Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Nine Monumental Little Weeks

We've known and loved Xavier for just about nine weeks now.


Our lives are now filled with karate classes, PTA meetings, homework, bedtime routines, play dates, screen time negotiations, constant reminders to stop laying your chin on the bowl when you eat your cereal, keeping track of glasses and Spider-man socks and small gloves, reminders to lift the toilet seat and stop wiping your toothpaste face on your sleeve again, hugs, bedtime prayers, reading out loud every night, movie nights snuggled on the couch with blankets and popcorn and a tiny body tucked up into my side, Transformer tooth brushes, all the Legos and Super Heroes that can be packed into a small ranch house, and all of the questions about the world and potential disasters and whether people on TV are alive or dead right now, and what's the difference between acting and just real life, and why are there different states and countries, and what would happen if and and and and....
This kid is a carnivore. Polished off a whole half slab of ribs by himself. I think we have a KC BBQ lover on our hands. #latergram


Xavier can be confounding and lovable and needy and handsome and sweet and challenging and ours, he is so totally ours.


Red Bridge Skating Party!! Watching my two favorite guys, they are in their element.


In just nine weeks he's visited 7 states, after having spent his first nine years in just Texas. And he seems to like traveling and seeing new places, at least from the comfort of the car with a fully charged tablet close at hand, and the candy of his choice at the next gas station stop.

He is constantly asking questions. At least when he's awake.

He is growing taller and more solid everyday, and the idea that when we look into his little face it will one day be 17 years old and covered in stubble still seems impossible, and yet it will happen so so soon I can hardly catch my breath. He can live at home and go to college still, right?

If I smile will you leave me alone so I can play Subway Surfers?


He has embraced being a part of our family so quickly. Quicker than we dreamed was possible. He is already Xavier Sands on every homework assignment. He loves being our son, at least until it's time to bring in groceries. Then he loses all interest in being in this family.  "Why does this family make me help all the time? Why do I always have to carry stuff?"

He told me he didn't like this one because he looked too serious. I said it went well with the fancy hat and tie.



Simple things, like attending X's Valentine's school party, are so fun. Introducing ourselves as X's parents, watching his face light up when we walk in the room, leading games for all the kids, helping him address his cards to his friends. We are constantly amazed by how little things make us feel so happy. Mundane is still there, but we're still in that early stage where all of the new parenting things feel fresh and sweet. Except homework, homework sucks and poor Joe gets the brunt of it so far.

Sometimes we are the parents who love him and hug him and tickle him and let him watch his own Netflix and his absolute favorite people, and sometimes we are the most terrible, mean parents in the entire world. Both of these emotions could occur in a five minute time span.


He loved playing with his cousins in Madison this last weekend and wanted to know if they would be his cousins even when he had his own wife and kids. I teared up when I got to say "yes, honey, forever" and explained that even when he got married and had a spouse and kids of his own, they will always be cousins. Always.

X and J, battling, Star Wars style.


This weekend was a wonderful chance for Joe's immediate family to all be together for the first time with X. We all celebrated Joe's 40th birthday, and Xavier was surrounded by his grandparents, uncles and aunt and cousins. We loved hearing X and his cousins laugh and run through the house, or watch him sharing a gummy worm with his little cousin Tierney, without being prompted. Just a gummy worm, but it shows who he is inside.

This guy is loving the Fantastic Mr. Fox. So so glad. Cuss Yeah!


He was tired on Monday night after a long weekend and five hours in the car. His veneer of good behavior started to slip, and he began to turn into the little wild mongoose that all small children seem to be underneath when they get tired.  Of course he started to melt down at the restaurant we stopped at for dinner. Lesson learned. Drive thru only at the end of a trip, unless you want to lose your cool at a dessert buffet when your child burps in your face five times in quick succession and refuses to say excuse me or sorry. Drive thru was invented for this very reason, people. Though the truck drivers seemed very entertained by our argument next to the homemade cherry cobbler.


Watching him play with his cousins' kitten or any animal makes us feel confident he has a sweet, kind, soft heart under the sass. And no, kid, we aren't getting a kitten anytime soon.


