On This Day Two Years Ago

Baboo wrote this on facebook.  It made me cry then and it made me cry again today.

Today my mom said, “I’m so behind on everything! I’ve been getting nothing done recently. I haven’t even finished Christmas shopping yet.”
I remembered that a few days ago, when she texted me late one night while I was out to sign some Christmas cards when I got in. I got home to find stuffed stockings laid out for my mission companions who are still in Canada who will be away from home this Christmas.
And then today I watched her run extra errands to serve my dad, and make me lunch even though I can do it on my own, and treat a sibling who had a rough start to their day, and respond to the sister missionaries’ requests to drive them ALL OVER TOWN and wait for them while they ate lunch and went grocery shopping.

I’m grateful for a mom who doesn’t believe in taking days off, who doesn’t ever think “I just need some ME time,” who is a mom 100% of the time and a Christlike servant to everyone else. And even if she may not be accomplishing everything she wants to this season, she certainly understands that “giving” around Christmastime means more than buying gifts. She gives her heart, and she wears herself out doing it. I love my mom.

I’m Going to Have to Cut My Hair Again

My hair is very thin, fine, and fragile.  I have only rarely been able to grow it out to chin length (when straightened).  Around the time I was pregnant with Wink, it started thinning even more on the sides.  It’s 8 years later now and I don’t know if it’s permanent or not because I can’t really see the parts of my head to compare with other pictures.

But several months ago, in a fit of desperation, I just took scissors to my hair and hacked it all off.  And I loved it.  It was so easy to take care of.  And while it wasn’t my favorite style, it at least looked reasonable every day.

But the regimen I use on my hair now (condition, coconut oil, flax seed gel) really makes it grow.  My hair has never grown this fast in my entire life.  And it’s even curly now which should masking length significantly!  But for realz, my hair has really grown out.  And on the one hand, theoretically, I love it.  Maybe this time, my hair will be reasonable.  Maybe this time, it will grow long enough to look feminine.  Maybe this time it will work!

So there’s the part of me that wants to grow it out and see what happens.  But the reality of the situation is that it’s driving me crazy.  It just doesn’t look good anymore.  It’s more difficult to care for and I rarely feel like it looks nice.

I know I’m not the first woman to go through this:  Should I grow it out or cut it short again.  But it is weighted differently at least because my hair just doesn’t get long.

Anyway, I hate the way it is right now.  And I don’t actually love it any shorter, but it does look better and is easier.  I’m up for suggestions if anyone has any.

The Struggle is Real

Despite the graying of my hair (which is quite hidden because of the curls) and the wrinkling of my face (small fine wrinkles that no one sees because no one ever looks past the glasses), I still often mistaken for a teenager.  Not like on a daily basis or anything.  But the fact that is happening at all when I’m 44 is kind of cool.

And it happened again today.  Kelvinator and I were at the school and the person behind the desk at the office assumed I was another student.  Cool!  A male student.  Not very cool at all.  She said something like, “I’ll be with you two gentlemen in just a second.”

And in that second she realized her mistake and was so apologetic and blurted out, “I thought you were a student.”  Which is how I know that I wasn’t mistaken for Kelvinator’s dad or anything.  I was a brother or a male friend.

This is not even the first time I have been mistaken for a guy.  You want to talk about having a complex?  It happened all the time when I was kid.  Unfortunately for me I was an ugly kid with ridiculous hair and glasses and I had no curves whatsoever.  It has also happened twice while I was pregnant.  PREGNANT, folks.  Isn’t that supposed to be like the pinnacle of utter femininity?  Apparently not for some of us.

But it hasn’t happened in a while.  I mean, I wasn’t wearing any makeup or jewelry.  But surely a woman can still look womanly without makeup or jewelry!  I was wearing a navy blue t-shirt with an  American flag and fireworks on the front.  It was a female-cut t-shirt with the shorter, cap sleeves and cinching a touch near the waist and then flaring out a little at the hips.  I also had on a pair of tan capris that were gathered at the calf and a pair of lacy sandals (which probably weren’t visible to her behind the desk).

