Fawn. Like a deer.

2016-09-16T15:14:00.002-07:00

I only wish I had written it first... http://www.opnlttr.com/letter/my-ex-husbands-new-girlfriend-im-sorry

2016-09-06T15:37:00.001-07:00

Obsession, thy name is Stitch Fix

2014-08-08T11:34:00.001-07:00

Dudes.

I have found my new very favorite thing, and it's name is Stitch Fix.

What is Stitch Fix?

Stitch Fix is an online personal stylist site for women. When you go to the website, you create a detailed style profile that helps the Stitch Fix team know your fashion sense and body type. They will even view your Pinterest Style board (if you have one) to suss out the fashiony things that make your heart sing. Then a stylist chooses five items they think you'll love and ships it right to your door. You try on, you play, you take poor quality photos if you want (and let me apologize in advance for that. Brendan swore his Galaxy would take superior photos. He lied.) Then choose what you want to keep and send back what you don't love via the good ol' USPS in a pre-paid, pre-addressed mailer. Easy! You can do it once. You can set up a schedule to receive one every month, two months, six months, whatever. Totally up to you.

How Much Does Stitch Fix Cost?

There is a $20 styling fee to receive your first fix, BUT if you love even one of the items and keep it, that $20 goes towards that purchase. The cost of the clothing varies, but these are all high-quality pieces and most of them aren't available at any of the stores in Arkansas. To which I say, "YESSSSS!!" and feel very Carrie Bradshaw-esque. OH, also too, if you decide to keep all five items they send you, you get 25% off of everything. SAVVY!

So I received my first fix in the mail a few weeks ago. I KNOW. I have been meaning to write this blog since but I had company in the form of one daughter and two sweet, precious, darling g-babies and sorry, as much as I wanted to share the fashion love, they needed G time.

Sweetest! Angel! Babies! EVERRRR!

But I digress.

My first package arrived like so:

I indicated in my style profile that I preferred not to receive accessories, especially scarves (I could write a blog entry about my hatred of scarves.) What they sent me was three tops, one pair of jeans, and one dress.

It's like Christmas!!

So off we go..

First up is the Chevron Top. I absolutely LOVE the fabric and color - perfect for summer and super comfortable. If I were still a nursing mom (which, thankfully, I no longer am and shan't be again if there is a just God) this would be great for that. I paired it with white skinny jeans and flats for work. Very cute. KEPT.

Second is the Kaleidoscope top. I was not sure about this one until I looked at the included style suggestion card and realized how versatile it is. It's got many colors that I love and it's not like anything else I own - never would I have picked this up and tried it on. But I am super glad I got it and this one I also KEPT. I like the fabric and the high-low hem (HATE that in dresses, love it in tops. Go figure.) I've worn it with red skinny jeans and a denim jacket. Cuteness.

The black dress was next. As much as I wish I was still 30 and able to pull this look off, it felt too young for me, and it went back. But the fabric was beautiful and it made me very sad. I may have danced around in it for a bit before taking it off. Wistfully, RETURNED.

I wanted to love the coral top. I did love the color. But at that price, I would have to LURRRVE it and I just didn't. The fit was too loose (for my taste anyway) and I didn't feel like it would be something that would wash and wear well. So it was RETURNED.

OMG. Who's mom's ass is that? UGH!!!

Lastly, the skinny jeans. I wanted to like these. But as seen here, they were MOST unflattering in the caboose-al area and they are not that different than other dark skinnies that I already own, ones that do not make my butt look like it has a zip code of it's own, so they were also RETURNED.

That's it...The $20 I paid up front was applied to the two tops I kept, and I dropped the others in the mail the next day. I created a Pinterest board, since I didn't have one, and have linked that to my style profile. My new shipment is already on the way and I cannot WAIT to see what's in it. OH! ALSO! Referrals. If you click on my link, there, and decide to give this a shot, I'll get $25 towards any purchase I make on MY fix. And you can do the same! A few friends from work have signed up and a couple of other besties also. Can't wait to see what kind of fixes they get!!

Stay tuned for my next fix (with better photos, hopefully, if I can sweet talk Boyfriend into taking them) and if you do sign up, let me know so I can see what you get!

OOH PRETTIES! SIGN ME UP!!<http://www.stitchfix.com/referral/3910731>

On Turning 40

2012-07-31T19:34:00.000-07:00

When I thought about what my life might look like at forty, I imagined many things. A loving and dedicated partner. A daughter headed off to college. A fat bank account. A framed degree on my wall. A surgically enhanced, improved figure.

I have none of those things.

Instead though, what this last decade, and especially the past two years, have brought are unexpected blessings.

True, abiding friendships.

A job I really enjoy.

An opportunity to sing to my heart’s content – and to have people applaud.

A spirituality not tied to or influenced by any church or it’s dogma.

Parents who are still alive and actively involved in my life…in my kids lives.

Not a perfect body, but a healthier one. A more fit one.

And certainly, the most beautiful grandchild who has ever been born. To anyone. In the history of time.

No, I still have not fallen in love with a man, but I have fallen in love with one very sweet four-week-old. It is as breathtaking as “new mom love” was, and completely different. Obviously her being here now wasn’t part of the plan I’d envisioned for my daughter but…somehow it’s just right. I wouldn’t change a thing about any of it. OK, untrue. If I could change one thing, I’d make spoiling her rotten my full-time job. I’m tempted to even change this entire blog to the “Faith Abygail Adoration Page” because I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s about to become just that.

Anyhow, my 40th birthday was celebrated with sushi and wine with good friends – those true friends I mentioned earlier – and a few transient ones who taught me lessons. I still wasn’t sure which kind of wine to order, but I have learned to just go with what I like. People are less judgmental about that sort of thing than I’d realized. There was also a crème brulee at Lulav that made me purr. As far as the day itself, it was made special by special people, and I wouldn’t change a thing about that day either.