This is all easier and harder than we ever imagined. Loving him, easiest thing we've ever done. Not yelling, totally the hardest. He missed the bus this morning because he simply refused to walk out to the stop when I asked him to. Instead he wanted to have a little conversation. He just sat down in his coat and back pack and started asking me a bunch of silly questions. I keep forgetting that I'm learning how to do this parenting thing too, and I keep beating myself up when things don't go well. But this stuff is hard. This parenting. And I need to always give us more lead time when we're going back to school after a long break. He stalls. And I need to build more time in so the stall doesn't leave me yelling and furious, and leave him standing there wide eyed while I yell. Since I don't yell often I think he realized it was a serious issue. He quickly wanted to know how mad my boss was going to be when I was late to work after dropping him off. "Will you be in trouble or trouble trouble?" So hopefully that won't happen again any time soon. Plus lesson learned, build in more time to wait at the school bus stop. Also some mild yelling won't break him, but it does make me feel terrible. I'm pretty sure he'd forgotten after three minutes.

Watching a documentary about honey badgers and reading comic books to his Mr. Badger.

I was beating myself up for yelling at Xavier this morning and was telling one of my best friends, and fellow mom, about the situation and she nailed what some of being a parent has felt like for us so far. "Being a parent is always painted as something super rewarding and fun and wonderful. And it's all of those things. But it's also full of unwilling compromises, disagreements, constant pull and take, gritty work, sighs and tongue biting." I would add tiny wins, lots of serious side eye, and some mild alcohol consumption when needed, For us parents, not for Xavier.

Evening piggy back ride. I love these two dudes so much it makes my stomach hurt. #latergram


We have zero regrets about adopting Xavier. None. Our lives, and Xavier's, were completely turned upside down just nine weeks ago. Completely. And it's been the very best thing we've every chosen to do. It's amazing how quickly we all are adapting. It's not perfect. Nothing and no one is. But it's starting to feel natural and easier, at least a little bit every week. Somehow we have so little memory of the time before we had him. Oh, we remember the freedom and the weekends to ourselves and we loved those years, but the day to day, it seems like it's always been like this, or at least it was always supposed to be like this.

I miss some of our old freedom and the time we had for each other and ourselves, but I wouldn't trade that for the heart swell I feel when checking on my child while he sleeps, or the way his tight spontaneous hugs seem to force tears to my eyes, or the quiet times reading together when I kiss the top of his head and smell his slightly coconut scented black hair, or the tickle fights or the times when we see his dimple pop out from his wide natural smile. It's not worth the trade. Nothing would be.

"Sophisticated Stripes": #stylemefeb Just being all fancy, sitting here on the couch, barefoot, watching my kid play Minecraft. I live for these quiet moments.


I think it's so easy to get swept up in the little stuff, the basic needs of all of our every days, that until I have a quiet moment, like in the car on the drive home from Madison, I forget the momentousness of what we've done. For Xavier, for us, for our families. I forget because it's a huge, important thing we've done bringing this little boy into our family. And it's also the easiest most natural thing, because people become parents every single day. And so have we. In many many ways, we are not different. And in some important ones, we are very different. And I'm trying my best to stop and remind myself that we are doing our best, and so is Xavier, and that's all anyone can expect of us.

Wednesday, January 07, 2015

Identity Crisis, Scratch that, I Mean Epic Change

I'm having an identity crisis. Except crisis sounds so dramatic. And my crisis is much more about laundry, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and buying school supplies, and getting big hugs from small arms when I leave in the morning. And it's not a crisis. It's just an enormous shift in every single thing I do, think and feel. See? No crisis. Just change. Because of this little face.




I'm a mom now. And it feels weird still to type that and say it out loud. And it also feels totally normal. And I can't quite wrap my head around all of it yet. I'm sure I'll get there. It's only been a little over three weeks since we met Xavier and he joined our family. But I'm still figuring out who I am now. I haven't had this kind of change in my life in years. Maybe never. Maybe there isn't a bigger change than becoming someone's parent, especially the instant parent of a nine year old. Job changes are big, moving, deaths, illness. All big. Marriage is a huge change. I became Joe's wife, but that didn't feel drastically different than living together or dating. Just more fun, more permanent, more stable, more arguments about dirty dishes, and new words to get used to. Saying "my husband" was so fun those first years, and it's still one of my favorite phrases. But the mom role, it feels different. Bigger. Earthquake level big. I'm responsible for this other small person, completely.

