Saturday, September 12, 2015

Hi. My Name is Morgan, and I'm a Morning Person

My eyes popped open at 6:45 this morning... on a Saturday. All it did was remind me of a recent conversation Hubby and I had- one that I think I have to finally admit as the truth.

Me: I think I'm a morning person.
Hubby: (bursts out laughing) Are you serious?
Me: What?
Hubby: Are you just now figuring that out?
Me: What's that supposed to mean?
Hubby: You've been a morning person for years now.
Me: (in complete denial, shaking my head) No I haven't been.
Hubby: (still laughing) Yes you have. And you definitely still are one.
Me: NO I'M NOT!! I HATE morning people. They're all perky and "Hello, morning! How amazing is this day?!" and shit. I am NOT a morning person. I don't want to be a morning person!
Hubby: (still laughing) Baby, you're a morning person. You wake up at the ass crack of dawn, make coffee and immediately start working. And, you can't stay up past 10 at night. You are a morning person.
Me: I just like the quiet in the morning, thank you. And I like my sleep at night.
Hubby: That makes you a morning person.
Me: Shut up!
Hubby: (still laughing) I can't believe you are just now figuring this out.
Me: Shut up!! I don't WANT to be a morning person, dammit!

I've fought it for days now, since our conversation. Every time I come up with a logical explanation,

Friday, September 4, 2015

Being Crazy Sucks

I believe we're all crazy. Crazy comes in different types, symptoms, quirks, whatever you want to call it, but we're all a little crazy in some way. People who have been diagnosed with a particular type of mental health disorder are crazy. People who haven't been diagnosed with a particular type of mental health disorder are crazy. We're all a little crazy, and I tend to use the word "crazy" as a blanket term. It's not meant to be offensive; it's meant to make you embrace and smile about a subject that normally causes tears.

If you don't agree with that statement above, or take offense to it, then it's probably best that you don't read further, because you won't understand my post, or how I view this sensitive subject. That's your disclaimer right there. Take it or leave it, it's up to you.

I was first officially diagnosed as crazy when I was 18 or 19. Adjustment Disorder is what the therapist called it, meaning I didn't adjust well to change. You graduate high school, get married a month later, become a military wife and move to a different state all in the process of one summer, and I'm sure you wouldn't adjust well to change, either. But, unlike most people, who can just bend and adapt to change, I had a nervous breakdown... at work... in a crowded restaurant where I was a waitress... with everyone watching. So I started my first stint in therapy (yes, stint, as in- I'm comparing it to jail... why? If you've been in therapy before, you know that some sessions feel like you were sentenced to attend), which lasted over a year.

Fast forward about 4 years or so, and I felt another breakdown coming on. I entered therapy again,

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

You Know You're Raising Your Teenager Daughter Right When...

We ventured to the local water park this past weekend, in an attempt to squeeze in a little bit more of our summer. When we got home, wet clothes came off, a shower was taken, and comfy clothes went on- that's just how it goes, right?
The questionable tank top.
And I thought the most offensive thing was
my crazy lazy day hair...

Well, since my girls (you know, the two below my chin) had been cooped up in a bathing suit all day, it was time to let them free. I showered, found a comfy pair of palazzo pants and a tank top with a built-in bra, and was very at-ease.

It just so happened that the tank top was from Victoria's Secret. Back in the day, when I was a tattoo artist who relied heavily on tips, my wardrobe was a bit... questionable. I purchased these tank tops then, with a plunging neckline, and it helped with my bottom line... feel me? Since leaving the tattooing world and becoming a work-at-home mom, those tank tops got lost in the back of my closet somewhere... until this past weekend.

I came downstairs, Hubby on the couch, The Girl playing on the computer. She turned around, took one look at me and said:

"Whoa, Mom. Put those away!" And she started giggling.

I stopped dead in my tracks, as I had no idea what she was talking about. She gestured to my chest
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