Thoughts on Womanhood

This is my favorite quote from the Bridget Jones book. It’s been resonating with me lately…

“Being a woman is worse than being a farmer- there is so much harvesting and crop spraying to be done- legs to be waxed, underarms shaved, eyebrows plucked, feet pumiced, skin exfoliated and moisturized, spots cleansed, roots dyed, eyelashes tinted, nails filed, cellulite massaged, stomach muscles exercised.

“The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed. Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature– with a full beard and handlebar mustache on each shin, Dennis Healey eyebrows, face a graveyard of dead skin cells, spots erupting, long curly fingernails, blind as a bat and stupid runt of species as no contact lenses, flabby body flobbering around.

“Ugh, ugh. Is it any wonder girls have no confidence?”

 

God Hates Easter Dresses

I had planned to regale the blogging world with pictures of our snowy Easter, but the pics that I would have put up are on my mom’s camera and I don’t have them yet. So you will get only my commentary, and perhaps the pictures will be posted as a treat for you to enjoy at a later date.

Now, the non-religious reason that I love Easter is because I generally hold to old-fashioned rules of fashion, and I look forward to the official unveiling of white sandals, floaty skirts, and Easter-egg-colored shirts. Even in years where I haven’t bought a new Easter outfit, I enjoy pulling my bright clothes out of the back of my closet.

For this reason, I take it very personally when the weather delivers a freakish cold front for Easter weekend. And those of you who have a memory like mine (selectively fantastic) will recall that we have experienced these cold fronts for several years running. In years past, I have powered through with my Easter outfit, spending the morning miserable and cold and dreaming of fleece. This year I wised up and just wore warm clothes.

For this meteorological phenomenon to occur with such regularity, I must conclude that it is sent by divine design. God does not want us to parade out on Easter morning in beautiful and flowy new clothes. Of all the Sundays of the year, this is one where we absolutely must not be thinking about our clothes. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence that this year, in my black pants and black closed-toed shoes, I heard the most meaningful Easter sermon ever.

(Regarding Easter snow…I’ll just mention the other angles I could have taken on this topic. For those of us who regard global warming as little more than hot air of politicians, the weekend provided lots of opportunities for jokes. Also, it was a fitting end to a week of insanely strange weather. In 10 days, Waco has been hit with flash floods, a tornado, monsoon rains, sunny spring days, and now many inches of snow. To borrow the words of Anne Lamott, it’s been like a movie trailer for a whole year of weather.)

 

Hop on the Crazy Train

I have had a sneaking suspicion for quite a long time that I might be just a bad night’s sleep away from becoming a raving lunatic, and this time of year always seems to give me lots of evidence to support that hunch. Take, for example, the fact that I have been trying to think of an awesome blog topic for several days now, and I still can’t come up with anything more than fragments. But, since that’s all I’ve got, and I am wanting to post, it’s what you’re getting today.

…the post-spring-break blues always bring out the worst in both students and teachers. Teachers go into panic mode, trying to cram as much content into the last nine weeks as humanly possible, and then go into hysterics when confronted with the reality that the students have been replaced by brainless yet behaviorally uncontrollable drones for the remainder of the year…

…and all of the sudden, I have no sense of humor. I feel my instincts regressing to those I have been fighting in my students. I want to roll my eyes, cover my ears, and deliver a well-timed kick to the shin of any student who crosses me at the end of the day…

…meanwhile, the end of the year events are piling up on the calendar. This weekend is Grandparents Weekend. This means that I have to finish my class’s homemade auction project (okay, Stephen has to finish my class’s homemade auction project), prep my seventeen drones to recite “Casey at the Bat” with flair and finesse, and attend two showings of excerpts from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Then we’re running full steam toward the 4th Grade Play, Live Oak Classic Track Meet, Academic Decathlon, final report cards, a character award ceremony, and convocation…

…meanwhile, I am plagued by personal distractions…

…my cool brown plaid pants are officially too short to wear again…and besides, I think they’re too fall-ish to be wearing right now anyway…

…it is only March but I have June bugs swarming around my front porch and shuffling off their mortal coils in my entry hallway. Did you know that June bugs ooze black liquids as they expire?…

…now that Daylight Savings has come, or gone, I’m back to leaving for work in the pitch black. It’s dark, and I can’t get good reception on my favorite AM radio station, which hasn’t mattered too much because my favorite wake up on the morning guy has thoughtlessly taken a vacation for the past week…

…my entire faith in humanity is being shattered by the fact that Sanjaya is still in the American Idol competition. Not a confidence-builder amid all this talk about the 2008 election…

