Memoirs of a Beauty (?) Queen

I used to be in beauty pageants. There. I've said it. There's just no easy way to work in that little tidbit of information without just coming out and saying it. It's like pulling off a Band-Aid (or boob tape); you just gotta rip it off.

I consider myself a rather modern, demi-feminist who believes in raising girls outside the gender stereotypes and praising her daughters for their intellect and imagination over their outward beauty and appearances. So believe it or not, I'm not ashamed of my beauty pageant, or shall I say 'scholarship pageant', history; the pageants were about more than physical beauty. However, I can say, I'd make a far better contestant today than I did when I was seventeen.

My pageant career was, admittedly, short lived. I entered two pageants my Junior year of high school, and no more. If I could enter a pageant now, I'd probably kick serious pageant ass, but back then, my confidence was quite a bit shakier and not immune to the evil pull of the Pageant Dark Side (a.k.a., the 'beauty' part).

I have only half-memories of those two events, but I'll share what I remember of them with you anyhow.

Chari and I getting ready to leave for our Interviews

First, I remember waiting in the wings, a line of young girls in women's business suits, preparing to walk across a stage poisedly, winning-smilingly, looking out at the audience while managing not to trip up in heels we weren't used to, to answer the on-stage Impromptu Question. My stomach was churning, and I literally thought I would puke. As the girls ahead of me were asked random questions on index cards by a smiling blonde with a microphone, I mentally imagined my brilliant answers to each in an effort to assure myself I'd be able to answer my question effortlessly and charmingly. Then it was my turn. I tried to glide across the stage in my mom's heels but probably looked like a seventeen year old hair-sprayed giraffe. I introduced myself to the judges and audience and fake-smilingly awaited my question.

"If you could have dinner with any person in history, who would it be and why?"

What. The. Hell.

Suddenly I could think of literally no human being past or present who wasn't Adolph Hitler. And I certainly couldn't sit down to dinner with him in front of hundreds of people and four judges. Quickly, quickly I jogged my memory for a name, any name, any person probably dead, and said 'Audrey Hepburn.'

People, I can assure you, this was the stupidest name that could have crossed my lips. I had never even once seen a picture of Audrey Hepburn, let alone a film, and I knew absolutely nothing about her except I was reasonably sure she was related to Katharine, and she was possibly in Casablanca, which I'd also never seen. (Incidentally, I was wrong  on both accounts.)

So, why would I have dinner with Audrey Hepburn? I had no idea! But I had to say something, so shakily, determined my plastic smile would not falter, I said something about her being a confident role model and a great actress, and I wanted to be like her and thank you very much please freaking applaud so I can get the heck off this god-forsaken stage and lather my sweaty armpits in more deodorant.

That was my worst memory.

Only slightly less humiliating was the Personal Interview. I don't remember if there was a personal interview at both competitions, because I only remember this one. That may, of course, be due to post-traumatic stress. Anyway, I had written on my application under Achievements or Accomplishments or Crap That Makes You Look Interesting that I had won second place in the state for mime. One of the judges was quite intrigued by this and asked me some questions about mime, which I was happy to answer.

Then.

"Perhaps you could do a bit of mime for us now? Perhaps a mime about how you felt getting ready this morning?"

What. The. Freaking. Hell.

There was no other recourse than to oblige. I stood up, completely unsure of what to do, especially considering that I'd done nothing that morning of note, nothing that they were looking for anyway (I hardly felt watching TV until it was time to get dressed was what they wanted to see me doing in preparation for the interview). I performed some sort of get up, look nervous, eat breakfast, get dressed, contemplate nervousness and finally settle into acceptance routine and sat back down, hoping that actually the Rapture could just come right then and there and save me from having to face the rest of the interview.

The Rapture didn't come, but as it turned out, the judges loved it, and awarded me that night with the Miss Interview Award. My only pageant success and worth $500 in scholarship money.

In the Talent category, I sang 'Happy To Keep His Dinner Warm' from How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying in one pageant and 'Adelaide's Lament' from Guys and Dolls in the other. Neither of those were very memorable - I remembered my words, sang in tune, but certainly didn't blow the audience out of the water. My friend Christie though, will never be forgotten for 'ballet' tribute to The Sound of Music's 'My Favourite Things'; it's not that she wasn't very good or made any big blunders, but just the fact that she had never done a single step of ballet in her entire life and spent the whole song traipsing around the stage in a made-up-on-the-spot interpretation of something akin to psychotic ballet. It was incredible and awful all at once and really should've won the Most Awesomely Entertaining Award, even if they had to make up that award on the night and steal money out of the winner's scholarship designation to pay for it.

Despite all the humiliations, my last memory of these competitions is the main reason I could never bring myself to compete again after my two attempts at pageantry.

I wore my prom dress for the Evening Wear category - a gorgeous, unique red silky gown with a slit in the front and a flattering neckline. I was a skinny seventeen year old, looking back at photos, though like most girls of that age, I hated my body. Still, in that dress, I felt amazing and beautiful and thin and perfect. My hair wasn't that perfectly styled and my make-up wasn't expertly applied, but my dress was to die for, and I looked a million bucks in it.