So what does it feel like for someone to look at you and assume that you are the opposite gender?  It feels pretty awful.  I mean, on the one hand, I totally understand.  I’m not a looker.  I’m not a babe.  I’m overweight.  I’m not the kind of person who dolls herself up. But still.  I’m not a man.  I’m certainly not a teenage boy.  I mean, right?  Sigh…

Since I’ve been writing this up, I’ve been trying to pinpoint all the times that I have been mistaken for a man and every single time was when I was wearing my hair natural.  So I guess it’s the fro.  What woman in her right mind would wear her hair like that?  Must be a man.  Just call me Pat.

My mother told me to “Buck up!”

She did.  She said it twice.  She didn’t even ask me what was wrong when I told her I was having a hard time with this whole adulthood thing.  In fact, I was kind of commiserating with her at the time.  But she just said, “Have you even started menopause yet?”  Meaning I still had a long way too go and it was much too early for me to be feeling that way.

“Buck up!”  she said.  In fact, she said it twice.  And she said it in a way that did not invite further commentary from me about what was so difficult.  She didn’t say it in a sweet voice that sounded like it should be accompanied  by a playful shoulder punch.  She was firm.  And it sounded like it needed to be followed with the word “solider.”  “Buck up, Soldier!  Quit your whining and get up and get ‘er done.”  And when she said it I remembered several things about her life and the amazing challenges that she pulled herself though single-handedly.  And she also reminded me of a great grandmother, Susie Husky Barbee,  who is actually on my dad’s side.  But Susie is someone who led a difficult life from all I can tell from census records and whenever I search for her or study about her I’m just struck by her strength and perseverance.

I wouldn’t have thought that my own mother telling me to Buck Up was what I needed on  a day like yesterday.  But I drew strength and courage from it.  At least enough to face one more day.  I could do one more day.  That’s all I’m promising.

On the Receiving End of Your Own Wrong

My mind has been blown recently.  It’s been a series of lightbulb moments in the worst ways.  A true paradigm shift, but the new perspective hasn’t settled down yet.  The merry-go-round is still spinning and I’m getting dizzy from the ride.  I haven’t yet been able to think it through properly or come to any conclusions.

In the past, there have been several instances of….oh, let’s say arguments.  Not fights.  But just a disagreement where I take one side and someone else takes another side.  Neither of us is being disrespectful or rude.  I certainly wasn’t.  If I take a close look in my heart, now, though–after the fact–I would say that there was a certainty that I was right.  So maybe some self-righteousness and I guess condescension.  But no malice.  Nevertheless, the other person has expressed having their feelings hurt by me.  And I didn’t know what I could do differently because I didn’t mean to hurt their feelings.  I just had a valid PoV that contradicted theirs.  I wasn’t arguing, wasn’t yelling, wasn’t saying mean things.

And there have been multiple times over the weeks lately–with different people from different parts of my life–where I have been in the midst of conversation and suddenly find myself in a similar situation as above.  Sometimes shockingly similar.  Except for the fact that I am on the other side of the argument.  And I have been offended and shocked at the rudeness.  My feelings have been terribly hurt.

So here’s the rub.  When that happens, I either have to stop myself from feeling those feelings because I know from the other side of the coin that the person didn’t mean anything by it.  Which is extremely hard to do when you want your feelings and opinions validated and you also think the other person really was at fault for being so rude and hurtful.

But if I undulge that side of what I want to do.  Then I have to admit that my behavior in the other situation was wrong.  And I when I look at that situation, I honestly cannot come up with a better way of handling things or saying things and still being able to hold my ground.  I can be a pushover and capitulate or I can say and do nothing.  But I don’t know how to express what I am thinking and feeling in any nicer or more measured way.

So you see how I am psychologicially stuck right now?  No matter how this coin falls, one of my sides will lose.  Either I handled things badly the first time and it’s my fault and I need to figure out what I did wrong and how to fix it.  Or I’m being overly sensitive and ridiculous the second time and just need to suck it up and move in because no harm was meant, even though I can still feel the sting of it.

