Parenting

Reasons why I would be a bad mom:
1. I would insist that my child call me by my first name rather than the more socially acceptable term, “mom.”
2. I would raise him to be vegan, primarily for health reasons.
3. We would not have a television in the home, as today’s television programs and especially advertising pollutes one’s mental environment.
4. No fast food allowed, see #2.
5. We would not purchase Christmas gifts, and when his kindergarten classmates ask him what he got for Christmas, he would reply that he did not get any gifts because his family protests consumerism on Jesus’ birthday. We also observe Buy Nothing Day on the day following Thanksgiving.
6. I would frequently probe him to express his feelings about the various experiences he has each day, and we would process through them together. “What I hear you saying is that you feel distressed and pensive about the A- you received on your spelling test.”
7. I would talk to him about the love and grace of Jesus Christ, yet I would encourage him to be open-minded (as some Christians are perceived as being narrow, judgmental, and too conservative), so we would learn about the values and benefits of cultures, lifestyles, and beliefs other than our own.
8. I would strive to provide an educationally rich environment, utilizing programs such as Your Baby Can Read, so that my child would learn to read and speak at an exceptionally young age.
9. We would exercise on a regular basis for our physical well-being.

As a teenager (or pre-adolescent, since he will be so emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually mature for his age), he will rebel against his oppressive childhood. He will call me mom, he will eat junk food, he will sit around all day and watch television and probably even play video games at his friends' houses, he will buy crap he does not need at the mall, he will act surly and aloof and keep his feelings inside, and he will question his faith.

I'm Okay When You're Okay

At the tender age of eighteen, as I embarked upon my real life outside my parents’ home, as I was writing an inspired (insipid) essay for my college lit class at a local coffee shop, a charming blue-eyed gentleman engaged me in conversation. He lured me into his world with compliments and attention, and I was hooked. He turned out to be a narcissist, and I was his blossoming codependent better half.

Our relationship became increasingly abusive over the three years that we dated, both physically and psychologically. Like a good codependent, I felt responsible for his fickle moods, I caused his anger, I walked on eggshells around him, I had anxiety attacks worrying about him, I was attracted to his neediness, and I felt I had to give, give, give until I had nothing left. I often felt blindsided, bereft, guilty, lonely, and sick.

As the constant anxiety and abuse eroded what little self-esteem I had to begin with, I sought therapy for what I assumed to be a need for some help with stress management regarding my workload at college. My very patient head shrinker helped me to get a glimpse of reality. With her support, I realized that my problem was not merely an issue of stress caused by difficult course loads, my spirit was being killed by an abusive man.

After years of crying about family of origin issues in psychotherapy, after numerous subsequent failed relationships, and most importantly, after finding the grace and love of Christ Jesus, I healed. I learned who I was, and my codependency nearly vanished.

Perhaps as a result of my past (he can’t still affect me now!), or maybe because of all the feminist literature (hear me roar!) I inhaled in graduate school, I abhor the slightest notion that I may have codependent tendencies now.

In my imagination, I am this independent robot who has perfectly healthy boundaries and easily says no to unreasonable demands. While I respect the thoughts and feelings of others, I do not let them affect me. Everyone is responsible for himself, as am I. I never over-commit myself, I feel totally secure receiving gifts or compliments, I never worry how things will turn out. I certainly never feel victimized or unappreciated.

Alas, those tendencies do rear their ugly heads on occasion.

When I know I am acting with integrity, why do I let others’ reactions bother me? Why do I feel a sense of pride and self-worth when I reach out to help someone who is needy? Why do I let it affect my sense of self when someone is upset with me? Why do I doubt myself? Why would I rather someone else be comfortable than myself? Why do I worry? Why do I try to control circumstances? Why do I trivialize my own thoughts and feelings? Why do I repress my own anger?

I want to feel valued and loved, yet I feel an uneasiness that whispers that I am not deserving of love. Codependency is a shortcut to intimacy, but it is one that is not healthy and therefore does not work long term.

These symptoms reflect a lack of faith in God, the one who loves me unconditionally. It is His reaction alone that matters; it is He who gives me a sense of self-worth. He made me the way I am, and I can rest in His sovereign plan for me without worrying.

Supersize Me

A long time ago, I was institutionalized in a place called High School. It was a time when I smelled like teen spirit, I adored flannel shirts, and I listened to music that my mother despised from Seattle-based bands. There was an interesting girl in many of my classes who was both academically brilliant and artistically talented, and I admired her, but both of us were quiet and shy, and sadly, I never really got to know her.

However, through the magic of facebook, we are now “friends,” and she writes a witty and insightful blog called Unruly Helpmeet that I read while I should be working. She posted a commentary on body weight and size, and I can totally relate to her thoughts, struggles, and frustrations. Thank you for your authenticity, Helpmeet.