…I am noticing that I only have one disk left until the end of Season 5 of 24. There is no way that this plot is going to resolve to my satisfaction in four hours, and I’m starting to vaguely recall the viewer outrage I heard as this season concluded on TV last spring…

…So, amid all of this trauma, I’m falling back on my never-fail comfort objects:
-Starbucks coffee: even though it will contribute to waistline trauma in the near future.
-vintage DC Talk: it’s like musical Red Bull. It makes me want to sing and dance and rap into my Talkboy (oh wait, that wasn’t me…)
-wildflowers: so pretty
-my dogs’ ears: so funny
-denial: my personal favorite for serious problems that are outside of my control anyway
-social time: especially when it’s AT Starbucks!
-a good night’s sleep: and I’m heading that way now.

 

Thugs in the Parking Lot

This latest cold front hit just after I cleaned out my closet and disposed of all of my warm sweaters that had mysteriously shrunk into midriff-baring crop-tops. After this purge, I literally had one warm sweater left. (Mom, it’s the black one from Christmas. THANK YOU!) Since all the stores are now featuring springy sundresses and swimsuits, I thought I might be able to find a warm sweater on sale at Old Navy.

I get my nails done at Happy Nails in the Central Texas Marketplace, and last week I had a few extra minutes before I had to drive across town for Pilates. So I zipped across the parking lot to Old Navy, and as I pulled into an empty spot, I noticed several high school kids of the sullen, non-conformist variety standing around an old Geo smoking cigarettes and bobbing their heads to some music.

I was blasting Michael Medved in my own car at the time, so I couldn’t hear the exact tune, but I assumed that when I shut off the engine my ears would be assaulted by some sort of non-edifying whining from the latest indie band.

Imagine my surprise, and my complete amusement, when I opened my car door and was greeted by the familiar strains of…Kokomo.

It was funny. Just thought I’d share.

 

Good Riddance, January!

January is the worst month of the year. It is very wrong to follow up the comforting white lights and wassail of the holiday season with a month that made up of 31 short, dark, cold days. I am tired of my winter clothes. I am tired of having cold feet. I am tired of driving to work in the pitch darkness. I am tired of trying to teach seventeen kids who have mysteriously and universally undergone freakish personality mutations.

Tomorrow is February 1. I can feel my spirits lifting already. February brings Valentine’s Day, which is a great excuse for mid-winter presents and a delicious meal. February brings us one more month closer to spring; in just 28 days, it will be March, the month of Spring Break and flip-flop frenzy at Old Navy.

But most importantly, February will be NOT January. I am taking Beth Moore’s advice, as posted on Prophecies, to start fresh on my resolutions at the start of each new month. So February will be the month of organized housework, pre-planned meals, and increased distinction between my gluteals and upper thighs.

Goodbye, January! February, bring it on!

 

Road Hog

I have a particular area of giftedness in determining the maximum safe speed for a given road, taking into consideration the weather, road conditions, posted legal limit, and freqency of law enforcement patrols. Therefore, the maxim that some quote as a joke is actually true for me: anyone going slower than me should speed up, and anyone going faster than me is a maniac.

Take, for example, my daily commute to work. For most of the way, the road is a narrow, winding, two-lane highway. The calculations work in this way:

Posted speed limit: 70 mph (+ 9)

Road conditions: no shoulder, frequent sharp turns, possibility of sudden
animal obstacles, limited long-range visibility. (-10)

Police Presence: rare (+ 10)

Conclusion: Safe driving speed for normal driving conditions is between 75-80 mph.

I share my highway with a black truck whose driver does not utilize the same thoughtful planning when it comes to driving speed. Every day he passes me like I am an overized combine. It doesn’t matter if the yellow line is solid or dotted, if we are on a curve or a bridge, or if the weather is inclement. This never fails to offend me. (And, regrettably, he will never be caught, because of aforementioned policing of said road.)

One recent morning, I had slowed down to the low end of the maximum safe speed for my highway, because it was foggy and raining. And I was passed by not only my arch nemesis, the truck, but by a minivan, as well! What I really want is to be given authority to make citizen’s arrests in such situations. (The option of making citizen’s arrests came up months ago in a heated game of Imaginiff and has fascinated me ever since). I would love to slap a temporary siren atop my SUV and chase down the irresponsible driver and deliver justice.