What I really haven’t done up until now is to ponder…to think about what I’ve learned in 40 years. I’m still much the same person I was at 20, and at 30. There have been additions and subtractions in the personnel but I still have the same ideals I’ve always had. Injustice is just as sickening to me as it was then, more so now because I’ve been subjected to it personally. Forever the underdog’s champion, I take up any cause when there is the need for someone to step up. Civil rights, bullying, inequality, you name it. I have always believed that not only should you live and let live, you should make damn sure that your kids are doing the same. You don’t have to share the ideals of your neighbor but neither should you shit on their steps. I’ve learned that no amount of squawking is going to change closed minds. No amount of screaming will make me heard by the people who need most to hear me. Somehow it hasn’t quieted me. It’s just made me back up the words with actions. Some known to others, some only known by me. But I sleep just fine at night knowing that everything I fight for and believe in feels good and just and right to me.

As far as love…honestly, I don’t know that I’ve learned much. Sometimes I think I have high standards, and that’s what keeps me from settling. Other times I worry that I use that invisible checklist of qualities I seek as a barrier. It’s much harder to hurt me from behind a steel wall. I’ve learned that I’m really ok just being alone, but that it’s nice when someone other than the kids cares if I make it home at night.

Mostly what I’ve learned is that life is short. Too short to be anything other than happy, and way too short to spend a moment letting the opinions, lifestyle choices, and bad decisions of others change how I feel about myself. I still think I’m kind of awesome. And even better than that is not caring who agrees with me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have over 100 photographs to edit and share with the world. They are of the most exquisite beauty I’ve ever seen.

She calls me G.

Resolutions kept, and not.

2012-03-26T15:58:00.004-07:00

Well, I have failed with at least one New Year's resolution but have stuck with a couple of others.

My resolution to blog every day…obviously…has not been made good. I blamed it on technical difficulties at first (when my laptop cord shorted out) but the bigger reason turned out to be the fact that I didn’t (and don’t) want to share my every personal detail. I have friends who do this and I wish I were that brave. I used to be.

In any case, a number of transitions since my last entry.

One resolution I have kept is the diet/exercise regimen. While I have not dropped the weight I’d hoped to (damn scale), I have dropped a couple of sizes, but what’s even cooler than that is that I’m ….harder. Tougher. Stronger. And that stuff they say about exercise being a natural mood enhancer is not bunk. It’s still slow going, but I am definitely sticking with it and feeling pretty damned proud of myself for that. I schlep to the gym in the rain, in the cold, and when it’s beautiful outside I make an hour wance sesh my daily workout. How much do you love me for saying "wance sesh?"

I’m also lifting about twice as much weight as I started out with. In short, I feel like a badass.

After much consideration and deliberation, I have decided that my daughter’s daughter will call me, simply, “G” – although I toyed with some other non-traditional names (LaLa, GiGi, G-Dawg)(The latter being what Brendan will call me until I draw my last breath, so taken was he with that name.) My daughter is planning to name her Faith Abygail, in keeping with our initials (Fawn Amber, Farren Abriana).

I for one cannot wait to meet her.

The boys are accepting, if not excited. Jillian is positively giddy at the thought of being an aunt – and to a girl! It’s as if the heavens have opened up and smiled directly upon her.

G-Dawg OUT!

Perception and Reality

2012-01-30T19:17:00.000-08:00

I've been writing this post in my head for a few weeks.

I kept thinking, as I turned it around and around, that I would have some giant breakthrough and that touted "A-Ha!" moment that I've heard about.

I have actually had several of those, and I never stop being surprised at the constantly changing life I live.

Originally I was going to talk about the way that, when you step back from a situation - really step back - that you are then able to see things for what they actually are, instead of the colored versions that your heart and logic and experience and passions present up close. The way that something that you've believed to be true in the deepest, darkest part of your heart is something very different once it's stripped down and naked.

Maybe someone you loved isn't at all the person you believed them to be. Maybe someone you thought you were over has crept their way back into your thoughts. Maybe something you did that made sense at the time seems ridiculous in retrospect. Or someone you count as a friend, or a leader, is someone from whom you can learn a wholly different, and unwelcome, set of skills.

What I am finding, though, is that we have a way of manifesting a truth for ourselves that makes it so much easier to justify our actions and decisions. And the more reality rears its ugly head, the more adept we become and changing not only our perceptions, but absolute and total faith in something that suits our needs until our life is nothing but a carefully orchestrated facade. How many people know the real me? How many people really know you?

All of the above things have happened to me in recent weeks. People I thought I knew well, I do not know at all. It is alarming, the contrast between my perception and their reality.

Something I did that seemed perfectly logical - now - is an embarassment. (And no, I am not talking about my tattoo. I still love it.)

Sometimes skewed perceptions are necessary. They help us cope. They help us forgive ourselves, and others. But they are no longer harmless when they negatively affect how we treat the people around us. We forget those who really love us because we are fixated on the one we can't have...simply because we cannot have them. We fail to see our blessings because we focus on desires that aren't met. On some level, we even realize this. We then feel self-pity, self-loathing, and that translates into self-destruction that in the end hurts the very people we don't see.

I wanted to have a conclusion to this that would change people. Make them stop and think about their actions, their beliefs, their silly made-up realities. I don't think I've gotten there yet. What I do have is an understanding that I have been just as guilty as the people I have shaken my head at in frustration.

The only thing left to do, then, is to try to see things as they actually are, no matter how heinous the effect, in the hope that I will not miss the things that I've been missing in my delusional little life.

It is unfortunate that it's taken me 39 years to get to this point. And I'm not even sure I'm where I need to be. But for now at least, I can see the ugly truth.

