Girly Girl

When I was a kiddo, I thought I didn't like being "a girl." Don't get me wrong, I've always been totally fine with my body parts. I just didn't like that being called "girly" was an insult. I didn't like that girly things were pink and glittery and rhinestones and unicorns and Barbies. I just wasn't into that vibe. I liked solid color t-shirts, and brightly colored bike shorts. Yes, I actually went though a phase in which I only wore bike shorts for a year or two.

My aunt understood that being a girly girl was totally not me, so her nickname for me still is "Girly Girl" in an ironic kinda way. It didn't really bother me because she knew the real me. What bothered me is that any grown-up I was meeting for the first time would automatically assume I was girly, simply because I was a girl. Distant uncles would send me a jewelery box for my birthday. Parent's friends at church would tell me they loved my flowery dress, assuming I was enjoying wearing it- hah.

In middle school, I don't think I through of myself as a "girl" much. I didn't date. I didn't wear feminine clothes or act stereotypically girly. I wore striped shirts every day, and didn't listen to popular girly music. My backpack was a solid burgundy Jansport that I made my mom take the logo off of. (Okay Jansports became cool like three years ago but they were NOT cool twelve years ago.) I finally reached a compromise with my mom about church clothes; she wanted me to wear dresses, and I wanted jeans, so we arrived at plain black dressy pants. I was just me, not very feminine, but definitely never really masculine either.

Enter high school- I was friends with all girls who were awesome and adventurous and smart and didn't care about dating much either. We liked learning and practicing music, making stupid music videos, and being all around goobers. I am forever thankful that like 80% of my friends were single at all times in high school. Being a girl was fun, and had nothing to do with the fact that we were girls.

I then attended a women's college. Not a girls' school. I finally began to identify as a "woman," not a "girl," and it became an empowering part of my identity. "Girly" is unfortunately used as an insulting word, but "womanly" is an amazing compliment. Being a woman is strong. Being a woman is smart. Being a woman is resilient. Being a woman is powerful.

If I ever have a daughter, I want her to be proud of the fact that she's a girl, so I will never call her a girl. I will call her my little woman.

Your Day

When I was a dummy, I thought that bad things make you have a bad day.
When I was a dummy, I thought you needed good things to happen to have a good day.
Wrong-o.

Your attitude determines if you perceive your day as good or bad.

Your car dies, you spill your coffee, you find out your bff is really sick... but you still have a roof over your head and you got to talk to your grandma on the phone? That can be a good day. You don't have to ignore the bad stuff but just revel in the good.

You ate a delicious lunch and your coworkers were extra friendly and traffic was extra light... but you're mad that it's Monday and you are too tired to cook dinner? You just made yourself a bad day. It coulda been a good one.

Bad stuff doesn't make bad days.

Comfort Zones

So it's 10:15 pm and I just got in bed and said aloud, "oh crap I forgot my blog post." So this is written hastily on my phone while Brian brushes his teeth and I get snuggled in the covers. 

I've been doing a lot of thinking about comfort zones lately. It sounds like such a good thing. Comfort, cozy, happy, yay. But actually they're such a crutch. I'm finding I shouldn't live my life in the comfort zone and just sporadically venture out of it. I should live my life pushing myself to try new things, and only retreat back to the comfort zone when I really need it, like if my stress levels get up to an 8 or 9. I'm learning to make myself view moderate stress levels (6 or 7) as tolerable, regular, good for me, and not a reason to freak out. 

Yes I rate my stress levels. Subjective Units of Distress help this happy little math major turn anxiety into numbers.  Try it; it's weirdly satisfying.

When I was a dummy I arrived to retreat to my comfort zone. Now I'm challenging myself to reserve the comfort zone for the extreme occasion. It kinda sucks and it kinda rocks. 

Vegetables

When I was a dummy, I hated all vegetables. As a kid the only vegetable's I'd tolerate were carrots and lima beans. My parents would send me to my room since I'd refuse my vegetables. No dessert, no snacks, just staying in my rom until bedtime. I threw a fit every time, but in my kid point of view, it was totally worth it to get away from the greens.



