Good Kind of Hate

So, a friend of mine leads a seriously crazy awesome band at his church.  Upon request, he sent me a couple recordings from their sets.  I sat in front of my computer and was just stunned by what I heard.  Beautiful, folksy, bluesy, kind of Mumford and Sons-y style music.  I'd never heard that style in a praise band before.  Then, his female vocalist started singing.

I. Hate. Her.


I'm a singer, too, you see.  I also sing in a seriously crazy awesome band.  However, I cannot do what that girl did.  She was amazing.  So, natch, I hate her. 

You see, in "Girl World", hate is okay.  A little bit of hate is okay.  It's a compliment! I sort of hate most women in my life.

I kind of hate my best friend cousin (there has to be another name for that...BFC?) because she is an incredible interior designer and decorator.  While I spent all of 15 minutes ordering my matchy matchy Potter Barn crib bedding for my daughter, my BFC was all, "Well, I didn't see anything I liked so I ordered this fabulous bolt of fabric from France and I'll see what I can do with it."  Admit it, you hate her, too.

I sorta hate my friend, Angi, for being gorgeous and for being a former model/dancer. I think this one speaks for itself.

Wait.  You are judging me aren't you?  Admit it.  You think there is no room for hate in this world.  You think I'm jealous, don't you?  NOOOOO, no no no no...no....for real...no....What? No!...its a girl thing, you wouldn't get it, okay just a little jealous.

BUT!  If someone were to say, "Sara, I hate you for being so fabulously beautiful" or "Oh my gosh, Sara, you are SO good at sewing French fabric, I hate you so much!"  I would be totally complimented!

Seeing as how I am not fabulously beautiful except to my parents and my husband and can only be accused of having a rocking ability to sing Disney Princess Songs, I would LOVE to be hated!!!  Just a little. 

Now, lets not carry this to an extreme.  Angi is fabulously beautiful, but she's a person and that person gets all my love and respect.   You'd never want a tiny second of hate to keep you from getting to know a polished, accomplished, fascinating individual.

And don't hate me for being a hater, please.   Women hate other women for being amazingly talented, gorgeous, witty, and confident.  Its not like you see "Confidence Awareness" posters or "It Gets Better" campaigns for hot chicks.  They can handle a little hate.  And they hate you a little back for how awesome you are...just for a split second...before complimenting that gorgeous sweater that goes with your green eyes that they so wish they had.

Do guys have something similar in "Guy World"?  I don' t know.  But in "Girl World", its okay to hate a little as long as its the good kind.

The Germans

Its been hard to keep up with Yankee Peach due to the fact that my parents are in town, but it did remind me that I promised my friends a post about Germans.

Why Germans?  As it happens, I have Germanic blood flowing through my veins...or rather, shoving the Dutch and Irish blood out of the way to maximize efficiency.

I'm really only, like, 1/4 German.  My mother's grandfather is 100% German.  His name was Fritz.  His son's name is Karl...with a K.  German people are very efficient (ask my veins), have a great work ethic, are pragmatic sometimes to a fault, good with their money, oh...there are SO MANY wonderful things about Germans!  They are also very confident in their own awesomeness....that combined with their faulty pragmaticism has lead to some, um, "issues" on the global scene in the past, but we won't bring that up.  Because I'm German.  And Germans don't look back.  They just keep marching forward.  With a little shove that's not meant to be offensive.  Just walk faster, geez.


Germans size everything up very simply.  Things and people are either "Weak" or "Strong".  I have a lovely, warm, caring, beautiful family.  All those little Dutch, Irish, and German qualities mixed together in beautiful harmony.  But, somehow, just like in real life, the German side took over.  As a result, I now think of things as "Weak" or "Strong", too.  Really, "Strong" are just things that aren't a sign of "Weak"-ness.  In our house, these were signs of weakness...

1.  Saying that your feelings are hurt.  You can say "that was a jerky thing to say!" or "that was rude!"  But feelings are unsightly...like when guys in suits sit down and you can see their dark brown socks and a sliver of pastey white leg.  You are to avert your eyes until the feelings have been tucked back under cover.

