This is my Monday post.

Don’t hate me.

By the time Monday rolls around, I will not have a new blog post ready. But I will have a tan. I realize I won’t be able to show off this tan once I’m back in Kansas but just know under my 3 layers of clothing there is a tan. An 82 degree, sun-kissed, right off the coast of Miami, tan.

“Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga…”

You hate me. I know. Get outta here, Gloria Estefan.

Keep reading.

So I’m taking off to South Florida for the weekend. It was a last minute trip, really. Believe me – I’m not some rich, snob that flees 20 degree Kansas in January. No. Between work trips and flyer miles, this trip is free for us. Scott grew up in South Florida then moved to Kansas. I would not encourage this type of move but hey, he did meet me. And now we have friends that have never seen snow. These South Florida friends own houses we can crash at. And boats. And they are also world record breaking fishermen. Hi Brett and Kitt! I’m waving! Get my reel ready!

80 degrees in January. Poor Julie. I hear ya. I’d hate me too.

Life has a way of balancing out. Karma. Ying and yang. I’ve been on a high all week in preparation for my big fishing trip. I gloated a tiny bit.

I'm going to be called every name in the book for this picture - but I'm going to catch myself a sailfish next weekend! Packed.
I’m going to catch myself a sailfish next weekend! PACKED.


She’s going to kill me in my sleep. She’s going to kill me. I’m scared to even go to bed. I’m going to miss my flight because I overslept. Or I’ll be dead.

Oh wait, where’s Scott? I’ll give you one guess. Hint: he’s under a palm tree.

Right now Kate is in a deep sleep brought on by a crying, throwing-her-body-at-me meltdown. There’s a baby knife hidden in the elastic of her PJ pants.

My last real conversation with her went something like this:

Kate, lets get ready for bed.


Yes. It’s nighttime. You have school tomorrow.


I’m going to have to call your dad if you don’t listen to me.

DO IT. (stomps her foot and glares at me)

A glimpse of the day running errands with Kate:

  • Hallmark – It was drama at its finest.  Kate was in screaming, body on ground, kicking, chocolate throwing, card dumping mode. All because I wouldn’t get her a toy.
  • PetSmart – I was the creepy car in the parking lot with the rabid animal screaming and kicking the seats for 20 minutes. The animal also peed her pants on purpose. She hasn’t pulled that stunt in years. Geez, she could have asked me to use the pee spot the dogs use. All because Kate didn’t want to wear a seatbelt.
  • Chipolte – This isn’t Kate’s fault. But Kate left my phone on the table when she decided to stand in line with me. Someone tried to steal my phone. Well, if that doesn’t give me a heart attack right there I don’t know what will. Luckily, a kind man saw this and stopped the phone stealer before he took off. Thank you, sir.

You can assume the rest of my day with Kate went along these lines. I just wanted to write an official apology to the public.

I ended my day picking up the girls’ playroom. I found a note. It was the final push into mom depression.

Dear mom
To Mom! Warning! (3 strikes) Hey mom, you go in your room! Yea! That’s what I feel like! Stop yelling my name! From your not kid, Emma.

I’m going to Florida but I feel like a terrible mother. I’m trying my best. The ying and yang will get me every time.

Don’t hate me, Emma and Kate.

18 thoughts on “This is my Monday post.

  1. You should show off that tan to us!! What’s the sense of a tan if you can’t flaunt it???? 🙂 Sounds like a great weekend!! My son who has a world record fish would be so jealous to hear that you are going fishing and with world record holders!!! Try to leave the angst and guilt behind, you need this so that you can continue to be a good mama!


    1. Oh Emma is totally me. Her revenge is her written word!! If she gets in trouble by me, Scott will say “oh, you’re getting a note now.”


    1. She about broke my heart when I read that final punch. Although, the writer in me is damn proud she used the correct “your.” She’s a natural writer!


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