In college when I was trying to teach myself to like salad, I'd get iceberg lettuce from the salad bar and cover it in dressing and shredded carrots. I specifically remember Brian and I bonded early on in our relationship with a conversation that went something like this:
"Yeah I can tolerate salad... but I don't enjoy it."
"I don't understand how people can eat salad for a whole meal."
"Why do people order salads at restaurants."
"If I were to force myself to eat an enormous salad, I'd still be hungry as if I'd eaten nothing."

Lol. Dummies.
Now we plan to eat salads weekly for our whole dinner. Romaine or spinach or a spring mix. When we go to restaurants, we often order salads, or at least the healthy side. We don't drench our salads with dressing. In fact, I always order dressing on the side because I kinda prefer to taste the lettuce itself. What have I become??? A healthier individual, that's what.
We cook peas or green beans with almost every meal. It's so easy to use the $1 frozen bags from Kroger. And vegetables taste better now probably just because I don't think about them so much. I don't build them up as a 100 foot wall that's keeping me from dessert. It's just a veggie, and it makes my body feel good, and I like finding ways to spice them up to taste awesome. End of story.

Don't Mess With Alaska

My parents recently got back from Alaska, and they mentioned this t-shirt they saw for sale:

The joke reminded me of something I used to not understand. I was such a dummy. I remember in first grade our teacher asked the class what the biggest state was. We all guessed incorrectly. A lot of us guessed Georgia, which shows how the world revolves around a 1st grader.  The teacher pulled down the classroom map and asked us again, "Which state is largest?"

We still couldn't figure it out. We were so frustrated that she repeatedly insisted "Texas" and "California" were incorrect answers. It took her a long time to tell us the correct answer. Alaska. And we totally didn't understand. Look at the map- Alaska is way smaller than Texas and Nebraska.

Literal takeaway: when I was a dummy I didn't understand scales on maps.
Figurative takeaway: when I was a dummy I couldn't zoom out, take criticism, and see the bigger picture.

I Hate Reading

I like to say "I hate reading." It makes many people cringe, and it feels kinda true to me. I think I've realized I don't hate reading in general, I just unapologetically hate reading anything that's not interesting.

I liked Harry Potter, I liked The Hunger Games (even though I've recently had a serious of nightmares about them) and I like reading blogs and social media and fluffy stuff. I hated reading for school, and I hate reading through redundant curriculums I have to sort out. Bla bla bla.

I came to this revelation through watching TV snd movies. I've recently become really outspoken about admitting, "I don't want to finish this movie," and, "This is too scary for me," and "I don't want to watch any more episodes," and "This isn't funny at all." I'm turning into a TV snob I guess. But I would never let those things convince me that I don't like TV or movies.

So why did I let myself believe I don't like reading, just based on all the readings I disliked? Because high school literature class picks the most awful boring books as required reading, and I totally gave up pleasure reading by elementary school.

Anyway, I don't hate reading. I just am picky and only like reading fluff pieces that make me happy.

Reason or Excuse

I used to think reasons and excuses were virtually interchangeable.

"I'm late because there is bad traffic." is not a good excuse; it's just a reason.

Mistakes, lack of planning, forgetfulness, laziness, etc... those are just reasons, and it's a shame to use them as excuses. They're just slip-ups, and instead of using them as a cover up, I should use them as a lesson learned.

Real excuses are respectable and unavoidable: sickness, family emergency, severe weather, basically just acts-of-God kinda stuff. They're rare, understandable, and real respectable excuses.

Don't let reasons become faux excuses. Don't accept other people's reasons as faux excuses.

P.S. Thus really sounds like a sub-tweet but it really is unrelated to anything going on in my life right now, hah! Just a general observation since we're watching Master Chef right now and everybody's making "excuses" out of little reasons.

Friend, Not Entertainer

I used to think it was my responsibility to make sure the people I care about weren't bored, mad, sad, annoyed, or anything like that. Like I had to be some sort of doctor/magician/therapist/entertainer and make sure all was well in their world when they were around me.I can't make everybody happy. I'm no fun park.

For most problems, there is no quick fix, and even if there were, that would be an unfair expectation to place on a friend.

