Blog

I can't believe I forgot to type in the name of my new blog. :)

crazygorgeouslife.blogspot.com

Come on over all you crazy, gorgeous people!

Taking a breath

Oh how I have missed this.

I love this blog.

I will be absent for a while longer, in part because I have just started a new blog that I will be writing on nearly every day for the next year.  I am super excited about it and would love to see you there!

Much Love!

Bethany

Slack

Humans.  We need a whole lot of slack don't we?  We are not that smart.  We run our mouths before we run our brains.  We get all worked up over teeny tiny things.  We get swamped my emotions without real cause.  Most of us need a spiritual chiropractor to align our ego, heart, higher-self and rational-self with one swift soul popping adjustment.  Alas, spiritual chiropractors don't exist, so we shamble on in our best, if unbalanced, interpretation of what it means to be human.

Case in point:

I hate waiting.  Rage flares inside me like dragon fire.  I am embarrassed to admit that.  I have to breathe deeply and occasionally tap dance in the check-out line to stay calm.  

Yet, not too many years ago, I was in line at a thrift store.  It was my first time out ALONE since the birth of my second child.  My husband worked upwards of 70 hours a week, plus he held a demanding church calling and he home taught five families.  I needed adult interaction in an "if you are on my eye level I will talk to you" sort of way.  There I was, holding two possible fairy outfits for my daughter and unsure of which one to get.  I stepped up to the glorious, verbal, cognizant checker and asked her opinion.  There were smiles shared and an idea or two passed back and forth.  I held up one of the fairy costumes to examine it full length when the gentleman behind me exploded.  "LADY, MAKE YOUR DECISION BEFORE YOU GET TO THE COUNTER.  THERE ARE PEOPLE HERE (he was the only one there) WHO NEED TO GET GOING.  YOU ARE BEING SO RUDE!"

Obviously he was in need of a tap-dance lesson.

Oh fellow human.  Did you have any idea that the last five minutes of my golden hour out were spent crying anonymously in a parking lot?

OR

There was a time, shortly after my husband and I were married when finances were tighter than an opera singer's girdle.  Sometimes you can stretch paycheck to meet paycheck.  Our paychecks never got close enough for a formal introduction.  During this time I found a table at a yard sale (my favorite past-time … I pause briefly to offer apologies and congratulations to all those who have become addicted to the sport because of me … now back to the story.  I was looking at a table - remember?)  This table was mostly oval shaped.  It had one end sawn off.  Not sure why.  Anyway, the owner was asking $8 (a crazy good deal).  I asked if she would take $5.  She willingly agreed and went to see if her husband would load it into my car.  Over on the other side of the driveway, a woman who had never been taught the value of a 12" whisper turned to her daughter and said "Can you believe the nerve?!?! She offered $5!  Some people are so greedy."

Oh fellow human.  I don't remember what that $3 bought, but I do remember the profound relief I felt when my $5 offer was accepted.

So.  In the last few weeks I have had run ins with a few humans.  If you were to make one of these humans at home, I would recommend:

1c arrogance
3/4 c unwarranted anger
1/2 c authoritative attitude
1 heaping tablespoon ignorance
porcupine quills to taste

I have been so angry with these people.

My wonderful husband pointed out about one of them, "He probably works with irresponsible people every day."  That is quite possibly true.  About the other, my husband pointed out that the person didn't know me at all and was just reacting (albeit badly) to the situation.

Logic can be so irritating when your feelings are hurt.

"I am doing my very best," my inner self insists.  "I am a rule following, extra-mile going, contributing member of society.  I don't deserve to be treated like that."

I can feel my past self putting her arms around me, asking me to see the good in these people.  Maybe they were having a horrible day.  Maybe they had deep and invisible un-met needs.  Maybe someone behind them in line at the thrift store had been mean to them.  Maybe there are factors in play that I cannot even imagine.

Perhaps, as I sit up against the sawn-off end of this table, I can create some slack in the rope of my opinion and accept them as  … humans.

Pledges

Before we start our schoolwork, we always say the Pledge of Allegiance and our Boster Pledge.

The Boster pledge is:

Bosters are kind.
Bosters work hard.
Boster's love God.

The other day, one of my kids got it a little mixed up.  With all the confidence in the world they said:

Bosters are kind.
Bosters love hard.
Bosters work God.

Oh, how true that is! :)

Oh, for the good old days

This afternoon had me wishing  for the days when propriety and manners were cultivated, rather than shunned in a headlong rush to tell the world of every passing emotion.  Nowadays merely having an opinion is all the reason anyone needs for sharing it.

Oh for a well-trained, well-mannered youth.

My six year old son and eight year old daughter had been playing outside when my daughter burst through the door dripping with dears and choking on sobs.  Something special to her had been ridiculed ("That's stupid!") and then she had been snubbed ("We're playing and it's none of your business!" followed by running away from her whenever she got close.)

