Heroine

I've finally found my perfect literary doppelgänger and her name is Claire Beauchamp.  She is the heroine of the Outlander series.  The television series has used sex to advertise the show, but it has great depth.  The characters are complicated, layered, and multifaceted.  Diana Gabaldon weaves a thick lush fabric of romance, adventure, political intrigue, historical fiction, and fantasy.  Many Outlander fans are distracted by the sex appeal of the leading man.  Let's get it out of the way.  Yes, Jamie is the handsome, rugged and self-sacrificing hero who is fully devoted to his wife.  And he looks damn good in a kilt.  Swoon.  But it is the character of Claire who resonates so deeply with me.  She's anything but the typical fainting damsel in distress.  She swears and holds her liquor, and is presented as the equal of her husband.  She's stubborn, intelligent, strong willed, passionate, and unflinching while still maintaining a vulnerability. 

I saw a challenge the other day to list your 15 favorite books.  Here are mine:

Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon

Anne of Green Gables series by L. M. Montgomery

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Little Women by Lousia May Alcott

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling

The Sun Also Risses by Ernest Hemingway

Farenheight 451 by Ray Bradbury

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Game of Thrones series by Gerorg R. R. Martin

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I've noticed a common thread; eight of the books are written by female authors with the main characters being strong women who defy traditional gender roles.  They have an opinion and a voice.  They are not afraid to be seen as being unladylike for speaking their minds.  They are more than just background and support for the male characters to play off of.  Naturally, I would relate to the rebels, the women who disrupt the status quo and challenge their male counterparts.   I've certainly been called a trouble maker.  In fact, my husband's earliest memory of me is when I stormed out of a packed lecture hall after my psychology professor made some absurd political statements.  I yelled, "this is ridiculous," over my shoulder as I slammed the door.  So anytime he accuses me of being difficult, I remind him that he knew that long before we ever started dating.  To quote Claire, "I'm not the meek and obedient type."  Yes!

On Hair and Other Important Issues

I've been reading a lot lately.  I'm a creative junkie and thoughts are bouncing around in my head like a ping pong game that I'm playing by myself with far too many balls (insert inappropriate joke here).  So, I'm going to talk about something really meaningful like my hair.  

I've always identified with Jo from Little Women.  She was the oldest of the March sisters: blunt, feisty, independent, brainy, a tomboy, a writer .  She is described as plain except for her hair, her "one true beauty" as her gorgeous, fashionable, social butterfly little sister (Hey, I have one of those too!) described it.  I don't consider myself to be particularly vain, but I do think of my hair as one of my better features.  So, imagine my feeling of horror and utter betrayal when I woke one morning to discover not a stray gray hair or two, but a whole patch, which sprung up right in front.  I have lovingly named said patch for a certain child... if you've spent more than 5 minutes with my family I'll bet you can guess to whom I am referring.  When I pointed this out to my husband and asked him if it were gray or blonde (serious denial, folks), he looked terrified.  There was no safe answer that would not going to draw my ire.

Unlike Jo, who cut her hair to sell for the sake of her family, I chopped my hair off in what can only be described as a moment of temporary insanity.  I have since cursed myself and vowed to never do that again.  At the time, I had just had a baby and I was hoping for a simpler more manageable hairstyle.  Wrong.  Not only was shorter hair not easier, but I missed my long locks.  While I realize that what I look like isn't particularly important, it's jarring to look in a mirror and not be able to reconcile the image in your head with your reflection.   Who is this stranger?

Now I am in the panstakingly slow process of growing it out.  So I have a graying mullet.  It's magnificent.  It has reached this awkward phase where it is long enough to hang in my face, but not long enough to put up in a ponytail yet.  Thank goodness headbands are in style (or so I think, please don't correct me if I'm wrong).  

I can fairly be described as the least patient person in the world.  I want results and I want them yesterday.  I imagine God is laughing at me as I try to deal with this mess that I created.  But, I think that's life.  I think that I personally create about 90% of my own problems and then become frustrated with myself.

My Frat Boy

My friends call my oldest son The Frat Boy. I can't argue with them. He's rambunctious and loud and always the life of the party. When we go to the park, he runs up to kids he's never met and asks them to play. To him, a stranger is a simply a friend that he hasn't met yet. I love his unbridled enthusiasm and zest for life. He feels emotions so deeply. When he is happy, he is bursting with glee.  He shrieks with excitement and squeals with joy. His giggle is infectious.  When he is mad, watch out!  He's a pistol!

Carter is energy personified.  He has one speed: turbo charged.  He is determined and stubborn.  When he sets his mind to something, he cannot rest until it is done.  I have no doubt that he will be a great leader someday, but it is a challenge day to day to teach and discipline my feisty little person.

My prayer for him is that he never loses that spark. I hope he will always attack life with such with such vigor and passion.  I hope that he is always so unselfconscious and proud of the incredible person he is. 

Happy Birthday Carter!