Pardon me, Dad, but your feelings are showing

2.  Wistfulness.  My poor Irish Dad!  He loves to go on and on about his childhood.  The good old days.  The fondness and sadness of his youth.  My mother just rolls her eyes and says, "Oh, Michael!"  I am naturally wistful (so is my mom, if she were to admit it, but the German side beats it down) but have learned to have a disdain for overt wist.  More to come on that in later posts.

3.  Watching Full House.  Now, I'm not saying this is a universal German trait, but I am saying that it was not up to snuff and, therefore, the show was eliminated.  Very efficient.  Very pragmatic.  Just saying. We'd sit there as kids, watching it, and my mother would walk in and say "This show is terribly written!  Turn it off or turn the channel."  Now, I know you are all thinking that my childhood must've been harsh.  It wasn't!  My mother is the most fun person I know.  And, having seen a couple episode of Uncle Jesse and "Deej" recently, I have nothing but gratitude in my heart for being shielded from such atrociousness.

4.  Little House on the Prairie.  "That show is just written to manipulate your emotions."  I rest my case.

5.  Not showing up at Christmas/Bringing someone new to Christmas. Weak. And also the word "Dead" comes to mind.  That is all you will be.  End of story... Okay, there's more to the story.  But one of the lovely thing about Germans is their strong, and I mean INTENSELY UNMOVING INABILITY TO FEEL ANYTHING ELSE BUT STRONG ALLEGIANCE to tradition.  We did the exact same things every year.  My Mom's family is hilarious.  But, underneath the laughter, the jokes, the crazy stories and the fun, the tradition was there.  Always.  Same meeting spot to go up skiing.  Same skiing place.  Same hills to start of the ski day.  Same breakfast, lunch, dinner spots.  Same jokes and memories retold each year.  I love it.  But...decide you can't get off work?  Decide a boyfriend is serious enough that he must be introduced at the Christmas Ski Extravaganza.  You will get German-ed.  :)

So, the next time you see a taller than normal, bossier than normal blonde person with crystal blue eyes.  Just keep in mind "Be Strong".  You will find favor with that German.  If you go with "Be Weak and Try To Manipulate"...be prepared to tango...or polka.  A deftly executed Polka for Power.

Preacher

Several times in my life, upon meeting males and somehow bringing up to those males that I'm a Preacher's Kid, a strange thing happens.  Their eyes would glaze over.  As if they were looking through me at a movie going on just beyond my shoulder.  And, inevitably, those males would say, "Preacher's kid? Ohhhh, wow. I bet you were wild..."

And then I stand there awkwardly for a couple seconds until The Males wrap up their little movie so that I can burst their bubble.  I never understood this reaction to being a P.K....as it is called in Christian circles...  until about a year ago when my husband and I watched Footloose.  Ahhhhh, I see.  They think I am this girl...

Ariel Moore.  The crazy, angsty, kinda slutty, daughter of Reverand Moore.  Although I often stand like that because its super comfortable and gets me the kids' meals at Chick-fil-a faster than most moms, I am nothing like Ariel.

I'm sure you are just as disappointed as The Males.  But it begs the question of why P.K.'s have this reputation, doesn't it?  Is it the pressure to always be good?  I had that.  Is it the weird crazy issue of having your father's "work" consume your life, as well?  Wow. Cry me a river, Ariel.

No.  Its nothing to do with that.  Its the fact that kids aren't stupid.  Faith needs to be Life.  End of story.  Most kids see their parents kind of act like Christians at home and then act a little more Christian-y at church. Meh, that's not horrible. At its worst, families step out of church and lead a completely different life than the perception they give in the pew.  Or, if its done right, they see their parents practice what they preach in both arenas. Kids, deep inside, know that Faith is Life.  But, if they don't see life reflect faith, then faith is dead to them.  Its just a ritual.  It has no bearing on life.

BUT, for a Pastor's family, the contrast is blazingly obvious if church/life do not connect.  Its simple:  Live what you preach.  You see your Dad get up on that platform.  You see hundreds of people absorb his wisdom, his years of studying, and his passion for his faith and then...you go home.  What's that Dad doing?  Is he ignoring his family to keep studying?  Is he as excited to tell his family what God is teaching him while around the dinner table as he is at the pulpit?  Does he mess up but then comes to you, a broken man, and apologize for his temper, he absence, his failings, whatever they may be?  It makes all the difference.