I walked across the stage in that dress, forgetting all about my heels and how I was supposed to walk, because I exuded confidence in it. I didn't win the Evening Wear category, but I didn't care - I was confident that I was at least one of the runners up, I had to be, I just looked so stunning.

Then after the pageant, while speaking to people who had been judges in the past, getting critiques on what I did well and what needed improvement, I was told,

"You should've sucked in your tummy. You had a bit of a gut in that dress."

Right there, my self-image was shattered. My stupid Impromptu Question on stage hadn't shattered it, my embarrassing mime attempt hadn't shattered it, my okay but unimpressive singing hadn't shattered it, but being told I should've sucked in my teeny-tiny seventeen year old stomach had.

I am so fat, I realised.

To this day, I can't see photos of myself in that dress without seeing my bulging belly and thinking, 'I should've sucked that in.'

A Little Graveyard in Damascus, Arkansas

I remember distinctly my Orientation Day at the University of Arkansas. I wore my red t-shirt with the words IT'S ME printed across the front - it seemed an appropriate way to introduce myself.

Those of us interested in majoring in English were given a tour of Kimpel Hall, and spoke to the guidance counselors (or whatever they were called) about the different emphases available to English majors.

When I saw that 'English with an emphasis in Creative Writing' was an option, I knew what my major would be in. And despite everyone insisting that all freshmen change their majors at some point, I did not.

Below is a wee poem excerpted from my book, Meatloaf and a Rosary (available as an eBook and readable on your Kindle, computer, phone, etc!) It's a memory that's been spending some quality time in my head lately, and it's also the inspiration for the cover photo of the book.

A Little Graveyard in Damascus, Arkansas

A little girl in a graveyard
tiptoes around gravestones,
holding with cautious hand her mother
and holding her breath as long as she can.
Her tiny green dress billows
in the wind she fears holds ghosts.
Her skinny pink legs prickle.
She carries carnations for her mother
who shows her coffee-can concrete grave
markers and speaks out loud, unmindful
of the dead people below.
She does not hear the stories
but bites her fingers and bends her sadness
around the scratches left in a tiny stone.





Hey! Support a girl and buy the eBook - it's only $2.99! You may think poetry isn't your thing... but then you may be pleasantly surprised to find it's actually quite enjoyable!

Edinburgh Mariachi

What a day!

It's midnight, and I've only been home for but an hour throughout the day, hence the short blog post. 'Tis bedtime, not writing time.

We spent the day in Edinburgh, doing official passport stuff and unofficial friend stuff, and though there is much to say about it, I will just leave you with a photo for now.

The Watson-McFarlane Mariachi Band! Coming soon to a wedding near you!

Celebrating the Effort

In this house, we celebrate big events with cake. We celebrate everything with cake. We like cake. (Sometimes we celebrate with takeaways too.)

Tonight, we celebrated with cake, but not quite for the reason people might expect.

I've known for a couple of years now that this year Sideline Productions in Greenock would be putting on a production of The Sound of Music. I have looked forward to it for years, wanting just to be a nun and get to sing songs in soprano. I also looked forward to it, because I knew Fifi would be old enough by the time it went ahead to audition for the youngest von Trapp child, Gretl.

The Spring timing, however, wasn't exactly what I expected, and having just had a baby, I decided it was too soon for me to be hitting the stage again as full force as such a show would be. Still, I mentioned the subject to Fifi, asking her if it was something she'd be interested in. Her immediate response was a gasping 'YES YES YES'.

'You have to understand though, sweetheart, that just because you audition doesn't mean you will get a part. It may go to someone who did a bit better or who looks the part more. You may not get it.' I warned her.

Solemnly she replied, 'I still want to try.'

******

Parenthood is a constant tug-of-war between protecting and enabling in all kinds of different ways. In protecting our kids, we are ensuring that they don't get hurt, but we are limiting their life experiences. Yet with enabling, we are opening them up to very possible disappointment or even danger, depending on the circumstance. It's always hard to know which way to lean, and we often have to make judgment calls based on subtle gut feelings. Scott and I decided to let her go for it, and I braced my stomach for helping her bear the disappointment should the outcome be unsuccessful.

Fifi practiced and practiced and practiced. I heard 'Doe a Deer' for weeks on end, at first wildly out of key (and me fearing for her tiny self-esteem at each over-modulated note), but slowly, proudly, she found her voice, took instruction from her musician dad and singer mum, and grew aware of her 'keys'. She had trouble with the exact words at first - singing 'Tea - a drink of dealan-de!' which means 'butterfly' in Gaelic! - but she persisted until she got the words right too. We were so proud of her dedication.

Still, I knew the audition would bring tough competition, especially when I heard there were about 70 kids signed up! I myself have been through many an audition, and I know the nerves, the waiting, and the disappointment or excitement that follows. I still worried about inflicting this on my young child. Was I being a Stage Mom? Had I pushed her into this?

I asked her again: 'Are you sure you want to do this? You may not get the part.' Eyes rolled in her head like a fifteen year old instead of a five year old, she replied, 'I know. I still want to try!'

