The Butterfly and the Bear

Put 'Em Up!

 When I was younger my Mother bought me and my sisters beach towels, each one had a different cartoon character on it so there would be no arguments over which towel belonged to who, we would know our towel by our character.  My towel was Bugs Bunny, my sister Robin’s towel was Yosemite Sam.  My older sisters and I thought this was hilariously appropriate considering the fact that Robin had red hair and a “mean” temper, similar to Yosemite Sam himself!  The fact is she didn’t really have a temper, however, tell a ten year old redheaded girl she resembles a small, angry, mustachioed man firing his pistols in the air and you will see someone blow a gasket.  I mean really, what little girl doesn’t want to look like that?!  

The fact is I am the one who feels like Yosemite Sam today.  I feel as if I am walking around half cocked with my pistols in the air ready to fire.  Forget a case of the “mean reds”, I have a case of the violent reds.  That man at the grocery store who parked in the space clearly marked “reserved for people with small children”, well as he nonchalantly and cavalierly strolled into the store I slashed his tires.  All of them.  The lady in the frozen food section squawking loudly on her phone?  I ripped it from her hands, threw it to the floor and even though it was smashed to pieces, I ground the heel of my shoe into it for good measure before stomping away.  Then the teenage boy who strolled past me and my Terr-bear in his stroller, carelessly swinging his lacrosse stick perilously close to us...well I tore it from his hands and cracked it in half over my knee.  Then for good measure I threw the two splintered halves out into oncoming traffic.  

Ok, I didn’t actually do any of the above.   But I did imagine indulging in these aggressive acts, vividly.  Acting out on these wonderfully wicked fantasies would be insane under any circumstances and particularly disturbing considering I have a 13 month old in tow.  As I sit here writing about how truly insane I feel, I hear my Mother’s voice in my head admonishing me to keep the blog positive.  Some days it just isn’t there.  There are days when I feel much more Yosemite Sam than Pollyanna.  What is amazing to me is I can be in a completely foul mood but one smile from Terr-bear can lift my spirits.  Luckily he is literally the apple of my eye and even though every stranger I encounter seems to be eliciting my ire, he is like a salve for my soul.  

Despite the fact that I have valium in the form of a 13 month old boy to calm and soothe me, I was trying to figure out why I am feeling so ferocious today.  I settled on two reasons, the first being the simple fact that it is the first day of my monthly gift and as cliched as it sounds, it does sometimes make me more on edge.  The second reason is not so easy to pin down.  I am still getting used to feeling emotions that previously I would have pushed down or soothed with food.  Before if I felt angry or anxious, I would tranquillize myself with a “treat”.  I would literally numb myself with either something sugary or something doughy.  Now, that is not an option.  Exercising, doing some yoga poses, writing, venting, these are my options now.  However, none seem to feel as immediately gratifying as eating ice cream or a slice of pizza, at least at first.  We all know this cycle, many people struggle with food being a crutch, at first it tastes great, you feel better, then you feel awful.  Either you feel too full or just polluted.  The last three months that I have been trying to make lifestyle changes (Ugh I sound so Oprah-y here) I have had to come to terms with my relationship to food and the way my moods are affected by food.  I have to actually allow myself to feel and experience what is bothering me and then work through it, not numb it down with food.  I guess I figured that since I had admitted I used food as a crutch I had won the battle.  In fact I have previously posted about how throughout my life I have medicated myself with food.  However, I am clearly still a work in progress, I suppose it will always be an issue for me, not something I can easily fix and forget.  

So, since it is 95 degrees and humid out, I simply didn’t feel like going for a long walk or doing some yoga poses right now.   And I’m afraid if I were to go all renegade on a bunch of rude and oblivious strangers I may end up in the clink, (and while Terr-bear looks good in stripes, I simply do not) instead I sat down and wrote this.  And I feel better!  The guns are back in their holsters, Yosemite Sam has left the building.  

Hurray For Hollywood!

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, growing up I was somewhat of a nerd.  I was chubby, wore my older sisters hand me downs and was shy and skittish.  So, you could say I wasn’t the coolest kid around.  Despite the fact that I knew I wasn’t cool, and the fact that all the other kids at school reminded me on a daily basis how very uncool I was, I still firmly believed that I was destined for greatness.  I knew, just KNEW, that one day someone would discover me and see past the mousey hair, the too tight and worn thin hand-me-down corduroy overalls, the last years Buster Browns and proclaim, “Now this kid has got MOXIE!”  and thus I would be discovered.  

