What if?

What if Pinterest, which I do love, didn't make me feel sometimes like an epic failure?

What if all those years ago I had actually been successful at making non-meat gluten and TVP burgers in Relief Society?
 (just so you know they are SOOO gross.)

What if I was always on time?  HAHAHAHA!!!!!

What if I could make wedding dresses like Maggie Sotero? It will always burn in my heart that I could not make that danged dress, although the one I could make turned out to be adorable and perfect. And the other two I've made seemed to fit the bill. After all, they are still married!


Well. I can't. And to tell you the truth, I think it's okay to be less than a Pinterest-perfect, non-TVP-burger-producing, perfectly punctual person.

So here's why I'm writing this. I do love Pinterest and Instagram and Fixer Upper and all that jazz, but you know what, I do okay. I do not style my mantel or entry perfectly. I still can't make a good non-meat burger because frankly, I do not believe yet that they exist and I'm here to tell you that a burger made of gluten and textured vegetable protein is pretty darned yucky. I'll never be a prompt punctual person because I'm too ADD to keep on task to pay attention to minutes ticking away. Regardless of the people who say 'better never late', it's not going to happen.

And I've decided to act on my wonderfully acceptable imperfections by first telling you to stop thinking that maybe you should be like all the people who get so much done every day using their totally cute planners that have every single second of every single day written down and scheduled out, including their children's lives. Not fair to them. Not at all. Talk about stress, geez. Lighten up a little!

Okay to use planners in moderation for sure, because if I don't write my appointments down I forget them, and I dislike doing things electronically because I am pretty good at ignoring random beeps which are supposed to jog my memory into jumping through a hoop or attending to an appointment. Doesn't work. I don't like being beeped at. Writing it down reinforces whatever it is into my memory. Just saying that pencil and paper not a bad idea if you don't take it over the top and over do!

I read a long time that Amish women who quilt so perfectly don't do it perfectly on purpose. They believe that nothing is perfect but God so they always make a 'mistake.' They turn a square sideways; they use the 'wrong' color in a block. It's called the Humility Block. They acknowledge, in earnest, the perfection of true Creation, and admit with humility, respect and love that their skills, while incredible , are not equal. Whether or not this sweet tradition is true or not, it rings true with me.


So, I've been thinking what if. What if I did some stuff on my Etsy shop that was normal. Not elaborate. Not super-cool. Not machine-embroidered, monogrammed, or appliqued,  but just your every-day, run of the mill, mom made this at home because she loves me and thinks I'll like it kind of thing. Pretty much like I made for my family who I think liked and appreciated what they got. I'm not dying to sell a ton of stuff, but I am pretty serious about trying to help the young mothers of our age realize that they just simply don't have to fit that mold. If I can make it easier to be real, not perfect, regular, and to help kids realize as well that they can wear or play with things that do not have a LABEL, then I'd be pretty happy.

I have an Etsy shop. It doesn't sell much. I guess maybe there's a lot of competition out there and thats okay. I'll probably end up giving the dresses I've made to my grandgirls anyway, and I'd rather they get them. But sometimes, I hope that a mama is searching for something she can't make, that isn't too expensive  that will make her little feel special. Or even better, maybe she'll learn to make it herself. Imperfectly. With seams that aren't always serged or encased or French-seamed. Just stitched with lots of love and hope because that's what matters so much. It doesn't have to be perfect. Or popular. Or labelled.

What if we were okay with being real? I think I might work to add the 'perfectly real' items to Etsy and see what happens. Guaranteed imperfect. Guaranteed to have love attached. If you would like something cozy and warm and not-very-fancy made for you, let me know. heads-up folks: they won't be perfect.

But hugs will be stitched in. Nothing better than that.

Love y'all.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

(I wonder if really truly writers feel a buzz in their brain when a story is forming? A pre-story itch? I've had this going on again and so I must sit down to write before I lose the sensation, or at least get this started in order to scratch a little bit.)