And I feel different. I'm unsure about myself a bit more than I used to be. I'm generally a pretty confident person. I adore my husband. I thoroughly loved our independent life before kids. I like my work so much and so much of my identity comes from the job I go to everyday. I love my hobbies and passions. But it feels different now. And I cannot say exactly what it is. I can't find the right words to describe it, it just is different. It's not just the second guessing myself about whether I'm parenting Xavier well, I'm doing my very best and I'm still constantly second guessing, but it's something deeper in my core than that.

I feel unsettled. I feel unmoored a bit. And yet it's not a bad feeling, just antsy. I feel floaty and outside of myself more often now. Looking in and wondering about how different my life and my priorities, and my sense of myself as a woman have all been adjusted so abruptly. And I think about our son all the time. And I worry more. I'm scared more. So much more. I feel judged more and nervous about other people's opinions more. My heart feels exposed. And bigger. Swelled up with pride and worry and need. There's so much more now.

And my emotions are right on the surface all of the time when I think about him, especially when I'm not with him. But when I'm with him, somehow I feel totally grounded. Totally certain this is where I'm supposed to be, and who I'm supposed to be taking care of every day. He has no idea, but while he's in taking his evening shower, I love turning off his overhead bedroom light, turning on the paper star night light that hangs over his bed, layering the blankets he likes to sleep under, turning down the sheets, and waiting to tuck him into this safe, warm, cozy space when he comes barreling out of the bathroom, still wet, still wild, and totally not sleepy yet. I like folding his little jeans and putting away his laundry. I love figuring out what music he likes and throwing it onto our Xavier playlist on Spotify. I love helping him figure out what he wants for dinner or lunch, because we don't know all the foods he likes yet. Or just snuggling on the couch when our movie night choice gets a little scary. Or watching Xavier and his dad work on Legos for an hour. This all feels right to me. It doesn't feel weird at all. I want to hug and kiss this boy all day long, or at least in the five minute increments he'll allow in the early morning and late at night.

But when I think about how epic the change is to our lives or when I'm back to doing the normal work things or social things or just life things I've always done, they don't feel the same. I'm off kilter. I'm sure that feeling will slowly go away, but it will never feel like it did before. I'll never be the same person I was before. I grieve that a little.



I guess this makes me one of those "mommy bloggers" now.  But that term can be derisive and demeaning so often, and this is important to me. I need an outlet to write and talk about the change, because it makes me feel less alone in it. Because it's weird, isn't it? Becoming a parent? It's the strangest feeling. The best feeling, and one of those experiences that you can't describe to someone else who isn't a parent yet. I used to feel slightly condescended to when my very kind and wonderful friends talked about their own experiences of becoming parents. They didn't intend to be condescending, they were just stating the facts.  Phrases like "you'll understand when you have kids" can sound flippant and patronizing. But damn it, if it isn't true. I'll try my best to not be flippant or patronizing to my friends who don't have kids, just as mine did to me. Because a life with kids or a life without kids, one isn't a superior choice or a better life over the other. Both ways can be amazing and beautiful and hard and exciting if you do it right. So I'll get there. I'm figuring it out as we go. And goodness, if being a mom isn't the best trip I've ever signed up for.

Friday, December 26, 2014

Things I've learned after being a mom for two whole weeks:



My nine year old son is adorable and reserved, and some days just watching him sleep is enough to make me cry.

We need more cups with lids.  

I feel like I've known him forever and he absolutely belongs in our family.



And then I'll suddenly be reminded of how much of his day to day life up until now we know very little about. We know the big stuff, but the little stuff we don't. Like what movies has he seen? What was his favorite toy as a toddler?

Not all kids see the beauty in taking apart Legos after they've already been put together.

He is an expert eye roller, button pusher, negotiator and video game trash talker. Like most nine year olds.

He and our Scottie dog Mac were instant best friends.

He has such a generous and kind heart, plus the sass and blatant disregard for what we are asking him to do at any given moment.

