Author: Destiny Breaux

I wear all the hats, but one of the most time consuming is chauffeuring . Raising a teenage girl is hard work. Throw in a toddler and 5 month old and I’ve got a circus going on here. The reality is that I am on a roller coaster that doesn’t stop. One second, we are jamming singing our hearts out and the next, I’m taking a phone, strictly managing schedules or saying no to another social outing.

It’s hard out here for a momma.

I wrestle between “I want to be your friend” and “You deserve for me to be your mother.” But, phew, it’s hard. The conversations of phones, social media, and cars. Reality hits hard. I want her to know that I’m her biggest cheerleader and hype girl, but I’m also going to be the one to reel her in. Balance.

One of the biggest debates that I see on social media is often about phones. The question is generally centered around when is the appropriate time to give a phone. In my experience, people often want a definitive answer or a magic number. The truth is that there is no magic number. When it comes to phones and social media, we have to ask ourselves the hard questions and WE have to be accountable for our actions or lack thereof.

When we decided that this small bright rectangle, that gives her access to others and others access to her was appropriate, it of course came with rules for her. There were time curfews, limitations on who was could be added, hard rules against FaceTiming the opposite sex, and no deleting of messages just to name a few. More importantly though, the phone came with work for us. We had to (and still do) monitor who is added as contacts and the amount of time spent browsing or texting. The phone still comes in our room for study time. It still gets monitored for excessive use and distractions. It requires significant effort on our part to guide her in proper use and avoiding addictive behaviors.

The phone conversation isn’t new. I see it all the time. The conversation that I rarely see is the one about vehicles. For a long time, I couldn’t wait to see her drive. I had not thought about the freedom and trust that needed to exist with this privilege. Now, the conversation about a vehicle has shifted in our home. It’s no longer a fun conversation about what her dream car is and bee bopping around town. It’s actually become quite the opposite—it’s serious.

This shift is now centered around maturity and recognizing the privilege and responsibility that driving entails. The risk to the lives of others, consequences that could be fatal and can’t be undone. I now feel that it is my obligation to ensure that she understands the serious nature of driving and that she is mature enough to handle it with integrity.

In the last couple of months, I’ve had to ask myself what integrity looks like for us. What are our expectations and what will signify that those expectations are being met?

Last night, I finally really put those expectations into perspective. Here, it means that she recognizes the hierarchy and lives it out daily. This means that she puts God first, Family second, and school third. Living this out requires intentional action each day. It means planning for mass and confession each week. Devoting personal time to prayer. It means being honest in family interactions and expressing gratitude through actions. When you see someone struggling or needing an extra hand or a chore done, jumping in without being asked or prompted. It means planning your school work, studying in advance, attending tutoring, and sacrificing social time to get ahead in your studies.

I know this isn’t for everyone, but when I look back at my life, there are moments where I see my own detour when I was handed a set of keys. It’s easy to say “I’ll take it back” or “I’ll park the car” but once you get into the routine of no longer having to be the chauffeur, taking it back and parking it just aren’t as easy anymore. I no longer feel societal pressure to hand over a set of keys.

So, for us, I’ll still be wearing my chauffeur hat for a while because we still have a hierarchy to conquer….

God

Family

School

In the meantime, I ask St. Christopher’s protection over all your new drivers.

I know just reading that last word sent many of you into a frenzy. You probably questioned what the heck kind of craziness or nonsense I was about to spill out. The truth is that I do not know much about the topic. I do not want to know any more than I already do, but for some reason beyond my ability to comprehend I’m being forced into it.

I’ll start with this. I believe in God and because I believe in God I know there is light. I also acknowledge that darkness must also exist if I believe in the light. I’ve always accepted that there is darkness at surface level—there is a devil and Jesus died to save me from him; however, recently I’ve become more alert to the depths of darkness—the wager for my soul and my children’s.

Looking back at my life, I’ve always had a strong pull towards God. This desire to know him was deeply rooted in me even as a child. I can remember riding bikes in Lakeside with my friend Mallorie and making plans to go to the church at the front of the subdivision. I didn’t know anything about “organized” religion. I was not baptized. My parents didn’t regularly bring me to church or expose me to prayer or the Bible. I just wanted to go to a church and be with God. Whatever that can possibly mean as a preteen.