And what surrounds it is beautiful. It's real, and it's mine. It's me.

A Budding Sommelier

2012-01-05T20:34:00.000-08:00

I have another resolution to add to the list.

I want to learn more about wine.

I rarely drank before the age of 28. My first husband claimed to be a recovering alcoholic (and also someone with moral values) so we just didn't drink. At all. Ever.

Once the marriage ended, I did the expected thing and became a club-goer. My girlfriends at the time were beer drinkers but I hadn't yet developed a taste for the stuff, so I started to experiment with drinking wine.

The only kinds I liked were sweet. White Zinfandel was my go-to. I also felt sophisticated when ordering it, and rather adored the image I believed I projected whilst carrying a wine glass around the club. I probably even adopted a little Thurston Howell accent. That would be vintage Fawn.

I have never been one to drink at home. I don't usually keep alcohol in the house at all. To wit - I bought a 12-pack of Bud Light for my football draft in August and finally used the last can in a French Dip crock pot roast about two weeks ago. So yeah, not much of a drinker. I have trained myself to enjoy beer occasionally, mostly because it's everywhere and, let's face it, guys dig a chick who will drink a cold one and watch a ball game. Also? Cheaper. WINNING!

Occasionally though, usually in a fancier setting, I will want to have a glass of wine, and I am clueless about what to order. In the liquor store, I am overwhelmed by the selection. I recently purchased a bottle for a friend's birthday and ended up having the cashier select it for me. Luckily, it was a hit, but I can't take any credit.

I'd like to remedy that. I'd like to order with confidence.

"Yes, I'll have the 1983 Blooo dee blah"

"A fine selection, madam."

On my own, I have branched out to other safe options - Pinot Grigio, Moscato, occasionally a Pinot Noir. I'm not sure what the best way is to learn...but I'm certainly willing to investigate. I'm even willing to bet I could find a friend or two willing to learn with me and, if I'm lucky, a knowledgeable friend who will point me in the right direction.

So tell me...what's your poison?

This ain't Patrick Swayze...

2012-01-04T21:18:00.001-08:00

OR IS IT??

I think I have a ghost, you guys.

Or maybe ghosts, plural.

Some history...

My mom has always been a bit of a...free thinker when it comes to the paranormal. When we were growing up, we would sometimes play "the psychic game." She would take 6 cards and on each one she would draw a symbol: a star, a circle, three wavy lines...you get the idea.
Then she would look at one card and try to project to us what she'd seen. We took turns saying out loud what had popped into our heads. OR sometimes, to mix it up, the person looking at the card would ONLY PROJECT TO THE PERSON NEXT TO THEM...and they'd project to the next person...and so on.

I wish I were kidding. I am not.

Mom believes in reincarnation...and in ghosts. Stop by her house any given Saturday night and I'll bet you dollars to donuts that she's watching Celebrity Ghost Stories...or A Haunting in Connecticut...or something in that vein.

So naturally, I tend to pooh all of that as baloney, the way most girls do when it comes to stuff their mom believes.

That said, I've had some...strange occurences throughout my life.

When I was around 2 and a half, as God above is my witness, I saw a cardboard cutout ape coming down the hall growling at me. I know how old I was because my sister Heather was in the crib next to me. I buried my face into my pillow and screamed until my mother came to get me. "It was just a nightmare," she said.

THIS WAS NO DREAM. 37ish years later, I can still describe exactly how it looked and sounded. I know what I saw.

When Farren was a baby, her father worked nights and came home very early in the morning. Usually she would sleep with me, and when he came in he would put her in her crib and then crash. One morning, just as the sun was coming up, I heard whispering...it sounded like dozens of voices, and they were all saying, "Go check on Farren..." over and over again. I went to her crib and she was sound asleep, but her dad had forgotten to put the rail up. If she'd woken up, I have no doubt she would have fallen out. She was just starting to pull up onto things.

Creepy, no?

When I was last married, I was about to doze off and I was facing the wall next to the window. I saw a black shadowy...thing...slither down the wall and behind my dresser. I woke up husband up and made him turn on the lights to investigate, so sure was I that I'd seen something but of course, nothing was there.

I should probably dig into what that one might be, but...you know what? I don't think I want to know.

So yeah. Last night I was in bed. It was around midnight. My door was cracked. I heard the kids in the hallway outside my door. I heard them whispering and I heard a giggle. I heard footsteps moving towards the kitchen. I called out asking who was up. I got up and went to the kitchen and...nothing. I went to the kids room and they were sound asleep.

I went back to bed and laid there about half an hour and it happened again. I went more quickly to the kids room to see if they were playing a trick on me and...

...they weren't. They were in the same position.

You guys. It was not my kids. So who was it?

It is 11:30 p.m. and I am about to try to get some sleep. If I should be found dead or possessed or something by morning (Our Father, who art in heaven...) then this will serve as the Blair Witch of Blogs.

Feel free to share your ghost stories.

It's not like I'm going to be sleeping tonight anyway.

Family Tradition

2012-01-03T21:34:00.000-08:00

So recently, my new sister-in-law Sarah got the photos back from her wedding. Immediately, she sent me the following compilation:

What we have here is a comparison/contrast of photos taken with disposable cameras set out at the reception. Top left is me - looking stunning, as usual - then to the right, my brother Josh and his wife Kim. On the bottom is our sister, Angel.

I do not remember when or how this phenomenon started, but it isn't a new trend.

Won't you please enjoy my cleavage?

My best friend used to say I looked like a catfish.

I know there are more pictures like this out there, but try as I might, I cannot find them. Maybe I will create a new album on Facebook dedicated only to this.

One thing is certain. We come by it naturally.

Thanks, Mom.

