I'm a little ugly.

I believe that everyone is beautiful.  I do.  It's just that some people...aren't particularly beautiful on the outside.  Some people are just ugly.

I'm sorry if that's shocking.

I am one of them, by the way.  I'm not the queen of the ugly folk, but I think, objectively, I'm not a stunner.  My eyes are kind of buggy.  I have thin lips, a weak chin, and I swear my hair isn't a real color.  It's not blonde exactly; nor is it brown.  Sometimes it looks red.  I've got a hook-nose thing goin' on.  And that's just my face!  I've given birth to four humans, y'all.  My middle is basically made of string cheese.  I've also breastfed four humans.  Breast is best, but not for the aesthetics of the chest.

"Breast is best, but not for the aesthetics of the chest." -Jamie Wahl

On a related note, I rarely find time to shave my legs (it's okay, my leg hair is blonde; I just avoid side-light when I'm in shorts).  Also, I'm pretty sure I don't use my calf muscles for anything, because I can gain forty pounds and they are still shapeless sticks of skin and bone, struggling through life under my top-heavy girth.

I'm a little ugly.

If you were playing along this far waiting for the actual meaning of the title, I'm afraid I may have disappointed you.  You can judge that book by its cover.

Yes, I look like a female Michael Cera with mange most mornings, but it doesn't matter.

Because I can think.  And I can have empathy for people.  And I can write.  And sing.  And paint.  And take care of my family.  And a million other things that girls these days grow up thinking they can only do if they are pretty enough.  I wasted a lot of time getting discouraged by the weird-looking lady I saw in the mirror.  Somehow, that googly-eyed dork reflected back at me made me feel "not enough" for my dreams, or even my day-to-day life!  What can she do?  She's pretty plain.  Pretty normal.  Pretty "meh".  She's silly even to try.  Nothing extraordinary going on here, folks.  

Except that there is!  I wrote a book!  In eight years, I've had four children and written a whole, cohesive, fairly good book.  And I bet you've got the equivalent of a novel going on in your life.  A seemingly insurmountable struggle that you're stepping over LIKE A BOSS.  My little vampire comedy is not Dickens, but it's a lot of fun, and I wrote it.  And I was ugly the whole time!  

My self-esteem should not be dependent on my beauty.  Nor should yours. 

Our eldest child was a beautiful newborn.  Prefect little round head with wisps of copper hair.  Alert, curious blue eyes.  He was gorgeous.  Our second child was...a baby.  My husband and I got so tickled observing the difference in people's reactions when they came to visit us in the hospital.  With David, they "ooh"ed and "ah"ed and sang his praises.  But with Jack it was a reigned-in look of surprise and then, basically, "You had a baby!"  *jazz hands*  It's okay, people!  We can see he looks like a purple skin potato; we still love him!  Why is it so very easy to see that a child's worth is not based in their appearance, but almost impossible when we are judging ourselves?  

Just from a quick poll of my friends, I'm not the only gal to feel pressured to be as beautiful as possible.  I'm not the only woman to feel "not enough".  But what's so easy to see when I look at them, besides the beauty that they do possess, is that their beauty, whether abundant or restricted to their eyes only, is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT.  The shape of my face has absolutely no effect on my ability to reason.  The dark purple circles under my eyes (which I think are now permanent) don't have a single thing to do with my talents.  

And they have even less to do with my worth.

I've been stressing over the looming publication date.  Not because I don't have confidence in my work; I am proud of my book, and the hours upon hours that went into it.  I've been freaking out because there's a party.  With a signing.  In person.  And I'm basically Jennifer Lawrence without the whole face-like-Helen-of-Troy thing.  The awkwardness isn't as endearing when you only pass for female with copious amounts of mascara.  So, I'm confident in my work and ready for it to face the ravages of the internet, even the reviews section on amazon, but I don't feel "enough" because I don't belong on a runway?  How RIDICULOUSLY ILLOGICAL is that?  Am I a woman of reason, or not?  (Don't answer that, closest friends.)

I am good enough even though I'm a little ugly.  I believe you are as well.  I'm talented even though I'm a little ugly.  I suspect you are, too, even if it's a totally different skill set than the one God gave me.  I can make good art and still be a little ugly.  Did someone apply a yard stick to DaVinci's face to check for ideal symmetricality before heralding his work as brilliant?  Of course not, because he was busy making ALL THE THINGS!  

To clarify, I'm a fan of the "real beauty" campaign.  I routinely give a "thumbs up" to the hashtag #effyourbeautystandards.  I'm all for making sure girls of every size and color and shape and ability or disability feel beautiful (or at the very least don't feel the need to starve themselves).  I just think, as an even uglier adolescent, I would've liked to hear someone refrain from insisting I was beautiful despite my visage of acne, and tell me I was valuable instead.  Somehow, the definition of those two words has merged.  Beautiful is nice.  But valuable?  Worthy?  Capable?  So much more important.  And not at all the same. 

So, fellow ugly friend who may be feeling "not enough", don't let the flaxen-haired, angel-eyed, perky-chested muggles get you down.  You can do great things even while you're a little ugly.

I certainly don't intend to waste any more time bemoaning my resemblance to a slow loris; I've got a sequel to write!

p.s.

Jack turned out great, btw.  

Of Demons and Strugglebusses

“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”
—George Orwell

Yeah, that's about right.

