Dress for the Job you want, Not the job you Have.

There is a "look" I am learning to perfect. A style, an image - call it what you want. But it's so much more than the clothes that I'm wearing. It started when my mom came to visit and I found myself (as I always do) drowning in her negativity and cynicism and I saw myself twenty years from now, just as angry, just as bitter, just as bored as she is. And that is not OK.






My new "style" is my uniform - but unlike like the English High School kid who tries everything to avoid conforming, or the bored security guard who wears his clothes to feel an over inflated sense of power, I am wearing my uniform like a Warrior; it is something I am wearing with pride.

















The first time I saw a real, alive, walking around, pin up style Rockabilly chick, I was in Sacramento with Kaleb. I didn't even know what a Victory curl was. Her eye make-up was flawless, her lips, cherry red and crisp. She had the most awesome, colorful tattoos and her black pencil skirt was shiny and tight. God, I think I fell in love, juuuust a little bit. I was no stranger to seeing classic pin-up girls as they're one of Kaleb's favorite things, but I had no idea that they existed in real life. Her smooth, shiny hair was such a deep, deep red - so red that it was almost midnight. Then she had a big, bright orange flower pinned just above her ear. She. Was. Beautiful.





In England, where I grew up, the mainstream, marketable pin up girl is the modern day, girl next door type, with blond hair, perky, slightly too large, breasts and pretty pink nipples. Her make-up is pleasant, fresh - almost natural. This chick could live down the street from you and you wouldn't recognize her with her top on. Not that she's not attractive - she's just not remarkable.

Of course, it might have something to do with the fact
that there's a pair of boobies on every other page in the majority of the newspapers. They don't exactly care about leaving anything to the imagination. There's no good old-fashioned glamor and well, after a while, you start to get a seen-one-pair-seen-em-all attitude. They're just not special enough to remember.




I don't know a woman that I've ever met who hasn't at least heard the names Marylin Monroe or Betty Paige, but how many of you are still collecting posters of Samantha Fox....? No...? Exactly.






I've always loved old style glamor. Forties and fifties Hollywood is where I always made my escape. I loved the old musicals the best but I didn't care as long as the movies were glamorous; Doris Day, Rita Hayworth, Greta Garbo, Grace Kelly and, as far as I'm concerned, beauty, elegance and grace was never better represented than by the amazing Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tffany's.......................................................................................
..............................................................
............. Sorry, I just took a moment for myself to remember her perfection. Sigh.................








OK. It may seem that I have digressed a little but this really is all connected.



Here's how...






I've never considered myself particularly striking or glamorous. Definitely not beautiful But the day I got married, was the only day in my entire life that I've ever, ever, ever felt truly beautiful. I felt beautiful, because I was beautiful. On the day, it didn't matter what I was wearing, how my hair looked and if my makeup was flawless (although, fortunately all of which happened to turn out pretty freaking great!) It wasn't the usual "blushing bride" beauty that you see in most wedding pictures, it was more than that. I was so grounded and confident and happy and care free. I felt sexy and pretty and glamorous and striking, and it reflected in my outward appearance so that I looked on the outside, exactly the way I felt on the inside.



Now, when I look at my Wedding pictures, I am unrecognizable.




Of course, keeping in mind that I'm generally wiping snotty noses, changing poopy diapers or generally messing around with the kids. I'm not even trying to think about dusting the house or mopping the floor in a floaty, white frock. For one, I've gained SO much weight that my wedding dress wouldn't even go over my head these days, let alone fasten in the back and besides, it'd just make more laundry.




The style or fashions of the early glam years assured that no woman spent the day looking anything other than her absolute best. No trousers, only skirts and dresses, hair perfectly curled, just pinched pink cheeks, perfectly ruby red lips and always, always wearing shoes with heels.





Then the world went to war and the women had no choice but to go to work in jobs that demanded hard, manual labor. There was a war on. They had to do what the men used to do. They had to work the in factories and get dirty and lift things and build things to support the war. And they couldn't do that in heels.