I, too, hated my body in high school and college, which was curvy in all the wrong ways (or so I perceived at the time), and oh, how I wanted the stick body with no hips and a teeny waist that my skinny friends had. One or two negative and critical remarks from dumb boys reverberated in my head, and I constantly felt worthless about my physique.

Beginning in high school and for the past 14 years, my driver’s license has read 5’3” and 130 pounds, but there have been times when I have weighed 30 pounds more and 30 pounds less than that since I was a teenager.

After college, I got into working out seriously, and I became a vegetarian and then a vegan, and I'm in great shape now, but it never feels like I am good enough, thin enough, toned enough. I physically push myself to the limit every night in the gym, and I never eat junk, but I still have nagging thoughts that I should have done ten more minutes of cardio, should have added twenty more pounds on the squat bar, should have put less peanut butter on that sandwich.

The pain of always feeling inferior, the constant comparisons, the incessant self-deprecating thoughts are so damaging.

As to Helpmeet’s comments about clothing and makeup, I still have no sense of style. I am 30 years old, and I get to wear jeans to work, and I shop in the junior's department because (1) I don't know how to buy grown-up clothes or put together actual outfits, and (2) I can never find women's clothes that fit me anyway (women’s jeans all look like mom jeans on me, pants have hugely long crotches, horrid tapered legs, or God forbid, pleats, and a lot of it feels too baggy).

The little I know about clothes and makeup, I did not learn until the past few years, mostly by actually reading books on relevant cultural issues like how to apply makeup. The nice thing about being a bookworm is that most of the answers to life I have found by reading, thereby avoiding embarrassment from asking others for information and having them wonder what is wrong with me that I don’t know these things.

Sometimes I wish that one of my well-meaning friends would turn me in to Stacy and Clinton so I could get some real advice and a clothing budget that I’d never be able to afford while working my current job in non-profit. But I’m afraid of (1) giving up the clothes that I actually feel okay in, (2) being forced to shop, (3) having to actually wear grown-up clothes, (4) having to appear on television, and (5) having my hair cut. I admit that I'm fearful of uncertainty and change.

I don't know the answers. I don’t know how we learn to feel better about ourselves (or at least not feel guilty that we feel badly about our appearance on top of hating our bodies). I don’t know how we stop the perpetual comparisons (superiority: “at least I’m not as fat as her” or inferiority: “I wish my thighs looked like that in jeans”).

Having faith in God and reminding myself that my identity comes from Him and not from society's airbrushed ideals helps.

But it will always be a struggle.

Am I Fat?

I foolishly stepped on the scale this morning after a hiatus of a month of not weighing myself (was forced to at the doctor’s office last month), and I was so discouraged to see that I had gained more weight than I’m willing to put in writing. Now I remember why I keep defenestrating my scales. Sure, sure, Jesus loves me and all. . . but I think I subconsciously assume that He loves me in spite of my body, and I forget that He made my body just the way it is. I feel like such a hypocrite after all those discussions with my teenage discipleship group about finding our identities in Christ, not in worldly things like a silly (LIFE-ENDING, OMG I AM PANICKING) number on a scale.

Well, this article makes me feel a little better. It shows Faith Hill before and after she was airbrushed for the cover of Redbook.

P.S. de·fen·es·trate (dē-fěn'ĭ-strāt')
tr.v. de·fen·es·trat·ed, de·fen·es·trat·ing, de·fen·es·trates
To throw out of a window.

What is friendship?

Friendship Application

Due to the high number of applicants for this position, I will not be able to respond personally to each application. If an applicant is chosen to be my friend, he/she will be notified within seven to ten business days of the receipt of said applicant’s completed application.

Fill in the blank
1. There is _____in this room/ Above our heads, waiting to _____/ I'm a thinker not a talker/ Put your faith, your faith in _____
2. Clouds _____/ I’m not _____ what you think and dream/ I run into your _____ from across the room
3. Cause my _____ is too slight to hold back all my dark/ This ship went down in sight of _____/ And at the gates does _____ ask to see my _____?

Fill in the blank
4. I like _____ more than television.
5. I do not eat _____.
6. My favorite possession is _____.

Identify the film
7. On a large enough time line, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero.
8. Breakfast, shmreakfast. Look at the score, for Christ's sake. It's only the second period and I'm up 12 to 2. Breakfasts come and go, Rene, but Hartford, "the Whale," they only beat Vancouver once, maybe twice in a lifetime.
9. Come on, please. If I was going to get you coke we would've gone to the f*ing high school football practice. We would've been rolling five hours ago.

About you
10. What is your Myers-Briggs personality type?
11. What are your love languages?
12. List the following in order from least favorite to favorite: Kim Kardashian, Oprah, Scooby Doo, C. S. Lewis, Eminem, Jesus, Tori Amos.
13. Rate the following in order of importance: money, books, exercise, friends, prayer, music, current events.
14. How do you feel about small talk?
15. What do you think about sarcasm and/or irony?