So I let her audition. That morning she woke up, crawled into bed with me, and through almost-tears confessed, 'I'm nervous.'

'Baby, even mummy gets nervous. In fact, even famous people get nervous! You know all the famous people on TV? Even they get nervous. But here's the secret - the people who get the parts are the people who follow only two rules. One, smile! And two, have fun. I promise you, if you don't do those two things, you won't get the part. But if you do, you'll be one of the ones they notice.'

Fifi auditioned. I wasn't able to be in the room with her, so I didn't know how she performed, but when she came back out of the room, I hugged her anyway and told her I was so, so proud of her.

'Why? Did I get a part?'

I smiled, hugged her again, and said, 'I don't know, sweetie, but that's not what I'm proud of. I'm proud of how brave you were. And we are going to celebrate.'

'What if I don't get the part?'

'We are celebrating either way. We are celebrating your effort.'

******

Fifi could hardly get to sleep last night. I told her we wouldn't know anything until way after bedtime and probably not even until late the next day. Still, even I felt the nerves taking hold as I waited for that nerve-wracking email. I had braced myself for bad news. Of so many children, her chance was slight. I prepared how I would break the news to her, and was ready to take the emotions, however they manifested.

I was feeling so torn; life lessons, maybe they don't need to be learned until kids are older. Maybe schools taking out winners and losers is the right thing after all. Maybe kids are too young to be put through disappointment. Months of work and feeling went into Fifi's little five-almost-six-year-old self-esteem, and I was allowing the danger of disappointment in. Had we done the right job, should we have protected her instead of enabled her?

But the story isn't about me and my decision as a parent. The real heroine of this story is Fifi, who knew the chances and wanted to try anyway. We may have drilled into her more the probability of her not getting a part than the possibility that she might. Still, she wanted to try, and what a brave little heroine she turned out to be!

******

She woke up this morning, ran to my room and asked if I'd heard. I said I didn't think we'd know anything yet, but we checked my email together anyway.

There was an email.

I opened it, practically trembling myself, and resisted the urge to quickly scroll down to the important part. I read the email out loud to her, and together we learned that...

'Your child has been cast in one of the following roles.'

Fifi and I squealed! Daddy woke up, guessed right away, and took her into a bear hug. Lolly heard the noise, ran to the room, and jumped on her big sister with the kind of pride and selfless enthusiasm only best friends can understand.

Lolly suggested we celebrate with cake. Wise child, very wise. This evening, Lolly and I made the cake that we would have made anyway, part or no part, because we were celebrating the effort, not the outcome. Obviously the outcome made the celebration that much more exciting, and as mum and dad and sister, we are all bursting at the seams with happiness and pride for her. But most of all, we were celebrating the confidence of a little girl prepared to try and even fail for something she was passionate about. How many adults can say the same for themselves?

So we ate cake. We broke our New Year's Diet Resolutions for a slice of pink (of course pink) cake with sprinkles (gotta have sprinkles) and a big sparkly candle.

Fifi, remember always the little song we sang in the car, you, me and Lolly, that nervous morning: "I'm a superstar and I'm coming out tonight!" You really, really are.

The Sour Apple Tree

When I was very young, my Mamaw and Papaw had an apple tree in their front yard. The apples always seemed hard, green and sour, or alternatively brown and rotten, with tiny squidgy worm holes twisting through them, but I never wondered about the nutritious quality of this tree. The apple tree wasn't about spicy apple butter or bubbling fruit cobbler to me; it was a genuine (pronounced 'jen-yew-WINE') Enemy Fortress, a hide-and-seek base, a leafy landmark in summertime where so much play was made.

My big brother Danny and my cousin Nathan and I used it as a fort from The Babies. The Babies were my little brother Matt, my little cousin Josh and sometimes my little cousin Sara. They weren't exactly Babies and really resented being called such, making the title that much more necessary and glorious. They would try to play with us, and we would run away from them and make refuge in its branches - only enough branches for the three of us, me always on the lowest one because I was a scaredy-cat climber. But there The Babies couldn't reach us, and in that tree we bathed in the sunny, sweaty pleasure of being older, wiser and freer than our smaller siblings.

We fashioned weapons from rusty parts found in Papaw's shed, stirred wheelbarrow soup with muddy water in the driveway and wild onions, and buried time capsules of precious toyland artifacts in dented Folgers tins. Playing at Mamaw and Papaw's house meant outside Arkansas heat and dust, old scraps of metal, bumblebees, Sloppy Joes, a loud air conditioner, cousins and that old apple tree. It meant helping Papaw haul hay on his automatic hay-hauler - and taking turns riding it up up up and being dumped plum down into a barn of hay - and helping Mamaw dust her china cabinet and watch Lawrence Welk on blue velvets sofas. It was Sunday family after-church potlucks, the grown-ups crowded around a big wooden table in a linoleum-floored kitchen and us cousins around a fold-up green card table eating baked beans, taters, okra and corn from the garden, and roast beef.

