Perhaps Arrested Development Isn't A Bad Thing....

It has been brought to my attention that I am somewhat...immature for my age. Repeatedly. I like pastels. There's a pink tulle canopy over my bed (which is currently sporting ice cream bed sheets). I still buy an advent calendar; the cardboard kind with cheap chocolate. So I guess all the rumors are true, I am my inner child but....so what??? Society makes a big deal about "growing up" and "acting your age" (At least they claim to, in actuality, there seems to be an ever increasing amount of people who are perfectly content to go around acting like toddlers) but...why? Yeah, yeah, yeah you have to reach a point in your life where you're responsible for yourself; go to work, pay bills yada, yada, yada but, assuming you're doing all that (or at least trying your damndest) why does the rest matter? I've covered this before but it bears repeating because not only do I not see the big deal about liking pigtails and Frozen in my 40s, I actually think my "arrested development" has helped me at times. I recieved a gift bag yesterday from the parent of a student who is moving up to the next classroom which included a beautiful card (also a paper tiara) thanking me for chatting about princesses with their daughter, saying that these conversations made her day on several occasions. Wonderful but I didn't have those conversations with her because I somehow sensed that I needed to "make her day", I did it because I like to talk about princesses (because I am one, duh!). I believe Writing Rainbow has performed beyond my expectations in large part because I've poured my whole self into it; the writing, the tiaras, the (not so) inner child, it's all there for anyone who interacts with Writing Rainbow to see. The way I see it, there are upsides to my "childlike demeanor" some of which are as follows: *Children see me as a bigger version of them (accurate), allowing for better comradery with my students. *Other adults seem easily impressed by me (probably because they think anyone willing to wear Disney dresses in public couldn't possibly be capable of functioning) which has worked to my advantage on several occasions. *I tend not to judge others (at least not for appearing "abnormal"), as I know exactly what it feels like to be judged for being unconventional. *I have an ability to get along with a wide array of people. To that effect my range of friends span several decades; the oldest is 80 (former HS history teacher), the youngest is 24 and I believe I'm a better person for knowing them both. Both have and continue to teach me things about myself. This is apparently confusing to some. I've been asked "How can you be friends with someone so much older/younger?" Simple. I'm ageless. I know music from the 70s. I can have an entire conversation using mainly emojis (I'm not saying I enjoy or even understand why this occurs, I'm just saying I can do it). Of course there are some drawbacks: Sometimes I miss social cues, resulting in awkward and painful situations that were likely avoidable if I were developmentally where I'm "supposed" to be. I have been ridiculed more than a few times for "dressing like a 10-year old." To that effect, people feel the need to remind me I'm an adult, as if having reached middle age with very little to show for it isn't enough of a reminder. The point is, I'm profoundly different from a lot (most?) people. I've known that my entire life (also, people have been telling me as much for about as long) but honestly? Who cares? So long as I'm making progress, why shouldn't I do it in an Elsa dress? Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a tiara on Amazon I simply have to have...

Must love Taylor

Last week at work one of the kids wore a shirt that said "Little Swiftie" and it made my day (not the least of which is because my boss litteraly yelled at me for calling her that the day before). By sheer coincidence she was also the last kid to leave so we did the only longical thing; Taylor Swift dance party! As a result I now have a playlist consisting exclusively of Taylor Swift songs named after her and it made me wonder, can I hire someone because they're a Taylor Swift fan? The reason I ask is, somehow Writing Rainbow has reached the point where I'm ready to hire my first employee (I think). Turns out I, in fact, cannot be everywhere at once. Add to that my boss making it increasingly difficult to teach my classes at all (due to randomly taking away my early day), and, apparently, it's time for Writing Rainbow to be more that a one princess show (just kidding, I will always be the only princess). So, how the hell do I do this? What am I looking for in an employee? Unfortunately, I have no idea. I'm pretty sure the idea is to establish some core criteria; such as Taylor Swift songs. I myself don't have an "official" favorite Taylor song but the playlist on my phone that I listen to before most classes is called Long Live so let's start there. And then there's Anti-Hero because, just as often as not, I am indeed the problem (but I'm not sure I'd want an employee to agree with me so nevermind that one). Overall, anyone joining the Writing Rainbow team should (obviously) like children...or at least be able to tolerate them convincingly, be creative, probably a little unconventional, and...honestly...what? Ugh, why is being a grown up so hard? (I seem to ask this a lot). Why can't I just pick someone based on fun things; love of glitter, cats, Disney, and, of course, Taylor Swift.