In eighth grade, I switched to a private school. It was during this year that I had to play catch up. While most of my peers could recite simple prayers such as the Our Father or Hail Mary, I had to learn them all. I can remember crying at night because I was so overwhelmed with how much I did not know.

Fast forward and I quickly caught up, was baptized, and was able to participate in the sacraments of the Catholic Mass. A beautiful Mass that I deeply love and appreciate.

It’s always been simple. Go to mass on Sunday’s. Say my prayers. Attend confession a few times a year. Love God.

It’s not that simple anymore though. It hasn’t been for a while. Recently, I’ve been forced to accept that if I believe in God. I must also acknowledge that Satan exist. I must also accept that there are demons. Guys, it’s no longer simple.

It’s become extremely complicated. I worry I sound like a crazy person. I worry that people won’t believe me. I worry that I am actually losing it.

I never shared this with anyone but Clint because I was quite frankly so embarrassed. I was ashamed that I would sound crazy and no one would ever believe me. I was also ashamed that maybe this was happening because I was a sinner. I was making mistake after mistake. I thought if I talk about this, I have to talk about how bad of a person I am. This means that I am a bad person. Over time, a little something in me has changed and I recognize that sometimes mustering up courage can help others so here goes…

This all started many years ago. I was sleeping one night and I woke up reciting the Hail Mary with sweat beads dripping down my face and back. I had been dreaming of a dark figure hovering over me. It was as if it wanted to “take me.” I truly believe the countless repetitious Hail Mary’s sent it away. At the time, I threw it up as a terrible nightmare and moved on.

Recently though, as we were preparing for Benji’s baptism, I began fervently praying for our family that would be joining us at mass. I was excited to have everyone there and I was specifically praying that the homily that day would light a fire in their hearts. I wanted Father to do the thing he does so well, inspire and motivate. I won’t lie. I left mass a little upset that day. The homily was about the occult. THE OCCULT guys. To be honest, I didn’t even know what that was at the time. I kept thinking this is the worst homily and at such a terrible time when my people needed his best. I didn’t care about his dream catchers or ouija boards. Those things have nothing to do with me.

Fast forward a few weeks, and one night as I was going to sleep I felt this overwhelming feeling of darkness again. It’s a gut wrenching feeling that takes your breath away. I immediately began sobbing and reciting St. Michael. All of my little people were asleep in my bed with me and it was as if I was shielding everyone in prayer. At one point I had to wake Clint up to pray with me because I didn’t feel like my prayer was strong enough. Again, I know I sound crazy, but the feeling was real. It took a hours before I finally was able to close my eyes and sleep that night.

It was then that I realized that the homily that I so desperately prayed would reach everyone else might have been meant for me. He was not just referring to ouija boards and dream catchers, he was sharing the complexities of the darkness and evil. I was humbled in the most beautiful way.

The darkness is not as surface level as I like to pretend. It’s far beyond my wildest imagination, but truthfully, I would prefer to remain ignorant to its depths as long as I can.

Just remember, that we are never truly privy to the war that’s raging for someone’s heart and soul. We may not see the demons they are battling—literally and figuratively. We may never know just how hard they are fighting to remain within the light…

With all my (looney) love,

Des

Listen, I know I’m the momma. I’m the protector, planner, magic maker, housekeeper, laundry lady, tutor, and chauffeur. I am the momma, but sometimes I wonder, am I really the momma? Who gave me these children and decided it was a good idea for me to take care of their every physical and emotional need? I wonder if I am actually capable of this grand task. Sometimes I still feel like a 16 year old girl navigating life for the first time.

This reality really stings on rough days. You know, the days where someone does something that I have to fix or provide consequences for. The really hard days where being your friend is back burner and making sure you are a good human comes first. On those days, my burden is heavy and my heart literally aches.

Between the 15 year old and the two year old, I am routinely pushed to my limitations. In one moment, I’m trying to get out the door and my toddler that is in the process of potty training poops his pants. He doesn’t just poop his pants—he tries to hide in the bathroom, lock the door, remove his bottoms himself and in that process gets it on the toilet, floors and walls. The next moment, my fifteen year old, who is the coolest, most helpful and compassionate, and generally most hardworking girl I know, does or says something that needs redirection.