Then one day all of a sudden we found ourselves all grown up, and that apple tree just seemed a neglected little cluster of branches that loosed brown unedible fruit to the ground, and the mud puddles in the driveway, once a broth, now only served to ruin expensive shoes, and the loud air conditioner wasn't enough to fend off the flies and the Southern heat exhaustion. And Mamaw and Papaw were old, and Papaw didn't bail hay anymore because the cows had been sold, and Mamaw couldn't get around because the Parkinson's was so bad. We had lives to live and people to see, and stopping by on the way to the movies was a checkmark in the box.

Then there was college, and we all moved away - Danny to Terra Haute, Nathan to Dallas, me to Fayetteville. Then there were careers and families - Josh to Baghdad, me to Scotland, Danny to San Antonio. That apple tree just kept standing, never getting taller, never making any apples worth eating, but still standing, always standing, summer after summer after summer, while we moved on, and Papaw kept busy outside in the heat and Mamaw kept watching her reruns in the company of her collection of porcelain dolls, growing older and more tired.

Somewhere down that dusty gravel road of time, Papaw got too old and Mamaw got too frail, and they had to leave that old workshed and hay barn and linoleum floor and dolls behind the glass cabinet. Somewhere down that road I started to see the man and woman inside those two old bodies, but by then it was too late and I was too far away to come back and just sit with them, watching Lawrence Welk and shucking corn. All that time I was seeing that apple tree as a bearer of useless fruit, but the point of that apple tree wasn't what it could give us but what it was able to be for us- a fortress, a safe place, a foundational landmark on which to build our budding lives. All that time we played in that tree, we were playing in the haven of those two people who were offering us a home, a hide-and-seek base, a dinner table where the whole family came together and ate okra from the garden. It was me who neglected to pick the apples when I got too old to climb the tree, and now I'm too far away to be a fortress for them, to give back a little of what they gave me. It shames me that I didn't see this I was close enough to stop by, and it burdens me to dwell on it only now when I'm too far.

My cousin Josh, one of The Babies, lives in that house now. I bet that apple tree is still there, but I don't know if it means the same to him, it being the enemy fortress of his big brother and older cousins. I don't know if a tasty apple ever did fall from that tree, and I just never saw it, but now I see that fruit worthy of the sweetest baked pie did come from the 'jen-yew-WINE' tree-fortress of my grandparents' hearts, and though it may be too late to ever say it to them face-to-face now, I thank you desperately from the bottom of my very own growing older heart.

Letters to My Past Self

Dear Lori (16),

Oh there is so much I wish I could tell you. First of all, I know school is boring and easy, and you can pass tests without studying, but please, learn to study. Learn to sit down and do your homework every night. It's easy at the moment, but you've not been to college yet.

Furthermore, take AP European History. I know you don't like history now, but one day you'll be very interested in it, not to mention you'll be living in Europe and will feel stupid about what you don't know. You'll also be doing your GPA a big favour. You'll end up a few decimal points short of what you really need if you don't.

On the subject of boys, don't put all those eggs in that one basket. He's the love of your life now, but he's not the one for you. In just a few short months, he will turn into a completely different person, and you won't even recognise him anymore.

One more thing. You are beautiful. And skinny. You will never look so good in shorts as you do right now. You think you've got a big butt, but you don't, not even close. You hate your nose, but it's cute too (and one day you'll finally get that nose ring you've been wanting all these years but more on that later).

Love,
Lori (30)

*************************

Dear Lori (18),
OH. MY. GOODNESS. What are you playing at?

First, this guy is not for you either. He's rebellious and exciting, but you will compromise yourself too much with him. He'll end up telling you the truth soon about how he really feels about you, and it will tear you apart. LEAVE NOW.

And that other guy from before, stop letting him string you along. He is manipulative, and you need to stand up for yourself. Despite what you still secretly think, HE IS NOT THE ONE. (In fact, neither will be the next two guys you will get serious about.)

Second, why are you smoking pot? It's fun but please, just stop now. It's going to get you into trouble next year.

The senior play? No, you didn't get the main part but that doesn't mean the director hates you. You may feel it's unfair, but that's life. She doesn't hate you. She just didn't cast you.

Stop fighting with your friends. This is your last year together, and believe it or not, a group of friends this tightly knit does not happen to everyone. You are so lucky to have this group, so stop letting high school drama (literally) divide you. Enjoy this last year together, because some of these girls you won't see again for a very, very long time... some of them I've still not seen since graduation. You won't even make it to your 10 year high school reunion to see them there.

Please don't forget to thank your mom and dad profusely for letting you go to Boston on the Forensics trip.  To you, it's just money.  To them, it meant scrimping, saving and doing without, just for you.  You better not forget to thank them. Over and over.

Remember all that stuff about studying and taking extra AP classes? I still mean that. If you don't pull off a couple more A's instead of B's out of laziness, you will not get the GPA you wanted. Just sayin'.

Also, as it turns out, you can take the top scores in each category of all your ACTs combined to get a final ACT score. I *really* wish we'd both known that at the time.

