cleanliness is next to Godliness”. Oh, well… I hope he was referring to having a clean heart. The laundry from this basket is somewhere in my living room. I also have laundry in my bedroom and the laundry room (shocker!). I refuse to show my kitchen sink, floors, play room…. well, you aren’t allowed to see my house right now. It’s MESSY. Not just cluttered… I mean, applesauce on the floor, piles of bills/papers, dishes in sink messy. Here is baby boy. He’s not happy (i.e. throwing a fit). To the left is trash that needs to go and there’s a wooden Melissa and Doug toy hot dog on the floor… because. Shoes? What shoes? I don’t see any shoes. Just kidding.

I’m an all or nothing type. It’s spotless or it looks like a hurricane came through here. I’ve never been tested for ADD, but probably missed a good chance. I can’t get the house to be “acceptable “. It’s literally either magazine clean or a wreck. You know the articles/Facebook ads/blogs that say you can be/do everything? Lies. All lies. Ladies, if you can do all this, then I want to know what medication you’re taking or I must be drinking the wrong coffee.

I CANNOT do it all. You cannot do it all. It’s too much, and I’m not enough. One concern I have when writing is that people will get the impossible I’m “whining “. I always say that I’m not “complaining “, I’m “explaining “. So here goes…. I AM IN OVER MY HEAD. Get that? Please tell me you are, too. One time (once😂), someone told me that I “look like I have it together “. Does duct tape count? I do this “weird” thing where I look at another lady (usually at work) and think that her house/car/purse is all clean and organized. Anyone else do this?

My mom tells me to delegate. Did I mention that I like things done a certain way? It’s hard to watch someone do it “not my way”. I’ve all but stopped looking at Southern Living… standards are a little too high for me right now. The other night it occurred to me (a little late) that the laundry and dishes will never truly be finished. So discouraging! So what do we do? I don’t know except to do what we can, when we can, the best we can.

So my best isn’t good enough this week….or the next week or the next. I guess that will just have to be enough.

I dropped the ball.” I said this to my TA (teaching assistant) in reference to my having marked attendance incorrectly the day before. “Can you pick it up?” said four-year-old Suzy Q. (obviously not her real name). “Of course you can’t,” Suzy continued to say. Suzy is wiser than the old men at the coffee shop. . Kids are always intuitive like that. She thought I meant a REAL ball…or did she?

The picture above popped up on my home screen twenty-two minutes into a PTO meeting. There were teachers, parents, and administrators from both campuses there. Baby boy had to go with me because all my trusty sitters were working. We got to the meeting thirty minutes early. I let him run around and then I put him in the stroller when the meeting started. At this point, I’d been up much of the night (not his fault), worked, then kept him entertained from 3:30 after school onward. This is code for “I’m tired”. Right after the picture popped up, I’m thinking that I’m not having a “good time ” anymore. He was being sweet but I kept having to stroll him down a hall in the cafeteria. He kept throwing his pacifier and “lovey”(stuffed dog). I stopped to the entrance to the cafeteria and stood by one of the principals. I was exhausted and leaned against the wall. The cafeteria got PITCH black. I had cut off the lights. Everyone stopped. My principal turned them back on. Good going, girl. You’re killing it.

“Yes… I’m having a ball. Let the good times roll” I thought. I tucked tail, went in the ladies room, and had a good cry. Now, I’ve said before I’m not complaining. It’s more like story-telling. See, I had one full night of sleep in four nights. A store clerk had been rude earlier, and some women that normally speak to me… well, didn’t. It hurt. The light switch thing was just the proverbial straw. By the way, after I cried for maybe a minute I started to laugh at myself. It was then that I realized that I had done my best. I came to the meeting. I was nice to the clerk. I smiled at the ladies. I’m not perfect (right now you would have food and clothes enough for a couple days in my car), but I sure as heck did my best today.The car will get clean, I’ll stop being so sensitive tomorrow, and I’ll never lean against the cafeteria wall again. I can’t lose.

Suzy Q., pass me that ball.

PSA: These aren’t hash browns or fried fish. These are pancakes. I can bake. I can make homemade lasagna. My sweet tea is legendary. However, I can’t make pancakes from a mix (just add water and stir). These didn’t quite meet my expectations… nor those of my family (the fried fish reference came from my husband). The one on the right looks like a foot. My weekend didn’t meet my expectations, either. Did you ever get excited about something and it fell short? Yep. I get it.

Friday nights for me are usually a wash-up (wash-out?)…. whatever…I don’t do much on Friday nights. Little one didn’t sleep well so Saturday was a wash, too. Church was the best thing that happened today, and, let me tell you, I needed it. Little one and I went to Walmart and bought Valentines for his preschool friends later today, as well.