In those tough moments, I don’t always choose “empathy over anger.” Sometimes, I blow up on everyone in my path and other times, I handle it with a little more grace. The truth is that I always regret those moments that are heated. I regret my response. I regret the anger I feel in my heart. I regret that the little people that I love the most see that part of me because I want them to constantly see an example of love and grace. But even more importantly, I want them to know that they can make mistakes without being crucified by the very earthly person that loves them most. I want them to be able to come to me with those mistakes—no hiding in the bathroom—so that I can help them navigate through them. They are still little humans. Little humans that deserve unwavering unconditional love.

I know that I can do and be better for them but it will take work. I have to learn to harness my own emotions in those moments—step away and say a prayer. I’m going to work on this because they deserve the best of me on the good days and the bad days. In the mean time, I’m asking God to fill my heart with patience because I know that I really am the parent and he really did trust me with them!

So, if you are feeling overwhelmed and less than perfect, here is to knowing you aren’t alone and we can continue to be a work in progress together in our parenting journey!

Love,

Des

Bedtime here is, quite frankly, a disaster. Honestly, thats putting it lightly. It’s a dumpster fire. My husband and I both dread it. I mean, we don’t dread the sleep. Actually, we desperately need it. We are both running off very little with a four month old. The low down is that our almost three year has co-slept with us since he was exclusively breastfed and side nursed. From the moment he was born, he wouldn’t allow us to put him in the bassinet. He never napped in his crib or a swing or the car seat. It was our bed or our arms and truthfully, neither of us thought it was the end of the world. We enjoy the snuggles and peaceful love, but there is an external pressure to get him sleeping alone. An external pressure from society that tells us that we are doing something wrong. A little voice that tells us that we need to put him in his bed by a certain time or we are failing him. We have been fighting this sleep thing with him for months and tonight we finally looked at each other and gave up. Why are we forcing him to go to sleep in the dark alone and afraid? After sitting in his room next to him for an hour with no sign of sleep, my husband did the easy thing—put him in our bed, and you know what? Within five minutes he was sound asleep. So, we have made the decision that the external pressure to get him out of our bed is no longer going to get to us. We are no longer fighting the good fight. We will put him next to us where he feels safe and loved to have the sweetest dreams. There will be no childhood trauma about bedtime. No stories about being left alone in the dark afraid of monsters.

And, tonight, after he was sleeping soundly next to me. I grabbed the baby and held him in my other arm. I put my hands over both of them and I prayed for both of them to be filled with desire to know and love God. I asked for the Holy Spirit to fill their little hearts and minds, and then, I said my favorite prayer over them…the Hail Holy Queen

Because you know what, the world is busy. It moves so fast. It expects so much of us. But at night when it’s dark and time feels a little slower, I can’t help but whisper a sweet little prayer over my cosleeping babies. 🩷

The topic of friendship seems to come up often between Clint and I. It’s one of those things that is just plain hard at any phase of life, but particularly in your thirty’s while managing a family and careers. It involves recognizing another’s emotions and love language. It requires a willingness to share your time and energy. It requires a certain vulnerability to authentically share our imperfections.

Clint’s experience with friendship varies from mine for obvious reasons. While he was raised in a stable home and attended the same school community from prek through high school, I did not have the same upbringing. I hopped around schools and lost my parents. My own mother chose an abusive man over me. As a result, I formed unhealthy attachments in survival mode. I lived in flight-or-fight mode. I never learned how to have healthy friendships, but more importantly, I never learned how to be a good friend. I have sat with this statement for a long time—I never learned how to be a good friend. This isn’t because I didn’t want to be a good friend, it’s because I didn’t have the capacity to give anything I didn’t possess. I didn’t have the ability to meet someone else’s needs when I could barely meet my own. How could I be kind to someone else when I was not kind to myself? How could I give you authenticity when I was not living it? How could I meet your love language when I didn’t recognize my own?

Over the years, I’ve begun sitting with this reality. I have met some of the most talented women along my journey. Women that laughed with me during really dark times and took me in when my life was in shambles. I am forever grateful for their friendship during that time in my life. Lessons were learned—good and bad. To them, (they know who they are) I apologize if you are one of them that I hurt. Hurt people hurt people. Please know that I see you, I admire your accomplishments, and I pray in gratitude for you.