Speaking of ACTs, you won't be going to college in Texas, so don't waste your time not applying in-state, because you will miss the scholarship deadline and end up paying back a student loan for the next twenty years.

Finally, you are still beautiful and creative and intelligent, no matter what those boys make you think of yourself. You are worthy of respect. Demand it.

Love,
Lori (still 30)

*************************

Dear Lori (20),
If I could, I would reach back through time and just hold you tightly, whispering the truth of the happy future you have ahead of yourself. It hurts so badly right now, I know. I remember.

It's not the end. It's only the beginning. I know you really, truly believed this time he was the one, and I know you were this close to what you thought would be lifetime happiness, but he wasn't meant for you. He's a wonderful guy, but he's not for you. He has someone else out there waiting for him and so do you. Yours is literally around the corner. If you were still with him, you'd have missed the real happiness that was meant for you, the guy who thinks it's cute, not embarrassing, that you like the Spice Girls.

Besides that, I've got some practical advice for you.

You've been wanting that nose ring since you were 15, I know. But your parents aren't kidding; they WILL stop paying your tuition if you get one. You may like the idea of becoming independent of them and running your own life, but do you KNOW what spending the next twenty years paying off a student loan will be like? Can you not just wait one more year? You've waited this long already.

At least you kept your tattoo hidden until graduation. Well done. You'd have lost a car if you hadn't.

Don't drop out of your Arabic classes, and go ahead and do Middle Eastern Studies as your minor.  It will be so worth the hard work.  (And the job opportunities...!)

And please keep that green jumper. You'll only regret throwing it out.

Anyway, I'm proud of the person you're becoming. You've learned (albeit the hard way) how to study, you're on your way to graduating University with Honors, and you're a hard worker at your jobs. Not to mention those poems you are writing? They will still impress you even a decade later. They are really good.

Love,
Lori (a decade later)


*************************

Dear Lori (21),
See? Didn't I tell you? Believe it or not, he gets better.

Love,
Lori (30 and happy to be with him and your three future children)





What would you say to your past self if you had the chance? Leave your comments below.

I Met A Mormon

Where do I start with this subject...

This has been on my mind for some time, but I have no idea how to start it or exactly where I want to go with it.

It's about Mormons.

........

Art by Amanda Rogers

Rather, not so much about 'Mormons' as Mormons vs Christians, or even more accurately Christians vs Mormons.

(For the record, I know that Mormons self-identify as Christians. For the sake of this post, I have separated the two, using the term "Christian" to represent mainstream Christianity to differentiate between the two.)

I became really interested in what the LDS Church believes back in college when a couple of Mormon missionaries came to our house. My best friend/roommate and I were happy to invite them in and have a good 'debate'. They had been 'sent' to us from another friend of ours they had visited who didn't know much about religion in general and suggested we might be interested in talking to them. So we did.

We spoke to them for weeks. We really liked them. They were lovely girls and really kind, but we were determined they weren't going to sway our friend. I began reading books about Mormon beliefs, reading up on the internet about them and of course, talking to the missionaries themselves about what I'd learned. At the end of the day, neither we as Christians nor they as Mormons were ever going to come to an agreement, but it was an interesting few weeks. The conversations were friendly and frank on both sides, but we still believed they were wrong and they believed we were.

Then our mutual friend decided she was going to be baptised into the LDS Church.

This is where I feel deep regret. I didn't go. She invited us, but I didn't go. I don't remember if I had other plans that day or if I simply didn't want to support her 'wrong' decision. Either way, I should have been there. Not to agree with her decision, but to support her. The Person. Our friend. Our friend who was looking for answers and found them in LDS.

This is the point I want to reflect on right now. Not the rightness or wrongness of Mormon vs Christian beliefs, not the rightness or wrongness of evangelism, but the rightness of supporting actual people.

Mormons and Christians have a joint history of antagonism. From my point of view, Christians seem to be the worse of the two (though I'm not in the inner-Mormon circles, so I don't know exactly what is said or thought of Christians by Mormons). We (and I'm using 'we' as a social group not what a true Christian ought to be), at worst, persecute and abuse Mormons for their beliefs, and at best, ridicule them for them. During the elections, I saw a Facebook photo getting shared that said 'I'll take the Mormon over the Moron'. What exactly is that saying?! That being a Mormon is only slightly better than being a moron? Is that really what we want to say to our Mormon friends, co-workers and neighbours? We as Christians are deeply offended when we are persecuted, abused or ridiculed, but we seem to think it's perfectly okay to publicly ridicule others.

As people of faith, we should be supporting each other. We are all real people behind our beliefs, real people with feelings, hearts, and things we hold sacred. That doesn't mean we have to agree with one another or that we stop having the conversations that both groups believe are essential for eternal salvation, but we need to support one another in love as fellow humans trying to find the truth. 

We live in a post-religious society where having a faith is seen as unintelligent and foolish. We have enough people in the atheist circles giving us hell; do we really need to be giving each other hell too?

