Welcome to my own source of personal therapy.
This blog is an outlet for the inner workings of my mind, but is also a story of how you can make anything out of your life regardless of your upbringing or circumstances. You have to persevere and want more.
I made this life I have today, with a loving and ridiculous family who makes every trip around the sun an interesting one. With each step taking me closer to the type of success I dream about. I shouldn’t have what I have, but I do because I wasn’t willing to take less.
My blog is to share some of how I got here and how I keep going places. It’s a place to share struggles and realness. A place to share the absurdity that is being a mom.
Sometimes I overshare in my posts. I curse and give gory details about vaginas and grossness that comes with men and raising kids. But I also talk about spirituality, dealing with your babies not being babies anymore.
In here, I talk about what real life really is.
I’m not writing this blog, Raising the Curtins, to be popular or make boatloads of cash. That would be wonderful, but this blog has other purposes. To give me therapy so I stay somewhat sane, to leave a digital legacy for my children, and to share what’s real in life so others feel a connection through real life, not filters.
You know those moments in your life, when you’re not sure if you are excited or sad? Like when you can’t wait for your wedding, but mid-way through the ceremony, you realize you’ve been waiting a long time for this day, and it’s almost over? And, you get a little sad even though you are in the middle of something really happy?
That’s kind of what I felt like this week when Gianna finally got her period.
Scarlett had her 8th birthday party this past weekend. I was relieved to find a local music studio that offered birthday parties. Scarlett’s ability to hang on to disappointment is impressive. And, she tends to get to a level of pissed-off that I just can’t handle without a solid 8 hours sleep or a jug glass of wine.
I am a solid, everyday, 3-cups-of-coffee-drinker person. I’m not addicted to it, just like I’m not addicted to alcohol dammit. I just really like to make myself a drink. It’s the ritual of it that makes me happy. Seriously.
I cringed the first time I thought of the idea of shoving a plastic cup in my vagina. But stay with me ladies. I’ve never raved about a tampon or a pad. But I am dedicating a page on my blog towards the menstrual cup. So at least humor me and read. I wouldn’t be eating ketchup or drinking anything red either until maybe an hour after reading this post. Just for those of you with a strong gag reflex.
It seems a bit redundant to have an about me page since this whole damn blog is a catalog of my life but, for consistency, I decided to create a …
Meet Vince. My bagger from Giant Eagle that I met at the prime age of 16. Like when all the Disney Princesses fall in love, right? The man who finally …
If you love sarcasm, unfiltered motherhood stories, and the occasional chaos of my life (think: a mind that never stops over-analyzing everything. single. thing., parenting 4 daughters whose age ranges are ridiculous, and being married to an asshole)…you’re in luck.
Whether you're in the carline, folding laundry, or taking an extra long time on the toilet, throw on my audio files and pretend we're having a large glass of wine together and getting real. Because sometimes, you just need a voice in your ear telling you all the crazy shit about a middle aged woman and her family.
SUBSCRIBE & LISTEN HERE