Scenarios
16. If you asked me to hang out, and I said no because I wanted some time alone, how would you respond?
17. There are 6 benches in a row, numbered 1 to 6. Bodybuilders (or poseurs) are attempting to bench press on numbers 1 and 5, and the rest of the benches are unoccupied. Which one do you use?
18. If you were my friend, how many times a week would you want to talk on the phone?
19. If you agree to meet someone at 7:00 pm, what time would you actually arrive?

Do you certify that the above is true and complete to the best of your knowledge? __ Yes ___No

Makeup

I have recently become interested in (aka obsessed with) makeup, as in cosmetics. I have arrived at the realization that it takes tons of expensive cosmetics, brushes and tools, and loads of time to achieve a perfect, “natural look” that makes it appear as if you are not wearing any makeup at all.

According to one “how to” website, you need the following items to achieve a natural look with your makeup: blush, brush, concealer, eye shadow, eye liner, face powder, foundation, lip gloss, lipstick, lip liner, makeup brushes, and mascara.

This is no small undertaking, folks.

After 18 years of mostly failed experimentation with makeup, I have finally realized that there is an art form to it. I was finally convinced of this fact after perusing books on how to apply makeup.

I am fascinated by psychology, especially as it relates to culture, so I began to read research that addressed the question, “What is beauty?” I suppose if I’m painfully honest, I will admit that I wanted to learn secrets that would help me to appear more attractive. While surfing Amazon, some of the “So you’d like to. . .” lists caught my eye. Some of them not only addressed beauty in a sociological sense, but I discovered many how-to books on the application of cosmetics. I also discovered that in any given chain bookstore, there are dozens of books on how to apply makeup. You’d think I would have gotten the hint sooner that this is no easy enterprise. But when I saw the volume of literature, the light bulb finally clicked on.

I am overwhelmed by the number of brands, colors, and types of makeup in the supermarket alone, where you go to purchase food, not beauty products. I have to carefully avoid this aisle so as to avoid brain overload. There is simply too much to choose from: light, dark, shimmer, matte, pressed powder, loose powder, liquid, cream, pencil, volumizing, lengthening, etc. ad nauseum. Incidentally, I feel the same way about the shampoo aisle. One major problem in our society is the availability of too many choices, but that is a commentary for another day.

Have you ever entered Sephora or a similar makeup boutique? It’s as if you’ve stepped into an alternate universe, a rip in the fabric of reality where heaven and hell coexist. There are so many pretty sparkly things. Yet there are so, so many pretty, sparkly things.

Quality of makeup does matter. You get what you pay for, which makes me feel some passive-aggressive anger, as I am a bargain shopper and wish I could tell you that the drugstore stuff is just as good.

I have looked at my face so many times in the mirror that I can not possibly begin to be objective about how I look, makeup or sans makeup.

I suspect this is true of most women. Do you see women and wonder how in the world they convinced themselves that they looked presentable (too much blush, too much eye shadow, unnatural foundation)? Am I one of those women?

This woman achieved a natural look with plenty of makeup: foundation, concealer, peach eye shadow on her lid and a darker color in the crease, mascara, highlighter on her brows, lip liner, and some nude colored lipstick. She skipped the blush to make the look appear “natural.” See how easy it is to make it look like you’re wearing nothing on your face?

Lights, Camera, Action Figure

One of my life goals is to be an action figure.

I plan to start by appearing here and there as an extra in regular comic books, surreptitiously lurking in the background, glancing over my shoulder in the half-glow of a streetlamp so that only half of my visage is visible.

These random sightings will begin to create some buzz with readers wondering, who is that new chick on the scene? At just the right time, there will be a strategically timed “leak” on the Internet where my alias will be revealed, and people will start to think of themselves as somehow special and “in” because they have “discovered” my “identity.” People will blog about it, mention it on their facebook page as if it is a secret code, and the comic book version of me will have created a small yet respectable alt subculture.

Once I have gained some street cred and name recognition, I will experience my debut, starring in my own one-shot comic book sporting a catchy title like “Kill Your Boyfriend.”

Fans will rave, haters will rant, poseurs will try to emulate me.

After my much-anticipated unveiling, readers will obviously want more. Too bad. I will not appear in any more comic books after that. My face will disappear from comic books forever, leaving only a wistful memory. Someone famous once said that it is better to burn out than fade away.

However, my peeps will miss me and yearn for a relic, something tangible by which they can remember me. The subculture will need merch to bind them together, give them a sense of unity, identity, purpose, and belonging.

At long last, a plastic action figure will emerge on the scene. I will come with poseable appendages, lifelike hair that you can style!, and a plastic M-16 not suitable for children under age 2.