Instead, justice works in this way: one day I failed to slow down according to the posted speed limits as I entered the great population center of China Spring, and I got slapped with a ticket. I had to make a special trip to a very depressing temporary building/court in the middle of the sticks (I missed it on my first time past it on the road because it looked like a storage building belonging to the gas station next door). There, I found out that the county does not take checks, and so I had to make a special trip to my bank in Waco to get a cashier’s check, and then deliver it back to the court trailer.

Today I spent six tedious hours at Ryan’s Steakhouse for Defensive Driving. The idea that the six hours of instruction have any redemptive effect for the traffic violaters in attendance is a joke that we all play along with. We the convicted filled in the blanks of our booklets and watched video clips, and the little old lady who runs the whole operation enthusiastically delivered the information, and we all pretended that we were not just there for the certificate of completion at the end. This filled the requisite six hours only because Glenda announced at the beginning of class that she encouraged class members to share their personal driving stories as they became relevant to the topics that we were discussing.

And then, when my penance was finally complete, I sped home. Ha!

 

Warning: a Serious Post

It is a little depressing to think of the amount of time I spend each day doing tasks that will either become undone or disappear the very next day. I get up each morning and make my bed, wipe down my bathroom counter, start a load of laundry, let the dogs out. I go to work and plan creative and meaningful ways to fill my school days, but no matter how good any given lesson is, I’ll still need another one for the next hour, or the next day. I go home and shop for groceries, and cook dinner, and wash dishes.

Reflecting on this, I wonder how anyone ever gets around to having time for saving the world or leaving a legacy for the future. It can feel a little bit like being a hamster on a wheel, and I have been thinking recently about why it is that I keep up all this seemingly fruitless work. I don’t have a choice for a lot of it. I keep finding food to make into meals because we keep getting hungry. I do the dishes and clean the bathroom and make the bed every day because it’s a matter of daily sanity for me to keep my house clean. These are tasks that recreate themselves every day, and provide no benefit beyond their immediate completion, but they are worth the time that they suck up nonetheless.

But not everything falls into this category. I am willing to repeat many of my tasks, day after day, because I believe that eventually my work will produce some eternal result. It’s what Andy Stanley calls the “cumulative effect” of a million tiny installations.

It’s why I keep swiffering underneath the bookshelves in the living room, even though I know that a million spiders will shrivel up and die there, and an entire Phoebe worth of hair will accumulate in that same spot within twenty-four hours. I have faith that each small cleaning will produce the result of my home not being condemned by CPS one day.

It’s why, STARTING TODAY, I force my body to exercise even though my fat does not immediately diminish and the Jennifer Aniston within does not immediately emerge. I have faith that one day, all of these Pilates 100’s and Barrel Rolls will give me the energy to be a good mom, and minimally-incapacitated twilight years.

It’s why I tell my students a million times a day to raise their hands before they blurt out their thoughts, or to be more thoughtful with their friends, or to sit up straight in their chairs. I have faith that each day brings them a little closer to a life that is characterized by self-control, thoughtfulness, and self-discipline.

It’s why I keep struggling with questions of my own spiritual journey, even after years of feeling like the answers are long in coming. I have faith that maybe this conference, or this book, or this devotional will unlock the secret that I have been searching for.

And so the metaphorical wheels keep turning, and I return to these tasks each day, like Edmond Dantes chipping away at the walls of the Chateau d’If.

One day, I’m going to break through.

 

Practical Theology

The debate about man’s basic goodness vs. natural depravity may seem like a debate that is best suited for seminary classrooms and coffeeshop discussions between people like JohnD and my husband, but as I sit here in Starbucks, my beliefs on this timeless controversy have very practical, immediate (even urgent) effects on my behavior.

You see, I am here alone, working on report cards, and I have set up a cozy arrangement that includes such valuables as my laptop, school-issued flashdisk, purse, grade book, and the remains of a grande mocha. And now, I have to go to the bathroom.

I’m in the little living room section by myself, which means that while there are fewer potential thieves, there is also no one that I can ask to keep an eye on my things. I don’t really want to pack up everything and schlep it fifteen steps away and into a crowded bathroom stall, but I feel a little nervous about just leaving it here unattended.

The question is: are the twenty or so people nearby in the line for lunch at Chili’s Too more likely to see my unattended belongings as the sacred property of another, or an opportunity to pilfer some credit cards and some free, middle-of-the-road used technological equipment?

In the event that someone tried to take my stuff, slip a date-rape drug into my water bottle, or make complimentary long-distance calls on my cell phone, would the people nearby be more likely to step in and intervene for the well-being of a stranger, or look the other way and hope I was smart enough to figure it all out when I returned?