Saying Goodbye

2011-11-25T17:51:00.000-08:00

It's been five days.

I've been trying to write this for five days. Today I am actually putting words onto a screen.

My grandfather had been sick for a while. Two major heart attacks. Diabetes. Other problems, none fun. He was tired. He was ready. We were not. So he held on, mostly for Nana, I think, but also for us. For his daughters. He worried...he tried to prepare them, they tried to prepare us. It wasn't a shock.

The shock is how much it still hurts.

We were all welcome to speak at the service, encouraged even. My children wrote letters to him - unprompted by me - and asked if they could put them in with Grandad when he was laid to rest. They read short versions of them at the service. My aunts and cousins and uncle and a family friend spoke eloquently, sharing memories and stories.

I did not. I could not.

He had nicknames for most of us. Mine is Fawn-do. Fondue. I cannot remember a time when he called me anything else, unless it was "hun."

I wish I'd followed him around with a tape recorder...journaling his stories, his laugh, his advice. What I wouldn't give to hear any and all of that tonight.

What I remember most was his laugh and his voice. How anything he said when I was a child was law. He didn't demand respect - he didn't have to. His authority was absolute and I knew no fear of him. The only thing I ever feared was disappointing him. He loved us tremendously. His family was everything to him. I loved hearing him talk to Nana...to hear them playfully (mostly) bicker back and forth.

I remember spending the night with them, and he always had dinner in his chair when I was young - and he always had salt. I remember the salt. We both ate lots of it. He watched "wrasslin" on TV - I always wondered if he knew it was all fake but I know now that he did. Of course he did. Nothing got past that man. Absolutely nothing.

I went to see him just about a year ago. He was in the hospital for something routine, and he was in Little Rock, so the rest of the family had gone back home. I wanted to see him before going home from work. I got something that night that I hadn't had in many years - his undivided attention. We sat there and talked for a good hour, and after asking after the kids and me, we talked about Nana...the things he was worried about. He laughed and told me she was eating too many cookies and drinking too much soda. He was worried about her. I hugged and kissed him before I left, as I always did, and we said we loved each other.

At 5:00 a.m. the next morning, I got a call. His heart had stopped. He'd been shocked five times and he was back, but probably not for long. We were brought in to say our goodbyes.

Against all odds, he survived it. Along with an unplanned swim in the lake a few months later when the roads were covered in ice.

He loved my grandmother almost his whole life. 65 years. He took a vow to take care of her until he drew his last breath, and that is just what he did. He worked hard, he raised three amazing daughters, and he weathered the storms of the past decade with grace and honor, always. He is, without any question or competition, the best man I have ever known. I miss him more than I'd have even imagined possible.

I love you, Grandad.

Be careful going home.

Friendship: Proceed with Caution

2011-10-23T18:56:00.000-07:00

People who call me a friend generally appreciate my lack of a filter. I am sure there are people who call me an acquaintance who do not share that appreciation. However, being friends with me brings with it loytalty and a fierce - when necessary - level of protection. If I feel like a friend is being treated badly, or manipulated, or hurt - I am without the will to keep my mouth shut. This is both a curse and a blessing.

Lately, it has ended up being strictly a curse and has cost me some friendships.

To be quite honest, it cost me my most important friendship. But I am not ready to talk about that yet....the pain is still very raw.

However, I will talk about THIS. THIS OTHER THING.

So Friday night I unexpectedly found myself without kids - I was supposed to have one but things changed at the eleventh hour. I called up one of my girls and we went out to sing some karaoke at our favorite dive.

The night went as it usually does with us, with the usual parade of folks. I sang a few songs, we talked at length about this couple we always see there (look how happy he is now that he has a girlfriend! he's in a nice shirt! and he bought some of that spray hair!)(if he can find love, why can't we?)

The usual.

So I notice a woman at the bar that I haven't really officially met but whom I know is dating a friend of mine. Their relationship is, according to his Facebook page, SOLID. They seem happy, and are very much in love. They did go through a rough breakup several months ago, but from what I could glean from our conversations, it was because he screwed up and he eventually won her back, after MUCH MUCH mooning and whining and generally becoming one of those people whose statuses I need to block lest I lash out at them.

But now? Happy.

I saw a man come in, someone I also know. I hadn't actually seen him in a few years, and I was going to go up and say hello but...let's just say he was pre-occupied.

With my friend's girl.

Now...I try not to judge people. I know this isn't any of my business. I KNOW. So I tried not to pay them any attention. I did mention it to the friend I'd brought with me, since she also knows this guy friend...so we were both watching them. I debated getting involved. I hate the dramz. You guys KNOW i HATE THE DRAMZ. But when I got ready to leave, it had been over an hour and he still hadn't come up for air long enough for me to even say hello to him.

So I did the bad thing.

I texted my friend. I didn't give a lot of details. I just told him his girl was at a bar with someone I knew and I would want to know it if it were my S.O. canoodling in a public place.

I'm not going to get into the details about what has happened since. Let's just say I got a not-very-nice message from her, which I responded to not with an apology, which is what I think she mistakenly thought she deserved, but with conviction that my vision is indeed working QUITE WELL and that I stood by what I said.

SIGH....

So at the end of the day, the dude hasn't said anything else to me. And I probably should have just kept my mouth shut. God knows, I've been the victim of salacious gossip. OH, haven't I? But this wasn't gossip. I actually witnessed this with my eyes and I was appalled.
What he chose to do with the information at hand isn't for me to say but...should I have kept it to myself? I don't know. I'm learning though that maybe my definition of friendship isn't the same as the people I hold dear, or even the ones I hold kind of at arm's length.

Now I put it to you, friends - would you have sent the text? Or kept the info to yourself?

If I'm wrong, I'll admit it. But I'm gonna need some backup.

