Gettin' Your Groove Back

i hate valentine's day

2/14/2018

I have not blogged in many moons. I thought I was saving it for a certain time, but felt a post stuck in my throat this morning.

Valentine’s Day

one of my least favorite holidays.

I started the morning off in a fuss.

I shall digress.

Yesterday I was at home from work with the stomach bug—I had diarrhea and was throwing up, even water. I did not want to use a sick day, since I always go over on days. Last semester when I used all my absences, I was charged $222 per day I missed. My last pay check in December of 2017 was docked over $900 for sick days.

Life happens; kids get sick (or lice), I get sick, sometimes we just need a recovery day as teachers. So I have really been trying to save my days, especially with this thing I haven’t told y’all about coming up… I will be missing lots of days.

Anyways, after being sick yesterday, I fell asleep early, around 8:30 p.m. (to my boyfriend playing with my hair like the God he is) and woke up around 11:30 p.m. to Jeremiah hopping up. He is a wakeful sleeper, so I thought he was going to the bathroom.

But no. He’d fallen asleep not too long after I had, without eating dinner.

It was a must. At 11:30 p.m. he had to make his ground beef tacos.

I love tacos
like this.

He does, as well. Just the other night he fired up the grill, made chicken, and sliced it for fresh tacos. We had avocado, grilled onions and bell pepper, fresh onions and cilantro, limes, and fresh salsa. And cheese, but I don’t like cheese.

Those were good tacos.

Ground beef tacos, made with a taco seasoning pack, in hard shells… not good tacos.

However, he made these tacos. In the middle of the night. Since I had been sick, I felt repulsed at even the thought of these fake ass tacos.

After about 30 minutes, I checked on him via text, because I could not fall back asleep in bed alone. More so because I knew he was making those tacos and I was secretly starving. (I had eaten cucumbers with lemon juice on them for dinner).

He first of all, took forever to answer me, but knowing my man, he would respond to me via Twitter.

I was correct he responded, and even made a grand appearance in the room letting me know he was almost done. (I think there was a FaceTime in there, of me rushing him back to bed). He told me he would hurry and eat, told me I was cute, and asked if I wanted some.

I hate fake tacos, so no thank you, darling.

He kissed my forehead (which is horribly broken out right now, ew) and left.

I gave in, about 12:30 a.m. and headed to the living room.
Do not forget, that I had the stomach bug and do not like fake tacos, so I sliced half of a cucumber, squeezed half of a lemon on it, and sprinkled too much salt on it (Tiger hates how much salt I use on things). I do not think he knows I put too much salt on them for dramatics since I couldn’t eat tacos and he dislikes it so much.

I sat and ate about half of my cucumbers and I caved.

I ate two of his tacos.

Tortillas, ground beef (that was spicy), onions, cilantro, and they were good. I could not deny that they were so good, even though I hate fake tacos.

Anyways, he kept eating, and watched The Regular Show, and downed some Corona, and we were finally back to bed around 1:00 a.m.

He rubbed my head until I fell asleep again. (Yes, I am blessed).

I woke up abruptly around 4:00 a.m. I heard voices and sat up looking around. I reached to wake Jeremiah, and there he was, asleep, with anime playing on his phone from Netflix. I turned it off, and he woke up.

We were back asleep by 4:30 a.m.

Please, bask in my alarm set up. I made Tiger turn off my 5:30 a.m. because first of all, I knew I wasn’t going to make it up in an hour.

I finally crawled out of bed at 6:46 a.m. I am supposed to be leaving with the girls for school by 7:20-7:25 a.m. Jizelle forgot to do her homework. It was math. Multiplication, but not regular multiplication memorization like we did. There’s boxes, and games, and triangles, and weird things that I know nothing about. I handed this off for Tiger to do.

I fussed at the kids, and was walking around in pajamas and an oversized shirt (with no bra) until around 7:20 a.m.

I yelled at Jizelle that she had 5 minutes to finish her homework. Spent time bitching and moaning to Tiger about how annoyed, tired, and sick I had been. Left with an attitude, told him I love him, he said “and I love you, baby girl,” and I responded, “yeah yeah I am sure you do,” with an attitude. (I know he does, though, obviously).

Moral of the story, I woke up in a bad mood because it is Valentine’s day and I was running late and bitched at my boyfriend.

