Featured Slider

The saddest post that ever is

It’s Mothers Day.  By the time this post is published it will probably be tomorrow.  My words won’t expire tomorrow or the day after or the next.  These feelings will continue for awhile. It is unfortunate. 



The current events are continuing at such a rapid speed that my digestion and comprehension of the news is non existent.  I have stopped listening.  If that makes me “ill informed” than so be it.

The people that I love are painful spaced 6 ft apart and in my digital view.  The space hurts my heart in ways that isolate me. I simply am not sure how much more I can take and I, certainly, am not alone in this. 

There is evil in this world.  People are dying and are fighting for lives. There is no cure for death.  We all have our beginning and end. It’s a horrible reality and a painful lesson that I seem to need to learn again and again but never really can. 

Suicide is up and mental stability is down. Everyone seems to be at their breaking point and here I sit, at my computer, staring at my computer screen.  Will my words break you more? Maybe my silence would be more beneficial. This blog, a place that I once shared my life and received comodery, friendship, peace, and made a living is now broken with my heart. If I am honest it has been for awhile but it’s worse.  Through Corona the internet has revealed that the vast majority of people that bring me comfort and love are nothing but different than me.  I feel alone. Yet, I know my friends do too.  This mutual feeling does not bring us together.  That is a first and I don’t quite know how to handle that. Churches are fighting, Politicians are being politicians, and people holding the line and on the front line are exhausted. 

All of the things that made me proud to be who I am are now just painful reminders of what divides me. It’s hard. It’s hard. For. Everyone.

I keep waiting for a leader to step up to show us the cool breeze that is unity in disasters like this...... I keep waiting for that leader to bring us together to sing by a campfire in perfect harmony. However, no one  is singing and the metaphorical guitar is startlingly out of tune. I want to shout, “Just sing people! Damn it. Feel better and sing so I can feel better!” Still no one sings but instead everyone seems to be screaming.  Screaming at each other and screaming in desperation. What is happening? 

Where is the leader?  

Who is he/she?  

I need to find her because everything is falling apart. 

Cape May County, I love you. I do.  You aren’t perfect and neither am I. I wish I could see through the political nonsense so I can understand which is the right way and which way is wrong. 

My words are pointless and this post is a waste of time.  Maybe tomorrow I will understand what my roll is in fixing this mess. I guess I have hope but Until then...... this sucks. 🤷‍♀️



Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be able to give them back......

(I wrote this in 2007. But, I could have written it today because someone just said this to me yesterday.)








The most common response I get to being a foster mom is....


.....”I wouldn’t be able to give them back”


....I smile and I am curious if the comment is in admiration or disgust of my character. What kind of response can I give to that common wonder? So I say nothing. Just smile. 


What I want to say is ....


that I I am not able to give them back.  I struggle with it every second of every day of every year and some moments I do not know if I will make it to the next. I suffer painfully and suffer in quiet. I have nothing.  I have no possessions left behind for they usually came with little.  I have no scars on my person because I did not carry them in me for 9 months. I am helpless in easing my own mourning because even though they have left my home they have in absolutely every way remained in my heart.  I think of them often.  They are alive.  They are where they need to be.  I shouldn’t be crying.  I should be happy? My heart is confused.


I pray for them daily.  I repetitively give them to God, my worries extinguished but just for a moment.  A moment till I run into a memory like an innocent lamb on a race course.  It’s awful.  I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I still subject myself to it over and over again because then I remember why foster moms are foster moms in the first place. 


Every child is worth all the love I have to give and even more. 


My Bucket List

Since that last post about my life, blogging, and my story not being over I decided to let myself dream just a little more.  The point of a bucket list, for me, is definitely not to complete each item but to never have an empty bucket, to always be searching for the wonderful things this world has to offer, and to continue learning and growing into the best person I can be.  Here is my updated list.


1. Learn to hula hoop with 🔥 fire.
2. Learn how to speak amazon and have a thriving business with online sales.
3. Become a photographer
4. Learn how to play the Charlie Brown Song on the piano
5. Stand inside a telephone booth, see Big Ben, and walk across Abby Road in London.
6. Teach a hula hoop fitness class on the beach.
7. Acquire a kick 🦵 awesome ☕️ tea collection with fine china tea cups.
8. Write a book to inspire others to live fully, outloud and provoke others to consider being a foster parent.
9. Learn how to knee hoop
10. Read 100 books in 365 days.


Blogs are so weird

Back in 2004, I started a blog.  My grandmother was a writer. Blogs seemed like a different and exciting adventure so I bit. I took a bite of online journaling.  

It wasn’t cool then.  I am certain of this.  But, as I pushed publish after every “goodbye”, or every “hello”, or every “what was I thinking” moment, every single awesome adventure in mothering, in wifing, in foster mothering, in friending, in nonprofit starting, I got more confident in who God was creating me to be.  In the beginning my faith was so strong.  I prayed over entries and I trusted the process.  Writing helped me.

I learned early on in my life that if something helps you to take it. Don’t fight it. I figured life is hard so if something MIGHT make it easier try it. Oils, chiropractor, gym membership, vegetarian cooking.....and of course blogging...... if it makes it easier than JUST SAY YES to it all. So I did. And off we went. On adventures provoked just by my heart being poured out onto the keys. 

But saying yes eventually wasn’t that smart.  My purpose was lost and some how blogging became a career.  (A fun career but still somewhere I needed to be.  That somewhere usually meant I had to pack a suitcase, make sure my roots were the appropriate color, outfit coordinated for Instagram, have to be at the airport, climb through security, sit and wait, is my plane delayed, are the boys fed at home, is my husband letting them watch scary moves???? kind of somewhere.  It was fun and often exhilarating and I did it while often getting paid at the same exact time.  But I never once in all of my time on the road or in the air truly felt it to be rewarding. Maybe a little bit but it was seldom.  I blogged for over 10 years of my life and I could not describe it as rewarding????? 

With the realization of this and the tumor on the edge of being discovered I went to my online server and deleted my sites.  All of my posts.  All of my blogs.  All of my pictures.....GONE! I was broken.  The blog wasn’t what it was anymore.  My body was hardly working.  I wrote here....the only spot I really truly have anymore that I was done blogging.  No one saw it.  Everyone had left. I thought I was saying goodbye  I meant it.  I truly thought my story was ending.   

Then in September 2017 they found the tumor. Behind my eyes, encasing glands, and growing.  Evidently I did have a story to tell????  God said yes.

Recently I have written on Facebook but I worry about the algorithms and the things I can’t control and my message being sent to someone that has no desire to see it.  Here seems safer for me to write and here it seems quieter.  It seems cleaner.  It seems more me. (Tho I am not sure at all if the geeky side is ok with any of the way this platform is designed but whatever....I release the need to control all of the things)

So here I will be.  I will write where I need to Facebook one day and here the next. Those who desire will know where to find me.  Those who want to comment can.  

But I will write for me. Seldom edited!

I write so I can process my thoughts and preserve my memories.  I will write about my highs and my lows.  I will write to my children and about them.  I will write so I can remember.  

 Openly.  

Telling my story. Because evidently it’s not finished. :) and I am ok with this.