Some people think being a Preacher's Kid is an unfair life.  Its not fair that my Dad chose this for a living and now its somehow a family business.  I remember President W. Bush whining that his girls hate being a President's kid because they want to live their normal life...which for them, meant throwing off all that pesky traveling the world business and going to college and smoking pot, I guess.  Poor babies.

A Preacher's Kid  is much like being a President's Kid, in a microcosmic type of way. 

You better believe it, I was held to a higher standard.  I was expected to know everyone, smile, hug the elderly members, be nice in youth group, be a leader among my peers, etc.  But, you wanna know what else I got?  A church family that absolutely adored me.  Lots of hugs.  Big bridal and baby showers.  Meals when you are sick.  I got to watch peoples' lives change.  Families heal.  Marriages come back to life. I also had information.  You can't help it.  I knew the inner-workings, where the church was struggling, how it was being rectified.  Its a very interesting business.

Being a P.K. wasn't an act for us.  It was a Dad and a Mom who were excited about their faith, shared that passion with us, and invited us to join them in their work of encouraging others.  The benefits far out way the "I just want to be like everyone else" issues.  But it starts with Living What You Preach.

Ariel is a myth.  That harsh, clueless Preacher is a myth too.  My family had a  heart and a soul.  I wouldn't trade my P.K. status for the world.

Alter Ego

I have an alter ego.

It's not a super hero, or being a spy or...like...Beyonce. 

Nevertheless, she exists.  My sister has one too. They are not cool alter egos.  They are evil, actually.  Want to meet mine?  Fine.  But prepare yourself.

Say hello to Miss Mayella, of To Kill a Mockingbird fame.

You see, sweet pickles, I have a Bad Hair alter ego.

I have brown, flat hair.  I cannot have bangs.  CAN  NOT have bangs.  Everytime I go into a salon, the stylist tells me to get them.  I say I can't and she promises me the sun, moon and stars.   I know better. The Stylist thinks I'm a mild mannered reporter, but I know my little secret.  I know that as soon as she cuts my hair, Miss Mayella will appear in much the same fashion as The Hulk...causing chaos and devastation wherever she goes.


I go home from the salon and within minutes my bangs have "fallen" or "deflated" if you will.  Miss Mayella rises again.  I wail, I sob, I lament.  Also, I am married, have I mentioned that?  So, I take it out on him, natch.  I try a round brush, volumizer, ancient hexes...nothing will get those bangs off my forehead.

 
At this point, there is only one thing a girl can do. I call my sister.  All I need to say is, "I have Miss Mayella hair."  Nothing else must be said.  Sometimes, I just quote the movie.  She answers the phone and I just say "You and your Miss Mayellas" or "I need you to bust up a chifferobe"  (Please...do yourself a favor...go watch To Kill a Mockingbird...best movie ever...Harper Lee is hilarious)

My sister has thick blonde hair that, in its evil state, can get very dry.  My sister's alter ego is Tanya Harding.  Remember her?  Yes? No?  Fine...

On those dark days, when Miss Mayella can't be tamed.  Sometimes, Tonya Harding is the only person who can calm her down.

Do you have an alter ego?  Hopefully, its a cool one.  And, if you are Beyonce...ohmygosh, I'm a huuuuuuuuge fan. 

Hobo Chic

Its 2011.  And, like that announcement, I am really really late in realizing that I am super dupes over this look:

Boot leg jeans with pointy high-healed shoes/boots.  I KNOOWWWW, some of you are offended and I'm sorrrryyyyyy.  But, I am about 3 years behind Paris, at least, so its best you listen to Auntie Sara.

What I love with a deep abiding passion are these jeans:

J.Crew Matchstick Jeans.  I wanted to be cutting edge, throw my avant garde spirit in the face of all those establishment types with their suits and their square views, and buy a pair of skinny jeans a couple months ago. (3 years behind Paris, don't forget...well, okay 5...now shut up about it)

However, I've had two babies and no longer look like Kate Moss.  So I bought some cheapy skinnies and spent most of my day hoisting them up.  Then, I tried on the Matchsticks.  They're not "skinny" per se.  They are faux skinny.  Anyone can wear them.  No REALLY.   I'm not editor of Glamour magazine telling you that even pudgy size 4 girls with no prospects can squeeze their massive thighs into them.  They work.

