11.14.2011

How much time do you spend faking?

Something struck a chord with me today (you know it's going to be a super insightful blog when I start it off with a cliche).

It was Sunday, our family day (I have a very strict no one works on a Sunday rule) and I was walking into the fourth grocery store I'd been to in a matter of 30 minutes. OK, I lied, it was the third grocery store because I made a desperate plea at a beer, wine and cigarette carryout about five minutes before. (I think the carryout had bread though, so it could for all intensive purposes, be a 'grocery store.')

In case you live in a state other than Ohio (or for some odd reason your world doesn't revolve around the Buckeye State), we're all in a tizzy because Yuengling (America's oldest brewery) has finally made it's way to us. Draft hit bars on Halloween and bottles were supposed to decorate store shelves on Saturday. So being the dutiful  wife that I am, I left the husband with my father to watch their football teams play while I drove   all over hell and back around looking for said Yuengling.

Anyway, so I was walking into Kroger, my fourth and final stop, when I was basically trying to hold back tears because my feet were literally raw. Since we've been enjoying brisk fall weather the last few days, I decided it was time to bust out my favorite faux-leather, super snazzy, slouchy boots. They're crazy cute, but they always give me crazy blisters if I wear them too much before breaking them in again. (Which is basically what I do every.single.time).

But they're too cute not to wear the hell out of, especially since I was rocking my dutiful wife pink and glittery Tony Romo Jersey and a pretty pink bow. I felt girly, what can I say. (My husband bought the jersey for me as a gag gift one Christmas, but it's now become superstition that I have to wear it or I curse Romo).

So despite the fact that I basically lost all the skin on my pinky toes, I have gigantic blisters eating through the balls of my feet, I decided I was not going to be that girl. You know, the one that everyone is thinking "God, why is she wearing those heels, doesn't she know it's don't dress like a hoochie mama Sunday?" Who does she think she's fooling? Well, apparently everyone, because I even had a mom comment on how I could be walking in such high heels without breaking my ankle.

It made me proud.

But then it made me wonder. How much time in a day do we spend faking something? Whether it's protruding confidence for that Mr. Right, pretending to know what the hell you're doing at work or simply convincing you're husband that you're super into his boring sports stories, how much time are we wasting pretending to feel something or be someone we're not?

So I'm challenging you Chubby Vegan Mom friends, to get real. In an effort to hop back on the blogging train (after my 14-day-still-lingering illness left me keyboard stricken) and be less fake, I'm going to dedicate my posts this week to real things happening in my real life.

The rules are simple. Either leave me a comment detailing something in your life that you want to be real about or go all out and write a post of your own about getting real and leave a link to it in my comment. Next Sunday (supposing I have people play along), I'll compile a list of all you fabulous people who were brave enough to "get real" and share it with the rest of my readers.

Feel free to even give that cute little photo in the top right corner of this blog a right-click with your mouse, a "save image as" and then rock it on your blog too, whatever. This will be a lot more fun if we can reach out to more people, so feel free to click that little "tweet" button in the corner and share with your tweeps. The more real we get the more fun we'll have.

I'll start today by coming clean about my "look." Sure, my current Facebook photo has the right balance of sassy, sweet, mysterious and a wee-bit of "she was just caught in the moment looking wistful with that whisk" carelessness to it, but it really took a good 20 photos or more to make me not look like an ogre.

And how about those oh-so-adorable bangs and pig tails I'm rocking? Well, for starters, I do love my bangs, but I don't like washing them every 10 minutes, so they usually end up clipped to the top of my head giving me a weird, spazzy, did she stick her hand in an electric socket look to it. And those pig tails might have a sort of sexy anime look to them, but my long strands are usually pulled into a messy side ponytail that looks more like Punky Brewster gone wrong. And just look at those big blue eyes and my mischievous smirk, it's so quirky yet intriguing, right? Well, fear not, I'm usually rocking an awkward "what's the funny smell look" and I suffer from left-eye-doesn't-open-quite-enough-so-I-wind-up-looking-drunk-itis. Don't worry though friends, at 26, I still rock ribbons, so that pink bow is 100% Chubby Vegan Mom.

So let's hear it ladies, gentlemen, family and friends, what do you want to come clean about?

6 comments:

  1. I have a 5 year old son and a 3 year old little girl. When they're around the house, they run around in pajams or a big tee shirt most of the time. But then, when I take them out in public, I put the bows in the hair, the fancy shoes on and the little polo shirts and dresses. Its all completely fake though. I spend so much time worryign about making "us" look good to run errands that I'm usually running behind!

    -Erin

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  2. when I was four months pregnant with my first and still trying to hide it I fell victimn to the to high heels. I wore some tall pumps for a work meeting (which might have been fine if it werent nasty fall/winter weather) and ended up falling right on my behind. My "get real" moment happened with the doctor informed me I had a hairline fracture on my tailbone and had to sit on a doughnut for several months later. Not to mention how much more painful labor was with a damaged buttbone! From now on, I spare my body the pain and wear flats! Or wedges if I'm feeling daring! :P

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  3. After my son was born I went through a horrible period of post partum depression. I was a wreck, and it completely changed my life. I was convinced, though, that if anyone knew I would look like a bad mother and I desperately needed everyone to believe I was super-mom. So... I faked being ok for months, and as a result managed to delay getting the treatment I so desperately needed until it was too late. My delay literally caused my life as I knew it to crumble, and forced me to start over. If I had just been able to admit what was going on and stop trying to fake perfection, things would have been a lot different. I have managed to pick up most of the pieces of my life now, but my son lives states away because of what happened, and oh by the way, I fake being ok with that, too.

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  4. Although I love my precious 4 month old baby girl to death, just about every morning when she wakes me up by crying, I pretty much cry too. Just thinking of the long day that awaits me once I jump out of bed to be the perfect, young mom in public, makes me shed genuine tears. Also, when she was 3 weeks old,I took her with me to the grocery store. Being the new mother that I was I forgot to bring any kind of formula with me. So of course she woke up half way through our trip and threw a fit! She continued throughout the rest of the store, the checkout and all the way home in the car. I couldn't take the screaming anymore so I turned my music up really loud and cried and yelled out the whole way home begging her to stop! I never told anyone but close friends how I "handled" that situation for fear that Children Services would show up on my doorstep the next day! Wow... you're right we do all fake a lot! Lol

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  5. I completely understand about the post partum, I was an absolute wreck the first few months Pearyn was born. Between being a new mom, a vegan one and an already up-and-down kind of gal, it was almost more than I could handle. Not to mention most of the mom "friends" I had back then were either the most perfect moms in the whole world or just completely faking it (I vote for the last one). I felt like crawling out of my skin some days when Pearyn just wouldn't stop crying and I felt like there was something wrong with me for needing a break from my child. To this day I'm still not a "baby" person. Once they're like 12-18 months, I'm good, but before then they kind of freak me out. It's heartbreaking that yours caused much around you to crumble, I can only hope that the pieces are slowly coming back together. And I can't begin to imagine how hard it is to be away from your child, hopefully you have a strong support network now that you can vent some of those feelings to.

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  6. Oh Wifey, you're far from needing children's services. You're a wonderful young mother, but I feel bad that you feel like you have to be the perfect young mom out. I never thought about the added pressure you probably feel to prove people wrong, to show them that although you're slightly younger than some, that you can still build a solid and wonderful family. And don't worry about how you handled the situation, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't done it myself a few times. It gets easier, harder, better and way more frustrating all at once. You're just lucky to have some pretty awesome people along for the ride ;)

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