Everything I'm Not

Once in a while in a while Big Daddy makes me a Mixed CD. They are always my taste and much better than what’s on the radio.  The other day, I grabbed a Big Daddy Mix out of the console and commenced to getting my jam on.  We do like us some Kanye, so I was not surprised to hear several offerings from Mister West.  One gave me pause. The lyrics say:  “Everything I’m not made me everything I am.”  Damn.

When I first heard this song, I had just started teaching Middle School Choir.  It was not going well.  The kids didn’t get me.  Quite frankly, they didn’t like me. I am not ashamed to say I got down on my knees and prayed the Lord would  “take this cup away from me” on several occasions. Every person from whom I sought advice kept telling me to be tougher. Meaner. Harder. I tried my darndest, really, but I’m not a whistle blowing, stoic-faced punisher. The kids knew it was all a façade, and ate me alive on a daily basis.  Eventually I did have to adopt some new practices and develop a discipline plan, but I realized I gotta be me! I had to make things work as my authentic self, and the kids were just going to have to learn to trust a perky white lady who tears up when they sing.  I am now comfortable being animated and loving in front of my Li’l Waynes Mini- Nikki Minage’s in training.  I jump and “yippee!” when my students create harmony, and I throw kisses at them when they remember to enunciate. They may think I’m crazy, but never a push-over and never boring.  In fact, it's crunk up in there!  And I'm a great teacher.  Everything I’m not made me everything I am.

When I was in my late twenties, I was engaged to a guy who looked good on paper.  Ever had one of those?  Well, I thought I needed to look good on paper, too, so I stuck with him even though little by little, he chiseled away at my self-esteem.  I was a bottomless pit of forgiveness and thought that being faithful meant always coming back for more.  Well, finally he cheated, and I drew the line.  Breaking off the engagement was a struggle, because I wanted to embody the loyalty he did not.  But, I just couldn’t get over what he’d done.  I simply could not imagine looking across the dinner table at a weasel for the rest of my life. So, I don't.  Since I took up with Big Daddy, the only things I have to get over are his cursing at soccer on Saturdays, and the fact that he’s a bit of an over-tipper to service personnel. So, it is with the utmost honor and gratitude that I tell you that I am the wife of a Swell Guy.  Everything I’m not made me everything I am.

When H-Man was diagnosed with autism, I researched diets, chelation (a therapy to remove heavy metals from the body), and scrambled for a way that Big Daddy and I might possibly make H NOT autistic.  When all of those fad treatments were de-bunked, I began to focus on doing what we could to APPEAR not autistic.  When he would flap his hands and make noises in public I would hug him tightly and whisper, “You’re all right, honey, you’re all right. Be still. Hands down.  Nice hands.  No spinning.” Once, a man next to us at a fast food restaurant asked, “What’s wrong with him?”  I don’t think this man meant any harm.  He was probably just being human and thought I needed some help.  The poor guy didn’t know that my well was just about full then, and this moment made me lose my cool.  “There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with him!  He’s WONDERFUL!  He’s PERFECT!  He just doesn’t talk much and this is how he communicates that he’s excited!”  I was loud.  Louder than H-Man, on purpose.  I didn’t want everyone to look at him. I wanted them to look at me.  Let me be the one they’re staring at for a change.  I was just so tired of people noticing his differences, and it made me angry that strangers might feel sorry for me or my sweet, amazing boy when I walk the world knowing that he is beyond fabulous.  Being the Mom to any kid is a journey.  Every child has special needs of some sort.  By grace, good humor, a wonderful family, and by following my boy's lead, I have come to embrace and celebrate H-Man's differences.  He's autistic.  He is not wearing a t-shirt about it, but people can probably tell.  He's not very quiet.  He's not very still.  He may not  know when you’re talking to him, and he can’t really articulate to you there’s a stone in his shoe and that's why he's uncomfortable.  He's the one skipping backward.  (He has been able to do this as long as we remember.)  He is the one who reeeeeeeally likes the carousel.  He can be entertained by reading for a long wait at a restaurant because he likes books to the point of obsession.  ( A parent's dream!) He is the one whose shirt is still clean at the end of the day because he's careful, precise, and neat.  His face isn’t very expressive, but because of this he looks soft and angelic with a glow that makes strangers gasp, “Oh, my, he’s beautiful!” (Some stares are completely understandable).  He is gorgeous.  In every way.  Everything he's not made him everything he is.

