Going All-In

Looks just like me, don't you think? :)

In fifth grade, our class planned to perform Shakespeare’s The Tempest. I was desperate to play Ariel (no, this character is not a mermaid). Auditions began and I didn’t even bother with auditioning for the other characters. Miranda? Puh. I had to be Ariel.

The next day, without even auditioning the part I wanted, the main female characters were cast. I was devastated. I remember going into one of the big empty rooms at the school (why was it empty and why was I allowed access? I don’t remember, but don’t bother me with details) and mourning my loss. I had already started memorizing “my” lines. And I began to perform them, there in that empty room.

Okay, brief interruption for an insertion of reality (or maybe it’s just my memory of reality?). The room was not entirely empty. In it was one of the teachers who had helped cast the play. But where she was sitting, I could pretend that she wasn’t there. Knowing she was there but pretending she wasn’t was part of my devious plot. Here’s what I did next…

I began to perform those lines with all of my soul in them. I flew around them room, calling down tempests and flaming imaginary ships. I was confident, I was strong, I put emotion into that character that I hardly knew existed. In my fifth-grade mind, I was brilliant. Valerie, the girl who was assigned to play Ariel, was gone from school that day, so she hadn’t heard that she’d been cast yet. I think I secretly hoped I could convince the teacher to change the casting once she saw how amazing I was.

And you know what? It worked. I got the part of Ariel.

And you know what? I never performed that part as well as I had that first day, when I pretended that no one was watching. Every rehearsal, every performance was a shadow of that first one.

Let’s fast forward now, shall we? To, say, the year 2012. If you haven’t heard it yet, I would very much like to be a published author some day. (If you haven’t heard it, what dark cave have you been hanging out in?) To that end, one must occasionally write and submit works for publication. So I have been writing and working and trying not to throw the computer out the window occasionally. In May I was working on a story that I wanted to submit a serious (dare I say “literary”?) piece to a contest due at the end of the month.

I finished a first draft of my story and stared at it with dread. I knew it needed an outside perspective, but I didn’t want to show it to anyone. I mean, really really didn’t want to show it to anyone. I finally let Brice read it, and I cringed the entire time. Seriously, people, I hid my head under my pillow. I was sure it was completely hideous.*

Okay, Jeanna, what’s your point? My point is this: The best parts of that story, the parts that felt the most right to me—those were the parts where I was standing in a room dancing, pretending that no one was there. Those were the parts when I went all-in, leaving nothing of myself out. And they were few, but they were good. (I think.)

There is something frightening, I think, about going all-in. Maybe this is just me, but I think it is terrifying to imagine doing something in which you have laid your soul bare and now someone else may critique it and judge it unworthy. What if you fail? What if you get laughed at? What if your whole self just isn’t good enough?

I don’t have answers for any of those questions, but I have begun to notice that sometimes in writing (and also, I think, in life) you will be found wanting if you don’t go all-in. Or maybe your work will be good enough, but it won’t be as good as it should have been. There are times and places where you can’t have your foot in the door, ready to step out at any time.** You have to be all-in. I am reminded of a scripture that has called to me many times: “Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward. … But we are not of them who draw back unto perdition [destruction/ruin]” (Hebrews 10:35, 39). Don’t draw back. Go all-in.

Notice me not throwing the
computer out the window.

So here I am, working on my novel, trying to be confident and pretend that no one else is in the room. Here I am, trying desperately to go all-in, both in my book and (quite frankly) in my parenting. (Okay, and if we’re being really honest, I’m only trying desperately some of the time.) And still, quite frequently, failing miserably. But at least I’m working on it.

How about you?

*In case you’re wondering, only parts of it were hideous. I think. And anyway, in the end, I submitted it to the contest because at the very least I need the practice of finishing something and trying to get it out there. I also submitted to another contest this month. But don’t ask me about the results for either of them any time soon. I won’t know for up to three months. Three. Months. This is a very special brand of torture.

**One of those places is actually at your door, unless you’re one of those creepy Fiery things from Labyrinth and can detach your foot and leave it outside your door… but I digress.

The First Curry of the Growing Season

The day has arrived, my friends. This week we celebrated the first curry of the growing season. Our first two zucchinis came off the bush (already!) and one went immediately into the curry. By the end of the summer, I’m hoping our curries will also include carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, yellow squash, zucchinis, and maybe even green and red peppers from the garden. Wouldn’t that be shiny?

You will think I sound like some amazing gardener with mad skills. My life must be so put together since I’m growing such a fabulous veggie garden. Um, no. Will it help if I send you a picture of the top of my dresser? Or the box full of papers I keep meaning to file? Or, heaven forbid, the undone items on my to-do list?

But this post is not about me. This post is about curry and its sheer awesomeness and our celebration of its existence. I think we are going to make this into an annual Stay family holiday.

So let’s all take a moment to be grateful for the gift of curry and veg from the garden. Yum.

P.S. You can only do so much to convince your average four-year-old that curry is not an abomination. In our case, that is not enough. So we settle for convincing her to try a bite. Sometimes with her nose plugged. In the last picture here, Addra (ever wanting to be like her older sister) is attempting to plug her nose too. Good times. 

P.P.S. I'm sure that if I had mad skills, I would be able to convince the html in this ridiculous blog post to not randomly change the font type at the drop of a hat. But I don't.

P.P.P.S. And please, let's not even mention the curly quotes again. It's getting a little OCD, don't you think?

Dashing Warrior, Warrior Dashing

A few weeks back, Brice participated in the Warrior Dash, a 5K Viking-themed obstacle course race. Awesome, yes? So I am finally posting some pictures of his awesomeness. And also the awesomeness of our friends, the Nius. And also the awesomeness of his Viking family. Enjoy!

