I'm wearing a pair of old joggers, a tight long sleeve, and a new zip-up. "Think the tag might still be on here." She says while looking down at her boob.

If you're a single, dating mama and you're reading this, please know I see you; and you're doing a fantastic job. Really wish they taught a class on this path of life in high school, but thank God they offered algebra.

I sweat through the dress I wore. Yep. Kept taking trips up to the restroom to unzip and cool off. Obviously my pits were toast. Two huge sweat circles. Then when I noticed the two smaller sweat circles forming underneath the boobs, I was like, "AHHH....hell no. So I walked all the way back to the cabin, sat naked in the bathroom, and blow-dried my stains of joy for a good 15 minutes or so until they were dry.

So instead of taking a right to go home, I cranked up the CCR and continued straight to the nearest Kwik Trip. Waiting in line at the gas station, it felt like I had a hanger in my mouth my smile was so big. I mean here I was, on a random Tuesday, still in my pajamas, holding a dozen donuts to spontaneously give to a dozen strangers. That's some fun energy.

Soph and I recently got back from Orlando. Apparently, when it's 59 degrees in Florida, everyone wears boots and parkas. Sure, it wasn't the ideal temp we were hoping for; but traveling from a state where everything is white, dead, and frozen - we thought it was perfect. What wasn't perfect was the first night we arrived.

This house was built around the 1940s and was incredibly charming. Was, incredibly charming. When you stood in front of it, you couldn't help but smile. It was kind of like meeting a super hot guy that made you believe there was potential to become something great, but he ends up being a total asshole after you walked inside and got to know him.

I am physically and mentally drained thinking and caring SO MUCH about everything I put in, on, and around my body. Everything from food, beverages, personal care products, deodorants, sunscreens, makeup, bug sprays, household items, cleaning supplies, laundry detergents, perfumes, lotions, and soaps. Even TAMPONS can be toxic.

I had a lot on my mind (which usually gets me into trouble), so I decided to open the sunroof and turn up some Seger. As I look to my right, I pass a U-Haul Center, and quickly following was a Harley Davidson. In a split second, I thought, "Are you crazy?" And not 2 seconds later I responded to myself, "Yep." So I immediately hung a right and turned around.

How many of you think it's important in life to learn new things? This weekend, I decided to cross something off of my bucket list. I learned how to ride a motorcycle. (Brings cup to lip and smiles) Quick side note here - I didn't tell anyone I was taking this course. I wanted to do something that wasn't based on anyone else's opinion. I wanted and decided to do something just for me.

I've noticed when I'm angry and the negative thoughts are extremely loud in my head, God won't talk to me. I know He's listening, but it's almost like He waits for the storm to calm before He offers any words of advice. I mean, I don't blame the guy. I wouldn't want to yell over and offer advice over a woman crying hysterically and not thinking rational thoughts either.

Google defines dumped as: to deposit or dispose of (garbage, waste, or unwanted material), typically in a careless or hurried way. Synonyms: throw out, discard, scrap, cast aside, ditch. I'm laughing out loud at the accuracy of this definition. But 5 days ago the mood was anything but funny. I'd like to give you 5 steps on how to navigate through being disposed of.

Google defines online dating as: the practice of searching for a romantic or sexual partner on the internet; typically via a dedicated website. Yes, my dream about bumping into a tall, dark, and handsome fellow at the Whole Foods isn't quite coming true. So I put myself back on the internet a few weeks ago. Hear my inner monologue as I look at the faces of single men.

My only challenge has been gracefully trying to get a hair untangled from the back of my bra - without unsnapping. (Long pause) Something else I enjoy - is aging. "Yes. I love that I'm getting older." Says the overjoyed optimist. And not just because of the self-appreciation and acceptance, but also because of the wiser perspective I've gained through experience. 

How many of you make mistakes? Yes. Good. All of you. And how many of you choose to dwell in them? Google defines dwell as: live in or at a specified place. Synonyms: reside, live, be settled, lodge, hang out, stay. I don't know about you, but dwelling in the mistakes I've made sure is not a pleasant place to live in or stay.

Carefully sipping on my latte, I can feel all 10 toes are quite cozy. As I stare off to my right, I'm watching the snow outside slowly clothe the naked trees. And I'm smiling thinking about a dream I had. It was one of those dreams you tell yourself you will remember in the morning. I met a boy. But he was anything but boyish.

I'm at the airport sitting at my gate. My shoes are on the ground to my left, and I'm wearing pants that are allowing me to comfortably sit cross-legged in my seat. To all of the women who travel in pencil skirts and stilettos - may the force be with you. I'm also trying not to breathe, as the guy sitting near me can't stop coughing. (Reaches for Thieves spray)

Years ago, running used to scare me. I'd call my mom crying from the locker room because we had to run the mile in gym class. I’d text her saying, “Help me. I luv u.” It was like I was going off to war. I’d always finish second to last, followed by the guy wearing Jnco jeans and a wallet chain. We've come a long way since then.

Wine usually isn't allowed in my bedroom. I have white sheets and the thought of a spill is giving me an aneurysm. But the cab is quite comforting this evening. I'm going to be honest with you. Below this sentence used to be six hundred and thirty-eight words describing my divorce, and my thoughts that went with it. I was ashamed. But I don't like to live in the past. So let's keep moving forward.

As I reach for the knife, Michael Jackson starts pouring out of my speaker. Taking the first chop, the head of the carrot flies right into the garbage sitting next to the counter. I subtly grab my crotch and shout, “Owww!” Twenty minutes later, my hair is in a high pony, my sweatshirt is lifeless on the floor, and my neighbors are probably wondering why they didn’t get an invite to the party.

The leaves outside my window are a warm yellow, and the wine I’m drinking is a deep red. I mean, real deep. Do you ever find yourself thinking, "I'll be happier when _________ ?" I'll be happier when I make more money. I'll be happy when I lose 10 pounds. I'll be happier when we get through the wedding. I'll be happy when I get through this divorce.