We talked through the situation, I held her close and then she got on with her life.  Good girl.  She mentioned that her brother had been crying in the carport too.  A while later, I pulled him aside and asked what he had been crying about.

"I saw how mean they were being to Hannah," he said, tears welling up again.  "I wanted to protect her, but I was too late."

I wrapped my arms around that boy and hugged him till I thought his ears might pop off.

Chivalry is not dead.  The heart of a knight warrior (albeit a six year old knight warrior) beats in the heart of that boy.  His sister had been in distress and he wanted to be on hand to place himself between her and the dragons (albeit an 8 and a 9 year old dragon, but sometimes those are the worst kind.)

While I am exceedingly, exceptionally, extraordinarily fond of pants and voting and equal employment opportunities, I can see the beauty of bygone days.  Carefully cultivated words, elevated thoughts, dignity, duty, propriety and perhaps even kindness are fast becoming casualties in this fast paced world.

That's it.  I am having a cup of tea.  I may even indulge in some high-toned verbiage.  I may even put napkins on the table tonight.

In this way I shall "take arms agains this sea of troubles, and by opposing end them."  Okay, a cup of tea won't solve all of society's woes, but I did just quote Hamlet, and that has to count for high-toned verbiage.

The Be in Beautiful

I teach ballet to adorable four, five and six year olds and every single one of them has moments when they feel beautiful.  They all get the same look in their eyes, tuck their chin in the same way and adopt stylized princess-like movements.

I only see them for an hour a week and  I see every one of them feel beautiful.

But it's more than that.  They don't just feel like they look beautiful, they feel like they are beautiful.

When little girls play, they don't just pretend to look like Cinderella, they want to be Cinderella.

As adults we have a serious disconnect.

There are very few people we would actually like to be and the proliferation of self-help books and gyms and therapists says that just being us isn't cutting it.  But back to the first part of that sentence - there are very few people we would like to look like AND act like AND live like AND have families like AND get paid like AND have faith like.  Where do we look when we want to be like someone and not just want to be like a small part of them.  Is it possible that we already are the person we most want to be like?  Now I am all for aspiring.  Excellence is my favorite food and becoming the best person we can be is the whole point of being here.  But I am discovering more and more that wanting a bit of the person over here and a piece of person on that magazine over there just makes me depressed.  I look chubby and peevish when I get depressed.

I want to be okay just wanting to be me.  I want to feel great about being me.  Okay, I already do to an extent, but I want to love being me so much I don't want to be those parts of other people anymore.  Those examples can inspire ME to be a better ME.

Sidebar:
By now, the insensitive comments of Mike Jeffries (CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch) are old news.  So they only want to sell to their target market (women sizes XXS to L and men up to XXL).  Fine.  No problems.  Everyone is entitled to a target market, but once they start trying to attach their exclusive version of beautiful to an exclusive version of "be" and then publicly defend that version by denigrating nonconformists then they have crossed a line.

If one were to listen to them (before, after or through their carefully worded apologies) one would hear the message that beautiful has a size.  That "cool" can be bought and put on and that popular is worth the price tag.  You would hear that "All-American" is found in blonde hair and perfect, if unclothed abs.  (Seriously, why do clothiers use so much nudity . . . it seems counterintuitive.)

More damagingly you would hear the message that you are not okay.  You don't quite measure up.  You have to strive for that kind of worth and valuation and nothing inside you can mitigate your deficiencies but they have some denim that just might help.

They are trying to sell a "be" and make us believe it is beautiful and it is not.

End Sidebar.

I am ready to experience the "be" in beautiful.  In any given hour I want to feel what my dancers feel, that I AM a princess that I AM the fabulous I see in the world.

Alright, this essay needs polishing.  Rather than tighten it up, I am going to help my amazing honey make dinner for four ravenous children - two of whom smell like chickens, but that is a story for another day.

Have a BEautiful one!

Roar

The world tells me I am overweight, mediocre, out of style, an average housekeeper, middle class, that I am forever wearing the wrong jeans, that I am not living up to my potential because I choose to stay home and raise my kids, that I am ordinary, middle-of-the road smart, and not nearly as crafty or motivated as ... well anyone on Pinterest.

Here's what I tell the world:

I am a daughter of the Almighty God.  I am Celestial material and that is the highest class there is.  I am empowered by covenants.  I am empowered by God to be more than I could be on my own.  I am worthy of God's blessings.  I am a woman of virtue.  I am filled with the light of Christ.  I am faithful, generous and kind.  I see people and I see them as children of God.  I am the heart, axis and gravitational pull that holds by family together.  I am a hard praying, tithing paying hymn playing mama!

That is my roar.

Compared to that, corner offices and size two waists and fancy houses sound more like "meow."

What's your Roar?