This week I didn’t exceed my expectations for myself. Have you ever just put your face in your hands and had a good cry? I did. It’s okay, though. I wiped my face and got on with it, so to speak. In church, the sermon was how God chose us even though we have nothing to offer in return. It occurred to me that my worth is not based on what I can do for others. I guess it shouldn’t be based upon my own unrealistic expectations of myself, either.

I’m going through a busy, fun, and sometimes heart wrenching time of life. There are circumstances I cannot control. The vision I have as to what my life should be versus what sometimes is doesn’t always match. Sometimes I feel like the most blessed person in the world. Sometimes I struggle. Most of the time it’s when I’m too hard on myself and expect to be everything for everyone. I feel guilty that the house isn’t perfect, the car is a mess, I don’t cook enough(or make ugly pancakes!). Most of all, I feel guilty when someone I care about hurts and I can’t fix it. But I can pray, I can be there, and I can love.

What are your expectations? A perfectly clean house? Healthy children? A happy marriage? Bills paid without worrying about the next paycheck? I wonder if we sometimes look at others and instead of “keeping up with the Jones’ “, we beat ourselves up because Suzy Q. seems to have her proverbial ducks in a row. We’re positive her house is sparkling clean (and her car). Her marriage is the best it’s ever been. Her kids are spiritual giants. Suzy has her problems, though. I PROMISE (she hides them well like most of us). Do YOUR best. Don’t give up. And know that sometimes your expectations of yourself are too much and give yourself some grace.

Now I’m going to make some tea. My pancakes don’t meet my expectations.😂

Ten. Ten pictures to sum up almost eighteen years of my eldest son’s life. I had been forewarned last year by another mom who had a senior. The senior slideshow is on Senior Night. Seniors and their parents are served dinner by the junior class (my son worked it last year), and everyone watches a slideshow. Each senior submits ten pictures…. two baby, two toddler, two elementary, one freshman picture, and three senior pictures. It’s a cry fest.

How was I supposed to pick just ten? What if I cried the whole time while looking? The night we decided to pick out the pictures, we were all drained. School, ball practice, dance, homework… it seemed like a daunting task. I put my foot down and told my son and husband it was time to “get it done “. I’m thinking, “You can do this. You have to.” I couldn’t believe it. The more we all looked, the more we laughed. There were professional studio pictures that we saw from newborn to this current year. There were school pictures and sports pictures. There were snapshots, of course.

One of my favorites was one I actually took (I don’t have mad photography skills). Clark was five. The baseball party was at the lake. He and several boys were sitting at a picnic table waiting for burgers that the dad’s were grilling. I snapped the picture. When I had the roll developed (I’m old, okay?), Clark was clasping his hands to pray and his eyes were tightly closed. He was the only one praying. I’m not judging! It was just so sweet. We didn’t include this one, but another fact about Clark is his humor. He did include a middle school picture that would be considered the “awkward ” phase.😂

To say I’m proud of him (ALL three of my children) is an understatement. To say I’m going through a slight grieving period would also be true. Didn’t he just start preschool? I distinctly remember playing Nerf Guns like it was last night. Isn’t it time for travel baseball again? These years went by quickly. We don’t have our children to keep them little. They always need us, though, and I’m glad that growing up doesn’t mean grown.

Grown (by Katie Presley)

Assorted crayons,

Monogrammed backpacks,

Healthy lunchbox,

Blanket, nap mat.

Tucked in shirt,

And nice neat hair,

School uniforms,

Sweaty sports gear.

Just started preschool,

Can’t believe he’s done.

Years go by,

It was lots of fun.

Little boy to almost man,

Went by too fast,

Can we do again?

I love you, son.

This is going to be a quick one because I have the world to recreate, and at the risk of sounding like a child, I don’t feel great. One little funny.. I’ve had several co-workers ask if I found a Mardi Gras dress yet.😂No, but I’m sure I will eventually. If you haven’t read that post, it’s pretty funny!

Ever feel blah? Ok, well…. my calendar looks like it threw up between February and May. I’m already tired. I’ve been under the weather. I have major life decisions to make. Ever feel like you couldn’t give anymore if you tried? Empty. Dry. Who’s with me? I wrote two blog drafts and didn’t publish because I felt like they were , well, blah. It’s hard to be joyful when you’re pulled so many directions. The title of one of the drafts is “Too Much and Not Enough”. Basically, There’s too much to accomplish and take care of and I’m not enough.

I read my devotion, pray, talk to family/friends that understand… but sometimes even those things don’t seem enough. Do you ever read advice in blogs or books that try to help you make the hard times easier? I actually think sometimes it’s just hard. No making it easier. No avoiding it. No reprieve for the moment. It’s just HARD.