Now back to the whole moral of the story, Valentine’s Day often feels like a tedious chore. Our society spends much time revolving around what we ought to do to show our love. There are the posts, weaving between social media platforms to make sure all your followers from various mediums see the love you all share. Now presents. Birthday, Christmas, New Year’s Kiss Post, Valentine’s Day…

This past year (in this current relationship) I came to an agreement with Tiger that we would not buy presents for our Birthday’s which are November 21 and 23, Christmas, and Valentine’s Day. We compromised for birthday’s, saying we would but one thing each, but it had to be $20 or less. We both pretty much got the perfect gifts for one another, for less than $20 and it was the most satisfying gift I’d received, like ever.

On the grand scale of life, I am certain if you know Jeremiah or I, you see a different type of happiness than we’ve previously had with past relationships. We know this, friends know this, family know this. While we both have shared moments of life from social media where we looked so happy, and of course, there is good moments with people even once a relationship ends.

However, it is one of my most warming feelings to see the joy beam from Jeremiah’s face from the warmth he gets from me.

Aside from such, he gives me life.

Sheer, utter, and real life.

Amongst my bitchy morning spells, where I am running about the house stressed, I forget that I am beyond blessed to have Jeremiah.

I cannot begin to count the ways, but I shall make a lousy attempt to do so.

For reminding me that I do not hate fake tacos
For going to church with me for the first time since you were little (and for praying out loud at night time, the nights I request so).
For being a better chef than I am and feeding me exquisite meals
For sharing Becky and JR with me and my children
For never judging me while I eat Jolly Time popcorn in the middle of the night
For volunteering at church for Trunk-Or-Treating and Thanksgiving Food Drive (which is so special because it’s a blend of Battery Creek and Decibel)
For helping with Canon, so so much while I am at work, and allowing him to think you are Spiderman (for real)
For handling most of the discipline with Taliyah, Presley, and Canon
For babying Jizzy, because I forget to so often since she’s the oldest
For always making sure I get home safely after a night on the town
For spending so much time at home with me, and not ditching me for the boys, like ever (accept that one time I pushed you out of the house to hang out with Manning)
For mastering the grill (even though the fire is my job, still)
For smiling with little eyes and big gums in our pictures
For incorporating hot tea into your life
For acquiring a schedule and better bed time routines because I detest sleeping in
For using the Walmart grocery app to shop with me (and pretending you are as hype about it as me)
For supporting my crazy surrogacy dream and taking it as our journey
For readying yourself for next school year and a houseful of four children full time
For rubbing my back and playing with my hair and tucking me in every night
For playing lots of Clash of Clans and watching documentaries (and never entertaining bitches)
For making me secure and content and safe in our relationship (all days; even ones that I am crying that I will get fat when I am pregnant or am a brat for no reason)
For letting me talk SO damn much. SO much, about Creek and TCL and students and baby daddy drama and Anglo Saxon’s and the Tudor Era and a billion other random topics that I talk way too much about).
For always bragging about how lucky you are to have me and how hot I am and how intelligent I am with my Master’s degree and how well I write and how nice my heart is (this really means a lot)
For being so cute when you say, “our card,” when you use our shared bank account
For loving me better than you have ever loved another lady (actually for learning that I am the first woman you’ve ever loved) and regretting ever looking/touching/talking to another girl before me (I forgive you for the mistake)
For literally being the sweetest boy, encouraging, understanding, apologizing, and growing
For always knowing to the exact day of how long we have been dating (see proof below)
For changing so very many things in your life to merge with me, and live our life
For thinking I am pretty without makeup and loving how my breath smells even when I skip brushing my teeth
For keeping track of all of the proof that we should have been together since long ago, at least back in 2015 when we began running into each other but were trapped with lame ex lovers and wouldn’t speak (OR PLOT TWIST, ME AND TIGER HAVE SECRETLY BEEN CHEATING ON OUR EXES SINCE 2015 AND FINALLY BOTH WERE SINGLE AND READY TO GIVE US A TRY… (We have heard him and Canon look alike) that was a joke, maybe.

All in all, that’s the real VALENTINE’S DAY gift

Knowing that I know I am the only woman your eyes done seen, last one your lips will touch, first one to hear your secrets and dance with your demons, and favorite one to row through all storms with (even if there’s a hole in the boat and one paddle).
I appreciate you, and I think you know this.

You are the gift. Your love is every single thing.

Love, hugs, and tons of kisses.
XoXo
Ty

0 Comments

One Divorce, Two Baby Daddies, Three Children (and teaching with a Master's Degree).

5/11/2017

0 Comments

Side Note: This is a personal story that I've submitted to join a blogging team. It's long. Sorry.

I know many people have been curious about bits and pieces of my life, so I'm sure many of you will read it all!

