Jenny On the Spot: Caffeinated mom, lover of dancing, glitter and glitter.

I have long been afflicted with a condition called “insecurity”. I was a shy little girl. By high school I found myself in a space I was comfortable in…chubby, but comfortable… and some of the “shyness” began to melt away.

If I look at the big picture of my life, I see pockets of freedom and pockets of shyness. Even in adulthood. Were I a scientist, I might hypothesize that the periods of freedom had a direct correlation to the people I chose to let into my life.

During my perceived “shy” periods, I think I was fearful. I was insecure. I lacked confidence — in who I was or wanted to be. Or my weight held me back. I wavered in my own convictions based on who was around. Acceptance, popularity, inclusion… Familiar much? I think I sought out the wrong people.

But I’m older now. I never thought growing older could be a good thing…

As I have struggled and {to be honest} still struggle with desiring acceptance… life and experience has aged me and I have changed. I have become less guarded, more open, a bit louder, a bit sillier, warmer… free-er… and as a result a bit creative-ier :) My creativity has been given freedom to blossom and in that – I have been given the freedom to live life more fully.

It’s hard though… being able to embrace the freedom I am finding in being be the person I believe God created me to be.  I am self-reflective to a fault. If there is something good about me, I can make that a bad trait. So I search inside looking for faults to work on, not realizing I have been building walls, not actually fixing anything. I have spent years building very thick and high walls that have kept me from being:

• one who laughs easily
• one who welcomes warmly
• one who hugs freely
• one who hurts deeply
• one who gets wounded easily
• one who forgives freely
• one who never really had ONE best friend, but is blessed with a bright collage of friendships that create a beautiful life picture.

God created me to be free. To be Jenny. Over the years I let my own judgments about me, and my own perceived judgments from others smoosh the freedom and joy in life that I believe God intended for me.

I don’t think I am unique in this self-”smooshing”.

I don’t think I was ever a shy little girl. I was scared. Of life. Of people. Of contrary opinion. Wanting to be accepted. I thought acceptance meant shaping my life to the expectations of others. As a result, I hid so I wouldn’t draw attention and attract unfavorable judgment.

Today, I DO care what others think… but more often from people I admire, regard and respect. People who encourage, support, giggle, and get their crazies out with me. We laugh unhindered and weep openly. We dance madly and fearlessly…

Photo credit: Mark Gsellman

I continue to learn – to strive to live to the fullest — because I have a safe place to do it. A healthy place to bloom. There were times I tried to fit the round girl that I am into a square hole. Take that as you will. But, by that I mean, not all people are the right people for me. Most are… *wink* but not all. I have lost good time and heart on reaching out to the wrong ones.

I thought I wanted to be “cool”. Ahhh, but I have a warm heart that lives on my sleeve. I will never, ever be “cool”. AndIamOKwiththat. Finally.

Bravery begets bravery. Surrounding oneself with quality people… warm people… those who are strong in character, gracious in spirit, and joyful in diversity… the gentle and kind-spirited… The ones who dare tell me I’ve gone too far, but will walk with me still. With them I can fail and still be lifted back to standing.

It is in this environment I thrive… In THIS environment I begin to finally live my life to the fullest. Watching the bravery and courage of my friends… watching their sacrificial love… receiving their empathy… advice… having their shoulder or ear… watching them love teaches me how to love.

And dancing… with the freedom of a child, but with better gross motor skillz…

My walls are not all torn down. I know not everyone will like me. I cannot predict who that will be. I still fear. I just have a better perspective.

So… if you come across a 37 year old woman with pink streaks in her hair… and she’s a little loud, and a little silly… it’s either because she is living freely… or she is scared. For as much as I have learned, and as much as I believe I am free… I find a thick security blanket of silliness proves to be a great way to hide. Hey, I’m human.

As I often say… I’m not perfect. Just awesome. I just have awesome friends.

How about you? Do you hide? Do you care? Have you ever struggled with issues of acceptance? Am I crazy? Don’t answer that last one. Ignorance is bliss.

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It is still Christmas at my house. Not because presents keep pouring in, no… but because, as of this writing – January 16, 2010… the Christmas decorations are still — UP.

*hangs head*

I’m just keepin’ it real for y’allz. I am a classic type-a personality with a scattered-creative alter-ego who obssesses over glitter and fashion accessories. And fame.

Somedays it is just no fun to hang out in my head. I want order, but my alter-go (J-Bling) wants to play. I want timeliness, organization, predictability, and then my alter-ego hides my calendar and sprays glitter in my eyes… reminiscent of a Spitting Cobra.