Whenever we had a school talent show I was there, enlisting the help of my friend Stephanie we would lip sync to Madonna and I would spend weeks perfecting my moves and planning my outfit.  Because I wasn’t allowed to dress remotely fashionably, let alone like a child prostitute, the fact that I had an excuse to dress up in lace leggings, studded belts and wear makeup made the whole Madonna thing even better.  I HAD to dress that way in order to get into character!  And for the whole day of course, not just for the show!  Surprisingly my Mother actually let me do this on several occasions.  And was it any surprise I dressed as Madonna for 2 Halloweens in a row?  I fantasized about my Mother taking me on “go-see’s”, a term I heard Jacob use, a boy in my class who did some children’s modeling and whose father was a photographer.  I day dreamed while the teacher prattled on at the front of class of being the star of a sitcom, of belting tunes out on Broadway to enraptured audiences, or a talent scout hearing me audition for the school play and proclaiming, “Who is she?!  She has the voice of an angel!”  In the fourth grade I asked for a Casio keyboard for Christmas so I could hone my skills, which unfortunately never progressed further than me making ear piercing songs based largely around incorporating the key that sounded like a dog barking.  Genius.  I actually “wrote” a song for the end of the school year, some atonal drivel about summer coming and leaving school behind, when I stumbled through the painful piece for my sister Robin, she having full knowledge of my social status at school replied firmly but kindly,  “Don’t play that at school.  That was really awful.”

 So you can imagine how elated I felt when in fifth grade Jacob announced to the class that his Father was coming to school to shoot a cover for Spotlight magazine, and we were all going to be on it!  “THE” Spotlight Magazine!  The very one in doctors offices everywhere, pored over by millions!  Ok, maybe not millions, but to me back then it was the equivalent of me landing a Vanity Fair cover today.   It was to be called “Johnny Applesauce” with Jacob as Johnny and the rest of us were going to be the other kids in the background.  In the picture Jacob/Johnny has spilled and slipped on his applesauce in the cafeteria and we other kids are all around him pointing and laughing.  Easy enough, right?  Now, I knew this was my big break, I HAD to make the most of the situation.  So while I was usually the type of kid that followed direction and listened to adults, this day I decided I had to take my fate into my own hands.  So when Jacob’s dad told us all to look at Johnny, point and laugh, when the shutter of the camera went off I stared directly into it and flashed my biggest, cheesiest smile.  After a few pictures his Dad stopped and said, “Sweetheart, don’t look at me, look at Jacob.” Ok, I got it!  Whoops, sorry.  So once again the camera starts clicking and I turn to the side and flash my big dumb grin right into the camera.  At this point he gets ticked off, so he looks at my teacher like, “DO SOMETHING” So Mr. McCabe bellows, “Mandy!  Look at Jacob! POINT!  And LAUGH!”  Easy man, I got it, OK!  So we resume taking the picture and what do you think my 10 year old self did?  Well, naturally I looked directly at the camera of course and gave it all I had.  At this point my teacher and Jacob’s dad are ready to blow a gasket.  Looking back I am amazed that I persisted with my little plan, clearly I had lofty aspirations and I fancied this as my one way ticket to hollywood.  Eventually they barked me into submission and I looked down at Jacob and laughed and pointed, it was nearly impossible for me to resist the urge to turn my face towards the camera, but out of fear of the wrath of my teacher I finally did.  After all he was in charge of casting for the school play, didn’t want to piss him off too much.  

Eventually the magazine came out and suffice it to say, I never did get that big break.  I actually tried to google that Spotlight for Kids magazine recently, I’d love to see it, alas, I had no luck finding it. When I was retelling this story to my sister a few days ago I was both amazed at the audacity of my 10 year old self and also kind of proud of her.  Despite the fact that I was painfully shy, had few friends and was bullied, I always had some level of confidence in myself.  Every year I went out for every talent show, I sang the loudest in chorus, I tried out for all the school plays.  I had faith in myself and even though I sometimes felt like a loser, I liked myself.  I DID have moxie!  And while I always say I wasn’t a very funny child, looking back, clearly I did have a pretty twisted sense of humor.  A few months back I was singing show tunes to Terr-Bear and Robin chuckled and said to me, “Mandy, you missed your calling, you would be excellent on one of those children shows.”  And I thought, dang it!  Why wasn’t that one of my responses to the Myers-Briggs questionnaire?!  However, for now I am content just performing for an audience of one little bear and proud of the fact that under all the stress, anxiety, fear, and doubt, I always really did like myself and knew my own self worth.