Back to School...

2011-08-13T19:16:00.000-07:00

We toured Brendan's new high school the other day.

We talked to various groups and debated about which ones Brendan might be interested in joining (none) and which ones his mother would be THRILLED to see him get into (golf, teen court, band) and which ones, in the name of future popularity, that he should probably pass over (chess club, FFA).

My high school student. Good Lord.

So...then we went into the gym...and oh my goodness. The smell of that gym brought back, in one instant, all the desperation and ecstasy and hope and PROMISE of high school. I remembered pep rallies and games and Prancer practices. The things that REALLY mattered back then. Cute boys. Mean girls. College applications. ACT scores. Prom.

It is hard for me to believe that my own kids are now living through those same experiences. And it made me wonder - have I prepared them? Have the lessons I have tried to teach, by being an example of what to do - and probably more often what NOT to do - been enough to keep them on the straight and narrow?

I was hardly an angel in high school, but comparatively speaking, I was a pretty good kid. I only had a couple of boyfriends. Never made it past first base until I was out of high school and engaged. Never snuck out, only drank once, and it was under my parent's...semi-supervision. Never tried drugs. And the biggest reason, I think, that I didn't do any of those things wasn't because I was afraid of my parents or of how it might affect my future. I probably could have found the popularity I so desperately wanted if I had gone to parties and screwed around with boys. But I didn't, and the reason I think is because I am such a control freak that I didn't want to let any substance, or urges driven by hormones, dictate my actions.

I realize that this makes me an oddball. I have come to terms with that.

The truth is, though, that none of us has it figured out, in spite of the fact that we all know people who seem to have done. We are all struggling, and growing, and learning as we go. We should forgive each other for that.

So as I send my kids off to high school, I will trust that I have taught them enough, and what I haven't taught yet, I am learning right along with them. We'll figure it out together.

With G'n'R, Metallica, and Def Leppard as our background music. Because that's one thing I have taught them. Good music.

OH. And great shoes. Because these are my kids we're talking about, after all.

I can (almost) see the light...

2011-04-20T12:35:00.000-07:00

Things have been a bit sticky as of late.

You know that Murphy’s Law stuff? I think there’s something to that. When it rains it pours, and all of that.

However, I detest people who use Facebook to cite their many woes and problems – particularly those that seem incapable of posting anything else. If your life truly does suck, then for the love of all things chocolate, make some changes. Do SOMETHING about it.

Then again, I guess I could just hide the posts of these folks from my stream, yes? Sigh…I’ve always been afraid I’m going to miss out on something good though. I’ve been like that since I was a kid. And patience? No. I am Miss Instant Gratification. These are just a couple of my flaws. Add them to the list.

So back to the subject at hand…I have recently changed jobs – and no, contrary to jokes from friends, it is not because my attempts at pole dancing were unsuccessful. The place where I was working is not operational for the next 9 months due to renovations. So after a month – a long, ramen-noodle filled month – I am finally back to work full-time, although it is temporary for now. This place is BY FAR the coolest place I have ever worked, and I am desperate to join them permanently. To that end, I am working hard, coming in early, leaving…well, leaving on time, but still. Also, dressing for the job I want, not the one I have. I tried to explain that concept to my kids and I think what Brendan took from that is that he should be dressing like someone who makes a lot of money by doing as little as humanly possible. Carson has started wearing his football jersey every day, and Jillian lives in her cheerleading uniform.

Somewhere, my lesson has gone awry.

A few more weeks of Ramen noodles and PB without the J sandwiches are in our short-term future, until I have recovered from the weeks without pay – and hey, feel free to contribute to the cause, if you want. I have no qualms about easing your conscience by allowing you to treat us to dinner.

Ooh you know what’s really cool though? This new place? Offers free counseling sessions for all employees – one of their many STELLAR benefits. Any other thoughts on how to shine?? So much so that when my temporary gig is up (I’m covering for a woman on maternity leave for 14ish weeks), they will be desperate to hire me on permanently?? I’m all ears.

And power suits.

(Also accepting all donations towards the purchase of this outfit. BECAUSE I NEED IT.)

Playing to my...strengths...

2011-03-21T10:24:00.000-07:00

So, this has been kind of a week.

In the span of 7 days, this happened.

The alternator - add it to the list!- went out on my car - on my way to pick my kid up for his already twice rescheduled orthodontist appointment. The alternator was fixed (Thanks, Bobby!!!) after some...drama...with an ex, and I rescheduled for the THIRD time for my kid..

Then, whilst doing some laundry, I noticed some smoke coming from the hallway. I'd just put my son's sneakers in the dryer and thought maybe the rubber had gotten hot or something, so I pulled them out and...yeah, the smoke was coming from behind the dryer.
I looked back there and saw that my vent hose was melted and that the wire was glowing red and smoking. Fun! And my favorite bra was RUINED...GRRRRRR. Unplugged all. Went several days without doing laundry until I could fix that. Which I did - all by myself. I was feeling very smug until...

I missed a day of work with excruciating back pain and - certain that I was passing kidney stones again - rushed to the doctor's office. Was given the standard tests and xrays and referred to a urologist.

And then, the cherry on top - I lost my job.

So now, urology adventures looming, I am also looking for my next vocation. Since I failed so miserably at pole dancing, I figure I should stick with what I know, which is accounting/customer service/bookkeeping/writing.

I have been giving some thought to a change in careers, though. At this point, school is not an option - I could get enough financial aid to pay for tuition, but not for the designer jeans and food and such that my teens require. But in keeping with the idea of trying something new, I decided to list out my strengths - areas where I excel - and see if they point me in a new direction that interests me.