Now, I'm not fighting a war. But I have definitely gone to battle. I am battling for my sense of self. For an identity that is either lost or has never truly been found and for that, I need my uniform.



At the end of my battle, when I have won my quest, lost the weight that constantly holds me back and keeps me down, sorted my head out and put my ghosties to bed for the very last time, I will wear a shiny black pencil skirt and seamed stockings. My hair will be longer, shiny and rolled, victory style and my confidence in myself will shine as brightly as my pretty red lipstick. My teeth will be fixed and white and I will be a non-smoker. I will become a confident, self assured, striking woman, just like the women I most admire.


But for now, I am a work in progress. I am doing some hard, manual labor and I am dressed accordingly.



Yeah, just like Rosie...

cry

I cried tonight. Like I haven't cried in a long, long, long time.
Why? Because the dog shat (yup, made up word) on my living room floor.

Thank fuck Bubba was there because I fell apart. Right there on my
hands and knees, bleach wipes in my hand, everything just shattered.
Even when Bubba took over from the disgusting chore of picking up the
nasty, stinky piles and sent me away, I couldn't stop crying. I fell apart in front of my children. All three of them. And I cried hard and loud for a long time.

Upside to this - I'm hoping that Bizzy now thinks that pooping on the floor makes momma REALLY sad and she'll actually get her butt on that potty!

Those kids brought me water, and pillows, and nuggles (that's a blankie in Bizzian) and endless cuddles and Aaron was this big, strong rock. He held me really tight while I cried and cried and babbled on and on about things your children should never, ever hear. There was a role reversal between Bubba and me, it's not one I'm comfortable with but, at that moment, right then, I had no choice but to show my weak, broken, desperately empty side.

Upside...? I'm not sure it's completely bad for your kids see the human side of you - instead of always seeing the Super Human side. However, it's not something I'm going to be making a habit of. Ever.

It's the things I said while I had no control over myself that are giving me that uneasy feeling now.

*****

On my first page, when I posted those gawd awful pictures of my room, I said I was happy. And sometimes I am. When I wrote that first page, I was empowered by the Rosie the Riveter "we can do it" stance and I was holding firm. At that time, I had a plan, I knew what needed to be done and, with a little pull from everyone else, it was totally doable.
But there's one of the problems - that pull I was talking about - that all important assurance that yes, we are a team, has yet again, been very hard to find for ME, even though It's always expected FROM me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I do that a lot.

Happy. That's where I was. I was at happy... Or I was, for a few days, happy. Happy and exited at the prospect of change for the better.

I shouldn't feel the need to confirm this. But I do, so...

My children make me happy. Even when I can't move even one step to the left without tripping over a grumpy, whining baby while I'm juggling 27 separate
chores. There is always a moment in my day that they make me belly laugh. There is always a moment in the day when I look at each of them and I love them so much that I can actually feel my heart grow in my chest. They make me happy.

Kaleb and I definitely have some work to do to make our relationship good again, but I love him and I'm happy and proud to be his wife. And the times in between the fights and the work and the juggle, I find a happiness with him that's on a
separate level to anything else in the world.

So, with all this happiness, why was I holding on to my own Son so tightly tonight and crying like a baby?

Because I am not happy. Me. I am not happy. I am not.

And I think that I deserve to be.

Before the husband and the kids, I was a person. I was a child. I
don't really remember NOT being a mom - why would I? I was seventeen when I became momma.
The years before I was seventeen are not full to the brim of cherished, happy, skipping merrily through the meadows memories and I definitely hadn't had the time or the basic life experiences to become a woman although, like so many people, I had no real choice but to become old beyond my years.

But Sara the woman, the one who disappeared under responsibilities, needs to be able to grow. Sara the woman wants to bring her family with her, but she wants to feel like she has as much of a place in the home we have made as Sara the mom and Sara the wife and Sara the daughter.

And I feel like Sara the woman is in a fight for her life.

And I'm really scared because I'm so tired and deflated by it all that I think we might be loosing.