For little problems like boredom, that's not my responsibility either. If someone is bored and not having fun around me, then frankly it's half their fault too and they're just as boring.

I recently was getting anxious whenever Brian was sitting around relaxing. I'd ask him repeatedly, "do ya wanna play a board game?" "Do you wanna go for a walk?" "Do ya want a snack? A movie? A  puzzle?" And he would always try to calm me down that he's totally fine doing nothing. And now I'm fine with that. 

Anti-Jeans

In college I noticed many of my peers talking about how much they disliked wearing pants, especially jeans. I heard about a thousand times, "As soon as I get back to my dorm I change into PJ pants," or "People give me compliments on my skirts and dresses, but I'm really just avoiding pants."

At the time I totally did not get this. I wore jeans every day, and I kid you not, I took naps in jeans too. During finals week when I failed to take care of my body I would fall asleep in my clothes, including jeans. I thought jeans were really comfy and didn't understand why people complain about them. In my eyes, denim was soft, stretchy, warm, and therefore perfect.

Now I get it. I wear jeans every single day to work, since it's a casual environment and the office is way too cold for shorts or skirts. And every single day when I get home I immediately change out of my jeans and I feel like my legs can finally breathe again. Maybe this is because I finally invested in some better quality jeans that actually fit me and are made of thicker material than just Old Navy's. Maybe this is because I'm getting old and my body needs breathing room when it didn't before. Maybe I'm just better at noticing things to complain about.

All I know is that at the end of the day when I finally peel my skinny jeans over my sweaty feet (sometimes taking three of four frustrating minutes of wresting denim over my clammy hooves) I can hear the angels singing.

Accepting Favors

1. Is it seriously still only Wednesday?!?
2. Here's my When-I-Was-a-Dummy Wednesday post.

I used to really have a hard time accepting help, favors, and gifts that were offered to me freely from people who care about me. I'd feel guilty for not pulling my weight, and for others to go out of their way, spending time and money to make my life better. I felt obligated to repay with another favor, or to somehow make our friendship more worthy of such a generous gesture. But recently I've gotten my mind changed about carrying the guilt, because I've recently been spending a lot of time on both sides of the fence.

I've been busy and tired and sometimes under the weather, which just makes me a little sad. But my sweet husband gives and gives and gives. He cooks me dinner and gets me the heating pad and makes sure I have a lunch packed for the next day. He tells me jokes and he turns of the TV when I get a headache. I just can't really repay every little favor he does for me. And he doesn't expect me to. That's what love is- doing what you can to meet the other's needs, and never keeping score.

The past few weeks I've also gotten to be on the giving side of things, at work. As I've mentioned, this week is VBS and there is an ungodly amount of prep work that goes into registration, organization, volunteer recruiting, and training and safety measures. Somehow my awesome coworker got stuck with like 80% of the responsibilities so I would try with all my might to take some of her workload from her. She was constantly thanking me and feeling guilty and writing me notes. But I didn't want or need thanks! I just wanted to make her life better!

When people offered to help us move, I felt guilty. But they wanted to help to make our lives easy, knowing we couldn't truly repay them.
When somebody invites us to dinner, they're not keeping score for us to pay them back.
When someone does you a favor, they don't want you to feel guilty, but just valued and important and a little more stress-free.

Watercolor Wonder Women

I follow a lot of impressive water colorers and calligraphers and modern letter era on Instagram. They're amazing. Dazzling. Mesmerizing. And they make it look easy.

A photo posted by Calligrafikas by Drew Europeo (@calligrafikas) on Jun 3, 2016 at 6:25pm PDT

A photo posted by Joly (@jolypoa) on Jun 7, 2016 at 7:00pm PDT

A video posted by Aurelia Hawkins (@goldenleaf) on Jun 7, 2016 at 7:04pm PDT

So I got some brush pens and I got a water brush and liquid colors and fancy paper. And it was not easy. My first 1000 attempts immediately went in the garbage. My lettering was embarrassingly childlike. My water colors look like mushy wrinkly gray-brown globs. Stuff that looks easy is not easy, it's practiced.

So I'm kinda learning how to water color, using tutorials I find on Pinterest. And I'm kinda learning modern brush lettering, just by copying stuff I see on Instagram. I'm getting better, but BOY was I a dummy when I thought it'd be easy. 