I've colored and drawn more in the last few days than in years. I've loved it as much as he has.



My level of exhaustion is something I only vaguely remember from pulling a couple of all nighters in college, only minus the three hour nap the next day, and make that several all nighters in a row. And he's not even a newborn.

Boys burp and fart with abandon and find each of these activities as funny as I find David Sedaris.

The constant alertness and wariness and watching him and making sure he's safe and clean and being smart and not eating his egg drop soup like an angry wombat is something that you just don't completely get until you're a parent. You think you do, you don't.



Christmas is so much louder, earlier, gigglier, and more magical than before. Seeing my kid's face light up talking about Santa was the best. But I did miss a little napping and reading this year.

Sharing our kid with our extended family has been such a joy. Watching Xavier click with his uncles and cousins and hug his three grandmas, high five his two grandpas, it made me smile wide every time. Ok, I cried some too. I'm a wuss.
The love I have for him is intense and overwhelming sometimes, and then it's often immediately followed by simmering frustration or unbridled bafflement. But the love itself never goes anywhere. It's there, helping you tamp down the desire to scream "Stop being such an asshole!" at your long eyelashed, dimpled kiddo smiling with mischievous glee.

I want so much for him in his life. And thinking farther ahead than just a few weeks or months is more than I can handle right now.



Watching my husband be a dad is the best. He's firm and gentle and so warm with him. It makes me love him more than I can say. And believe me, I already had a serious thing for the guy.

Our family is so new. So fragile, and yet I think it is built with three stubborn, strong, bright, independent, and most of all, loving people. 


And this kid is the toughest, most amazing little person. I feel like our biggest job as parents is going to be helping him shed the behaviors that have been important to his survival in the past, but will get in the way of his happy future. And I think the three of us can do it together. With the loving support and encouragement of our family and friends. I feel like we're all going to need pretty sturdy helmets for the ride ahead. But what an exciting long ride it's going to be! I'm so glad he's ours. And I'm so proud to be Xavier's mom.

Friday, November 07, 2014

Escaping the Wallflower

Getting dressed in the morning had devolved into five minutes of standing there and staring at it all. All the sweaters and skirts and shoes and pants. Just hanging there..... taunting me. Then I'd try on four different combinations and end up wearing one of the six or seven default outfits that I end up wearing repeatedly. Over and over again.

@hilaryrushford  Pumpkin & Spice with a little husband photo bomb. #StyleMeNovember
11-1: Pumpkin and Spice, with husband photo bomb
I'd gotten tired of everything in my closet. I'd gotten tired of thinking that I'd lose some weight before I bought anything new. Or I'd get a new wardrobe when I lost this magical weight that I'm always thinking of losing. I'd suddenly start dressing in a newer, bolder, riskier way. That feeling got old. I like how I dress just fine most of the time. I don't need a What Not to Wear intervention. It's not bad. But it's not outstanding. It's not risky and only occasionally bold. Because I have some arbitrary rules in my head about what a plus size woman can and should wear.

The goal in plus size fashion seems to be anything that makes us disappear into the sidelines. Key words being "slimming" "dark" "figure flattering" "matronly". But I don't live a life on the sidelines. I'm not a wall flower. I'm not old. I'm not shy. I'm not hiding my body. My body is fine. It may not be my ideal, but it's strong and serves me well and it's proportional. I'm not a model. I'm not an actress. I'm a real live human woman and I want getting dressed in the morning to be more fun. Without having to be a size 6 and without feeling guilty or bad about myself because I'm not a size 6. And sure, I want to wear things that are flattering, but that doesn't mean everything needs to be navy or black or a baggy tunic. And plus size fashion has gotten a lot better in the last several years. It's my rules that need freshening up.

Through Instagram a few weeks ago, I happened to stumble upon some great webinars on the Dean Street Society website presented by Hilary Rushford. She's a former Broadway musical actress turned stylist, fashion guru, and inspirational entrepreneurial coach. She's a delight. Energetic, funny, bold, and very down to earth. So I watched the entire series, 3 Steps to Simplified Style. I watched a couple of them a couple of times. I took notes. I wrote down everything I wore in the month of October, just as Hilary recommended. And it was a fashion revolution for me!

