Suburban Goddess

When you let go… TRULY let go…. the fall can be the most amazing rush you’ve ever experienced…

Alex & I were watching Sleeping Beauty, and she particularly likes the part where the Fairy Godmothers get into magic war, turning Aurora’s dress blue and pink. If you haven’t seen the movie in a while, I’ll tell you; the dress ends up being blue.

Shortly after that part, Aurora finds out she’s betrothed to Prince Phillip and becomes distraught. As she put her head down and cried, Alex looked at me very sincerely.

“Mommy, she no like BLUE.”

I had my hair cut this evening, but I was in a hurry to get home (Bear has a bladder of steel, but there’s no need to test the poor animal,) so I passed on the “style” that I usually indulge in. After I unloaded the Jeep and went about all the things necessary to keep a household running, I noticed my hair was kinking up, so I went into the bathroom to finish drying it and running it through the straightening iron. As I lifted sections in one-inch strands, I was horrified to find a PATCH of gray hair… not a few strands, mind you, a PATCH. As in, a skunk strand, a pile of follicles that joined little follicle hands and had a TINT STRIKE.

Is it because I refuse to spend $30 on shampoo? Was it because I switched to a less-expensive version of Biosilk? Why, little follicles, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME???

You know, the biggest irony here is that I spent years dyeing my hair… only to finally fall in love with my natural color. And now, THIS.

Life’s cruel little joke on me.  And my hair.

I’m hanging, hanging, hanging here…. hoping I’m not making a big mistake… hoping my senses have finally learned to recognize truth…. hoping that my judgment has finally gotten better…. hoping that I’m not being manipulated….

Hoping that this is REAL.

There are times in life where you put yourself out there… farther than your comfort zone… and you hope that you’re not making a huge mistake.

When I decided to go into design, I signed up for a basic course in college. The first assignment was for a perfume ad. The instructions were pretty vague; I tried to follow them exactly as they were on the paper. The ad was horrible; I remember looking at it and hating it completely, but all the elements that had to included were there, so I figured I’d passed the assignment.

At the next class, the professor had turned them into overhead transparencies; the very first ad he showed was mine.

“This is an example of what NOT to do. Whoever created this ad might as well drop out of this course right now.”

I was mortified; this was the harshest criticism I’d ever received in my life (outside of my own). I was so embarrassed… but I didn’t quit. The next assignment he gave us, I completely ignored his instructions and designed the ad the way I thought it should be built. I found art on a stock photo site, I created the product packaging, and I used fonts that I liked. As I sat back to critique my own work, I was satisfied; if you put the ad in a magazine, it fit right in. I turned the assignment in the following day, and dreaded going back to class the following week. Sure enough, when I walked in, there was my ad again, the very first transparency of the day. I braced myself for the grouchy old professor’s criticism.

“Now, THIS is the kind of work you should ALL be doing.”

“But sir,” one of the girls protested, “it doesn’t follow the instructions.”

“Then how are you ever supposed to learn to be CREATIVE??” he bellowed.

I’ll never forget that professor. There was no gray areas with him; every week he either loved or despised my work. He taught me to toughen up. He taught me to learn to take criticism constructively, and not personally. And he taught me that it may be your best work, but clients will hate it anyway… because in this business, there truly is no right and wrong. Right and wrong is determined by the person signing the check.

I didn’t realize how much Alex liked a particular song in the CD player until yesterday. As she sat in her wagon, keeping herself occupied while I cleaned out the garage, I overheard her singing to herself…

“Leave me… right here…. ’cause I don’t want to GO!”

“I think my dog ate Alex’s Play-Doh.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because when I came home from work yesterday, there was hot pink barf on my bed.”

“That’s a good clue.”

Near the end of my marriage, Chip used to comment that the only way he knew how I was feeling was to come to my blog. I didn’t know how to communicate with him my unhappiness, my resentment… but I could tell the rest of the world.

It was one of his greatest pet peeves. I admit; at times, I did it just to piss him off. It was the only way I could seem to get through to him. Now I know how detrimental my words were… and how much it must have hurt him.

I’ve watched many of my blogging counterparts fold up shop and shut down because family members or friends were hurt by their words. Each time, it hurt to see them go, but I understand. Some days it’s a struggle to open yourself up out here. But I don’t do it for any of you; I do it for myself, and I do it for my daughter. There have been times I’ve considered it myself, shutting down, opening up elsewhere anonymously again, free to write without conscience or consideration… days like today….

I’ve learned my lesson; watch what you say on your blog. Granted, most of the time I write about people who will not be offended by my words… I hold the heavier stuff back. There are certain people who have expressed their displeasure about being mentioned here; I respect their wishes and leave them out. Despite my parents’ comments, there is a lot I DON’T say here, because I love and respect them.

I don’t write about work anymore since this blog almost cost me my job.

As I’ve dated, I didn’t make mention of any specifics here. Not because I’m hiding anything; I’ve never had anything to hide, but most guys don’t want to know you’re not thinking about them exclusively. I understand that as well… I didn’t want to know they were seeing others, either. I wasn’t looking for anything serious… but I wasn’t looking for a quick fling, either. I was looking for a CONNECTION, something unspoken but undeniable, something so powerful that it would restore my faith in people. Something that could break through the numbness and make me FEEL again.

So here’s where it gets messy; I FOUND that connection… but I hesitated to write about it, because in the beginning, it is so fragile that you have to handle it carefully (it’s one thing to write about yourself; it’s another thing to write about somebody else) But my heart ached to tell the world about it. I once likened it to finding a diamond in the dirt; you just want to show the world this amazing thing you’ve found.

So for now, I will simply say I have found something special. I don’t know where it will go, and I’m in no hurry… each step thus far has been amazing. I’m thankful for the time I’ve had, and I hope that I can elaborate in the future…

“What was it you said? ‘Chew the ass end off a wooden hobby horse?’ I don’t get it. Why didn’t you just say a tire or something?”

“Because a tire isn’t as funny as a wooden hobby horse.”

“What if you don’t know what a wooden hobby horse is?”

“It’s still funnier than a tire.”