Brave Enough to Shower

I'm still not great at trying new things. But as a kid I was REALLY terrible at trying new things. I hated new foods, had trouble making new friends, and wore the same striped shirt for my yearbook picture three years in a row. Also I was a butterfly every year for Halloween from age 3 to age 9.

Anyway. As a kid I had a really hard time transitioning from baths to showers. For some reason I thought showers were scary? I specifically remember being a tiny toddler and taking baths with my brother and sister, and then they graduated to showering and I tried to shower with them and I hated it. So I pretty much refused to step in the shower for like ten more years. I didn't like the water splashing on me; I think it felt out of control. I strictly took baths until about 5th grade. That is so incredibly old. Twelve years old, still uncomfortable showering. 

This photo is from todaysletters.com blog post today. I had already decided to write about showers and then I saw her CUTE CUTE CUTE original photo and decided to borrow it. Go read her blog!

Around 6th grade I started transitioning to showers and by 7th grade I was strictly a shower kinda girl. And now, the thought of taking a bath kinda grosses me out (sitting in warm filthy water as it gradually cools? No thanks you!). 

When I was a dummy, I thought showers were scary and baths were the better way to go. 

Now I'm probably still kinda a dummy because I don't know how to sit and enjoy a good bubble bath. But I'm smarter than I was in elementary school!

Tourists at the Chihuly Museum

I asked my wonderful husband if he wanted to write a guest blog post for When-I-Was-A-Dummy Wednesday. No, I was not sneakily calling him a dummy when I asked. He agreed, so without further ado, here's a post written by my sweet Brian.

Kirby and I just got back from Seattle where we went to see her brother, Matlock, for a long weekend a few days ago. Matlock is a wonderful host and always makes sure we have a great time when we visit. He made sure that we did all the "touristy" things during our stay including going up in the Space Needle and walking around Pike Place Market.

Now both those things were wonderful experiences and I'm certainly grateful that I had the opportunity to do them. That being said, they both felt "touristy." Now I knew going into these things that they would probably feel this way. Everyone knows that when you visit Seattle you're supposed to see the city from atop the needle and you've gotta go watch some random folks toss around big, frozen fish (note - we got there in the time between when they actually set up the market and when most people arrive... so we didn't see any flying fish. Thanks jet lag).

These aren't experiences that most Seattleans have on a regular basis and I was well aware I looked like a tourist - not something that I enjoy. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about standing out as a tourist that makes my skin crawl. Maybe I'm just overly sensitive (true) and maybe I'm lacking in self confidence (also true), but I really don't enjoy the (probably made up) feeling of locals knowing and belittling the fact that I'm a visitor to their city.

That feeling changed when I saw the museum exhibit dedicated to Dale Chihuly. if you don't know who he is, I urge you to look up his work. Chihuly is an artist who works mainly with glass blowing and is inspired greatly by nature. When Kirby and I walked in I was expecting to quickly walk through a couple exhibits and hit the road. But Chihuly's work is truly breath taking. We walked slowly, stopping often to admire the many rooms dedicated to the glass sculptures (and so Kirby could Instagram, A LOT).

I know we looked like tourists. We made several back-and-forth trips through the rooms, each dedicated to a different aspect of his sculptures. I probably could have spent the better part of our day just browsing through again and again, knowing full well that I looked like a typical out-of-towner. But I stopped caring. I was a dummy to allow what others might be thinking of how I carried myself around really cool experiences affect my enjoyment of those things. Going forward I'll work on trying to not be dumb and to just enjoy the new things around me.


ALSO, I just saw a TV commercial for the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. They are currently featuring Chihuly's work from right now until the end of October. If you've never seen his work in person, or if you already have, I highly recommend going to see the exhibit. It's awesome.

Gifts For My Furture Self

People who identify as "a nice person" (that's probably most people) often go out of their way to help others. From the time you're a tiny tot, it's ingrained in you to be helpful, to not hurt others' feelings, to share toys, and to generally be healthy and safe whenever possible.