Here's the problem, I'm also not super dupes into this look:

Don't give him any money, he'll just blow it on skinny jeans

The Homeless Family look because I squandered our entire savings ($115) at J.Crew.  Although, I prefer to call it "Hobo Chic".

I don't know what to tell ya.  These Matchstick jeans work.  They don't need hoisting.  They feel like pajamas but look like you could go to a club if you didn't have spit up on your shirt.  But...$115???  Luckily for me, I found some at JCrew Outlet.  $40 plus 20% off!  So, I got them for like...um...cheaper than $40!  The only issue is that the fly randomly falls wide open.  I have gotten used to walking into choir practice, having a lady politely whisper in my ear, then turning toward the altos to fix my fly so the Tenors and Basses don't see.  Sorry Altos...its the high cost of Hobo Chic.

Just Trying to Help

Here's the thing.  I'm not very helpful.  I'm great at alot of things.  But I'm never the girl with the idea.  I wanted to do a blog, but I don't garden, I am averagely good at staying within a grocery budget, I am not a DIY person...like...at...all,  I'm super not into gripping self-revelations and transformations...like, "follow me as I spend the next 100 days trying to not eat pizza and the lessons I learn along the way".  I like my weaknesses and vices too much for that.


But, then, I realized something.  100% of blogs by stay home moms (Hi, I'm a stay at home mom) are helpful, but they only represent, say, 50% of the population.

This is a blog for the rest of us.  AND a blog where helpful people can go, when they totally forgot to repurpose their toothpaste tubes, to feel better about themselves.


But here's what's really wrong with me.  I find helpfulness irritating.  When I want to complain about how messy my desk is, sweet people will suggest their methods for labeling and filing.  I stare, glassy-eyed, and think about Disney World until they are done.  If I casually mention that my daughter can't keep her shoes in one place, cherished loved ones will give me all the tips from Family Fun on turning shoe-finding-time into a song or a chart or a game.  I stare, glassy-eyed, and think about making yelling at my friends to stop talking into a song or a chart or a game.

A Helpful Family running to the mailbox for the next Family Fun issue

Mean, right?

My saving grace is that, in being honest with how bad I am at stuff and being gracious enough to not offer advice to people on how to do stuff better, I make the world a better place.  I make my friends and loved ones take a look at their organized desks and charts and songs and realize, "Hey, you know what?  I'm not so bad." 

And so, to The Helpful reading this blog, I say, "You're Welcome" and "You are in for a real treat if you stick with me" and "Can I borrow 5 dollars because my purse is a mess and there is gum stuck to my credit card."

First Post

This is getting your picture "made", in my mind

Welcome to Yankee Peach!  I'm a Yankee, navigating the charming and complicated world below the Mason-Dixon line.  Why I have to navigate a place that is technically still in my country of birth, I have no idea.  What I do know, is that my library has a genre section called "Southern".   That I now know what the term "Pillowcase Dress" means...and that I like them.  That I get my picture "made", not taken.  That I have to apologize most of the time for humor that, back home, was probably considered mild but comes across slightly acidic when mixed with sweet tea. That the only people who care about the Mason-Dixon line are the ones who live below it. That the people are polite but distant for a little while, but then before you know it, you can't go anywhere without getting a big hug and your heart blessed.  Oh...I also learned that getting your heart blessed is not always a good thing, but the hugs are still nice.

However, this blog is not about The South.  I am a successful Yankee Peach because I observe.  I try to handle my alien encounters with a sense of humor and a lesson learned.  Sounds like a sitcom, doesn't it?  Don't worry, keep coming back here, and you will learn my theories about sitcoms and life.

Everyone has a blog.  I'm late to the party.  Everything I read said that my blog name should be catchy and state my intent as a blogger.  I failed...bless my heart...but here is what you will NOT find on my blog.

1.  Poems that I have written myself
2.  Wistfulness
3.  Helpful tips on saving money, cleaning your home, raising your children, recycling, filing your insurance claims, being a better friend.  I stink at all those things. 
4.  Posts about how awesome I am in a veiled attempt to make you think how awesome you aren't
5.  More than 30% negativity

There!  That should rope everyone in and keeping you begging for more!