Coming full circle is a wonderful thing.  I have found that when I listen to my instincts and accept who I am, those around me become comfortable with my various “isms.”  When I respect my own differences, I am able to project to the world that I’m worthy of respect.  I’m not saying that we should live and die by the perceptions of others, but it is a social world.  I think that connections are the reasons we were put on this planet together.  That belief is confirmed with every class that H-Man is enrolled in, any sport he tries, and anyone he meets. They are gifts to him, as he is to them.  I hope to instill in H-Man that bringing out the best in others means being yourself.  Being real.  Being every freaking thing that you are.

Listen to Kanye West - Everything I'm Not Made Me Everything I Am

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJs-KYWHOwo

Man-Shop

I’m going to admit something horrible.  I am embarrassed of my husband.  It’s not his fault, really.  He’s actually quite wonderful.  What embarrasses me is that I picked him.  All six foot two of him.  Broad shoulders and British accent to boot.  His swoon-worthy charm and subtle gentlemanliness makes women feel flattered, never perved, and men feel included, never over-shadowed.  I really overshot the mark. 

You see, my whole life, I have been a bargain shopper.  I love digging right down to the bottom of the bin and finding the bits that have been overlooked by the other customers.  In much the same way that I rock a pair of grenadine-colored wide-leg corduroys, I can totally pull off an overweight genius-slacker.  Artistic short guy with a Napoleon complex?  I think I’ve still got one of those in the back of my wardrobe.  Sexy foreign serial cheater?  I do believe I had a matched set at one time. I suppose I thought it made me interesting to demonstrate that I had an eye for a diamond in the rough.  But, most of these guys turned out to be jerks rather than gems.  Relationships were a lot of hard work.  I was on a bit of a break from tromping the outlets when I discovered what life really had in store. 

My husband, Big Daddy, is the kind of goods you see in the window of Bergdorf Goodman: Top of the line.  Even though I wasn’t in the market to buy, I thought I’d try him on.  It’s no surprise he fit like a dream and made me look great.  With him, I appear younger and more expensive.  No wonder I had to have him.  The shocker was the cost: I got him for a song. “Georgia On My Mind,” to be precise.  He says it was the night that I sang that one in the Dining Room of the Silversea Cruises Silver Shadow, that he got the idea that I was interesting.  So, at least he thinks so… even if I look like a sell-out to the rest of the world.  I hope no self-respecting flea-market fashionista would truly blame me for taking home such a prize. 

Now that I think of it, he did turn out to be a “Buy One Get One Free,” sort of a deal.  I bought the husband.  I had no idea he would be such a great father.  Gotta love scoring a “Two-fer!”

Tree Of Life

           This tree is not going to decorate itself.  As I sit on my large leather  living room chair, gazing at the corner where our family Christmas tree will soon reside, I realize it is time to get real about what’s going on in our home. This house is tastefully decorated.  It’s green, it’s brown, it’s earthy.  I love it.  But, when Christmas crashes in, all of this sparkly, maribou stuff appears and throws everything way off balance.  How did this happen? 

            Before the boys came along, I admit I held out hope that one day we’d have a daughter.  I had no idea what a blessing sons would be. Although they are only young, it is obvious they are destined to inherit Big Daddy’s strapping physique and masculine demeanor.  H-Man entered the world at nearly 10 pounds, and G-Love (our “little one”) came in at just around nine. They have both grown into boys who are into stuff like cars and lions and meat. Nick nackery around our home is going down a decidedly boyish path.  Now the Christmas tree I have been decorating my whole life is having gender identity issues.
            Looking over the array of lovely ornaments I have collected during my extensive years of travel, I am coming to the conclusion that I have spent a small fortune on delicate, beautiful things that neither reflect me nor compliment the life I have grown into. Waterford crystal?  I’m not hanging that anywhere within reach of my rambunctious boos.  Hand-blown glass from Mexico?  Imagine vacuuming up the shards.  Japanese paper?  What if juice gets on it?  Peacock feathers?  Anything bejeweled?  Too girly. Too frilly. Too freaking chokeable.  If I continue to use this stuff, there will be bits of glitter, feathers, and small beads everywhere.  And not in a good way.  In quite a messy, worrisome, “Don’t let him put that in his mouth!” way.  Sigh… 

            I’ve come to the realization that my idea of “how Christmas looks” has evolved.  It was once a shining, sequined story, starring me. It is now about a cast of four, and I get to view the holiday through the lens of each amazing, silly, special character.  I had the same princess dream that so many girls do.  In my naivete, I believed that dream always came packaged in pink, and wrapped with wire-edged ribbon, and put a lot of stuff in my world that doesn’t really represent the splendor of my now Queenly life.  In this version, there is elegance.  There is plenty.  Perhaps there is not as much beading, but there are rocking horses.  And way more cookies!