I felt so snazzy in my blazer it was almost like I got out of bed early enough for church.
11-2: Blazering a Trail for Sunday

I know that sounds silly. I have a nagging, bitchy voice in my head that says it's shallow to worry about clothes and how you look. But I think that voice is wrong. Because I've felt more powerful, more attractive, sexier, and bolder in the last month than I have in awhile. Getting dressed is fun again. The 3 Steps changed the way I look at my closet, myself and my need to buy anything new. I'm shopping from my own closet, and it's wonderful. So this month I'm following along with the Style Me November daily prompts from Dean Street, one prompt per day to help spark your creativity and mix up your wardrobe, motivating you to try new things. Get out of your rut.


It's silly. But mixing patterns makes me nervous. So here we go. #sailorstripes and floral for #stylemenovember
11-3: Sailor Stripes, otherwise known as mixing patterns makes me nervous

And the first 7 days have been a kick so far. Posting photos to Instagram, and joining the community of other women interested in the merry side of getting dressed each day. I've been inspired. I've taken risks. I've had a blast. And I think everyone needs a little more fun in their mornings. So these are my first seven outfits from Style Me November. I'll probably wear most of them again. Some I love more than others, but I can't wait to see what I'll end up pulling together next week. So join me over on Instagram or just in your own closet, and add some joy back into getting dressed. No rules, just creative prompts and that pleasurable little shiver you get when you know you look great! And that feeling is never shallow. It's powerful.

I'm calling this look Flamboyant Han Solo. #stylemenovember #whitenight
11-4: White Night- I call this one Flamboyant Han Solo

Let's call this one Elsa Gets An Office Job. #stylemenovember #onceuponanecklace #letitgo
11-5: Once Upon a Necklace, or Elsa Gets an Office Job

I'm calling today's look: Dorothy, Vice President of Oz. #stylemenovember #menswearmaiden
11-6: Menswear Maiden, or Dorothy, Vice President of OZ


Today's theme is a steal on sale. Free counts as a steal, right? This white sweater courtesy of my generous shopaholic friend Tara! Thank god we're the same size! She buys, gets bored, and gives it to me. #stylemenovember
11-7: A Steal on Sale, or free stuff from Tara is the best.

Here are the prompts if you want to join us!


Thursday, October 16, 2014

We're Back in the World Series, Baby!


The last time the Kansas City Royals made it to the World Series I was ten years old. I was lucky enough to attend Game 7 in 1985 and I'll never forget it. But I'm thirty nine now. So it's been awhile. And while I'm not pretending to be a rabid baseball, or even sports fan, I'm a Royals fan by birth. As the stakes kept increasing with each game this year, all I could think of was how excited and giddy my grandfather would have been to watch his boys in blue finally succeed. I'm actually really excited too. I wrote this post a few years ago for a Blogher article and it just seems completely perfect to re-post again today, the day after our Royals, my home town team, clinched their spot in the World Series after a four game sweep. My town is covered in joyous blue today, (even the celebratory donuts I brought to work are blue!) and I know my grandparents would have been the loudest, most jubilant fans if they were here to enjoy it! So this one's for you, Grandma and Pa-Dad!



Grandma rocking the cat eye sunglasses at the Royals game in the 1970's.



I'm not a fan of the sports. I never have been. I don't know why exactly. Maybe it was my first memory of organized sports, playing on a soccer team as a seven or eight year old. I remember we lost every single game. As a team we got one goal, maybe two, and I remember standing around a lot wearing smelly shin guards and short shorts. One season and this book worm was done. Or maybe it was attending one too many soccer or baseball or football games for my younger brother, the little jock.

Those shorts came up to my armpits.



This post was going to be entirely about how I'm not a sports fan, I don't watch, I have a reputation for reading Vanity Fair back issues while everyone else curses at the TV as the Chiefs inevitably choke. But then I realized something. I have spent most of my life in Kansas City and our town is lucky enough to have both a major league baseball team and an NFL team. I didn't attend my first Chiefs game until just a couple of years ago, but I pretty much grew up at Royals Stadium. Now Kauffman Stadium.

