in defense of lipstick

 for two weeks in march, i didn't wear lipstick.

this may seem trivial to some, but for a girl who relishes in that morning swipe of color, it was...different.

i did it because i read an article in an old allure magazine while sitting in the doctor's office for my second unsuccessful visit to curb my unflinching cold. it was the "guys tell all" article, riddled with countless statistics on what men find attractive, ugly, hot and just plain ridiculous.

a vast majority of them disliked bright lipstick. they found it distracting. messy. bold.

i let the insults linger there, then considered the deep shade of ruby on my lips. did my doctor find it distracting? what did my husband really think? was it too bold for the office? i questioned every bright color i'd ever purchased (always with great excitement). my little red change purse, my arsenal of lip products, stayed in the deep abyss of  my oversized pocketbook. i went to the bathroom and dabbed lightly at the crevices of my mouth.

but i realized something. a little nugget of truth that made me reach for my favorite shade of fuchsia this morning, when the world was asleep and i was puttering around in my robe.

it doesn't matter what they think. it's easy to say, but to digest it took a bit of time. i don't wear it for anyone but myself. because it makes me feel pretty. like my mama. it reminds me of a time when women wore tights and high-waisted skirts and put up their hair in pin curls. it's the working girl's best friend. a way to wake up a face filled with stress, deadlines and no sleep.

and my husband has yet to complain, which makes me think he must be in the 40% of men who like it, or simply don't give a rats tail what's on a woman's lips as long as they are on him, or pursed into a compliment.

so fill those lines with a pretty plum. wear that big red hair bow, those platform heels, that blouse with a million ruffles. do it for you. and if someone happens to like it along the way, well then that's all well and good. but if they don't? then just consider the source and saunter away. and wear it that much brighter next time.

a little craft

i can't sew all that well, it's no secret.

but i made this little number the other night, after a particularly inspired afternoon.

it's fluffy. it's thick. it's warm and reminds me a bit of a woodland creature. sometimes it sheds and leaves little white puffs on my bedroom floor.

but i made it. my fingers threaded the needle and cut the fabric. i did it late at night while robert watched a football game and pablo entertained himself with a new bone. i sat at our old round kitchen table with a little light in the corner, humming to myself.

and there's something organic about that. and rewarding. and like most things worth doing in life, it took time and patience. two things i've found myself short of lately. the process was cathartic.

these hands of mine are nimble. they type fast and hard on a keyboard and their knuckles crack when i'm stressed. they are burdened with hangnails.

but they are also capable. and mine.

and for that, i fold them in a prayer of thanks.

a search for a scent

 xxx

love,

my sister has found her scent. it's rare pearls by avon. and it is lovely and fresh, like clean sheets on a spring evening. her children will come to associate her with it and will keep a special bottle in their medicine cabinets when they get older, unscrewing the lid just to smell her.

but i'm still searching for mine. between the too spicys and too sweets. between the victoria's secret and bath and body works concoctions and the cosmetics counter vials. i haven't found it yet, and i fear time is running out. to create that lifelong relationship with a perfume takes time. wearing it to church and also to ballgames. to work and to weddings. and not growing tired or bored of it, as i tend to do.

maybe i'll never find it. maybe my children will always remember me by the clothesline, smelling of detergent and grass. maybe you'll remember the way the fire smelled that time i burnt the caramels in the kitchen. maybe my scent will be a marriage of many, many times. of cinnamon rolls and apple orchards. of sea salt and potting soil. night air and summer rain.

that's not to say i won't continue the search, because i think it a lovely notion. but while i'm looking, breathe me in deep no matter the circumstance. maybe one day we will find a way to bottle life.

sometimes

 

it's okay to dress up in your favorite vintage frock

to swirl your hair up in a fanciful updo

to wear your special gold necklace and diamond earrings

...even though  you work behind a desk all day and the only people you see are your co-workers.