A Spitting Cobra…

J-Bling…

Practically twins… Except for the scales…

Continue reading ‘The Confessional – It’s Still Christmas At My House’

We all have them. Certain words that creep us out or make us snort and giggle like we did back in driver’s ed and science class… back when simple words like “period” were dirty and worthy of a good “snicker”.

Yet, I had no idea the bevy of words I that would forever be ruined… when I grew up. Who knew my adult mind would evolve to such lowly immaturities. Or perhaps my understanding has evolved so much I am wise beyond my years.

Don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m saying. Don’t be a hater. You and me? We are more alike than you… No. That’s not true. I suppose I feel a little guilty.

You see, if my word list keeps growing at the rate is has been… I will be limited to speaking only articles and prepositions… incidentally, that brings me to my first word:

10. PREPOSITION

9. FAMISHED

8. FOLD

7. SHAMMY

6. MOIST

5. COMMANDER

4. COIFFEUR

3. SEPTIC SYSTEM

2. CREVICE

2. SALVE

2. POINSETTIA

1. BUSINESS, JUNK, TOOL andthelike.

I. Uh. Ermmmm…

The End.

*For more “mature” reading material you can hop on over to:

• My guest post at Indie Biz Chicks thankful stuffs…
• Or to Mom on the Spot where I curse the evil nature of chestnuts. Some people bring light to world issues. I fight with inanimate objects – and LOSE!
• Of course, there is always the video of this snickering inaction, thanks to good friends like my Lisa:

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*Pssst… if you’d like to enter for a chance to win a LEGO® DUPLO® prize pack – leave a comment here! You only have until MOnday morning to enter!*

I am HORRIBLE with names. H to the ORRIBLE.

I am so bad…

*how bad are you?*

I am so bad with names I have SERIOUSLY considered carrying around name tags so I could have them handy. Say like, at my preschooler’s tumbling class or at the coffee shop… my family…

It is that bad.

I believe every person I come in contact with should wear a name badge.

So, imagine my crisis when I visited the dog park for the first time the other day.

Not only were there NEW PEOPLE WITH NAMES *grips chest*… there were DOGS WITH NAMES.

I have never seen a dog with a name tag. Well, on the collar, but no.one.can.read.those!

It was clear within minutes of our visit at the dog park, the people and dogs considered us family.

It was amazing. The licking, the petting…
Continue reading ‘The Confessional – Names and the Dog Park’

Why Fritos? The truth (this IS The Confessional) I have a wee-bit of writer’s block and all I could come up with is confessing my poor eating choices from yesterday.

Like you care.

But it’s My blog, and this is alzz I got *shows salty finger tips*

Here’s my dirt.
Continue reading ‘The Confessional – Fritos, Gushers and MySpace’

What? You didn’t turn the page off your interwebz?

I actually have a post of substance I should mold and nurture… instead I share with you a personal struggle…

Buying tampons in bulk.

I don’t care how many years one has been purchasing the wide array of feminine hygiene products, it is never comfortable to plop one’s “goodies”… “pons”… on the counter. I am not afraid to purchase the needed items, but I cannot think of a time I have bought a pack of this-or-that where I haven’t looked for a checker-chick. I don’t want the fellas knowin’ mah bidness.

Secondlyandwhosoever… in this economy, I have become keeeeeenly aware of how expensive these necessities are.

NECESSITIES.

I mean, if we lived in the Biblical days, we’d just be cast outside the city gates to live in a tent for a week.

We don’t get that luxury today. No tent outside the city for the modern woman. Nope.

I digress… What I’m sayin’ is — this economy + coupon for tampons at grocery warehouse + 2 box limit = “the heck is wrong with HER insides?!”

And the whole while I’m nervously chatting about the economy and how awesome coupons are and the value of buying two 84 count boxes of tampons in bulk… so “people” only have to buy “CERTAIN THINGS” every 90 – 120 days or so… or less *ahem*

Golly. It reminds me of the time after my fist child was born.

Are you STILL here?

I needed “supplies”. Lots of supplies. I was well-read on parenting and the birth process, but I had no idea… NO. IDEA… about the wrath of the  ”just gave birth undercarriage”.

Friggin’ Armageddon.

Still here?

Aaaanywho. I loaded up a cart of things that I felt would best behoove a woman in my bloody sad state.

I unloaded enough “supplies” onto the check-out counter. I perceived there was enough on that counter to clean up the oil spill of the Exxon Valdez back in ‘89.