The ever more pressing question becomes: are any of these belongings important enough to me to risk the humiliation of soiling myself in this nice purple velvet chair just because I couldn’t decide one way or another? I’m thinking not.

 

Holiday Shopping Guide

So, yes, I did brave the crowds on the Friday after THANKSGIVING. I get a big adrenaline kick out of it. I enjoy the fresh Christmas spirit, the cheery music blaring over the mall intercoms, and the tables of discounted products. I don’t shop with much of an agenda, so I am never disappointed by not finding what I wanted. Now of course, on the record, I was out and about to get a head start on my Christmas shopping. The problem is, I kept getting distracted by the clothes in my own size and the discounted items that happen to be on my wish list.

While I believe in the principle of “it is better to give than to receive,” I hate buying gifts for other people. I really do. It’s such a balancing act between a person’s wants, needs, and the stuff that they already own. I have a very deep-seated aversion to being wrong, and the last thing I want to do is show up on Christmas day with my gift, only to find out that it is the wrong size, style, or it is a duplicate of a hated sweater at the top of the recipient’s closet.

My judgment is impaired when I go out shopping at a mall. I become immorally self-absorbed, and I exercise all of my creativity in rationalizing purchases other than the ones that I intended to make. So this year, my solution is to Christmas shop online.

Two sites will make this a breeze. One is www.gifts.com. If you haven’t noticed this link on the side of this blog, shame on you! This website is guaranteed hours of fun and inspiration as you think up the perfect gift for the people on your list. You can shop directly from the site, or you can steal the ideas and go find knock-offs at your local Marshall’s.

The other site is my all time favorite, www.amazon.com. I assumed that Amazon was as well known to people as Wal Mart, and I was shocked the other day when I had a friend ask me what sorts of things one could buy from there. It’s got a great feature called a wish list, which you should beg all of your friends and loved ones to maintain. It’s the fun and convenience of a gift registry all life long.

Happy shopping!

 

Reflections

I went to a bridal shower yesterday that felt like an episode of “The Fabulous Life.” The “unreality” began when the bride-to-be shared her engagement story: her fiance knelt down on the steps of a ivy-colored, white mansion surrounded by wild hydrangeas, located on his grandmother’s estate in Ireland, and presented her with a beautiful square-cut diamond that is roughly the size of County Cork. I listened to the details of the wedding itself, which is going to be a gala on New Year’s Eve. I watched the bride-to-be open Mikasa martini glasses, a complete silver tea service, and a ten-pound sterling silver serving tray, among many other impressive gifts (the word “impressive” not including my gift of a bundt pan). I also tried to look cooly sympathetic when the same bride-to-be told a story about her unfortunate friend who lost her purse that contained both her Fendi wallet AND her Louis Vuitton wallet. Bummer! And then the clock struck four and I had to rush home before the stretch limousine turned back into my trash-filled 4Runner.

The morning of said shower, I anxiously tried to decide what to wear. Those of you who read this blog regularly know that fashion is a particular insecurity of mine, and this was compounded by my certainty that the bride-to-be and all of the other guests in attendance would impeccably dressed in fashionable and thoughtfully assembled outfits. So I looked into my closet and tried to find some combination of clothing that did not include a) practical shoes, b) something I have owned since high school, or c) hand-me-downs. As this turned out to be impossible, I have decided to ask Santa to bring me some new clothes for Christmas.

Today and tomorrow are inservice days at school, which means that the teachers come and talk all day long and the students stay home. My thoughtful administrators arranged to have a nice girl come and give 10-minute massages to all of the teachers during some of the workshop sessions. This girl was named Olga (no joke!), and, like I said, she was a very nice person…but the massage was incredibly vigorous and I was too proud to tell her to ease up, so now my shoulders are sore.

We worked a basketball game tonight and it was the stinkin coldest night yet. My feet are just now starting to regain feeling. It was a slow night, so I was not provided with my usual distraction of watching the drama unfold when people are not allowed to park in the lot of their choice. At the last game that we worked, one elderly gentleman actually threatened to sue Stephen! I just hold the rope across the drive into the expensive lot, so I don’t actually catch the flack, but I get a front row seat. It’s pretty riotous.

Okay, it’s late and this is long. I’m going to sign off for now.

P.S.–Our couches are being delivered tomorrow! The only possible hitch is that Sofa Mart will refuse to take back the loaners, since I recently singed the overstuffed chair with my iron as I tried to remove the wrinkles from my skirt while I was wearing it. Fingers crossed!