It's not a bad thing at all usually, but we are conditioned to think of others first. To value others more. To give rather than receive. My top Love Language is Acts of Service, so I enjoy finding ways to make other people's lives a little easier. Letting someone switch lanes in traffic. Making copies for my coworker. Cleaning up the classroom a little extra so that the janitor can do a little less.

But I'm learning that really just as important as those people, is myself. It's just as important for me to do favors for my future self. Just this week I tried out a few "gifts" for myself and I was so appreciative of my past self, I might start doing them regularly.

• Monday I checked all my Sunday School teachers' availability even though I wasn't done with their lesson plans yet. That gave me an extra day to find substitutes!
• I actually bought something at the grocery store with the intention of eating it for lunch, instead of my usual fallback on leftovers. 
• I stayed late at work yesterday so that I can leave early today. 
• I got some dried eucalyptus to try to cover up the weird carpet smell in our apartment.

Here are more ideas I'm hoping I can start implementing and stop being a dummy:

• Stop eating candy at work, and just enjoy one dessert a day.
• Write blog posts ahead of time to give myself a "day off."
• Set aside time to red, write, pray, breathe, clear my head. 

So I'm not totally there yet, giving myself all the gifts I deserve, but I'm learning. I'm a little closer to not being a dummy. 

Textbook Kids

I studied middle and secondary grades education for a few years. About two years of my undergrad and one year of grad school. I thought there would be a textbook-perfect answer to get kids to behave well and learn at the fastest pace possible.

Boy was I so dumb.

In reality, every educator has a different method, and many of them are awesome and many are terrible. There are a quite possibly literally a million textbooks about children's behavior, but there is no real actual tangible textbook perfect behavior management plan. Because kids are crazy and unique and unpredictable... as they should be.

I used to have a classroom full of insane but hilarious and awesome kids. I would come to my grad classes in the evening and ask my professors, "What they heck should I have done when they started farting on me and saying it was an accident? What the heck should I have done when I asked them to make up their own geometry problem, and then they drew problem that vaguely resembled a cartoon penis?" And they gave me different answers. And I'd try different things the next week. And nothing was ever perfect.

The absolutely most frustrating feeling in the world was when my observer would come watch me teach and give feedback. She would watch me teaching, watch kids misbehaving, and I'd ask what I could do differently. She'd be like, "Oh, just keep going! You're doing fine! They'll catch up."

Now I still work with kids, but in a different role that's MUCH better for my sanity. But every once in a while I still have a run in with an insane kid who just tries so hard to rub you the wrong way, ya know? I'm coming to terms with the fact that there is no textbook-perfect answer for wonderfully behaving happy smiling listening children. Children are happier when they're running and yelling and teasing their buddies.

I'm finding that in lieu of one perfect textbook answer for behavior, there are instead a million "good" answers, and they're unique for every child. Some kids need to be hugged when they're crying, but some need to be ignored and some need a calm distracting conversation. Some kids refuse to finish their craft and you can encourage them to half-heartedly do it, and others you just have to have a conversation and make sure they understand what the point of the craft was, and forget the finished product.

The trick isn't to learn the books. It's to learn the kids.

None of My Business

When I was a dummy I thought I could map out and predict my every major life decision, years in advance.

When I was graduating high school I had made up a whole life plan I could dream up for the next decade. Basically I just peered into my crystal ball and decided exactly what future I wanted. 

Of course I never felt tied to the plan, I knew it wouldn't turn out exactly like my predictions, but I was certain I was working towards the right thing. The things I had plucked out of nowhere in my mind seemed like great reasonable goals. 

Thankfully my life looks nothing like how I imagined it years ago. I didn't get married at age 21, teach high school for two years and then have a kid. I can't even imagine that right now. Definitely not the right path for me.  Goals evolve and plans change for the better. But I still have this insane urge to plan the next decade. I need to know exactly when I'll finish paying off my student loans, exactly what month we'll have saved up a down payment on a house, and exactly what our jobs will be a few years from now. It's really none of my business yet.  

Sick Day

I used to categorize myself as "one of those people who basically never gets sick."

Truth: I don't get sick very severely or for very long, which is an amazing blessing I should never take for granted. 