It's about not being perfect and realizing it's okay to be so. To be so real and honest about imperfections that suddenly are badges of proof of a full life, pretty or not, which is in truth pretty darned special.

let me back up..... Most of my life I have dealt daily with not being enough. Not enough of anything really - not pretty enough, not short enough, not thin enough, not fast enough, not educated enough, not slow enough, not smart enough, not charming enough, not good enough, not brave enough,  not happy enough, not strong enough, not something enough. I've seen counselors, read self-help books, and struggled to feel like I met the expectations that came crashing down like thick gray waves, drowning who I really wanted to be. Me. Those waves, though. Grinding down and wearing thin the resolve of me-ness every day, and I couldn't swim up for the air of freedom, so went along with that tide of self-loss and disappointment knowing that I couldn't quite measure up to what I was 'supposed' to be. (Now don't get me started on the phrase 'you should....' Sets off a firestorm in my soul every time I hear it. That and 'you never...') Living year in and year out with that burden of lack has taken its toll.

A few years back, L'Oreal had a campaign with the very popular line 'Don't hate me because I'm beautiful' and everyone joked about it. But advertising goes in to our very core beliefs and wedges itself like a nanocancer, spreading into our minds and hearts and destroying our own self-worth if aren't ----enough. We look at ourselves in the mirror and we do not see the perfection of face and hair and makeup and body and clothes and house and car, and we begin to believe 'I am not whatever enough.' Some of our Pinterest projects do not turn out like the professionally styled projects do, our quilts don't have perfect corners and stitches, and our kids do not eat all their vegetables. We're not a size 2 or 10 or even a 14 and we don't drive a BMW. Our houses look lived in. And our manicures are not always fresh. Wow. It's heavy to carry around all of that, isn't it?

So here's my light-bulb moment. I have a perfect body. My body is BEAUTIFUL! I was getting ready for work one morning and caught a glimpse of my naked self in my full-length mirror and instead of groaning at the sight of myself, I stopped and looked at me. Just me. Fifty-eight, almost fifty-nine year old me. I weigh more than I should (there's that word and see how it makes me feel guilty instantly???) I have hair that's almost as much white as it is red. I have some wrinkles. I have lots of stretch marks and cellulite. I looked at my breasts, my stomach, my hips and thighs and arms and legs. My eyes and my ears and yes, my Plemons nose. I looked at my hands and my feet. I looked at what my body is; I did not look at any misconceptions and expectations of what it 'should' be, or what the advertisements make me wish it could be, and I realized, with all my imperfections, how amazing I am.

From the top of my head, white or red, down to my eyes that still work okay and do so even better with glasses, to my skin on my face which has withstood some significant pre-cancer treatment, to my ears that still hear birdsong and bee buzz and leaf rustle and music, to my teeth that are still chomping away, to my chin that is strong, to my neck which has the same creases that my mother's did, to my shoulders which are wide and sturdy, to my breasts which are losing some gravity but still I have them both - more than some of my dear friends can say. I fed six babies with them, and I am so grateful to have had that time with my babies. Continuing to my belly which is crisscrossed with stretch marks from carrying seven babies, three of whom weighed in at almost ten pounds or more, I earned every single scar and I would do it all again. So many women struggle to conceive and I was so blessed. I have had surgeries that have left scars on my belly and my knee, but my legs are strong and I can work hard. I've had surgery on my hand, and always thought I have big hands, and I'm so glad I do. My hands are not manicured anymore, they're freckled and a little bit beat up, but they can clean and cook and type and sew and hold my loved ones' hands quite well. My feet are a bit of a problem but I can walk.

When I finished with my inventory, there was another part of me that checked in as working efficiently. My tears. I looked at this beautiful woman in the mirror, with such a perfectly imperfect body, and I wept for the gifts I have been given and for the cocreation I shared with God. As this salt water trickled down my face, I felt waves of light and love and so much gratitude. I realized that 'enough' can have a different meaning to each and every person in our life, but the only person who gets to create the definition of your 'enough' is you. All those magazines and TV commercials and Pinterest posts and comparisons geared to make us feel like we are less, and also sometimes the people around us who put expectations out there that are so unhealthy, well, they are wrong. That's when the L'Oreal ad came to mind but I'd like to take the liberty to change it a little bit:

'Don't hate me because I'm beautiful;love yourself because you are beautiful too.'