twenty-four years later

...i have stuttering relief. it comes in the form of a little hearing aid-esque device that slips sweetly and neatly into my left ear. it is removable, which is a plus because it amplifies every.single.sound. and is hard to wear 24/7. but it is beautiful. and the joy and freedom it grants me is beyond belief. it's slow, methodical process, this healing and reforming. but i didn't get here overnight and it won't disappear overnight either. it is no sprint. rather, it's a walk, a saunter through the meadow at times and a trudge through snowy grounds at others. but i'm glad God chose me to take this path, however difficult and embarrassing and downright hard it can be. because finally, blissfully, there is a glimmer of light appearing from the shadows, a distant end to this tunnel. and it's like i just got new walking shoes.

cabins, floral sheets and rockers

driving through the country this weekend, robert and i stumbled upon this little campground. robert used to visit here with his family when he was younger.

for two weeks in the heat of summer, people congregate here. they worship and feast and fellowship under the big tents. cabins are passed down through generations, and every cabin has a front porch rocker.

and i was a bit in love with the whole place.

bangs of old

last week was terribly long. i survived on iced coffees. that the last week of summer school happened to collide with the week of this year's Largest Proposal at work, was a cruel coincidence.

so on tuesday, when i couldn't bear the fact that the week still wasn't half over, i got bangs.

because i haven't had bangs since i was seven. and then, they were paired with a sweet side pony and an oversized pastel sweater with a unicorn motif. and that was for my school picture.

on this blog, i advocate doing whatever it is that makes you feel like you. like the best version of yourself. whether its a swipe of lipstick before running out the door. those high heels that cost a week's salary. reading your Bible by lamplight. as long as you feel authentically real, it's worth it, justified and logical.

but last week, i didn't really want to be me. at least  not the me i am now. not the girl behind the monitors. under the piles of schoolwork. frantically looking up MLA style online because for the life of me i can't remember.how.to.cite.my.sources.

i wanted to be the me of old. the me of seven years. with elementary graduation up ahead. still to discover the extra wide halls of the middle school. the wonders of high school. prom and college yet to be tackled.

so i reverted. and the crazy thing?

i feel more like myself now than ever before. maybe its the fact that i woke this morning to a hazy carolina sunrise. maybe its the sweet tea, not iced coffee, chilling beside me.

either way, it's good to be back.

i'm looking for something in red

i used to have a little change purse. a vintage one with blue and white swirls and a pretty tortoise shell zipper pull. in it, i kept all my lip goods. my high-shine glosses and creamy balms. my mama's tube of the now-discontinued revlon exotica. the lip stain i wore on my wedding day.

a few days ago, i left the purse on the back of robert's car while doing a photo shoot for my etsy shop. robert reminded me about it as we walked inside and i shrugged it off. i would get it later, i figured.

but then i didn't. and then we drove away.

and somewhere, my little change purse sits on the side of the road. we did many drive-arounds but never found it. and with it, i lost something else.

my femininity. because nothing in this world makes me feel softer, sweeter and more put together than a good swipe of lip color. as i walked around with just burt's bees on my lips, i felt not only naked but un-prepared. i read somewhere that victoria beckham said she can't think when she wears flats. that's how i felt about my missing lipstick.

so i went to the drugstore, and bought the cheapest, brightest lip color i could find. a deep magenta perfect for summer. a shade that looks like i just drank about fifty strawberry slushies. and so what if it doesn't really last longer than about ten minutes? it was $2.50 and i can always get another.

so i drove to work today. my windows down and my sunglasses on, and as i rubbed my lips together, i smiled. because whatever it takes to make you feel like you is entirely worth it. worth more than $2.50 actually. worth driving around after supper for hours looking for a little change purse. you know it when you lose it, and recapturing it feels like such a victory.

p.s. you think lipstick will help that awful cowlick/horn that i've got going on with my hair? goodness gracious.

the pains and gains of womanhood

she seemed glad to see me when i appeared in the kitchen, and by watching her i began to think there was some skill involved in being a girl.