Writing out that last paragraph makes me think that maybe the answer is to do both.  But in the real situations of my life, I don’t know how to go about specifically doing that.  Even if I could swallow my pride enough to want to do it.  And this is happening in multiple ways and with multiple people.

I’m not really a fan of these kinds of eye-opening situations.

Because I’m apparently being brutally honest today

When I was a little black girl, I grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood with white friends.  I grew up in a white culture.  I married a man whom I love fiercely.  He is white.  And we have raised our children in an even more predominantly white neighborhood.  And their friends have been even whiter.  My husband has a big family.  I don’t.  My husband’s big white family has lived close to us.  My small black family has lived far away.  We’ve only visited them twice in my adulthood and  a cousin has seen us twice.

My kids are not dark-skinned.  Two of them are blonde.  Two have blue eyes.  One has hazel eyes.  Some of them have black features, others do not have features that call attention to themselves as African-American.  When they stand in a group of their classmates, if you were to pick out the kids who were non-white, you might not pick out my kids from the group.

The one characteristic that they almost all have in common, that is the last vestiges of their rich black history– is curly hair.  And for three out of four boys, it got curlier during puberty.  Also, the one thing my kids all have in common is a hatred for their curly hair.

Curly hair certainly has its challenges.  Tangles, for one.  Also tangles for two and three and four, too.  I can’t even tell you how many brushes we have broken on hair around here.  It’s chronically dry.  It’s challenging to find anyone who can cut it appropriately (that’s part of what it means to live in a predominantly white culture) which means that the girls only get trims from mom and no one has had any real cut or style.

I try not to take it personally, I think almost everyone dislikes their hair for one reason or another.  I’m sure these aren’t the only kids in the history of the world to wish for straight hair.  Heck, I’m often frustrated with my own locks.  But I just can’t help it.  Every time a kid complains about their curls or longs wistfully for straight hair or begs me to straighten their hair, it’s like a personal insult to my genes and the part of their racial and cultural heritage that comes from me.  It feels like utter rejection.

Every time my boys show me pictures of the girls they have crushes on and they are all white girls with long, straight blonde hair and blue eyes I know that their standard of beauty has nothing at all to do with their mother.  It’s not their fault.  If it was a fault at all, it would be mine.  Because boys are going to grow up liking girls and if you’ve surrounded them with white girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, that’s who they’re going to like.  And I was the one who chose to live here.  And yet, I always thought it would be a sweet thing for boys to think their mom is the prettiest in the world.

Anyway, we had one of those conversations tonight.  The curse of the afro-headed.  And the child said, “I don’t really like afros.”  While looking straight at me.  With my afro.

I know I should take these opportunities to talk to my kids and have discussions with them about their awesome racial heritage and how it makes them unique and interesting and how valuable all parts of them are.  I could talk to them about how they fit into the larger world and what to expect and how to cope with it all.  But I’m only human.  And beneath the layer of me that is their mom.  There’s a black girl who wants very much to be valued and to feel beautiful.  And my feelings are tender enough that when my feelings get hurt like that, all I can do is just walk out of the room and say nothing.

On Being Fat and Other Fatal Flaws

I don’t know what the politically correct word is for fat.  As far as I know, there isn’t one.   It seems to me that as soon as you start using some other–nicer–word that means fat, eventually that new word gets a bad connotation as well.  I’ve heard large, heavy, overweight, fluffy, plus-sized.  And when you list them out like that, sure.  It seems like pick any one of those adjectives over fat.  But when you use them in a sentence (maybe it’s just me) but I don’t think they work.

For instance, if there is a group of men in front of you who are all brunettes in their work uniforms and you need to point one man out to the person you are talking to and he is overweight and the rest of the men are not…  If you said, “It’s the guy who’s fat.”  Or “It’s the guy who’s overweight.”  I don’t think either of those is particularly PC or sounds really great.

And I think the reason for that is because it’s not the WORD that is a bad word.  It’s the thing itself.  In other words, in our society, there is no really great substitute to use for the for the word fat because the negative connotation is with being fat–no matter which word you use.