Nosey-ness is in our Beaufort blood.

It seems as if the wee age of eighteen wasn’t too long ago, right? I was one of those who walked the stage at high school graduation with a baby bump. I was in love with a sweet talking, motorcycle riding, salsa dancing, soccer player. Oh, he was the man of my dreams. Not even a month after turning eighteen, I delivered my first child, Jizelle. Ironically enough, now that I am looking back, she is the rearing force of my post-secondary education. My mom was alright—but I wanted to be amazing, awesome, freaking astounding.

Turns out, Señor Salsa Dancer was not the man of my dreams. (I know, we were eighteen, how could I have been wrong?). He even had proposed to me, while having another girl friend. That ring was living proof that he was ready to be devoted to me, and come home to his family, in our two bedroom shack every night—or not. I woke up one day, signed a new lease, and left.

I spent my days in college classes, majoring in English. By night, I was working as a cocktail waitress (aka shot girl) or handling the door at some local bars and clubs. The money was quick and easy—I made more then, at the bars, than I do now teaching high school English. Shock, right?

Getting paid to be pretty and amicable was easy enough.

When Jizelle was two, I met the second man of my dreams. He was a firefighter in the Marine Corps and the most tender and compassionate soul I’ve ever met. We met in August of 2011 and were married by the end of December, that same year.

I know, I know.

I have always been quite spontaneous and horridly impulSive. It's a trend I am still trying to conquer!

During the time of my marriage, my husband was always great. Hell, even more than great. He allowed me to engulf myself into my English studies and back away from working. We spent nearly four years married, and I had my second child in September of 2012, another girl, Presley. Then delivered my third child not too long after, in July of 2014.

It is quite remarkable, now in 2017, I have begun calculating all of the mistakes I made in our marriage, that guided us straight to the ledge.

When I say he was a good guy, he was the best guy.
Even with my mistakes, flaws, and controlling ways, he still seemed to be patient, empathetic, and never teetered.
I mean, friends would gush about their guy, how he couldn’t keep it in his pants, texted other girls, gave the silent treatment—endless things.
I treated my husband worse than any could imagine, and he never lost love and hope for me.

if we are being COMPLETELY honest, i pushed him over the ledge

I rushed into a marriage.
I know this now. I get it. I am fully aware that since I did not have the most stable and positive family aspect growing up as a child, and swept a failed household with my high school boo under the rug, my heart craved a family. I wanted a sense of completeness. I needed wholeness. I needed a family, a good husband, a degree, and a career to prove to myself that indeed was a worthy woman.

I finished my Bachelor’s in 2013 and my Master’s in 2015. I have been teaching full time since 2014. From the outside, I was an inspiration, an over-comer, and such a nice girl.

Truthfully, I was buried under mounds of unhealed wounds. I continued to ruin that poor man, until I had the gall to admit I could not handle the marriage.

In February of 2015, I’d had it. I told him I was moving out. I couldn’t stand living with him. Looking at him. Sleeping next to him. Each day, I had a new reason why or a one more thing for him to change.

Now looking back, it should have been me gathering books, articles, and self-help guides to be a better wife
I should have been sprawled on the alter, begging the Lord for mercy and healing.
No, thanks!

I packed up, got an overpriced 2-bedroom apartment less than 15 minutes from the house we owned, and left (again). Those days were the most sovereign of my life. The silence, small space, and time alone made me beam with joy.

People noticed a glow, and questioned if I was pregnant again!
“No, ma’am,” I’d say, “I’ve just left my husband!” Sorry, not sorry.

So, I’d spent six months alone, February to August of 2015. My husband had still wanted to go on dates from time-to-time.

I agreed.
One, free food is great.
Two, I didn’t want to look like a bitch and decline the offer.
As if moving out wasn’t bad enough, I know.

Towards August, I was like:
wow, we have been getting along so great, maybe it’s time I move home and commit to making this work for the kids. I can’t actually get a divorce without giving our marriage a try just one more time.

In comes that evil impulsiveness, I met with him and told him I wanted to move back home. Within a week, we were moving my things back home. I found somebody to take over my lease, and it was done.

I was home. Oh, home sweet home.

Actually not. As soon as I moved back home, I converted back into the evil woman I’d once been. Bitter. Belittling. Bitch, there, I said it.

Perfect timing, of course, my husband was offered a job near his hometown in Baltimore, MD (we were living in my hometown in South Carolina, at the time). He was ecstatic. Yay, we can move near my family and friends, and the kids can play in the snow, and we can go to Ravens games. And our son can play lacrosse. Yay, yay, yay.