But I have never had a ‘girl tribe.’ I’m not a part of the group text with a bunch of girlfriends and I’m not at dinner with a group of ladies on Thursday night for Margaritas. No shame to anyone who has this…to the contrary, I envy you. It’s beautiful that you have these connections. You are blessed to have found your people. This just has not been my reality.

As I have matured and encountered stability, my trauma response has slightly altered to be something different. Instead of unhealthy attachments, I began putting myself on an island. My island protected me. I have let far and few on it out of self preservation. The mentality has been that you can’t hurt me if I don’t let you on the island. It protects my feelings and my peace. This, too, is also unhealthy, I have to be willing to let other people love me and share in the good and bad.

But guys, it’s hard. It requires a deeper level of vulnerability that I teeter with. It requires putting myself out there only to be disappointed when there isn’t reciprocation. I’m ultimately left intrinsically questioning why I was not enough or thought of. Why was I left out? Did I say something wrong? Did I not contribute enough to the conversation or food? Was I unapproachable or come across as snobby? Did I lack self-awareness? I spiral down this rabbit hole and shut down again. I revert back to the safety and comfort of my island until I come to terms with the fact that the friendship that my heart longs for won’t be found on my own little island. So, I try again in vulnerability.

My heart desires friendship based on authenticity. Life has taught me that friendship based on proximity alone is not enough. Adult friendship requires energy, timing, and a connectedness that is more than merely working together, living in the same neighborhood, or attending the same school. I want to share in the joys and challenges of your life just as much as I want you to be a part of mine. I want to watch our kids grow up together. I want your advice when life gets hard. I want you to tell me when I’m being stubborn and narrow minded. I want you to share your perspective. I want to shop together and band wagon all the latest TikTok trends.

I know my people are out there. I know our people are out there. If you are craving friendship just as much as I am, here’s my open invitation to dinner, a work out, coffee, or bingo because there is room on the island for more than just me…

Recently, I have developed an affection towards Billy Joel. While tunes like Piano Man and Uptown Girl were frequent flyers on my playlist, especially for the harmonica in Piano Man, Vienna seems to be resonating with my heart in this season of life. When I listen to more than the words and truly listen to the message, I am reminded of how fragile life is. Straight to the point is the line that reads, “Slow down, you crazy child.” As a mother, I often find myself wrangling tasks—meals, baths, chauffeuring, cleaning, washing. Most days it’s easier to put off fun and play in the name of chores. It’s easier to “sit this adventure out” than it is to pack up the diapers, snacks, extra clothes, and load everyone up. It’s easier to stay in my safe space that has child locks on every cabinet and chimes on doors. It’s easier to decline the invitation than chase my toddler around a store or restaurant. Just like Billy implies, there is no fire that demands I hurry through endless chores and forget to enjoy the now.

My oldest is fifteen. She now has her learners permit to drive. When I put that into perspective, it’s bittersweet. We have two more summers before she’s off into the world to make a path for her own life. While I’ll be there every step of the way to guide and support her, I know that life with her as we know it will change. It will be quick in’s and outs. All the while accepting this reality, I look at my two year old and three month old and am reminded of how fast time with them will pass. I know I won’t be perfect, but I need to soak up every moment in playfulness with each of them, even the big girl. The magic exists in the small moments where we laugh until our bellies hurt and time stands still.

I now associate the word Vienna in the song with love and life. In my mind, the words are interchangeable… “When you realize Vienna (love/life) waits for you”

This is your reminder to slow down, if you can. To enjoy your spouse and babies. To plop down and play. To soak in every moment because before we know it, all that will be left of each of us will be the memories we leave behind. The life and love we left behind.

Remember, Vienna waits for you….

When you are raised in the South, specifically, Louisiana, there is something nostalgic about crossing this bridge. For my family, this bridge means summer vacation is on the horizon. It means that the salty air, soft sand, and the sound of crashing waves are a few short hours away. As a child, I always knew that when we crossed this bridge it meant we were about to make happy memories. As an adult, I still feel that childish giddiness because I know we are destined for new happy memories. In just a few short hours, we will drive along Scenic Highway while Jimmy Buffet blares through the radio. We will have left behind the Oak trees and Cypress trees and traded them in for tall Palms. There will be no counting of the ice creams and the Cajun turkey sandwiches will be a lunch time luxury. It’s a simple thing, really. A small landmark signifying the good times that lay ahead.