I remember finding myself in a *situation*.  It was a medical situation where my kids had an appointment and the nurse who was taking care of us was obese.  I was walking in with several kids–none of whom were over the age of 10–and I knew it was coming.  They had never seen anyone this overweight before and I knew it was remarkable to them and that at that age for someone, remarkable should be taken literally.  I knew they would say something.

I tried to rack my brain for how I would handle the situation and what I could say.  I think it was the 4 year old who leaned over to me and said something in a not quiet voice that the man could hear.  Honestly, I can’t remember now what I actually said in response vs what I wish I could go back and say.  I just remember being extremely uncomfortable.  In other situations when my kids notice other people’s differences,  I might acknowledge that Yes, that boy only has  one arm.  Sometimes people are born that way and sometimes it happens as an accident.  But I’m sure he doesn’t like us talking about him like this.  He must get people staring at him a lot.   But I bet he can still do lots of really cool things.  Maybe we should go introduce ourselves and be friends.  

But I really couldn’t find the words at the time for this particular situation.

Just today, in Primary, I was leaning over to whisper to one of the children and that child said rather loudly (three times!) , “Your breath stinks!”  Yeah, that’s not my most favorite moment in the world.  And I can’t lie.  It was embarrassing.  But what can you do?  I probably did have bad breath.  It’s a common occurrence while fasting.  So I apologized to him and told him as much.  It’s Fast Sunday.  Sometimes that happen when you fast.  But fasting is more important than bad breath.  He didn’t mean anything insulting by it.  He was just being honest and was probably shocked by it since I was whispering right in his face.  What are you going to do?

---

Another thing I have noticed is how deep and complex this whole fat thing is on women.  Maybe it’s hard for men, too.  I don’t know.  I just know women.  And among the women that I know it’s very common to worry about being fat, gaining weight, trying to suck in tummies, distracting from wider parts, dieting.  And every time someone skinnier than I am makes a comment about their own body not being skinny enough, it’s as if they are saying to me, “You are too fat to be acceptable.”  And every time I worry about my own body being too fat around other women who may be larger than I am, I am telling them the same thing.  And it’s horrifying because I don’t want to tell them that at all.  I don’t think it about it them.  I would never say such a thing.  But I think underlying all of that, maybe that’s exactly what I mean.  I mean, right?  If I am saying that my body isn’t skinny enough, then that means that I have bought into our culture that says NO body that big or bigger is acceptable.  So I’m just part of the problem.

---

I have a scar on my leg.  It’s on the front of my right shin.  I’ve had it since I was 2.  Apparently I fell of my front porch and landed on a broken, glass soda bottle.  I had to get stitches but I was a screaming toddler who was in a lot of pain and I guess I didn’t settle down very well for the stitches.  My understanding was that it was a super fast job, not one really done to minimize scarring.  Anyway, it’s a pretty thick scar that looks like a smile about two inches long and 3/8 inch wide.

I’ve had this scar my whole life.  I don’t remember my leg being without the scar.  I’ve never been ashamed to wear shorts or a skirt.  I hardly notice it when I look at myself in a mirror.  In fact, when I look at my other leg, that leg looks plain and like it’s missing something.

Why is it that this flaw doesn’t bother me at all when so many others do?

Also, my left leg is slightly larger than my right leg because of the damage done by blood clots.  The left leg is permanently swollen and there’s no cure or treatment.  I definitely dislike the fact.  But I spend way more time messing with my hair or worrying about my weight than I do the inequality of the size of my legs.  It’s noticeable if you look.   What makes me just kind of sigh and move on from that flaw when other flaws get me so hung up?

---

Here are some “flaws” that I think are beautiful.