            After much thought, I have vowed to concept my tree.  The concept is: Rustic Elegance, by way of BoyChild-Friendly.  There’s no theme, mind you.  We are not making any sort of soccer statement or anything (shudder).  I simply want our family Christmas tree to tell a story of who we are today. By the way, “who we are today” may be represented by a very tasteful amount of glitter here and there. 

            Here are some of the objects I am working with…

Fabric garland made by me.  

See tutorial at http://www.thelovelypoppy.com/2100/10/24/fabric-scrap-garland-tutorial/

 Small plaques from Classic Trends Boutique in Arlington, Tennessee's Depot Square.

Sock Monkey ornaments from Cracker Barrel.

Music picks from Pottery Barn.

Dressing The Part

When I was a first year teacher, I made up my mind that I would dress counter to type.  That means I would do everything within my budget and the school dress code to look decidedly un-teacher-y.  In my opinion, I was far too rock and roll for apple appliquéd tote bags or sensible shoes.  I spent all year standing in what I had previously considered “sitting down shoes," attempting to keep head-to-toe black clothing chalk dust free, and maintaining complicated hair styles in a room where I had no control over the temperature or humidity.  Over time, I have made some changes, but I’ve found wiggle room inside the lines. Turns out, playing this role to the hilt actually allows me to be far more clever and whack-a-doo than I ever imagined.  I've found a way to be polished and professional with a sense of humor.  Clever, yet comfy.  I'm all buttoned up, but I'm one loop off.  Story of my life.  At the moment I like…

Boden Clothing  http://www.bodenusa.com/

Perhaps it’s my short stint immersed in British culture, but I absolutely adore  Boden.  All pieces are designed exclusively in London, England.  The style is completely “proper” sans the pesky “prim.”  I like to buy some matchy-matchy looks, and add a cardi or a shoe (okay two of those) in a contrasting color.  The quality of the Essential Scoop/Crew/ V-Neck is absolutely wonderful.  They hug a girl’s curves in all the right places without pinching around the tummy, and hold up to washing as well.  When wearing Boden I feel fresh and smart, but never as if I’m trying too hard.  The overall effect is feminine, polished, and fun.  They also sell menswear, kidswear, and even have a teen line. 

Cole Haan Nike Air Shoes http://www.colehaan.com/colehaan/assistance/about.jsp

“ I love your shoes!”  When I hear this (at least weekly), a testimonial that will make you feel like you’ve gone to church simply pours out of my mouth:  “Honey, all of my shoes are Cole Haan. Yes, Lord!  They have this entire collection made with Nike Air Technology. Praise Jesus!  The wedges and pumps have some kind of tennis shoe gel inside of them that make you feel like you’re wearing kicks.  Some of the heels are 4 inches high and comfy as heck. The shoes are luxury quality and almost never wear out.  I have owned my favorite pair for nearly ten years and I have taken them in for a repair once, rather than attempting to replace them.  Yea, though I walk through the valley of stilettos,  I will fear no bunions!”  I almost never buy in-season as they have great off-season sales directly from Cole Haan’s own website.

Betsey Johnson Earrings http://www.zappos.com/betsey-johnson-earrings-jewelry~1?gclid=CMrV5tvHzasCFRFR7AodHGvC1w

I have recently discovered the quirky charm of this unique and precious jewelry.  Now, I have worn Betsey Johnson clothing in the past.  My friend Shaz introduced me to it in our cruise ship days.  Those days and that waistline are long gone for me, I’m afraid, but my ears are finding love a second time around!  Photos cannot do these pieces justice. The enamel inlay and rhinestone accents are special indeed. Although I order my Betsey Johnson earrings of Zappos.com, you might like to actually go into the mall to check out these beauties in person.  Macy’s, Nordstrom and, of course, Betsey Johnson shops carry Betsey Johnson accessories, but I recommend checking for availability and pricing on Zappos before you buy.