My grandparents had season tickets to the Royals for a very long time, most of my childhood I think. They had four seats about twenty rows back along the third base line. They brought my brother and me all the time for weekend games. All the time. We would spend the night at their house, sometimes the whole weekend, swim in their pool, eat Kraft macaroni and cheese with hot dogs for dinner and our choice of Grapenuts or crullers for breakfast the next day (crullers are basically French toast dipped in cinnamon and sugar instead of butter and syrup, kid heaven.) We'd swim and play card games with my grandmother until we were exhausted, sunburned and pruney fingered. After dinner we'd get in our pajamas, (I was always giddy to borrow one of my grandma's pretty, shiny, colorful nightgowns,) and we would end the night by jumping on their king-sized bed which was decked out in the most beautiful patchwork velvet bedspread. We'd climb in bed between them and watch Benny Hill on their tiny TV, we would laugh along with my grandfather, though I never understood why the old chubby guy chasing young girls was funny, we would fall asleep and they would gently wake us up and send us off to our own beds. Because we needed a good night's sleep for the best part of the weekend coming up, the Royals game.


My grandparents lived just a few minutes from the stadium and for the longest time I actually thought they owned it. It was right by their house and they were there constantly, they knew everyone and had multiple signed baseballs from the team, an enormous range of Royals clothing and paraphernalia, including my grandmother's light up Royals earrings, oh yes, you read that right. All of these things together, in my seven year old head, meant that they must own the stadium. Seemed logical at the time. Game day we arrived at the stadium, ran ahead of our grandparents straight to our seats, and before sitting and eating our weight in cotton candy and nachos, we would scurry right down to the edge of field and look at all the players warming up. Sometimes we'd get signatures for my brother's baseball or laugh at the antics of the San Diego Chicken. And then it was game time.


I always half paid attention. My grandfather made sure we watched, at least some of the time. He did a thorough and diligent job explaining the rules and detailing the strengths and weaknesses of all the players. This was in the Royals heyday of the 1980's: Dan Quisenberry, Bret Saberhagen, Frank White, George Brett (he was my favorite and we once ran into him at a local restaurant, he was very gracious, I had a bit of a crush on him.) We even got to attend Game 7 of the 1985 World Series. I remember the chaos and glee as the fans rushed the field when we won.

A 98 degree July day at the K with the family.

But the games weren't about the actual baseball for me. It was about spending time with my grandparents. It was about hanging out with my little brother and collecting those plastic batting helmet sundae cups for him. It was about running full tilt up the twisty ramp to the upper levels and back down again so fast it made us dizzy. It was about feeling like I had a second home, not just at my grandparent's house but at their stadium. And maybe that's what sports are really about. People feeling a connection to a place, a stadium, a team of athletes with daunting impressive talent, that second home where all of your friends and family are, oh, and the beer. So while I may not be a sports fan, I will always love the Royals and that stadium, no matter what it's called now. To me it will always be Herb and Mary's, Grandma and Pa-Dad's. And now I can't wait to pass down these same experiences with our kiddo.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

I'm the Worst and the Best

Things I'm the Worst at right now:

Taking criticism without getting defensive
Doing my hair in any style but straight and down
Applying liquid eyeliner without redoing it three times, maybe four
Not cleaning the house if people are coming over
Sticking with one book and not trying three others before I land and finish one
Sharing the remote
Patience
Not over analyzing everything, everything
Letting the dishes sit over night
Delayed gratification
Not comparing myself to other people
Being completely spontaneous 
Making large changes outside of my routine without agonizing over them
Eating all the veggies I buy and plan to cook before they go bad
Not laughing without a bit of a snort 
Doing things I'm not good at until I get better at them


(After 30 minutes of practice, I'm slightly better at the liquid liner.)