1. Choosing the most expensive option. If you put in front of me fifteen of anything - shoes, earrings, apples - I will inevitably fall in love with the most ridiculously overpriced thing. It's a gift, really, but not one that I can see spinning into a career.

(These shoes cost a million dollars. But LOOK HOW GORGEOUS)(I know.)

2. Penmanship. This may seem like no small thing, but if you could see the writing of my ten-year-old self, you would know this is QUITE the accomplishment.

3. Line Dancing. I can still do the Achy Breaky Heart, the Watermelon Crawl, and even the Regulator. Bunny Hop? Electric Slide? Please. Child's play. However, I don't think demonstrating line dances for....anyone...is going to put designer jeans on my kids' butts.

4. Driving Slowly in the Middle Lane. Because it's the safest, and if you don't like it, experience has told me that you can and will go around me. If you think I am bothered by your gesturing and slowing down long enough to share your thoughts, you are sadly mistaken.

5. Hanging Pictures Crookedly. I do not own a level, and no one walking through my house would dispute that. But because I want to put things up RIGHTNOW, they're just kind of thrown up there. I don't mind it but I am certain that it drives my level-using family members bonkers.

(Actual photo of something hanging in my dining room. Yes I fixed it after I took this. RELAX.)

6. Wearing Inappropriate Footwear. This is TRUE talent. If I am going to be called upon to walk along a cobblestone or brick-laden street, you can be sure that I am going to be found wearing my highest, slickest heels. And if it starts off at 70 degrees and drops to 30 below by noon - as it is wont to do in our fair state - I will be wearing sandals.

(NOT an actual photo of my feet - I would never wear shoes too small for me - TACKY!)

In looking at this list, I guess I should stick with what I know. Unless, of course, you want me to drive slowly to your place wearing overpriced heels and hang stuff up incorrectly, and then leave you a beautifully penned note. And if you do - I'm available for hire.

Please allow me to Bunny Hop my resume right over.

Pole Dancing 1, Fawn 0

2011-02-22T08:15:00.001-08:00

Some of you may recall that I have always said that I’d like to try a strip/pole dancing exercise class.

The keyword there is EXERCISE. In no way did I ever think that I would take a class like this and it would lead to a vocational change. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just not, you know...for me.
I’m not even in a relationship right now. Still, I can’t deny that a small part of me hoped I’d learn a few moves that I could use if I ever do find myself in a relationship again.

A friend of mine saw a Groupon that allowed one to purchase a pole dancing exercise class and to bring a friend – a one shot deal, just to try it out...

Truly, we had no idea what to expect. We showed up Saturday morning, me in my yoga pants, she in her running shorts. We met the instructor, a bubbly, adorable black woman with a squeaky voice. She reminded me of Tootie, only with better hair and no braces. She said the other four classmates should arrive shortly and we’d get started.

There were two poles in front of the mirrored wall. Behind them she'd set up a yoga mat for each of us.

The class started off as many exercise classes do, with some stretching and warming-up. The moves may have been a bit more sensual than in other classes, but nothing crazy. I was keeping up, feeling good, ready to get moving already. So far so good.

Then things changed.

Tootie helpfully demonstrated for us which parts of our anatomy were our “honey” and our “money.” We had to say this out loud – “This is my honey, and this is my money. Put it in the BANK.” I won’t get into much detail here, but let’s just say I had more in my bank than most of the other girls in the class.

We proceeded to do some gyrating type moves on the mat, all the while talking about honey and money. This part wasn’t too bad. Just as I started to get the hang of it, it was time for the pole.

This is where it got ugly.

First we had to dance on the pole. Now, not to brag, but I think I’m a pretty good dancer. I can get out and shake it with the best of them. I may have been a little overly confident in my gyration skills because, let me tell you, there was nothing pretty about what happened next. Over and over I TRIED to make my body do what Tootie’s was doing. But rather than looking like a graceful wave, I looked like a snake trying to digest a rat.

Next, Tootie demonstrated a simple spin. Hook your right leg in front of the pole, grab the top with your right hand, left hand up in a “Y” formation, left foot up on toes. Bring the left hand down to the pole and allow your weight to spin you around.

Sure.

We split into two groups of three, mine being me, my friend, and the tiniest ballerina you ever saw. She was grace personified, and cute as a bug.

My friend went first, and she did fine. She’s a little thing too, so she had no problem.

My turn. I gamely clomped up there like an elephant. I grabbed the pole, arm extended, and…

Like a pretzel at the bottom. You could hear the skin on my wrist SQUEEEEEK as I slid down, landing on top of my feet, which were tucked at unnatural angles beneath my bank.

The ballerina went next – and really she was a sweetheart so I can’t hate on her. She did it perfectly. She explained that she’d been taking classes twice a week for a month or so, but she looked like she had been doing it for years.

And so it went on. We’d practice, my friend did fine, I gallumped, the ballerina floated. Fine, SQUEAK, Float. Fine, SPLAT, Float. Over and over.

Eventually my body hurt so much that I gave up and watched from the sidelines. That was actually a lot more fun than participating. Everyone else seemed to get it, and I was fine with that.

I guess I can add pole dancing to the (long) list of things I’ll never be good at – like sports involving hand-eye coordination and snorkeling.

But hey, at least I can scratch this off my bucket list!

Anyone up for a kickboxing class?

In Defense of Arkansas

2011-01-31T08:11:00.000-08:00

A grocery store in Arkansas recently came under fire when the manager placed a shield in front of the cover of Us Magazine featuring Elton John with his partner, David Furnish, and their new baby. After a shopper snapped a photo of the shielded magazine and sent it to several high-profile people via Twitter, outraged phone calls flooded the store, and the store manager removed the shield and issued an apology.

