Holiday Outtakes

This holiday season wasn't just a generous time of gift-giving - it was equally as generous with fabulously terrible snapshots.  Inspired by my friend Sarah's recent sharing of her own unfortunate digital discoveries, I'd like to make your holidays a little merrier as well.  Isn't the picture above just as sweet as a sugar plum?

Think again.

Even though he has no idea what's going on, I still take Knox's facial expression as commentary on the proceedings.

If all else in life fails, at least I'll always know my mom thinks I'm funny.  And it's not because she's a lush.

Unsuccessfully trying to slink out of the picture.

There are plenty more where this came from.

 

As I realized Koby was sabotaging every picture, I squeezed him as hard as I could and grunted something like "Stop it, you idiot," thereby ruining this picture.

It's lucky we live in a digital age - I shudder to think of paying for rolls of developed film to find Koby winking at the camera in every shot.  Our marriage may not have survived the eighties.

A beautiful ten-point ... aunt.

Koby farted.

Product of Koby not wanting to get up to get a better angle and me not wanting to scooch across the floor.  Christmas laziness produces album un-worthy photos.  Unless you're making an Outtake Album, of course.

Product of me not wanting to stand up to capture Koby opening his big present.  Result is a picture of his big butt.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Rear.

First Noel

Three Christmases down, one still to go... Koby, Knox and I celebrated Christmas this year in Graham, Throckmorton, and then in Colorado City.  And I should say that we were lucky to do so - Koby and I caught a stomach bug a few days before... the most positive thing I can say about it is that we both jump-started some New Year's weight loss resolutions.  Thankfully, Koby's parents live close enough that they were able to come rescue Knox from what came to feel like our quarantined house.  Enough about that... the Austin Christmas is still TBD due to Koby's coaching schedule.  I'm still trying to make room in the house for the haul we already have.  Which is a problem I absolutely love.  I unabashedly love presents - presents for me, presents for others.  All presents.  PRESENTS!!!! 

What a great time we had with family this year!

122 Teenagers and Me

On some days, it's hard to be a high school teacher.

There's a few reasons for this.

The first reason is the one that comes from my frustrations, my inadequacies, the 'bad Christie' side of my brain.  And the reason is this:  it's really, really hard to be the most mature person in the room all day, every day.  Especially when one's 'co-workers' are hormonal, foul-mouthed, and tired teenagers.  (It doesn't help that by nature I am three of those four things as well.)  Some days it's really hard to stick up for the student the others are bad-mouthing, because everything they might say is true.  Some days it's really hard not to point out the correlation between their awful behavior and their insecurities.  Some days it's easier to take my frustrations out on them, like they do to me.  Some days it's challenging not to reciprocate the sarcasm.  (And some days I fail.)  It's hard to be a high school teacher on those days.

But the second is that I love hormonal, foul-mouthed, and tired people.  And the fact that the ones I work with every day are teenagers makes it hard to show that love.  When bad news just bursts out of their mouths because they need to tell someone, I can't hug them like I would my own baby when he was crying.  When they tell me they've never gotten anything they really wanted for Christmas, I can't buy them an Xbox, a car, or more time with their parents.  Some class periods I cannot give enough attention to all the kids who so desperately need and want it from me and I feel like a person being pulled from all sides.  When I see them hurting, some days I wish I was teaching kindergarten, not high school, and then I could hug them and hold them and wipe their tears.  It's hard to be a high school teacher on those days. 

The past few months have been the kind during which I felt a disconnect between what I knew was true (I am grateful for my job) and what I felt was true (but I am going to lose my mind if I have to go to first period for one more day).  Thank God (seriously, I'm thanking God here - I've been in prayer about this) I have finished the school days for the past few weeks with an attitude of satisfaction.  I can really feel my whole attitude has changed - my joy has been restored here.

Hopefully my incredibly honest post has not offended you, and if you have children in school, I'm sure your teachers are never thinking these things about your child.

Christmas Card Reject

I'd include Koby's and my rejected photos, but they fall on the 'unfortunate' side of rejected, rather than adorable.

Stolen Identity

Okay, I'll accept it: pregnancy and childbirth changes a woman.

I always promised myself I'd never be one of those moms; you know, the puffy-haired blonde ones with dark brown roots three inches long and bad haircuts, wearing mom jeans complete with the mommy-pooch of the stomach, looking harried and harassed with dark under-eye circles and a hoarse voice.

I told myself this, but I am realizing that these (we?) women venture out in public looking so for a reason.  It has come to my attention that pregnancy/motherhood has indeed taken its toll on my physique and appearance, and what's more, it is startlingly obvious to others.  I know this namely because of the interactions happening during times when it is required that I present my driver's license for identification purposes.

Here is my driver's license.  (Yes, I added a gratuitous inch to my height when I was 16 and filling out the paperwork.)  I look tan and happy because I've just returned from my Jamaican honeymoon.  I've been told it's a good picture.  So, gathering what I know about this picture (it's good), I can venture to say that I no longer look like this (good) because people literally do not believe that it is me.

When I was coming home from Helen's wedding in October, the man at the airline gate looked at my picture, then at my face, then at my picture (rinse, lather, repeat) for an uncomfortably long time before asking me for additional identification.  I promised him that it was me, but he didn't seem convinced.  I became a little panicky: it seemed like this could rapidly become a situation like one out of a 'stolen identity' movie and in those moments I saw myself battling police, FBI agents, and Russian spies, "I AM Christie Andrews!!"

Granted, I did look like this:

 Eventually, he believed me and I began what would be a much-delayed trip back to Texas.  Since that day, similar situations have occurred.  Today, in Walmart, I was trying to buy a bottle of wine in the self-checkout line when the lady came to check my I.D.  The same dance ensued: she glanced at my photo, took a long, hard look at me, and then, frowning slightly, looked back at my picture.  Repeat, repeat, repeat.  What?!

I mean, alright, I'm a little bit pale.  Night after night of interrupted sleep hasn't done wonders for my skin and I've got a few pounds to lose... and a trip to the hairdresser could be in order, but I AM Christie Andrews!!  Of course, it may have been harder to tell because I wasn't exactly smiling at the law-abiding WalMart employee. 

This is probably a more accurate depiction.  Maybe in some small way I should take it as a compliment?  Maybe parenthood has, in actuality, made me look like a 20 year old, still young and desperate enough to use a fake ID in WalMart to procure a three dollar bottle of merlot...  In any case, I'm willing to keep this new identity, occupational hazards notwithstanding.



 In other news, Christmastime is in full swing in the Andrews home.  In between chores today I'm wrapping gifts (not one of my talents, but I enjoy it all the same.  I like to think my juvenile skills inject some childlike wonder back into the holidays) and watching Love Actually on repeat.  And hanging Knox's new stocking!

Turns out it's not edible.

I haven't forgotten about my practice of simplicity - through some struggles with frustration, impatience, and self-doubt (see paragraphs on mommy jeans above) I'm learning to depend on God's daily provision.  Don't pray to be changed without expecting the opportunities. 

Simplicity has so much to do with joy - the kind that isn't situational.  A focus on this discipline fit so well within the month of giving thanks, and it was additionally enriched by the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, a present from my mother-in-law.  Simplicity and thanksgiving walk hand-in-hand: I'd highly recommend this book, even if you believe you don't have a single speck of beauty in your life.  Or maybe especially then.

Right now I'm thankful for the 16 pound baby sleeping on my left arm and in my lap, though he's making it very difficult to type.  'Til next time...