Preparing for battle.

Ummm... Still preparing for battle. (And yes, he really did run the whole race wearing a beard hat.)

I just love these air shots.

And no, I didn't take any of these pics.

This obstacle required crawling under barbed wire, so no avoiding the mud.

Looks like fun, huh?

The Victors.

Everybody loves a sledgehammer.

Cutest. Viking. Ever.

Post race, post shower, still with baked-on fake mustache on his face.

Lots to Do

Okay, folks, here’s what happens. I think, “I want to write a blog post about X because we took all these really great pics. Finally, a blog post with pics!” And then I think, “But I’m going to have to sort through all those pics and then upload them to the blogger and then organize and type around them. That is going to take forever.” And then I think, “I will do it later.”

So, sadly, I am about a gazillion blog posts behind where I planned to be. In case I never get around to them, here’s what you’re missing:*

About a month ago, we had a “barn-razing” and a “barn-raising” party. Our old, moldy, scary shed got replaced by a new, shiny, clean-ish shed. We had some awesome friends who came and helped.** Sledgehammers were involved.

A few weeks back we took a brief trip to New York City to see a few sights and visit Brice’s sister and her lovely family. It was a fun time, and we’ll definitely go back again.

Yes, I’m still doing the dress dare. And I have a picture from every single day. They’re sitting on my compy, sad and bereft.

Right now my brother and his family are visiting from New Zealand! So much fun. We got to meet little baby cousin I.M., who is just a month younger than Addra.

We also went to see the Avengers movie (not with the kids), which inspired me and Brice into a debate over which superpowers we would most want. I was going to write a terribly witty post about that too, sans pictures (sorry, but the photos of Brice being invisible are surprisingly unexciting).

Brice participated in the Warrior Dash, an obstacle course 5K where you get to dress up as a Viking and get covered in mud.

There were a few other assorted posts I planned to get to. Maybe I will eventually. In the meantime, now you know what we have been doing and what I haven’t been writing about.

The End.

*Or maybe you’re not really “missing” them, but we’re going to go ahead and pretend you are.

**A double-plus-extra thanks goes to the awesome Niu family, without whom our new shed would still be a pile of junk on our lawn.

Days Three and Four

Day 3 almost didn’t happen.

I stood in front of my closet.

Where’s my green skirt? In the dirty laundry (it’s the one that got pooped on; no, I still hadn’t washed it).

Day 3

There’s my blue flowery skirt, that’s cute. But it’s really too dressy for everyday wear.

Oh, there’s my black and red skirt. That will be perfect! Wait, where’s my black shirt that goes with it? Dirty. My other black shirt? Dirty. My red shirt? Dirty. My white shirt? … I don’t have one of those. Wait a minute, I have a different red shirt, don’t I? The one that came with the dress? It’s in the mending basket that I never get to. Ever. What about my other other red shirt? The reds don’t match.

Okaaaaay. Finally, after some ridiculous amount of time spent angsting over clothing, I found something to wear. Hoorah!

And then, later that night, I spread mulch in it. Mulch that smells a lot like manure. I mean, a lot. Actually, aside from the smell, that part was fun. There was something interesting about doing yardwork in a dress. Very different, very strange.

***

Day 4

Day 4 was easy enough since on day 3 we also did some laundry. I decided, though, that after yesterday I wasn’t going to be doing yardwork in a dress. So I changed for a while so that we could plant some wonderful stuff in our garden. This year we’re trying corn! Good times.

***

Day 5 is today. I’m still in bed. So… I guess we’ll see.

For now, though, I will say it’s been fun. Except for the finding-clothing insanity. But I do actually feel a teensy bit cuter. Sometimes, anyway, when I’m not covered in poo mulch. And there has been a bit more dancing around the house. Of course, this isn’t a particularly controlled experiment, and we’ve been listening to a bit more music too, so that could be causing the dancing.

And now I must away to the closet! I’ll leave you with a bit of cuteness.

Coriel took this picture. Awesome, right?

Coriel also took this one. This is the original orientation.

Day Two

Brice and Coriel made some delicious cookies. I wore a skirt. That’s all I’ve got tonight, folks.

Day One

No, my girls aren't taking the challenge.
This is just how they dress.

I recently read an article talking about a Dress Challenge: Wear a dress or skirt every day in May (yes, wise guys, this challenge is only suggested for women). I thought it sounded kinda fun, but I definitely wasn’t going to start it in New York City.

So, here we are on day 7 of May and day 1 of my very low-key attempt to take on the Dress Challenge. And here’s how it went:

Hours 1–3: In pajamas. Addra bawling because Brice left for work, because I wouldn’t feed her more marshmallows, because I moved wrong. Because I moved at all? Once she settled into my pajama-clad arms (okay, let’s be honest, I wasn’t even wearing pajamas), I wasn’t about to move and reinitiate the wailing fest.

Hour 4: Finally dressed, in a skirt no less! (Note that I didn’t mention having showered.) Spending an intermittent half hour or so searching for the leggings that I purchased for the very purpose of wearing skirts more often.

Hour 4.5: Changing clothes after Addra sat in my lap again and smeared a little poo on my skirt. Settling on the second skirt I try on.

Hour 5: Finding the leggings, finally, in the dirty laundry where Coriel must have dumped them after wearing them around the house last Wednesday. Happily wearing them.

We’re now at hour 8 or 9, and I’m still wearing the same outfit. Fingers are crossed for the rest of the day.

We’ll see if I make it to day 2.

Update: End of day, still wearing same outfit, although there was an iffy patch there for a while when I thought I might end up having to change after another poo incident that I am not finding very funny. Maybe it’ll be funny in another day or two.