Isabel Alexandra is our baby. The having babies part of my life is over (thanks doc!) so she will always be the baby.




*****




We call her Bizzy because she NEVER stops moving.













She loves to cuddle and gives THE BEST squishy kisses.








Sometimes, it's easy to forget that she's a girlie girl. She's rough and she's tough - hardcore is the perfect word for Bizzy but she loves to dress up and dance and sing and twirl and she LOVES to have her toesies painted.




*****




She's funny and silly and bright as a button. She's been singing her ABCs since she was 14 months old and can easily count to 17.










She doesn't like it when I'm not happy.... Especially when she poops on the floor - this is her latest thing and not fun for anyone involved.





*****





I see angels in her face. That pretty, cute, adorable, love buggy face.





*****





She has her own angel. Her name is Edna (not a pretty name, I know) and she was my father's Aunt. I truly believe that she watches over Bizzy. Although, i'm not sure why.





*****





Everyone - even strangers - thinks it's OK to touch her hair. Although it's not completely OK, I am flattered that they admire her cuteness and I can definitely appreciate their taste in cute kids. Isabel doesn't care either way but is very patient with everyone.





*****





Her favorite place to be in the whole wide world, is home.











Isabel is more guarded than her siblings. It can take a while for her to relax and be your friend. Once she has relaxed, she's your friend forever and welcomes you in like an eager puppy.






She is extremely determined and doesn't stop until she gets what she wants - Even if that means stacking the stepping stools on top of the dining chairs, on top of her sister just to get to the cookie jar!





*****





She's a real talker. But only around people she's comfortable with - many people think that she hardly makes a noise.
Here is an example of a regular conversation between me and Isabel - this is just from the other night....



Isabel: "I'm going to play school tonight."
Me: "Oh, yeah? Who you gonna play with?"
Isabel: "Chicken Nuggets."



She's funny.

At 4 years old, Molly Rose is my second born of three children but, she is by no means, the "middle child."


*****



She is my Princess. My dancing angel, cupcake with pink sprinkles, butterfinger pie with ice cream squidgy bug love pudding.


*****



There is a cheeky, annoying, charming glow about this kid that is just unmistakable.


*****



She can throw a tantrum the likes of which I doubt you have ever seen.


*****



She loves Yo Gabba Gabba, punk rock, ballerinas, slides and anything you can call candy. Her favorite thing is just hanging out with us.


*****



Her laugh - not the twinkly little girlie laugh she has developed since pre-school, but her real laugh - is the kind of laugh that makes her "poot" (fart) and gives her a cramp in her belly and an ache in her face. She laughs a lot.
She can sulk in one crouched, fetal position, groaning like a hungry puppy for a VERY LONG TIME over, what seem very small things. But then, I guess they're not small to her.


*****



When she was born, I panicked. I was so afraid I was going to damage this beautiful, amazing little, life altering creature. I was so petrified at the idea that I now had a little girl who could hurt as deeply as I did and that I might actually be the one to hurt her. So much so, that my fear of "getting it wrong" sent me into a severe bout of depression - not post natal depression (not that that isn't it's own personal hell) but a depression so severe, so deep and intense, that I wished that it would end me.


*****



Molly taught me to hold my nose and jump. To just do it - even if it scares you. She taught me this, with juuuust enough time for me to teach it back to her, should the time come that she forgets.




Molly can give you a look that will melt your heart and a glare that will raise the dead.







Molly is her baby sister's bestest friend in the whole wide world. She tries to be very patient... Usually....

My Son is a strappin' 6' 3" monster sized, big house of a dude. His name is Aaron but we and his sisters have exclusive permission to call him Bubba.


*****


He's got a funny, kinda strange sense of humor. Sometimes it can get a little over the top but as he's maturing, he's learning to level that out.


*****


He's extremely talented, both artistically and musically and his great big squidgy, teddy bear style heart is apparent by the way all children and animals warm to him immediately.








He is his sister's hero.... And has been mine from time to time.