Things I'm the Best at right now:

Making quick decisions without regrets
Listening to you, closely
Making the bed everyday
Wearing brooches and scarves
Picking books for other people
Putting myself in your shoes, though not literally because I'm guessing my feet are bigger than yours
Baking things you'll want to eat seconds of
Reading more than one book at a time
Managing multiple deadlines and projects and people personalities
Dog walks through leaves
Knowing a wide range of historical slut shaming terminology
Assuming the worst in any serious situation 
Crying while watching anything vaguely emotional
Eating all kinds of interesting things, even eel
Singing along to every song I love with loud joy, and totally off key
Loving you
Saying no
Appreciating your tiny lovely quirks
Procrastinating
Buying lip gloss that's always too pink and never quite red enough

How about you? What are you terrible at today? What are you the queen or king of doing well?


Friday, October 03, 2014

Friday 5: James Dean, Jesus and Han Solo

It's Friday. The weekend is upon us. And since I'm trying to get back into this regular blogging gig, I thought I would cheat a little today and visit the Friday 5 site for some writing inspiration. They always post an interesting set of questions on a theme each Friday. So today's theme is: Rebellion. After answering these five questions, I realized, well hell, I'm not much of rebel. Never have been. But I am in my heart. Han Solo, James Dean, Jesus. Rebels are the best.

In what ways have you rebelled against your upbringing?


I'm not sure. I don't think my parents had any kind of clear philosophy in raising us. They are both so different from each other and once they got divorced it was like being raised in two very different and separate families. So which one was I rebelling against? Neither really. I mean, I made some choices neither would have liked. But I work hard. I'm happily married. I'm independent and assertive. I still live in my home town, because once I moved away I realized how great it actually was. I think these are all things that my parents wanted for me, because they make me happy. They didn't raise us in their images or as a way to live through us, so I don't feel like I've had to rebel much. I'm sure they would answer this question differently.  At most my tiny rebellions include:

  • I don't attend church regularly like we did as kids. I guess I consider myself Methodist still, but I can't remember the last time I attended church except for Christmas and christenings.
  • I do have a couple of tattoos, and I know they both hate that. 
  • I curse a lot. 
  • And if I even say the word "masturbation" in front of my mom, she loses her cool. So I mention that often, because it's still fun at 39 to make your mom lose her cool. Ok, I'm a rebel.

In what ways have you rebelled against your schooling?

I don't really think that I have in a traditional sense. Other than not following the typical four years of college, then job or grad school plan that most of my friends have followed. I struggled with serious depression off and on while I was in college, so school was really challenging for me. I finished and graduated, but it wasn't on a traditional timeline and I was disappointed in myself because of that. I still am sometimes. But because of it, I didn't have a perfectly clear plan or a formal structure to rebel against. My parents never told me I had to grow up and be a doctor or a lawyer. They let me figure it out. And they paid for my therapy, bonus points to the parents. 

I've always loved writing, reading, helping people, teaching. Early on in college I thought I wanted to be a journalist or college level English professor. Through a volunteering job, I fell in love with social work, but ultimately my degree and certifications aren't in either subject. Now as a development director for nonprofits, I think my schooling and work experience and long time passions and even my past depression and struggles have all combined to fit my career choice quite perfectly. And the depression has been under control for over a decade. So what do I have to rebel against? Nothing. I kind of figured out my own path and made it work, even with some serious missteps of my own making during college. I give my parents credit for helping me figure things out and giving me the space and support so I could figure things out in my own time.

In what ways have you rebelled against American culture?

What does that even mean? Is there an American culture? Aren't we too spread out and diverse and "insert melting pot/salad bowl metaphor here" to say we have one culture? Don't we all get to influence our own culture or find our own niche and community? But let's pretend that the culture that The Today Show or Oprah or Bill O'Reilly wants to sell me is the universal American cultural truth. In that case, I don't really like sports. I'm not religious. I've never watched much NASCAR or pro-wrestling. I'd give up TV before I'd give up books. But I do love apple pie, hot dogs, fireworks, wide open prairies, freedom, Bruce Springsteen, Boulevard beer and driving my car down a long stretch of deserted road. 

Is it possible to rebel against yourself?

Maybe against your best self, your ideal self, the self that creates unattainable New Year's resolutions. I rebel against my best intentions entirely too often. I need to make a resolution about that. Or read another Life Hacker article.

What’s your favorite song about rebellion?

For singing along, Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire. For yelling along and punching the air with my rebellious fist, Oh Bondage Up Yours by X-ray Spex.