All the while, I’m sitting here looking like Kimberly "Sweet Brown" Wilkins...

P.S. That’s the woman famous for the “ain’t nobody got time for that” news interview.

I played the good-girl and said I would move. However, I’m sure as you’re reading this, that doesn’t seem like my style. So, after four months of cohabitating (and losing myself all over again), I declared we were officially done. He was a great guy, but not my guy. I was a good girl, at heart, but I knew I would never be his woman.

I moved into a three-bedroom house in November of 2015. He officially accepted the job up North. We put out house on the market and It sold in a little over a week. On Christmas day, we opened presents, he kissed our kids goodbye, and with his truck loaded to the brim, he left for his parents’ house in Baltimore.

I exhaled the moment he pulled out of my driveway. Bye, bruh.

Of course, now that it’s been over two years since our initial separation, and a year and a half since he moved, I can take the blame.

I didn’t realize this while we were married, no, defiantly not.

My parents never quite taught me things I needed to know to be in a healthy marriage. It seems I was pretty much free to do what I want, say what I want, and act how I wanted my whole life—and until I was married, it never posed a significant issue. It landed me an internship, jobs, two degrees, and ultimately, the wherewithal to raise three children on my own. Heck, I’ve even gotten published from some things I have mustered up at a local coffee shop.

Learning who you are before accumulating children and serious relationships is vital.

I preach to my students, be single, have fun, learn who you are. I can never say I wish things were different, because, well, my kids.

Even the slightest difference in my past, would have led to me not having them. And my sweet babies are everything important on this planet. So, I’ve decided my sporadic decisions and nontraditional happenings were supposed to happen just this way.

My actions serve as a model of what not to do for women. As a guide of what to do if things do not go as planned for young ladies who may have a similar story to mine.

I am only twenty-six. I’ve been divorced. I’ve Graduated with a Bachelor’s in English and a Master’s in Education. I’ve adjusted to being a single mom. I’ve gotten used to working numerous jobs—full time teaching as my primary income, even though it isn’t near enough. Taking on homebound students to supplement pay. Working as an adjunct professor at the local technical college. Picking up journalism for a local agency. Building a small business from scratch, though I barely have two nickels jiggle in my pocket, as it. Paying out of pocket for therapy to heal the wicked woman I have buried inside. Seeking redemption in His name (faith is a new journey).

I'm tired, don't try this at home, kids.

Take your time.

Never lose focus of your goals.

Be an eager learner—read, write, research, seek professional help.

Be nice to people, it’s free.

Listen earnestly to those who need an ear.

Be unapologetic of who you are, but that’s not to say that its acceptable to be unapologetic for scornful words and unjust roles in relationships with your significant other, family, or friends.

And lastly, (definitely not the least), get to know what makes your own soul smile and your heart heal.

PSS-- I am still working on that last part.

Aim for progress, y'all.
Not perfection.
Hugs, Kisses, and all the love.
Cheers,
Ty Snowden

0 Comments

The exhale I released when my husband left.

1/3/2016

0 Comments

Ironically enough, my first blog post was three months ago, when I had a rough night and had convinced myself that my marriage was over. Well, it is now 2016, and I've finally dug up the logins (after the billion failed attempts and excessive password resets) with confirmation that my poutey blog post from three months prior, is indeed reality.

My husband moved on Christmas. We opened presents with our three littles. I made breakfast-- bacon and eggs. He set up the WiiU and the kid's new BlueRay player. And after Canon went down for a nap, I lit a fire log, and watched my husband cry as he stood over the girls playing with their new goodies from St. Nick. I cried watching him cry-- it was one of those throat closing moments, where swallowing even becomes a lost function.

I walked him to his truck, and he gave my forehead the last kiss it would ever receive in South Carolina. I had already moved out of our home-- it was listed less than a week before it went under contract for full price (YAS) and I'd settled into my new three bedroom rental out on the island. He continued to cry, but my tears had seized. He drove away, and headed to his hometown of Baltimore, Maryland.

My exhale could have demolished even the three little pigs so-stable brick house. I felt relieved.

Horrible, I know. Oh, so horrible. I feel the embarrassment burning my face as my thumbs punch away on this iPhone.

I was relived that my husband left me with our three children, on Christmas Day. It wasn't spur of the moment. We'd found out he had an interview for the job in September. He nails interviews, and just so happens to be one of those irritatingly likable men. Everybody oozes at his 6' 2" bundle of charisma (do I sound jealous?). In October, we found out he had been selected for a job, and was placed at Washinton DC. This is an enormous opportunity-- Firefighting for the Department of Defense comes with opportunities civilian fire departments here in our small town could never provide. I was ecstatic that he was given such an opportunity-- it's really quite flattering to be offered a position.