Now that I have finished my first book, I'd thought I'd take a minute to write down what I've learned.  This is not for you, dear reader.  This is for me.  Because I am going to forget all of it the minute the demon knocks on my door again, and I'll need this list for reference.  You can use it, too, if you like.  ;)

1.  I don't know what I'm doing.
I have never sat down to write and thought to myself "Ah, yes.  I have a plan.  I can tell what is about to transpire and it is going to be TOTALLY DOPE."  Not even once.  I've had an inkling.  A general idea of what needs to happen.  But the clearer the mental image at the outset of the writing session, the more disobedient my characters became.  You're going to use this character to reveal the nature of the as-yet-unknown enemy?  Nope.  Another character totally just killed him.  You're going to get your MC from point A to point B?  Nope.  He wanted an ice cream cone.  Rude.  Take away: DO NOT PROCRASTINATE UNTIL "YOU FEEL READY."  YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO FEEL IN CONTROL.  SIT DOWN AND WRITE.

2.  Gandalf is my friend.
Throughout this journey, whenever that mysterious villain we call "writer's block" would jump up in my path, there was a concrete reason for it to be changing my course.  A better way to tell this particular part of the story was lurking in my subconscious, and the frustrating gatekeeper would not let the crap be written instead.  Writer's block, when seen as nothing more than a road sign to better writing, is my friend.  Therefore, from now on, I will refer to Writer's block as Gandalf.  The real enemy is the Balrog of Bad Writing.

Take away: TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS, YOU DINGBAT.  STOP WASTING TIME WALLOWING IN SELF LOATHING.  SIT DOWN AND WRITE.

3.  Writing is like doing the dishes.
There is a mounting pile of dirty dishes surrounding my sink.  I could clean them, but it is just so tedious.  I'll keep hemming and/or hawing, whilst giving the growing pile the side-eye, for another day or two.  Then I'll remember that I'm in charge of the cleaning, and that if I don't do it, it just won't get done.  I'll probably give this battle one last tired feminist rant, then shuffle into the kitchen resentfully.  And I'll pick up the sponge.  And it won't be that bad!  And when I'm done, and the counter is sparkling, I'll be happy.  Writing is the same.  Push through to rough draft.  It's so much easier after that.  You'll be happy you did.
Take away: YOU ACTUALLY LIKE WRITING, SO SIT DOWN AND WRITE.

4.  You have four children.
Go on.  Count them.  There are four of them.  You're holding one right now, and he'd really prefer he had your full attention.  Life just isn't going to march to the beat of your pretty little drum, and that's okay.  You won't get to write every night.  You might not even get to write every week.  You know the children come first because YOU made the choice to put them first.  Forgive yourself for being slow.  Life is not a race.  That's why you're self-publishing.  Drive your Strugglebus in the slow lane; at least you're still moving forward.
Take away: YOU ARE ONLY ONE PERSON, SO LEAVE THE PERFECTIONISM BEHIND AND SIT DOWN AND WRITE!

So yeah.  Remember all that for book two.

Roll for initiative,
Jamie Wahl

Potted Cabbage in Galvanized Buckets

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.  All the normal Mom things plus this almost-an-author thing, throw in some changes at my husband’s work and a couple (that’s generous; about a hundred) unfinished projects, and I’m in full SHUT DOWN AND DO NOTHING mode.  Which usually brings me to Pinterest where I DUN DUN DUN see about a thousand things that I want to do. 

I am a thoroughly ridiculous creature.

I find myself in this place a lot: infinitely motivated but eternally lazy.  My wheels spin for a while.  I might even get a lot done.  Then I remember all the things I DIDN’T get done and all of a sudden it’s time once again to throw up my hands and melt into a facebook-induced coma.  I think facebook is a mom’s version of being a besotted drunkard.  Life is too much but you have children to watch?  Leave the bottle and open up that web browser!  All your problems will melt away!

So, this morning, I found myself about fifteen minutes in to a Pinterest Pity Binge.  I passed a bunch of mural inspirations that I pinned last night, three or four delicious looking recipes, a dozen tutorials for small home repair, umpteen homeschool-improving plans of sheer brilliance….ETCETERA, when my eye fell on this gem: Potted Cabbage in Galvanized Buckets.

Potted.

Cabbage.

Galvanized.

Buckets.

Cabbage in a bucket.

In a galvanized bucket.

I just started laughing my fool head off.

WHAT ARE WE EVEN DOING, LADIES? 

I have four gorgeous, funny, crazy, messy, busy children.  And I have a finite number of years to enjoy them.  An extremely measurable amount of time.  It’s math so simple even I can do it!  So, here’s what I’m gonna do.  I’m gonna take out my to-do list, get a great big PERMANENT MARKER, and cross off all the things that serve my ego- all the things that are there simply to make me feel like I’m doing a MEASURABLY good job, and I’m going to cross them off.  FOEVAH.  Because, as lovely as those purply cabbages looked in their highly specific metal containers, I DON’T EVEN CARE.  If I genuinely enjoyed all these polished, put together extra curriculars, that’d be different.  But I don’t!  And I’m not going to sacrifice my intensely brief time as a mother on the altar of being a “super mom”. 

Ladies, I aim to mediocrely behave.

Because my four gorgeous, funny, crazy, messy, busy children are not going to remember what my cabbages were planted in.  They’re not going to remember how beautifully decorated their cookies were (mostly because they already ate them).  They’re not going to care if I slaved over a three course Italian supper.  I need to leave my perfectionism where it belongs (approximately: hell), and put my energy into spending time with them while they’re here. 

So supper will be simple.

Cookies will be eaten warm, right off the pan.

Cabbages will be in dirt.

And I’ll be sane.

I think we’ll all be better for it.

Roll for initiative,
J. Wahl