Now…I’ve been pretty open about my support of the gay community. I’m a Christian, yes, but I am also a reasonable human being, and I believe, deep down, in the rights of all people to live in peace and harmony. I just do. I am fine with gay marriage, gay parenting, gay adoption. I don’t see sexual orientation the same way I don’t see color. People are people. The heart wants what it wants. I believe that.

Like many people, I was horrified about the magazine shield. My issue…for what it’s worth….is the fact that because this happened in Arkansas, people seem to think it’s open season on our fair state.

Truth – there are more conservatives here than liberals. I am most assuredly in the minority. I tell myself that the people that I know who are conservative in these types of issues are acting out of ignorance. And that I have to love them anyway. I do love them anyway. Some of them I want to shake and plead of them to educate themselves before they make stupid remarks, particularly publicly. But still, I love them.

However, I do get very tired of defending our state to those outside of it who think there is nothing here but a conservative, narrow-minded, anti-gay mindset.

I am not embarrassed to be an Arkansan. I love it here. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. But I do get weary of defending myself to friends –and non-friends – who think that we are backwoods, barefooted morons, incapable of evolving into an equal rights society. It just seems sometimes that the only people in Arkansas speaking up are those with a dated, archaic ideology about what is acceptable. They dislike the unfamiliar. They reject what makes them uncomfortable. They are ignorant.

But they will NOT be the mouthpiece for me.

And so, this is me speaking up. I encourage anyone who feels the same way to speak up as well. Please do not let the bigots and prejudiced masses of Arkansas be a true reflection of our populace. We have a voice. Let’s use it.

Arkansas is not the land of the unevolved.

Spread the word.

Catching up...and thanking an angel

2011-01-13T13:40:00.000-08:00

My car is trying to die.

It started out smallish – the heat went out, right around the time it got cold. I love the irony, don’t you? Anyhow, a sweet angel of a man fixed it for me, temporarily at least, and I was on my merry way. Then, the day before Christmas, my battery decided it had had enough and IT TOO said goodbye, to the tune of a $108 replacement – not exactly in the Christmas budget. I thought of putting a red bow on it and trying to pass it off as a gift from Santa but I thought better of it. Plus I couldn’t get it out of the car. Bolts and stuff.

After that - and by after I mean two days later - my right headlight went out. JOY!

AND THEN, about a week and a half ago on my way to church, I realized it sounded like there was a squirrel family having a party in my undercarriage. (Wow. That sounds way dirty, eh?) (Hi, Mom!) But seriously - clanking, banging, and grinding - you cannot imagine the ruckus. It wasn’t so bad at first but after a day of driving I was convinced that I was going to have an axle break in half or have a tire fly off while barreling down the interstate, so I called the same sweet angel of a man who fixed my heat, and he came and gave it a test drive and a listen.

He thought it needed a new rear end and a new transmission. Now, I’m no mechanic (clearly) but I knew that stuff – it wasn’t cheap. I was at a loss as to how I would take care of it. He insisted on letting me drive his car and took mine home with him. A few days later, he brought it back, good as new. He says it was “just a hub bearing.” (GREEK) He even replaced the headlight for me.

I have no idea what I would have done without his help. Skeptics say angels don’t really exist, and real skeptics say that good people don’t exist, but they do. And I am fortunate enough to have one as a friend.

So thank you, my friend. This single mama is in your debt, big time.

As for the rest of the story, there really is none. I’m still taking it day by day, waiting for the next challenge or adventure. I’m thinking of starting an anonymous blog to chronicle my (mis)adventures in dating but I haven’t done so just yet. I can’t really do it here – protecting the innocent and all that. But if anyone has any suggestions, comments, etc. I welcome them with open ears.

Until next time…

My Week, in Numbers

2010-12-09T06:48:00.000-08:00

22: Hours spent removing the lights from my “pre-lit” tree after half went out.

.5: Hours spent putting new lights on said tree.

1: Ornaments broken

152,456,710: Muscles currently hurting after my first body pump class Tuesday night

8: Pounds on the barbell in said class

39: Cuss words uttered under my breath during the body pump class

.0025: Pounds I will have on the bar in class tonight

828: Cuss words I expect to utter in class tonight

0: Christmas presents purchased in 2010

9,843: Times I have said “Leave your brother alone”

2: Times I have said “Give your brother a hug!”

3: Viewings of “Elf”

15: Times I have annoyed my kids by answering their phone calls with "Buddy the Elf, What's your favorite color?"

34: Number game entries I created yesterday for friends

4: Number game entries created about me

0: Percent chance I will go on a date

2: Days until I have all four kids with me

100: Percent sure I am that everything’s gonna be OK.

See???

Happy Face

2010-12-01T13:30:00.000-08:00

I used to write this blog from a place of pain.

From the day that I found out I’d lost custody of my teenagers until the day I got one of them back, much of the time is a blur of pain, regret, angst, heartache... As people close to me know, I am very adept at burying all that negativity and putting on a happy face because life requires that. My other kids required that. But there were more nights than not that I cried myself to sleep. I was so filled with self-loathing over allowing things to happen the way that they did that I began to change who I was. Not in ways visible to strangers, or even good friends. But it was there. I blamed no one else for what happened. I took the responsibility entirely. In retrospect, I was perhaps a bit hard on myself, but as a mother, my most basic, primal need is to protect my children and I had failed.

During that time, I also found a determination that I didn’t know I possessed. My entire focus for exactly 18 months was one thing. Get my son back. Everything I did was for that purpose. Every corner I cut financially, the decision to move in with my best friend when I did to save money for an awesome attorney. Birthday presents that didn’t get purchased. And I documented everything. If there is one piece of advice I can give to anyone in a similar situation, it is this – let NOTHING go undocumented.

For legal reasons, I can’t get into the case here. But because of many factors, I now have my son back, where he wants to be, where I want him to be.
And by way of showing how I feel about this, allow me to just say...