As I was going to my car after work to retrieve a sippy cup, I heard birds singing. Not a few. Many. They weren’t scratching their heads, pacing, or crying. They were singing loudly. They were doing what they were created to do without a thought or worry. It occurred to me that I wasn’t created to worry, fret, or pace the floor. Is there a time to be concerned? Absolutely. Do I cry when I just can’t contain it anymore? Often. Then there’s a time to chin up, dry up, and fight.

So I’ll take a lesson from the birds when I get back up and I’ll sing. I hope you will, too.

Studies among women in their 40’s show that finding a dress for a Mardi Gras ball only ranks two anxiety points lower than finding a swimsuit for summer. Well, it does for me and I’m the only one in the study. I’m in my forties, so I rank somewhere between Britney Spears and the Golden Girls. I’m slender, but I have to be careful like everyone else. I have a c-section scar, and if the dress fits the wrong way, it looks like my stomach is smiling. As of right now, I don’t have THE dress yet, but I’m sure it’s out there….on another planet.

I went to an upscale women’s resale store (say that five times fast) on Saturday. Immediately, I spied a beautiful satin sheath-style dress with a halter neckline that crossed in the back. It had jewels around the waistline and was a champagne color. Bingo. This was MY dress. Gorgeous and fifty bucks. Right before trying it on, I met the sweetest, well-dressed lady. My mother-in-law was with me, and they had gone to high school together. I didn’t know it at the time, but she and her husband own a very prestigious business (i.e. very successful and she could be shopping anywhere). She was the epitome of put-together.

My mother-in-law stepped outside (to stroll baby boy). I went into a dressing room (no mirror) and proceeded to navigate this blasted dress. It was a halter-style neck that was actually connected at the back of the neck (no zipper, button, or anything). By the time I got my head squeezed into the neck hole (the size of my wrist), I had to find the armhole for my right arm. I’m thinking, “Gosh, whoever wore this must have her arms connected to her torso like a Barbie doll.” So I get the right arm in (it was rough) and put my left arm in the other hole. Then, I go to pull the dress down and zip it on the side.

Y’all.

I couldn’t get my boobs up into the dress. The previous wearer of this torture device has to have boobs right under her neck. It was like a bad mammogram. So now I’m thinking I put it on wrong. Okay. It happens. I’ll just take it off and try again.

I couldn’t take it off… I was stuck. I knew if I pulled too hard, I would tear the dress…..so I’m standing in this dressing room, ponytail half up/half down, all messed up, the dress hanging weirdly on me, my black socks showing under the dressing room curtains, and I hear this sweet voice ask if I was okay. It was the well-dressed lady. I assured her I was alright and literally snaked my way out of the dress… first, my head, then the left arm, and finally the right. It was a work-out.

No luck there, but no worries. I spent the better part of Saturday night googling dresses. Now, before you judge… the reason I googled “prom dresses ” is because when I googled “formals”, it looked like a Golden Girls reunion. I’m not trying to look eighteen, I’m trying to avoid looking ninety. Here are just a few dresses that I saw…

The bra pads are a nice touch.

I’m forty-five and I’m still not allowed to wear this.

Is it a Halloween mask?

And last, but not least (well, maybe least)…I could always go as Glenda, the good witch.

Edit: I wrote this entry two weeks ago. Baby boy has since returned to normal sleep patterns. His mother is grateful.

A wise mother once said to never check on a baby at 3:49 a.m.

Ok. A tired mother. Ok, ok! A not very bright mother and that would be me.

Y’all. Precious is running over notebooks at 4:30 a.m. in this picture. I made a cute meme out of it, but I forgot the apostrophe in “Don’t”. Don’t nitpick me(I’m sensitive… see the comment at end of post).

We just recently started using blankets with baby boy. We had been using the Sleep Sack for safety but decided he’s old enough for a blanket. Because I’m mother of the year (i.e. anxious), I checked on him at exactly 3:49 a.m. and you can take it from there.

Here’s the lowdown. He wanted “juish”(juice), then he played, fussed, you get the picture. The day before, he slept until a grand 5:30 and managed to knock my coffee out of my hand and found some corn chips to eat. Don’t ask me, I’m just the parental presence. What’s that? Sunday morning? We were up and at ’em at 4:30.

I decided that I would be productive this morning since I had hours to spare before work. I put the detergent away only to knock down the bleach. Good news. The bleach works great! My black leggings proved it. Since bleach had already spilled in the washing machine, I had to wash white towels. That’s called multitasking. Baby boy preceded to hand me an OUTLET COVER. Really!?

I hate that this piece of writing sounds so “vanilla ” and/or “mommyish”. I feel like one million other moms write the same stuff (yes, I used the word “stuff “).Have you ever apologized for yourself? Like really, actually said you’re sorry for:

1. being awkward

2. talking/crying too much

3. being shy

4. none of the above but everything else

Someone told me once that I’m overly-sensitive. Guess what….

Na na ne na na!

Y’all go on and get some rest. We moms deserve it.