When we sent out a request for additional Orlando Moms Blog contributors, there were a variety of applications. Needless to say, Amy’s stood out. This is Amy’s (condensed) application. I immediately fell in love with her, and I have a pretty good feeling you will too!
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I’m a single mom with two girls, three cats, and a French bulldog named Squishy who is a hot mess of allergies, illnesses, breathing problems, an occasional bout of naughty potty habits, and who might just be my dad reincarnated in pooch form. My girls, of course, are brilliant, well-adjusted, smart, accomplished, and talented, in spite of my questionable parenting skills and limited means. Daffodil the girl cat trained herself to pee in the toilet, so the exceptionalism is clearly shared by EVERYONE in our family. 
I teach writing, and I love writing, and I do it or edit the writing of others all the time. But I think I might have always wanted to be an artist. I got the BA (French and English), the MA (English education), the Ph.D. (Texts and Technology), and all the gray hairs that reveal the fact that I’m closing in on 50 and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
I dabble in almost everything. I craft, I draw, I watch too much TV and can’t stand it when I miss a train wreck Housewives or Honey Boo Boo episode. I buy into trends, I waste money on gadgets (magic bullet, ready-set-go, potty patch, cake-pop makers, Pampered Chef, Thirty-One, Premiere jewelry, Longaberger baskets—you name it). I gravitate toward spiritual enlightenment, holistic methods for eating and medicating, and I enjoy the company of “hippies,” but I’m a miserable failure at all of that in spite of my best intentions. Mostly, I weigh too much and I’ve been on every diet in the world. And OF COURSE I AM the mom who interferes too much in her children’s school science projects, social studies dioramas, and personal essays.
This past summer, we moved into an “older” home that oozes with charm, except for the fact that all the beautiful glass vintage doorknobs keep falling off in our hands and another 90 year old lock on the upstairs bathroom door seized recently and locked Siggy in there for what seemed like twelve heart-wrenching, sweaty hours.
At the end of the day, there’s a method to all of my madness, even if it seems to others a strange and misguided one, and underneath it all is a desire to be a great mom—not just a good one. Whenever I get a little bit too cray cray, I just say:
Peace and Panama Beaver for President,
Love, Amy
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Amy’s first post debuts tomorrow. Believe me, you don’t want to miss it!