Here's to 29

Here I am entering the last year of my 20s and I feel like I'm in a really good place. I spent my 20s figuring out who I am. I lived in 3 states, got married, went to culinary school, and started a family. I've had my adventures and now I'm settling into domestic life. I know who I am and I know who I'm not. I've developed my own taste and found my voice. I'm not afraid to be myself and I'm not seeking anyone's approval.

I was having lunch with my college roommate last week and we were discussing our shared excitement over buying our first homes. "And you won't believe the linen closets!" she exclaimed. We laughed about being so thrilled about such a seemingly mundane thing. I'm so glad that this is where we are. We are able to enjoy the little things, without worrying about if we're "cool" enough. Let's be honest: I never was anyways. This place in life is so comfortable and real. I feel like I am able to be my most authentic self and I am thankful for the wonderful people in my life who have always accepted me as I am. 

I'm ready for the victory lap of my 20s. Let's do it!

Restaurant Life

In my life before children, I woked as a line cook for a fine dining restaurant in San Diego. I still keep in contact with some of my industry friends and am so proud of their successes. I can't help but wonder where I would be today if I hadn't left.  I had gradually climbed my way up the ladder, from prep to garde manger (salad) to fryer to sauté. I wouldn't trade my life for anything, but part of me will always miss the excitement of restaurant cooking. There is no high like that of working in a kitchen on a busy Friday night. I love the dance of the cooks, moving together in smooth synchronization to the frantic hum of the ticket machine, printing orders without pause. Your mind spins in anticipation. The kitchen reaches a fevered pitch as chef barks out the next pick up. You feel the sweat slowly trickle down your back as you find your rhythm: sauté, stock, butter, salt. You grind it out at a merciless pace for hours, until the last plate is done.  Then you methodically put away your mise en place, scrub down the kitchen, and head to the bar across the street. That first beer after an exhausting shift tastes so refreshing. The intensity of the night wears off as your senses dull a bit.  

 I miss the comraderie and the (mostly) friendly competition among the other cooks. I miss pushing myself physically and getting creative with the finest ingredients. Cooking is something that is either in your soul or it isn't. It will always be a part of me, even if the only kitchen that I cook in now is in my home. 

My Mom

 I'll admit that I haven't always appreciated my mom like I should.  The teen years saw many eye rolls and "Oh Mother"s. The older I get, the more I realize that she really is always right. Now that I'm a mom, I appreciate her even more.  She is the most amazing role model. She has the patience of a saint, and the cleanest most organized house I have ever seen. She can whip up an amazing meal on the fly, refinish furniture, and somehow she manages to do it all while looking so beautiful and put together. We used to joke that we had never seen my mother and Martha Stuart in the same room...that was before Martha went to jail...awkward...

My mom gives the best advice and carries herself with class and poise. She's the kind of mom I want to be and the woman against whom I measure myself.  I really don't know what we would do without her. She is the glue that holds our family together. 

Words always fail me to properly thank her for all that she has done for me and everything she means to our family, but here I try again: 

Thank you for always taking the time to talk with me. Whether it's giving me a pep talk to get through another day after a sleepless night or laughing together over the silliness of toddlers. 

Thank you for giving the best advice and for not telling me "I told you so" when I fail to take it. 

Thank you for not killing me as a colicky baby or a surly teenager. I've had my moments and you've loved me through them all. 

Thank you for always thinking of me, for text messages, cards, and care packages. 

Thank you for teaching me that a chocolate malt can fix almost any problem. 

Thank you for being a shining example of what it means to be a wife and mother. 

I love you Mom!  Happy Mothers Day!

To My Second Born

I see you sitting in your bouncy seat as you watch me prepare breakfast for your brother. You wait patiently for your turn. As our eyes meet across the kitchen, the biggest grin spreads across your face. You give a hopeful little coo, shake your head from side to side and chew on your hand in sheer excitement. You don't have the luxury of my full attention like your big brother did, but we have our stolen moments alone. Early in the morning before the sun is up, you sweetly babble while we snuggle. 

Quiet naps at home are a rarity for you, but you are content to sleep on the go as we run errands or go to play dates and the park.  I can't hold you all hours of the day as I have to attend to your brother. Many of your clothes and toys are hand me downs. 

There are a few advantages to being the second child. You have the benefit of my experience. I'm not as nervous with you. I don't panic when you start to cry. I've learned a few tricks, some mistakes not to remake, and a new theory or two to try. I remember little things like an extra change of clothes and a spare pacifier. 

You love watching your brother play and you're starting to interact with him more. You accept his rough but well intentioned kisses and endure the occasional bump from a flying toy. You have to be tough, you're a little brother. You adore one another and for that I am very grateful.  I spent many nights of hormonally fueled sobbing, worried about how you two would get along. 

You're only 3 months old, but it seems like you have always been part of our family. You are a little old soul who sighs deeply and furrows his brows, but you always have a smile for your mama.   Continue to be patient with me as I navigate this new role as mother of two. Know that while you have to wait sometimes to have your needs met, that you are never forgotten. You are so precious to me, sweet boy.