Another truth: I get little sick several times a year and ignore it or "power through it," which is a terrible idea. 

Today I actually had to stay home from work with a throbbing throat and low fever. Honestly I should have stayed home yesterday when my body was giving me the initial signs, but I had too much to do, tried to work through it, and ended up worse off this morning. Who was I kidding when I had a fever yesterday and I decided I could act like everything was cool, casual, normal, according to plan? Man was I a dummy.

In college I went to class and completed projects when I was "just a tiny bit sick" all the time. I probably most definitely should not have contaminated those classrooms with my germs. Only once was I sick enough to admit I had to miss class, and I felt like it was a dumb excuse for missing class. I'm learning to value my body more. It's communicating with me, not purposefully trying to hinder me. It's yelling at me what it needs: Advil, hot tea, soup, and bananas. I can listen and respond accordingly OR I can continue being a dummy and making myself worse. 

Church Supper

When I was a dummy I thought mass-prepped food was always gross no matter what. 

In grade school I never went through the lunch line because I was a grade-A brat. (Until high school when that had a McDonalds-ish option that cost a million dollars a meal, and it was like a social status to eat that crap.)

At summer camp I worked behind the scenes in the dining hall and when I saw 30 gallons of grits on the stove I suddenly had no appetite for grits. 

In college the dining hall only set out one tray of each food at a time but if you thought too hard about it you'd realize there were hundreds of pounds of fish filet in the warmer... Gross. 

Today I was proven wrong once and for all. Wednesday night supper is the most delicious Wednesday night supper I have ever seen. 

Forgive the styrofoam containers. Nothing can hold back this meal. I am so full but I want seconds. I will never judge Wednesday Supper again. 

The Best Four Years

When I Was A Dummy, I believed what adults said all the time: "College will be the best four years of your life."

Class rings are a really big deal, presented to sophomores at Agnes Scott.

Yeah I freaking loved college. I loved the traditions, camaraderie, challenges, triumphs, freedom, and safety. But also... life has gotten much better since then. I've had one year in grad school and two years in "the real world" and I've gotta say, life just gets better. It just really does. Even when I have ups and downs. Even when I have major stressors. Even when I have more responsibility and more bills due. I'm no longer running on a treadmill of coursework and jumping through hoops just for the sake of jumping through hoops.

The challenges I face at work are way more rewarding to overcome because the results matter a lot more than just a grade. When I do a good job, I see happy kids and parents, not just the possibility of getting recognized by my professors.

How sad would it be if college really were the best years of your life? It's all downhill from there? How awful, really! I'm here to debunk that myth. The best four years of your life are always ahead of you. Look forward to it.

The Best Balance

Everybody wants "the best."

I am learning to no longer want/demand the best of everything (and fretting when it can't be found or achieved), but instead want/demand the best balance and compromise.

Example 1:

There are two Mexican restaurants reasonably close to our house. One of them is always insanely crowded, but they have the best guacamole in the world. The other one is a little further away, less crowded, and the servers are super friendly, but their guacamole is average. I cannot keep wishing there was a mythical "best" Mexican restaurant with amazing location, no crowds, low prices, and delicious guac. But I can choose the best compromise based on time of day, how rushed we are, and just how we're feeling overall. 

Example 2:

We're in the thick of searching for apartments. I think we've narrowed it down to four options. There really truly is no "best" apartment complex with the best price, most spacious rooms, AND fanciest amenities. It just doesn't happen that way. Brian and I are learning to lean in the balance- searching for what we value most and what gives us our best compromise. 

Example 3:

There is no best haircut for me. Something stylish takes more upkeep. Something low-maintenance turns into a giant mane on humid days. Short hair is too much of  a commitment. Long hair is too much of a hassle. I just have to deal wth whatever time and effort I'm prepared to put in. These days the best balance for me is plain long layers with no bangs, so I rarely have to get a trim. One day if I have a more professional work environment, I'll have to trade back to a shorter, more polished look. There is not "best," there's just a best balance.

When I Was A Dummy, I thought I could find the best of everything; all I had to do was search hard enough. Now, I realize "perfect" and "best" are never the goal- but balance, compromise, and finding a choice you can be confident in.