I recently learned that some of the LDS Temple rituals had been secretly filmed and put on YouTube. Interested as always in Mormonism, I watched a few. Yes, I was surprised. Yes, I had my own personal opinions about what was going on. Yes, I have trouble understanding how some of these things can be believed. But what I didn't expect to feel was indignation on behalf of people who's genuine and sincere faith and sacred secrets were being broadcast to the world and ridiculed. There's the argument that if you have nothing to hide then why hide it (which is one of the intentions of the person who made the videos), and perhaps there is merit to that, but the bigger picture is this: People are being genuinely hurt by this.

Just reading the comments section shows there is no respect for people who believe differently than we do. Comments from atheists ridiculed all people who believe in any kind of God, and Christians declared all hell and fiery damnation to the Mormons. Is this the kind of image of Christianity we want to broadcast to the world? Do we want the world to think Christ is anything like mainstream Christians? I don't. It's for this reason I'm not even sure what I believe anymore. I certainly don't believe that the way most Christians behave is anything like what I want to be associated with. I certainly don't think Christ meant for us to act like that, sending people to hell via the internet.

Both Christians and Mormons believe their way is the only way. I also believe that if there is a God, then there is a Truth. Maybe the truth is that God says 'whatever' and accepts everyone, but maybe he has only one way to get to him. If it's the latter, then of course we are going to try to find that truth and spread it around. I am not anti-evangelism. But I am also pro-respect and pro-love. We must first learn to love and respect each other if we want any kind of meaningful conversations to pass between us.

If I could go back, I'd go back to my friend's baptism. I'd show her that I cared about her as a person and supported her search for answers, and regardless of her coming to a different conclusion than we hoped for her, we would still be friends.

Have something to say about this post? Leave your comments below. (Instead of on Facebook!)

Ante-Natal Depression

Sometimes things come up to write about that you never even considered writing about, whether because you didn't think people would be interested or you didn't even think of it as something to expound upon. We have experiences every single day; some of them are significant, some are insignificant, but most things can be related to, and many things can be valuable to others.

One of my friends asked me a question about an answer I gave on my 40 Questions. I mentioned that I experienced depression while pregnant with Jaguar and also with Lolly. I never thought much about it when I mentioned it, but actually this might be something worth talking about.

People are becoming very aware of post-natal depression, and it's about time. It's a very real and debilitating condition, requiring various levels of treatment from counselling to medication to lifestyle changes. Yet there's this other condition, very similar and closely related that receives little to no attention at all: ante-natal or pre-natal depression.

According to patient.co.uk, 10% of women experience post-natal depression. 10-15% experience depression ante-natally (and it goes up to 19-25% in poorer countries). But I had never heard of it, and I'm willing to assume most of you haven't either.

My pregnancy with Fifi was great, in large part thanks to my independent midwife Allison Ewing. But hiring a midwife is expensive, so come round 2 with Lolly, I knew I'd have to use the NHS (whose midwives in my area are thankfully really great, pro-natural birth and homebirth-friendly). Still, I worried. I was attempting a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) and wanting it at home at that.

I thought my original sadness related to these concerns, but as the pregnancy progressed past seven or eight weeks, I became distraught. I didn't know what was wrong with me, except I knew the thoughts and feelings and wishes I had didn't make sense, weren't rational and most certainly weren't acceptable. I had feelings and thoughts I couldn't even share with Scott, I was so ashamed of them. Wishing for a miscarriage, envisioning doing harm to my toddler and hating myself and believing I was the wrong mother for this baby inside of me were some of the feelings that even now I'm ashamed to speak about.

I didn't know where to turn or who to talk to. I spoke to Allison on the phone but couldn't bring myself to tell her what I was really going through. I called a suicide hotline, but the woman had no idea what I was talking about and said frankly, 'It's just hormones, it'll pass.'

Incidentally, what a uninformed thing to say. 'It's just hormones.' Hormones are a (generally-speaking) uncontrollable aspect of our biology. Whether it's hormones, a virus or a deficiency, it's all serious.

After that, I couldn't speak to anyone, so I kept it all to myself. I tried positive thinking. I tried ignoring my feelings. I tried deriding myself into never thinking such awful things again. And after a few months, as I merged into my third trimester, the depression subsided. I was left thinking what an idiot I had been, how it had been 'just hormones' and what was I being so dramatic about?

I never really dealt with any of those feelings until I got pregnant again with Jaguar. Suddenly, around the same time, the same thoughts and feelings started trickling back in. But this time I was prepared. I realised this must be how my body works and this time I would work with my feelings, not condemn them.

This time, when thoughts of miscarriage came into mind, I knew I didn't really mean it and I didn't beat myself up over it. When I felt angry towards my children and worried I'd do something I regretted, I asked for help or removed myself from the situation or held them in a tight bear hug instead while I cried out all the anger. I let Scott in this time, and he helped tremendously, putting me to bed early every night, running hot baths for me every day, giving me lots of time away from the children to cope with my feelings.

This time around, my depression turned into an awful fear that I was damaging or even going to lose my child with my negative stress hormones pulsing through me. I was having a difficult time beyond the pregnancy with some things, and those things left me in tears most days. I asked for a referral by the midwives for SNIP (Special Needs In Pregnancy) but never actually got an appointment until I was almost full term. I knew I ought to chase it up, but part of depression is not wanting to burden other people, feeling like you are overreacting and need to get a grip of yourself but are unable to, and not having the energy or motivation to make yourself get better.