He works a full time job and pays his way through school - Right now he's in Regional College but he'll be in Chico by the Fall. He's always been a hard worker - that's the one lesson we tried to teach him that we KNOW he learned - "If you want something, you have to work for it." His room is disgusting. I mean, really, really B-A-D. It smells rotten and I think it may need to be professionally fumigated when he moves out. ICK!!!!







He is way too opinionated for his limited life experiences although, I have to give him kudos on reading up and gaining more knowledge on things that he once knew nothing about.




He loves his Momma. And his Momma loves HIM.


*****


He's getting to be a pretty good cook. He's always up for learning ways to improve what he's already doing. He doesn't take criticism well but not many people do, unless it's positive.


*****


I am extremely proud of my Son. I adored him as a baby, It was never hard to be his Mom - even though it seemed that the whole world swore we wouldn't make it, as I was so young when he was born. They had no idea the gift growing inside me and making my belly swell, but I knew then And I still know. He's amazing and I still adore him now. I admire and respect the man he is growing up to be and I hope that he always remembers that he can do great things.


*****


More than anything, my wish for Aaron is that he is always happy. What ever he chooses to do, where ever he chooses to go, where ever his path takes him, I want him to always find the good, always find his happy and always knows that his Momma is her happiest when he smiles.

The smiling, retro, domestic lady in the above picture? Not me, for the record.

*****



I live with my husband, 3 amazing kids, one stinky dog and 2 cats. They are my family - Allow me to introduce them...



****



Kaleb is my husband.
I always knew that, if I was ever going to commit to forever with any man, it would be with him. He had this way of making even the most mundane tasks fun and exiting. He was a 'bad boy' but he was so incredibly good to me and he made me feel NO - he made me KNOW I was beautiful, which was something I had never felt before. Every now and again, he still does.



****



I'm not sure if showing a picture of Kaleb is a good idea. His job can get a little dicey at times and he tries hard to keep me and the kids completely separate from it, just in case any trouble should ever arise. Don't get me wrong - he doesn't work for the C.I.A or anything but I respect that you can't be too careful in a world of drugs and gangs and guns.




****



But let me help you out with a few visuals.....




If you took Peter Griffin's ability to stick his foot in his mouth and do the wrong thing while trying to do the right thing...



....And added Homer's ever frustrating
ability to just be Homer....

And then teamed those with Al Bundy's ability to sit on the couch, complain, bitch, moan and play with his own junk....

OH! You've met him??? Good!!! *Giggles*

****

Sometimes, he makes me so mad that I want to do this....

And this....

It's not like it's all cartoon characters and violence though. We're definitely a work in progress and we definitely do not live in paradise, but it's not like we're constantly at each others throats either.... Well, usually.



He's a good guy. He's very funny. His sense of humor can be cruel sometimes but it's one of those things where, if anyone in the world but him were to try it, it would be bad. But Kaleb? Dunno why, but he can get away with it.



He's quite driven where his career is concerned and he works very hard and has earned the respect of many people.... He's come a long way from the bad boy I met all those years ago. I love the man that he is now but there is a part of me that misses the old Kaleb - or at least, parts of him. The old Kaleb looked for ways to have fun in any situation. The old Kaleb didn't need to wait for a bunch of money to have fun, he just did it. The old Kaleb had a zest for life that the new Kaleb just doesn't seem to have anymore, and I think we both miss it.



My hope is that, one day, parts of the old Kaleb come and stay with the new Kaleb.



Anyway, no matter how much he pisses me off, makes me mad as all get out, frustrates the hell out of me and drives me insane, there is still no other man in the world I can imagine spending forever with.



Because, you see, too me, he looks like this.....

Seriously, how much crap can one married couple shove in a closet????
Why is it so hard to throw away things that we don't want, don't use and probably never will??? And how is it that bags and bags (and bags and bags - 9 I think) of trash PLUS several days later, I'm still not finished, still not satisfied and have juuuuust squeaked by on sabotaging myself ~ yet again?
This is not a pleasant first set of pictures, but Blogging (horrible word, just horrible!) is about being honest, no-holds-barred, bare naked truth.... Isn't it...? So here's how my room looked at around 12:30 yesterday afternoon... Sorry about the quality of the pictures... Camera phone... Although, and trust me on this, I'm doing you a favor...