I also had a 24 pack of coke. And candy bars.

Aaaand… a checker-dude.

I just looked down. I don’t think he  saw my tears. I never screamed as afterbirth contractions riddled my new-mommy body. I remember crawling into my car, tearing open a candy bar and weeping… from pain, embarrassment and pure exhaustion. Aaaaand that is another story.

It was truly awful. Today was not so awful, but I still had to put two 84 count boxes of tampons on the check-out stand.

I compare buying tampons in bulk to wearing thong underwear. It’s never comfortable, but it’s not so bad after awhile. I… uh… aye… that’s… thah…har… at least that’s what I’ve heard.

*blinking*

This post was just all kinds of uncomfortable, now wasn’t it?

I am here to serve. *bows and hits head on desk on the way back up*

This all kind-of reminds me of the time my hubs and I had to buy… well… anywho… I did write about that too…

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I saw this at a 4-way-stop yesterday evening. HAD to take a pic. HAD to share it.

In other news, I’m drowning in life… and am struggling with finding time this week(s). To be totally honest, I am having a hard time finding my smile too. “Too busy for smiles?” you probe (heh, probe). Maybe… I think the “too busy” makes it too easy to miss the reasons to smile.

I want to thank all who commented on my last post… I am slowly replying to each one. The encouragement, the thought behind what each person said… I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. It seems I am in the down-swoop. I am feeling reflective, funny is harder to see and create… I want to just sit in a corner with my thumb in my mouth, my knees to my chest and cry. Or maybe just pound back fistfuls of chocolate chips. Or a pallet of baked goods. Beer. Tequila? All of the above, but not at the same time. Oh, a nice bowl of baked potato soup with extra bacon might help…

I don’t know why I am feeling “Debbie Downer-ish”, but then… I do know why. It’s all ambiguous and specific. And no “why” is really big enough to provoke such a dramatic response. However… I think I am going to start my period.

Every month for the rest of my life.

Until menopause, but, like THAT is something to trade bleeding for?

TMI. So sorry. See? I am not in a good spot.

*SCREEEEECH*

I recommend going to CHEERUPNATION, because it is a guaranteed place to go for a cheer-up. They are up for an award! Oh, JD at I Do Things is also up for the award, but a different category…an award I am willing to share. Also, If I do not win, I hope it’s becuase of I Do Things… she does things, so we don’t have to :)

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This weekend sucked. I was going to “fluff” up the “sucked” part and be all, “This weekend was Stinky Stinkerson.” But if I wrote that, the the “totally honest” part of my title would not have been “totally honest”.

It was not a weekend of illness. Nor a weekend of tragedy. Nor a weekend of poverty, nor oppression, nor starvation, nor anything worthy of garnering an uprising of pity, concern or having a group of friends rally and bring my family meals for 2 weeks (though I would never turn that away, rain OR shine)…

It just sucked. The “Mom!!!” part of this weekend, sucked.
Continue reading ‘Can I Be Totally Honest?’

It is what it is… *sigh* I’ll just keep the smile up on the outside, but ya’ll here know what’s happening on my inside. It’s nice to have a place to be real. ;)

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Have a happy and safe Fourth of July, friends!

*pink puffy hearts and swirly whirly goodness all over yo bad selves*

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A little explanation may be in order, cuz… SHLL (S H double hockey sticks) is not a word. My hubs and I came up with an alternate way of cursing. You know when people want to use “hell” as an expletive, but not actually be all expletive-y… they may say, “H E doublehockeysticks!”

Well, my hubs and I have taken it to the next level. Now, to be clear… I am not saying I DO curse nor am I saying I do NOT. I am just saying I feel that for me… I really shouldn’t *ahem*. As much as we try to keep it clean, sometimes there is nothing quite like a well-placed expletive. OR sometimes, there is no better way to describe an event or circumstance or happening than to use a word that is not allowed on daytime television.

So, Paul and I came up with the concept of dropping the last letters of a “bad word” and adding “doublehockeysticks” to the end. You can experiment on your own. I don’t want to be the one to have lead to your fauxfanity corruption.

*whistling*

I mean just the phrase “double hockey sticks” can be the new not-bad bad word! It can TOTALLY stand alone. Just think, you cut your finger off whilst chopping carrots or rutabaga (or CAKE!) and exclaim, “DOUBLEHOCKEYSTICKS!”

Aaaanywho… last night was one of those “happenings”.
Continue reading ‘The Confessional – In Which I Nearly Lose My S H Double Hockey Sticks’