I worried this time it would last into the post-natal period, especially if I didn't succeed in getting my homebirth or if I ended up with an induction or section. Luckily, the depression lifted again at the end of my pregnancy, and even though my homebirth didn't work out again, I felt content that I'd birthed naturally at least without any assistance.

Even though I 'coped' better the second time around, it didn't mean those months were easy. They were stressful, upsetting, painful and isolating.

I have no miracle words of wisdom or any solutions for how to cope with depression during or after pregnancy; I only have my story, and I hope it helps someone else feel less alone in their struggles.

40 Questions

For the 8th year in a row, I present to you my...

40 Questions

Wait, this needs a logo...

For the 8th year in a row, I present to you my...


1. What did you do in 2012 that you’d never done before?
Gave birth completely naturally (to a son!) with no augmentation or assistance. :D

2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions and will you make more for next year?
My goal last year was to blog more. I didn't manage to succeed until October for the October Dress Project, but at least I got there in the end!

This year, I just want to resolve to live simply, unmaterialistically,and give myself a break from taking on too many responsibilities.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My friends Catriona and Sharon both gave birth to little girls this year, alongside me.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Thankfully no one this year died, though my grandmother was touch and go for a while.

5. What countries did you visit?
We didn't really travel at all this year. I rang in the New Year in America, but I'd travelled there in the year before, so I don't think it counts.

6. What would you like to have in 2013 that you lacked in 2012?
A simplified, uncluttered wardrobe, house and life.

7. What date from 2012 will remain etched upon your memory?
The eleventh of July - the day my perfect son was born. Though I keep getting mixed up with the 7/11 or 11/7 part. I'm not good with numbers as it is; give me a rhyming pair and I'm hopeless. I'll forever get it confused.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I already said it, but giving birth totally naturally meant the world to me. After a C-section with Fifi and an induction with Lolly, I was sort of convinced my body didn't know how to bear children. Going into labour spontaneously and birthing with no assistance or painkillers (except gas and air) meant so much to me. It was my biggest achievement for certain.

9. What was your biggest failure?
On the same topic, I didn't get my homebirth. Again. Three times I've attempted a homebirth and three times it just wasn't in the cards. I suppose it's wrong to think of it as a failure, but at the time it sure felt like it.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I went through a period of depression during my pregnancy, which also happened when I was pregnant with Lolly, so I think maybe that's just how my hormones work. But it wasn't terribly serious in hindsight, though going through it was very difficult.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Let's see... my Samsung Galaxy III, my EasiYo maker and my Booby Tubes.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
This year I'm going to give credit to my daughter Fifi. She has really grown up this year, and her maturity really shows. She is very loving, mostly obedient, and a great kid to have around. She is helpful and smart, and I'm really proud of how grown up she's become.

13. What regrets do you have about the past year?
I can't say I have any regrets. Not everything was perfect, but I wouldn't call anything a regret.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Necessities. Last year I had money to spend, because I'd been childminding. But I went on maternity leave this year in June, so we've been living on a budget again. And most of my spare money went into starting my new company IntoBento.co.uk.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Starting my new company and lunch blog!

16. What song/album will always remind you of 2012?
It's not a song/album per se, but the theme tune to How I Met Your Mother will always bring back strong feelings and memories of me hibernating in my bedroom for weeks, preparing for my intended homebirth with Jaguar and watching six seasons straight of this show.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
happier or sadder? I have been so much happier this year.
thinner or fatter? Fatter, thanks to baby weight. Need to get that sorted in the new year!
richer or poorer? Poorer, thanks to maternity leave!

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Exercise.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Eat cake.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
We spent Christmas this year at Scott's mum and dad's new house. It was a really lovely, cosy Christmas with our family of five, Kate and Faisal's family of three and Scott's parents. The kids had a great time, and it just felt really nice.

21. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?
My mom, I suppose. Having a new baby means needing lots of support from your mommy!

22. What's your best memory from 2012?
I had a few really great memories:
-My 30th birthday party, which had a 'Music Mania' theme. It was one of the best birthdays I've ever had.
-Singing Evita's "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" in the OGA Parish Players Spring Revue.
-Giving birth to Jaguar (I loved every minute of it, even if it was rather uncomfortable!)
-Going out for my friend Elaine's 40th birthday with her, Heather and Paula.
-The Enchanted Forest with Scott for our anniversary. It was incredible this year - my favourite one yet.

23. How have you seen yourself grow as a person this year?
Ohhh, for the hard questions.

This year I've come to terms with a lot of things, namely my grave uncertainty of my faith. I have spoken of this already in length here, so it's not necessary to rehash, but what I've realised is that I am okay with where I am spiritually right now. I choose to continue living a Christian life and holding on to the faith while simultaneously acknowledging that I don't know if it is true, I can't believe it completely and I will probably never be able to believe wholeheartedly again. But it's the life I'm choosing to live, and if God is truly out there, I believe he will accept me for choosing to follow despite my unbelief.