-to kill a mockingbird

 xxxx

it happened on wednesday. standing in line for my frappe. white chocolate mocha with a shot of caramel. at a new coffee shop. across the street from the post office where my dad works. a little lunch break reprieve.

i felt a tiny hand on my shoulder, and turned around. a middle-aged woman, with graying hair, modest slacks and an oversized sweater looked through her glasses into my eyes. "i just don't know how you do it," she spoke to me in her southern voice not unlike my own. "those high heels. don't they hurt your feet?" 

i looked down at my shiny brown pumps, a little bit of toe cleavage emerged, then sunk back into the leather, as the tips of the shoes made a sharp point. she was right. they were uncomfortable. too high. too pointy. a bit too small. "i don't know..." i trailed off. "the things you do for fashion, i guess!" i smiled to close the conversation, grabbed my sweating coffee, and hurried out the door, careful to walk precisely, to demonstrate to her that i could, indeed, navigate my way on the cobblestone wearing these awful shoes.

it happened again on thursday.

i came home yesterday evening and even before kissing robert or rubbing pablo's ears, i unzipped my dress. and took a deep breath. for the first time all day. a real, good, from-the-gut inhale. and it felt delicious.

because all day, i had squeezed my upper body into this outfit that hugged me, squeezed me, controlled me.

robert just shook his head. "i don't know why you girls torture yourself like this" he said as he helped me lift the dress over my curls.

but what he doesn't know, what he can never realize, is that i do it because i want to.

because that dress was from h&m. it was silver and purple. flowy and ruffly on the bottom. only seven dollars on sale. one of my favorite new finds. heck, one of my favorite new dresses period. and i was willing to suffer a little for it, i suppose.

because femininity is sacred, and takes many different forms.

for some, it's sinking into a bubble bath, nose deep. it can be cooking. dancing. wearing your husband's button-down shirt. rocking babies.

it can also be playing sports. getting muddy. dirty. sweaty. 

for me, it's all these things. and more.

and on some days, especially days like this week--with all the stress over family health, starting graduate school, and work pressure that came with it--yes, it was high heels and a terribly uncomfortable but ultimately beautiful dress.

and who cares if no one understands or appreciates it besides me? that's what makes it special.

and, i suppose, pretty skillful.

still to be neat

there is a metamorphosis i undergo daily. every evening, around 5:30, as soon as I pull up into the driveway of our cottage, a change begins to come over me. at first, it is emotional. the day begins to shed off me. all the worries, stresses, deadlines, and anxieties that manage to creep their way into my soul during the work day begin to melt. this change is strengthened into full force when pablo greets me at the door. it's so hard to focus on any.single.negative.thing when a fifteen-pound fluffball is freaking out over you-just you. just the sight of my feet at the door is enough to send him into such a tailspin that i often have to cradle him in my arms, whispering calm down, for fear his heart might beat too hard.

but once inside, the real change comes. my first step is to slip out of my high heels. home is no place for heels. i quickly head to the bedroom and put them away, trading their hardness for warm socks. then the slacks come off, then the buttoned-down shirt, replaced instead with sweatpants and a hoodie. and i spend my evenings bundled up in a decidedly unsexy, but totally comfortable mass of cotton and drawstrings. and it's not just at nights. sometimes i do this on weekends as well. last weekend, robert and i went away for a few days so he could run in his half marathon. and i forgot my makeup bag. just plain left it at home. so i went with it. i threw my hair into a bun and rocked the bare face look all day. for some reason that seems silly now, i kept apologizing to robert for my appearance. sorry babe. i know this is a big day for you. sorry i look like i don't care.

then he told me he loved me best this way. in fact, his words were "you should do this all the time. it's beautiful." what a freeing thought. what a completely, totally amazing thing. of course i still dress up and play with makeup. i'm a girlie girl and will always love the imagination and glamour that femininity affords. but it's nice to know that i can also pull on my high school sweatshirt, toe socks and leggings, and feel just as feminine.

this is my favorite poem in the world, written by ben jonson.

  Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
    As you were going to a feast;
    Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
    Lady, it is to be presumed,
    Though art's hid causes are not found,
    All is not sweet, all is not sound.

    Give me a look, give me a face
    That makes simplicity a grace;
    Robes losely flowing, hair as free:
    Such sweet neglect more taketh me
    Than all the adulteries of art;
    They strike mine eyes but not my heart.  

before his wife was "neat" or put together, he so admired her. before the makeup, the tights, the hairspray. when sweet neglect flowed all around her, that's when she was most attractive. i just love that. home is made for comfort. for dancing on wood floors together and curling up on the sofa. it's for lying in the morning, watching the sunrise, and for lying at night talking in the dark. i'm thankful my home is the place where i can look like this:

and robert still loves me. i strike his heart.