Whatever, I'm Getting Cheese Fries

Oh to be young again; to experience the thrill of a night out. To feel the bass pulsating through you as you push your way through the crowd, overpriced drink spilling all over you (and everyone else) is...insanity. What about this am I supposed to enjoy again? These days my ideal night out is a coconut margarita (or two or three) at my local Mexican place and the only reason to push my way through a crowd is to get home to my cat. So it went one night in Mystic, CT... My cousin Teri is getting married and, as such, a group of us ladies dutifully trooped to that mecca for bachelorette parties...Mystic, CT. Now, a sleepy coastal town doesn't seem like the place to find a raucous party, but there we were. All the aformentioned tomfoolery expected at an event that is supposed to symbolize a woman's last chance at freedom (or whatever, I was in it for the shiny pink swag bag) was present and accounted for on our night on the town; with a drunk Rapunzel wannabe (ugh, seriously, there's only room for one real life Disney Princess lady; and I already have the job) thrown in as a bonus! So, what to do when you realize you're more vanilla bean than rocky road? Grab ice cream and run for the hills of course! Which is exactly what happened. Except the "ice cream" was cheese fries (which is interesting considering of the three people involved, one is allergic to dairy and another (me) hates cheese with a passion) which became the deciding factor in ditching a night of debauchery (or what passes for it in a sleepy coastal town) for a Crime Scene Kitchen (new TV obsession) marathon. It goes something like this: Me: "Yea clubbing! What fun!!" Person One: "Yeah. What fun?" Me: "No idea. My idea of fun is Crime Scene Kitchen. But what do I know, I'm 40. I'm Old." Person Two: "What's Crime Scene Kitchen?" Me: "Best show ever! Plus, no drunkin Rapunzel doing a Willow Smith impresson to deal with!" Person One: "That's worth the price of admission alone." Person Two: "Are there cheese fries?" Me: "Would you like it if there were cheese fries?" Yes, she would very much like it if there were cheese fries (she literaly had a shirt that said so). And so it went that we traded carousing for cheese fries. And Crime Scene Kitchen. And Quiet.

What Else Can I Do?

What could I do if I just did what I was feeling in the moment; what could I do if I just knew it didn't need to be perfect... Oh how glad I am that I have song lyrics to do my thinking for me... Actually, I've never felt the need to be perfect (this should be obvious to anyone whose known me for more than 2.5 seconds) but that doesn't mean I've been content either (this shouldn't be breaking news either). Until recently. (Okay, content is a stretch). While I've never felt the need to be perfect I have felt the need to...abide by a certain standard; My familys' (sometimes real, sometimes imagined), the standard implied by arbitrary numbers (what does the number of candles on my birthday cake have to do with my style choices??), and a whole host of other random "rules" imposed by...whomever. This line of thinking led to a lot of things, none of them good, until something compltetly unexpected happened; I stopped thinking and stared doing. Or, more to the point, I stopped thinking about things from "everybody else's" perspective (more or less) and started thinking about them from my own. I'm six years into Writing Rainbow, a feat that has required a good amount of ingenuity and sacrifice, one of which was waiting a year for full time status at my job when it was offered to me immediately. Why, you ask, would someone who, by her own admission, has been desperate for a stable work situation not jump at the chance for full time employment when offered? Well I asked myself the same question but I knew the answer before I did so. Full time would't allow me the flexibility to run Writing Rainbow the way I wanted. Still did it make sense to forgo a steady, full time position for something that lives yet to become a full fledged business? It did to me. It turned out to be the right move and, a year later (actually 11 months for anyone keeping score) when I was again offered full time it felt right to take it. Now, most of this probably seems unremarkable, as it should; there is absolutely nothing noteworthy about a middle-aged woman making basic decisions about her own life. It's like saying you went for a walk in the forest and came home with a mosquito bite; duh. But when you're stumbling through the woods and the shadowy figure you just ran from turns out to be a tree, it's still a relief. And that is exactly what I feel like I've been doing until recently, stumbling though an unusually thick forest, tripping over branches. Which isn't to say I'm not now, it't just that nowadays I tend to catch myself more often. In the last year + I've turned my part time teaching position into a full time, guided my writing program towards its next phase (including my first press coverage), and started to feel in sync with certain aspects of my family; all because somewhere along the line I decided that (not even sure I did it consciously) I didn't need to be acceptable (this is still a work in progress), I just needed to be. It makes me wonder, what else can I do?