A separate thing I learned about myself is that I am far too materialistic. Through the October Dress Project (wearing the same dress for 31 days), I realised I a) don't need half the stuff I have and b) can be very creative with my clothes if I try. So I'm in the process of trying to clear out everything and getting a non-cluttered, simplistic wardrobe that allows me to experiment with creative outfits.

24. What was your favourite TV programme(s)?
I enjoyed watching How I Met Your Mother, Big Love and Misfits.

26. What was the best book(s) you read?
I did a lot of reading earlier this year before Jaguar was born but can't for the life of me remember what. A lot of re-reading old classics. I started out with Toni Morrison's Beloved, F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, and I can't remember what all else. I read a LOT of books though but not very many new ones. If I'm correct in thinking though that I re-read Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner, then that would be the best book I read. It's one of my favourites.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Scott introduced me to a few really good new songs on a mix CD he made for our trip to Pitlochry, for instance these two by Jonathan Coulton.





28. What did you want and get?
A Soda Stream!

29. What did you want and not get?
A homebirth.

30. What were your favourite films of this year?
The Perks of Being a Wallflower was really, really good.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
This year was my 30th, and I had a big party at the Masons Lodge. It was fancy dress (Music Mania theme) and karaoke, and I had an awesome cake, a DJ and a load of great friends there. It was an awesome birthday.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
It would've been really great to have had a summer. Unfortunately, it just rained and was cold all year long. It would've been much nicer if we'd had just a few months (or even one!) of sunshine to live our spirits. No wonder Scottish people are known for being dour.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2012?
Maternity?! At least for the first half of the year! I went through a rockabilly stage with my hair and would love to still be doing it, but after Jaguar was born, there was just no longer the time to spend on my hair like that. Plus, I cut my bangs back in on a whim and that kinda kills the suicide roll thing. I've also started wearing make-up regularly. Which reminds me, I need to put some on now...

34. What kept you sane?
Having a really sweet, happy, content, easy baby who sleeps and feeds wonderfully, instead of the opposite!

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
This question is always so silly to me. Time to change it.

35b. Which holiday or special occasion meant the most to you?
Our wedding anniversary this year was really special to me. It wasn't a big year (8), but we spent it in the same place we spent last year's anniversary, and it was then and there that Jaguar became a part of our family. We went to Pitlochry to The Enchanted Forest again, had lunch in the same little bistro we'd sat in last year talking about baby names in case we were indeed to get pregnant, and stayed in a lovely hotel (not the same one) eating great food and relaxing in the pool and the spa.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
American gun control, health care and same-sex marriage. I'll keep mum about my opinions on each though! This is not a political blog. :)

37. Who did you miss?
I missed my American family and friends so much this year.

38. Who was the best new person (people) you met?
I have become friends with Lolly's best friend Eden's mum, Laura. She is a sweet, generous, honest person, and I'm so pleased to have gotten to know her and her three interesting and precious daughters this year.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2012.
Two things:
1) I have so much more than I need. I am materialistic, and all my 'things' end up making my life harder to manage. I can get by on so much less and would probably be happier doing so.
2) As much as I can plan and organise and see to every detail, nothing in this world is totally in my hands. Maybe it's in God's, maybe it's in no one's, but it's certainly not in mine. It is okay to plan, but at the end of the day, things will happen as they will happen and not always how I thought they would.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year?
This is totally embarrassing, but the lyrics from Katy Perry's 'Firework' summed up a lot of feelings for me this year.

'Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?
Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin
Like a house of cards, one blow from caving in?

...

Maybe your reason why all the doors are closed
So you could open one that leads you to the perfect road.
Like a lightning bolt, your heart will blow
And when it's time, you'll know...'

Theme Word for 2013

I've never heard of this idea until today - setting a theme word for your year. I've joined the Ultimate Blog Challenge, just as a way to keep myself motivated to blog regularly, and one of the suggestions today was writing about a theme word for your new year.

My theme word for 2013 is Simplicity.

The October Dress Project taught me a lot about the way I live and the things I own. I own way, way too much, most of which I do not need or even want. But getting rid of some things are hard; you convince yourself you should keep x, y and z because it might come in handy one day, or so-and-so gave it to you, or you don't want to waste it, or you don't know how to get rid of it. Yet it's all stuff that is just cluttering up your home and your life and really has no purpose for you.

This year I'm aiming to clear out, streamline, and live simply. When I shop, I'll think not only 'Do I really need this?' but also 'In what ways will I actually use this? Is it something I just really like or is it something that would be of value to me?' I want to create a much more simplified life for myself and my family.

This also includes taking on too many projects and responsibilities. Realistically, I'm always going to be taking on too many projects and responsibilities, but as I've said for several years now, I need to cut back. I'm not sure how well I'll accomplish this part of my resolve for the new year, but it needs to be a small part of it.

So, for 2013, my theme word is Simplicity, in as many forms as it may grow to take on.

I want to hear your thoughts. What's YOUR theme word for 2013? Leave comments in the section below!