I chose to not go.

Yes, that's right. I flat out refused to go-- not initially, of course. I played the good wife role. I looked into real estate in Baltimore (where my darling in-laws reside, hear my snark?) and even applied and interviewed for teaching positions. When I paused and thought of the reality of the situation, I could not go.

After our first separation, we cohabitated in August and the job stampeded us in Septemebr; I could not commit to leaving my hometown, my job (which has me in the middle of my teaching certification program), and take the leap of faith.

Months have come and gone since I knew my husband and I were too tired to keep fighting for our marriage. I am finally able to wholeheartedly admit, I drug the marriage out because I've never failed at anything. Tests here and there, whatever. But never a "life changing" failure. I had to fix it, beat it, win at it-- until I just didn't. And as simple as I can put it, that is how I exhaled when my husband left me for Maryland.

I can now shrug my shoulders and admit clinging on for fear of failure is complete rubbish. It is an idiotic remedy that drowns me further in the failure. Perhaps today is a chipper day; maybe I'll miss him after it sinks in (probably, like no). I love my husband (or husband that I'm separated from) but, really am so ready for the journey to being a person for myself and not squeezing into a mold that crumbles my soul.

I'm ready to throat punch the challenges to come with the three littles, teaching second semester seniors their dose of Brit. Lit., and single life-- which I know not a thing about.

0 Comments

The Countdown

10/9/2015

0 Comments

This is the night my husband proposed to me. It was cliche', a Christmas proposal, that I knew was coming, as many Marine Corps marriages occur. I was so vibrant, so happy, so in love.

It's a shame that here, nearly four years of marriage, and two children later, we know it's time to part. But haven't we known that for a while? Maybe, yes. (I lied). Totally, yes. We have fought, and clinged to all hope, separated for 6 moths to regain the love, come back together, and now we are in the crash and burn.

One thing I have struggled with in accepting it was time to move on, was how do I know it is time to move on? I know I love this man, but with all certainty, I have grown to acknowledge, I will never provide him with the love he requires to remain satisfied in a marriage. Now, that being said, I know (better than most woman) that my husband loves me. He is a great man, a wonderful father, and can love deeper and display emotion better than anybody I know. Accepting that I am not his lady, was tough, until, finally I knew that for he and I both to be happy, it was time we acknowledged separate lives, will lead us to happiness once again.

Here are the five things I needed to accept, before knowing my marriage was over.

Alone is okay: After my husband and I separated, I had six months alone. We had sleepovers, and dinner dates, sure. But that gut wrenching feeling of alone was too much to bare.I was overwhelmed with emotions of longing for my husband, but soon after recohabitating, I realized the feeling was loneliness; which was consequently misjudged for longing. Know if you are missing your significant other, or if you are not use to the emptiness filling your new space.
Not for the kids: I remember how smooth my life felt. Was I more busy, of course, but it was like eating a rich piece of chocolate cake far too quickly. I would be on the go, non-stop. But that delicious feeling of the minimal arguing was divine. My children were happy. They split time with my husband and I, and adjusted well. It was just last week, while looking at old Instagram photos, my three year old began crying. She said, "I wanna go mom house," and by mom's house, she meant the apartment we lived in without her daddy. That speaks volumes.
Pre-Jealous Jitters: One of my husbands struggles (because he is the lover) is imagining somebody else, taking his place. The reason to stay cannot be "I can't picture somebody else being with you/living with you/having sex with you." Creating a sense of urgency to fix a problem over self-created jealous feelings, will defiantly not lead to saving a broken marriage.
Thou Shalt Not Die: I will not starve to death. I will not be homeless. I will not see my children suffer. These, were unrealistic pleas that shook me wild. I needed to convince myself that I was a silly little girl,who could not settle with a mediocre marriage, because I was afraid of the struggle. As parents of three, on teacher and firefighter salary, we are barley clawing into the middle class. The fear I feel when calculating rent, daycare, car payment, bills, groceries, diapers/wipes, gas, etc. is crippling. Calculations alone would corner me into a state of optimism, solely based upon the fact of being fearful to be tight on money as a single mother of three. That, y'all, is the most unjust, and selfish point of view that I could have possibly concluded. It leaves my husband, hooked, thinking there was progress to be made with me, when, in actuality, the fear of fiances forced me to go frolicking around the house.

0 Comments