*****


Oh. My. God. This is embarrassing! *GULP*


Didn't find any dead bodies though, so that's a bonus....



Now, I'm not an absolute slob.... I think..... Oh, what the hell, who am I kidding!
But I do feel that I should mention that, by this point, I had personally emptied out E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G from drawers, shelves, cupboards, all of it.





So I'm thinking there should be some kind of back story here. Like, why the hell am I spending my time typing this out when I should - quite obviously - be cleaning the house? So, here it is....
I have to preface this with a simple statement. I'm happy. I like my life. I like what I do and who I do it with. I. Am. Happy. NO, really, I AM!
I'm also greedy.... Or maybe just opportunistic..... Or maybe I'm finally just claiming what's mine, like a lost scarf. Either way, I know that there is more happy to be had. I know that I need to start living like the happy woman that I am. I want to recognize the person that my friends and family think I am when I look in the mirror. Because that girl - the one with the bubbly personality and the ever positive attitude and the couldn't-give-a-shit-what-anyone-else-thinks persona.... Well, she usually only comes out in public and that's sad because I really like her and I'd like to get to know her more and well, I can't do that if I keep getting in my own way now, can I?!?!


So, my intention is to introduce myself to me.... And you, if you're at all interested. And I'm starting by having a damn good clear out!

This time was different. I did something I have never done. Usually, when I clear out my bedroom closet, I just tidy up the mess that's there, throw away the trash and put everything back in a neater, less scary order.
NOT THIS TIME!
I have thrown away clothes that don't fit, clothes that I have been saving since England - even the one's I love. My tastes have changed and, even if - NO, when - I do loose the excess 60lbs (OK, sigh, closer to 80lbs) I don't want to wear them again. I have thrown away every item of clothing that has a stain or a hole in it and every item of clothing I was keeping simply because it fit or it was comfortable. All of them are gone.
I have never done that before. Never. In the past, I have been very mindful of a few things - *1) Money - there has always been a pattern in the past, where we float along good for a while. Money is coming in, bills are getting paid, nothing is breaking down, no one is getting sick and Christmas is a looooong way off and we can even buy one or two personal items for ourselves or each other - I always choose clothes and shoes. Always.
For a long while, all I bought was shoes because I couldn't find anything I wanted to wear that fit me. But shoes always fit and I do have cute feet.
But it's always in the back of my head that the money and the easy run is all gonna come tumbling down at any minute and I need to squirrel everything away so that we're ready to ride out the storm. Getting rid of clothing always felt so wrong cos' well, when the shit hits the fan, you can't walk around naked can you? Or at least, that was the pattern before.
*2) Sigh. The age old issue for SO MANY WOMEN - my weight. My closet has been full of things I wear just because they fit, or they were cheap OR they fit AND they were cheap. It's not like I'm one of those people you see on the telly- the ones that get lifted out of their houses by a crane because Richard Simmons is crying. I am definitely WAY too big for my frame - 80lbs too big, if you're into numbers. And. I. Hate. It. I do. I hate it. Although, up until now, it's been the perfect way to remind myself that i'm not worthy of the effort it takes to invest in myself the way I invest in the rest of my family. SO i've kept the clothes with holes in them and the clothes with paint stains and the clothes that I would NEVER choose to wear - EVER and I've worn them because that's what I had.

As I said, they're all gone. Even the shoes. The rule is, if I don't LOVE it, if it's stained, if it's torn or if it doesn't fit, I will remove it from my house and replace it with something shiny and new that I am exited to wear. From now, there will always be money to replace anything that is not in the best condition because I am in control of the gravy.
It's not gonna create world peace, stop world hunger or make the world a better place but it will make me happier and in turn, perhaps the ripples will create good things.



Now, a moment of silence for the shoes....