Why Good Christians Get on My Nerves

Remember being taught as a kid to "treat others the way we wanted to be treated?" Sound advice and words to live by. Most of the time. Sometimes "certain people are only alive because I look terrible in orange" is more accurate. Candy (another teacher at work) inspires my inner serial killer (but, like I said, I look terrible in orange so...). When she first started working there, almost a year ago, she seemed perfectly pleasant...for about three weeks (maybe). Then came the race card. Candy uses it so often she must have sprung for the expanded deck. Someone disagrees with her? It's clearly because they hate Black people and not because she's wrong 90% of the time. Someone doesn't adknowledge her? They're obviously racist, the fact that talking to her for more than 4.2 seconds is likely to make your blood boil has absolutely nothing to do with it (insert eye roll emoji here). If her contempt was about actual issues (re: inequal policing, assuming we're all criminals, etc) it would be fine but, nope, that makes too much sense so let's just accuse two year olds of being racist because...reasons. But, wait, there's more: It's not only White people she takes issue with... "Wealthy Black people are trying to be White." I really wish I was making that up but it's a direct quote from everyones' favorite moron. But lest you think Candy's stupidity is limited to race let me assure you, when it comes to being an imbecile, she's extremely well rounded! Her other gems are included but not limited to; mispronouncing someone's name, continuing to do so after being corrected, and starting a fight with said person (in front of the students) insisting that her pronunciation was the correct pronunciation (let the record show that the person in question is Ukrainian and I'm willing to bet Candy couldn't find Europe, must less Ukraine on a map), coming into work strongly smelling of weed, throwing a tantrum because I chose to give the last cupcake from a student's birthday to another co-worker instead of her, and proclaining to know what's best for children over their parents. Add to this her other "delightful" habits such as eating like a pig, leaving her shit everywhere, and only doing as much work as she feels like on any given day and it's not hard to see why she's often the focus of everyone's ire. So what does all of this have to do with being a good Christian, you ask? Christmas. The time of year we celebrate the birth of our Savior who preached humility and simplicity...by being as materialistic as possible. Last year I was on a roll, the vast majority of my shopping was done by December 1st (I've already started on this year). Naturally, my gift list included co-workers as I have some really great ones, and this presented a problem. Not for me but from my good Christian mother who proclaimed that I couldn't give other co-workers a gift without giving one to Candy as well. Now, for clarification, it's not like I bought everyone else a gift except for her, that would be mean and, twit or not, I wouldn't do that to her. Out of the 15 or so people who work there I bought gifts for four. The problem was I had a slightly elaborate presentation of said gifts planned for two of the four people and really didn't want to hear it from Candy if she saw them (see cupcake incident above). Thus began the morality lesson from parent (what I call my mom): it's important to be nice to dingbats, easier to just include her, blah, blah, blah...what would Jesus do? (I seem to remember him flipping over a table and chasing people with a whip but I suppose that would be uncalled for. Eye roll emoji again). Long story story, Candy got her gift and it's times like these I wish my family were terrible people.

I Get to be a Part of Things Now

...Pulled my car off the road to the lookout, could've followed my fears all the way down... In December I'll finally achieve my lifelong goal of going to Norway. Back in April I went to Ireland with my family and I want the same experience I had there in Oslo. By that I mean the money to buy things when I want them. To most people in their 40s, hell, in their 30s, this concept would seem unremarkable; Buy trinkets on vactaion? Duh. Well, not if you're me. In fact, if you're me, being able to afford anything without an epic planning session is a new concept. The better part of a year ago my perpetually precarious situation slowly began to stabilize; I helped buy my cousin's son a bed, I went to several farmers/flea markets with family and bought clothes and books (so many books) like everyone else. In Ireland I bought a wool sweater (the thing to do we were told) as well as several other lovelies without breaking a sweat (this is what I mean when I say I want the same experience in Norway). All of this, this ability to run my life, is so far from where I've spent most of adulthood that I'm still not sure I entirely believe it's real. The girl who at one time wondered if it would be better for her to live in a shelter rather than continue to be a burden on her family (especially her mother) can now contribute to her household, if not with complete ease, then at least with confidence. The girl who once couldn't afford to buy her family Christmas gifts at the dollar store is halfway done with her Christmas shopping, in October. Writing Rainbow is better because I can dedicate more resources to its success. Helping my family. Enhancing my business. Going to friggin Europe, in short, I get to be a part of things now. The opening line is a quote from a song called "This is me trying." Indeed...

Yet Another Thing Disney Lied To Me About

When I was a kid I used to walk around the house with a t-shirt on my head, pretending I had Rapunzel-length hair. When I was 19 I decided that I was officially an adult who had everything figured out because of Ariel (Ariel declared she "wasn't a child anymore" and moved out at 16 but I knew I wasn't as savvy as her). And, apparently people look at you funny if you randomly burst into song. (Wearing ball gowns and tiaras on any day other than 10/31 is met with mixed results as well). But the biggest lies Disney told me were about nature; I've been waiting 40 years for woodland creatures to help me clean. And two weeks ago my mother and I went to Ossining Riverfest to indulge in overpriced (but very good) wings, canned wine, and blue ice cream. Underneath the resplendence of an apricot sky (and cursing the band for singing the ABC's) a CREATURE appeared. Black, creepy and crawly it invaded MY personal space. Then ANOTHER ONE showed up. WHAT THE HELL WAS IT???? A cricket, according to my mom. A cricket?? A CRICKET?? Aren't crickets supposed to be chipper green beings that remind me to be a good person? I'm telling you, these interlopers were stressing me out and not inspiring me to be a good anything. Argggh! God Damnit Disney! You got me again1