My Mouth is Glue

My Mouth is Glue

I am having a difficult time saying what I want to say today. I feel like I have tape over my mouth. I stretch my mouth to say something, to tell you a story and the glue pulls and tangles, not letting me tell you.


I think of David Sedaris. One of my favorite authors. He said at one point people that he wrote about or loved all criticized his work or were horrified he had told the truth.



Jon said last night “When you put yourself out there so honestly, you give people the opportunity to criticize.”

The one thing that makes it easier to put down my story is his total support.

We are a team. If he is on my side, I feel confident.

I have had some people tell me they are worried about this blog, what it will do to my children, how it will affect my life. It makes me think, of course it does. Makes me hurt and question myself. But I know, I swear I know in my gut I am doing the right thing. I want my son to know me, to really know me…I don’t want him sheltered from my truth or past. Granted I ain’t gonna go the PTA and make a speech, but it is his business, I pray it helps him. I broke the chains of my family and the way some of us handle the world when I got sober, I broke it again not too long ago when I started being truly honest. How can that be wrong? For me, for my husband, it can’t be.


Sittin on my front porch, Scott, my cat in a ball in front of me, I can hear the birds sing the most calming song. I am still grateful that I love to hear birds sing. I can recall not so long ago hating the sound. It hurt my head, reminding me that I wasn’t living. Now it is a precious alarm clock.

The tape is still on my mouth. God is in my ear. I am listening Lord. I ask HIM now….What do I say, where do I take this. I want to be of service, I want to make people laugh and feel normal..Where do I take this,,,,,

I let my heart and soul fly through the air, dropping off at different places in my memory. Good and Bad…Amazing family vacations in Florida, when we were all together..Bad trips to Florida when I thought Roger (step dad) might blow the hotel rooms up with anger…Trips to see my dad and memaw in Branson….Thinkin my dad was some God I couldn’t reach, wanting to do anything to have him see me…If I was maybe prettier, could sing, could be just a little louder, maybe he would come see us…Him not seeing me, me clinging to my step dad and crying, wondering why men were so bad, but wanting the bad ones at the same time….that drops me off in memories of my sweet brother, the way he would keep to himself, isolate almost, play video games, tune out hurt…I was so mad at him, I wanted him to hurt with me, but he survived in other ways. I wished I knew how he did that. I drop off again at my Granny’s and we are all out back playing and laughing. Aunt Bill is still there, watching…Always watching..Still watching. I even go by and see her in my mind now, in the clouds, hug her, wish her well. Tell her I know she is holding Tru until I get him.

I am not landing anywhere but the present. Right now, right here with Scott the cat and Dedo the dog whimpering in the back ground because he can hear me type. I love my animules.

Maybe that is Gods message for us today. Stay in the moment. I did pray for grace the other night, begging HIM to let me actually be graceful, to be present, to rest and get prepared for what is next. Sounds like I must have prayed with soul, cause it is working :)

Pray with soul and heart. He will answer you.

Signing off,

Dedo, Scott and Turts



I mean, I’m always happy if I have, like, humiliating asshole things that I did. I think: Oh good, that’s a good story. Because if you write about humiliating asshole things other people do it doesn’t work as well. I mean, you can, but you can get away with it better if you talk about what an asshole you are. It’s much easier.

DAVID SEDARIS, January Magazine, June 2000

My hands tend to be full enough dealing with people who hate me for who I am. Concentrate too hard on the millions of people who hate you for what you are and you’re likely to turn into one of those unkempt, sloppy dressers who sag beneath the weight of the two hundred political buttons they wear pinned to their coats and knapsacks.



As I read this blog 4 years later I am sitting right there. Now I have my 4 and 1 year old boys. We have been through so much as a family. We have kept doing the footwork no matter how difficult the day might be.