1.  Women with gray hair.  I love it when women wear their hair natural.  I love the short cuts that are so sassy.  I love the women who have their full, long gray hair.  I love the white haired dos I see.  I really, truly think it’s beautiful.
2. There was a woman I went to jazzercise with who was older.  Maybe 60ish.  And I knew that she thought she was fat.  But I loooooved to watch her.  Her calves were so curvy and buff and beautiful.  Her thighs were so strong and muscular.  She worked out with ten pound weights!  I was amazed.  She wore her long gray hair in this cute, perky pony tail that bounced while she danced.  She had a fabulous smile and bright blue eyes that crinkled when she smiled.  She was so dang cute!  I knew that all she thought about herself was that she was fat and so one day I told her how cute she was and she could not believe I thought that about her.
3. Crow’s feet.  The way my face is aging, my wrinkles are in other places.  And I’m seriously bummed because crow’s feet are sexy
4. I was watching a youtube video about something and the girl who was talking in the video would probably be classified as obese.  And she was smoking.  I mean, she was absolutely stunning.  She was was wearing this striking black dress that was modest and yet accentuated all the right features and she absolutely unapologetic about her size.

Which brings me to…

---

Have you seen what models do to themselves?  If I was that kind of person I would post some photos of some of the ridiculous make-up I see being modeled in magazines.  Or I would link you to some of the most ridiculous fashions coming out of NYC right now.  And have you seen some of the outrageous hairstyles that some people are sporting?

I mean, really?  How do they get away with that?  I know what the answer is.  It’s confidence.  Those people doing that are not ashamed of those crazy things.  They are just confident in what they are wearing and how they look.  That’s all it is.

Take the 80s, for instance.  Remember how you did your hair?  And don’t you look back now and think, “Oh my goodness.”  But you were confident wearing it like that because that was the normal style.  You dressed like that because that was the normal style.  And so you felt comfortable and confident dressing like that.  Even though now you look back and cringe.

So I think the key is to just do what you are going to do and rock it.  Where the clothes you want to wear–either because you like them or they look good on you–unapologetically.  You rock that style.  I’m pretty sure that once you feel confident in what you are doing, you can pull off anything.

If you feel like your body is too big, too fat, too soft, not muscular enough, etc…And you’re trying to hide it and worrying about how you look, everyone around you senses that insecurity.  Whereas if you just wore what you wanted and were confident in what your body looked like, no matter what it looked like, then you will look good.  Who’s going to tell you otherwise?  And if they do, so what?

I don’t know.  I think the key is just working with what you’ve got.  Like my whole life I’ve wanted to have long hair.  And for my whole life I’ve read articles on what to do to get healthy hair and all the wrong things I was doing that was breaking off my ends and damaging the hair shaft.  Maybe I was missing some crucial component in my diet.  And you know what?  The last time I went in to get a hair cut I was kind of lamenting the fact that I didn’t have that hairstyle and the lady cutting my hair just said to me, “Yeah, you are never going to have that hair style.  Your hair won’t do that.”  It was so LIBERATING!  I’m never going to be able to have that.  I don’t have to think about it, worry about it, regret it, wish for it.  I can just let it go.  And this is what I have growing out of the top of my head.  So what can I do to work with what I actually have got?  And this lady told me I had “sassy” hair.  I can totally work with sassy hair!

I feel that way about clothing lately too.  I don’t have many clothes that I like.  And most of the styles that I like just don’t fit my body type now.  I feel self conscious in those clothes.  But I do know the kind of thing that looks good on me.  I look good in short sleeves as opposed to cap sleeves.  I need a long scoop neck or square neck line, nothing really high neck and definitely nothing V-neck.  I need fabrics that don’t cling.  I need shirts that are gathered in the front and the kind of shirts with elastic at the hips to blouse out to the top or else long enough shirts that I can tuck in and then pull out loosely.  Those things look awesome on me and I feel comfortable and feel confident.  So why bother with other styles that I also love and wish I could wear but that end up making me look frumpy and feel bad about myself?

Sure, I wish I had the body and skin of me 20 years ago.  But since I don’t have that, how can I work with what I’ve got?

And if those crazy models in NYC can wear those hair styles and that stupid makeup and those ridiculous clothes and call it high-fashion, then I can do whatever I darn well please as long as I’ve got the confidence enough in myself to rock that style and pull it off.  And if you’ve got that confidence, everybody else will fall in line.