I need to thank many people who made that possible.

First, and forever first, my Mom. Not only has she helped me financially in ways she was in no way equipped to do, she is always a willing sounding board. She never judged or criticized. Made me believe that I was still a good mom in spite of what the opposing side was trying to beat into my head. She spent hours on her knees in prayer, every night. She went with me to lawyer appointments, court dates, and I will never, ever, ever have the words or the means to thank her enough for what she’s done for me.

Second, my grandparents, who also helped financially in spite of their health issues and other obstacles. They were wonderful. They made their opinions about my exes very clear and that too helped me to realize that maybe it wasn’t all my fault after all. I am so very grateful to them for their support.

I have to thank my son, too, for not giving up on me and believing that I was doing everything I could do to get him back. He never once questioned me. My little ones are also the reason I kept going forward – getting up, going to work, going to church, carrying on with life because it is still worth living as long as they are in it.

My friends – my best friends, especially Kris…they’ve listened to me cry, plotted, groused, screamed, and been almost as emotionally invested in the outcome as I have been. I don’t know what I did to get so lucky but my friends are absolutely amazing.

My family – those who prayed, cried, worried, and assured me over and over again that things would be ok. You know what? They were right.

My attorney – who is absolutely phenomenal and I would pit her against ANYONE in this state.

Last but never least, my God. My faith never wavered, in spite of the fact that all of the “bad stuff” happened after I became a Christian, as if it was happening to test my faith. Fortunately, I knew that, and I prayed it out. He is ever-faithful, and ever-present.

This chapter is not quite closed, but we’re almost there. I finally feel as if, after a year and a half under water, that I can breathe again. It’s the best feeling. I sleep like a rock every night. Things in my life right now, today, are maybe the best they’ve ever been, and getting exponentially better every day.

I am a happy, happy girl, and the face you see now, that’s the real thing. For the first time in a long time.

The Flame

2010-11-30T13:52:00.000-08:00

This was originally posted earlier this year; I am re-posting some of my favorites old blogs before I start blogging again on a regular basis.

Mama’s got a brand new bag.

No, I don’t mean literally, although I seriously am needing a new Coach purse.

What I mean is, I’ve got a whole new philosophy on relationships and it took one ten minute video to turn it all around.

Last night, I went to the Singles Life Group. At the meeting, after some fried chicken and fellowship, we watched a video entitled “Flame” by Nooma. I think that’s right. In any case, the narrator discusses three different words for love as found in the Bible in it’s original Hebrew. I’ll try to break it down in the way that I understood it.

The first level of love, or flame, is referred to as “Raya,” which loosely translated means friend or companion. This is the beginnings of love but is really more about just liking someone, enjoying their company.

The second is “Ahava,” which means the “love of the will.” This is the commitment level, where you choose to join your life with someone else. This is the foundation of true love, deeper than friendship. The place where you put the needs of the one you love before your own.

The final level is “Dod,” which is the sexual part of love. The bow-chicka-bow-wow part.

See how it comes last? AFTER friendship and commitment?

Do you see where I’m going with this?

The three flames are all important, and you can have one without the other two, or two without the third. But that’s not the way it is intended. God wants us to love our mates fully, completely, and in every sense of the word. I think my problem is that I’ve been telling myself that one out of three isn’t bad. I can honestly say that I’ve never tried to be friends with any man BEFORE pursuing a relationship. It has happened accidentally once or twice, but truthfully, when it has, I find I am lacking the third element. But instead of saying that I want to hold out for all three, I desperately fan the one or two and pray that they will sustain the relationship.

It doesn’t work that way.

So my new take is this. I want to be friends first. Good friends. Best friends. If the other feelings follow, then I’ll know. There won’t be any second guessing, and I won’t be left wondering what happened, and where I went wrong. I’m not going to rush ANYTHING. EVER. AGAIN. If there is a lesson it’s taken me 37 years to learn, that is the one. TAKE YOUR TIME. If it is meant to be, truly, he won’t go anywhere. That’s probably my biggest issue. I love my father, but he wasn’t exactly there for me growing up. When my parents divorced, he just wasn’t there. I don’t want to blame him for my problems or decisions, I hate that cliché where women blame their fathers for not being able to trust men. But I think I understand it a bit better. I tend to rush, and I think it’s because if/when a man truly gets to know me, he won’t want to be with me anymore. I’m not saying that because I lack confidence. I’m saying I can be kind of a pain sometimes, and I’m aware of that. I can be high maintenance. I can be moody. I can be a WOMAN. And deep down, I think that they’ll figure that out. I know how crazy that sounds but there it is.

So again, I begin. Armed with a fresh set of eyes and a more realistic and, hopefully, pragmatic outlook on this whole love thing.

Don’t be sad for me. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic. I’m going to finally have what I’ve waited my entire life to find, and God is going to deliver it to me in HIS time. I just have to be patient and let it happen. Naturally. NORMALLY.

I’m putting away the gas can and Zippo. Let lightning start the fire.

Where did you go???

2010-10-05T06:27:00.000-07:00

So people have been wondering where the blog went...

The short answer is: away, for now.

The long answer I can't get into, but I miss the writing, so I'm back. It will just look a little different for a while.

Things have been going...ok. There are several things up in the air right now that I still can't talk about, but know that i have appreciated all the prayers, kind words, and support I have gotten over the past few months. And before anyone gets all morbid, no one died, nothing like that. Just some life stuff going on with kids.

But it's all going to be ok.

I'm going to re-publish some of my innocuous posts, just because I MISS MY BLOG, DANG IT. I'll try to keep them in order, but I make no promises.

I'm coming back. Not to worry...
There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Love to you all!!!

Fawn Amber