Mother of the Year.

Well, I was gonna wait ’til the end of the week to post this blog…I thought that, certainly, I would have some more meat for my story telling – Then I thought to myself, “Self, that is just WRONG.” So, here goes! I’d like to share with y’all one of my most recent Mother of the Year award winning moments.

Maggie’s fish died. It was just over a month old, by the Moore household standard of fish age, that is. The fish is born when it’s exchanged for currency. Boom. SO…The fish died. Being the wonderful mother that I am, I decided to dispose of the deceased before my darling child’s last memory of it was…well, you know, dead on the bottom of the bowl…covered in some weird whitish slime. Okay, now you have a visual. So, I’m up at the buttcrack, cleaning the bowl and what not and what have you…a lovely start to my day – The nearest toilet was too many steps away, so – What’s a woman, cleaning out a dead fish’s tank to do? Use her brain. That’s what. So, I used my brain and disposed of the sucker…I garbage disposed poor, sweet, dead, Mollie the Fish. 

I thought that I had dodged the bullet on explaining my fish disposal method. I did not. Two weeks after Mollie passed, Maggie saunters into the kitchen to gaze at her memorial bowl – Which, by the way, her father has filled back up with water and set the rocks and fake plant back in, just the way Mollie liked it…Suck up. She’s gazing into the lifeless home of her once beloved fish, looks up and asks her precious mother, “What did you do with the fish, Momma?” I then, without a word, walk over to the sink…turn the water on – and flip the garbage disposal switch. *

“That’s what I did.” 


Mother. Of. The. Year.

*I’m a horrible person. 


Fearfully and Wonderfully Made.

“That’s it?”

“It’s so small…”

“That can’t be the REAL Mona Lisa.”

“I don’t get all the hype.”

The Mona Lisa…Encased in glass to save her from the hurtful words of onlookers – And their grimy paws. I love that everyone is trying to figure out why she’s so special. I love that she’s not HUGE. I love that she’s seemingly plain. At some point in time – And I’m no history or art buff, so don’t ask me any real facts surrounding the piece – At some point in time, someone was amazed by her…by the artist, by the circumstances, by the quietly understated beauty of The Mona Lisa. I think that, perhaps, is part of her allure. We’re still trying to understand how she can be so plain and so beloved at the same time.

You know…when God painted this person that is me – He didn’t make me extraordinarily superior to anyone else. He didn’t make me so that I could DO all things and BE all things. He did give me a few particular and unique characteristics that help define me as Becky…but He didn’t make me any better than anyone else. If I were on display, encased in glass with God’s penmanship in the left-hand corner of the canvas that is me, I’m pretty sure I would get similar reactions from Mona’s crowd…

“That’s it?”

“I don’t get all the hype…”

“Surely there were more worthy subjects.”

“She’s not THAT pretty.”

How can I be so plain and so beloved at the same time? God. Loves. Me. And He loves you equally as much. I’m no more important to Him than you are – Sometimes I act like I am, but that thought process is wrong…absolutely wrong. When I question why someone else got something that I didn’t…when I find myself jealous of other’s successes…when I think that I deserve some accomplishment more than someone else…I’m taking away from God’s masterpieces – I’m questioning the value in His artwork. Unfortunately, His art isn’t encased in glass – Shielded from hurtful words and grimy paws. I look at my reflection…into the oceans He gave me for eyes and think, “I may not get it, but I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

Unless I haven’t articulated my thoughts well enough, I’ll wrap up with this…The riddle that is The Mona Lisa can basically be summed up, for me, in this…That the maker, the artist that created her, felt a deep and profound love for his subject. That love can be seen and felt on the canvas. It leaves us wondering, “How could all his love end up so small…so plain?” It’s what we cannot see that confounds us…

Her heart.

God created each of us with such powerful love and care. Sometimes we wonder what makes us so special – Why does He treasure you so very much? Your heart. And although you feel like you’re never quite good enough…He looks on you and smiles. He is pleased with you because He sees your heart and loves who you are. You could never be plain…no matter what someone else may proclaim. You are fearfully and wonderfully made by The Creator of the Universe. That makes me smile:) It should make you smile too:) So the next time you see The Mona Lisa, original or print, remember how God sees you…Not how others may percieve you.

XOXO, Beck



I started having a little “honest” time with myself on the drive home from the doctor’s office this morning. I had two sick kids…two sick and crazy kiddos, in tow. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I began the following internal confession – Don’t ask me why these truths began to bubble up, like many aspects of my life and personality, it’s better left unquestioned.


I really DO like fried food. Everything tastes better marinated in hot Crisco. If I had my choice of baked or fried, and my butt-size mattered not to me – I’d choose fried… Every. Single. time.

Fried fish, fried artichokes, fried potatoes, fried onions, fried crawfish, fried green tomatoes, fried snickers, fried pigskins. Fry it…I’ll lick it – I mean…like it.

Two iced honey buns for $1.00 truly excites me. I don’t eat them anymore, but there’s this curvy gal within that’s screaming at me, “Girlfriend, you got to have those…microwaved, WITH butter. Quit playin’ and buy them already!”

I’m an introvert. I like quiet. I like to be alone with my thoughts.

Why on earth would a person spend money on regular Oreos when Double stuffs are one shelf lower?!? Crazy.

If we die by our fears – I’m gonna die by a bullet to the head… or from forgetting the lyrics to our nation’s anthem.

I may have been raised in the backwoods – On the outskirts of a “town” with no stop light. But as much as I’d like to claim being “Backwoods Beck” – I’ve never even owned a four wheeley…four wheeler – Whatever. Don’t let the accent fool ya.

I was raised by hunters. Guns were a norm in my household – The sound of a knife being sharpened was basically Track 3 in the soundtrack of my childhood years – BUT

I do not like guns – Or knives that aren’t prepping food for dinner…Period

I am not against people owning them – I just DO NOT like them. A family member actually gifted me with my very own firearm. It’s pretty useless, seeing as how he didn’t provide me with bullets for the dern thing…I’m secretly thankful.

I think I was black in a previous life. I don’t really believe in previous lives…But it would explain a lot about me if there was truth to the notion of a past Becky.

I have to be in the mood for chocolate. And I much prefer it dark, as opposed to milk or white. See – Hashtag…PreviousLife.


This is fun:) Y’all should do this! I could go on and on…But I’ll save you from me and stop now. Much love from this present Beck and maybe the previous one, as well;) XOXO!