The House That Built Me.

There is an amazing Miranda Lambert song that is out right now called "The House That Built Me." It is absolutely incredible, and though she didn't write it, and even if you totally loathe country music, I sincerely encourage you to step outside of your norm, take a trip down memory lane, and give it a listen:

 

The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert

I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these handprints on the front steps are mine

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar
I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard

I thought if I could touch this place or feeling

This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years
From Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Plans were drawn and concrete poured
Nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama’s dream

I thought if I could touch this place or feeling
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could walk around in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

I thought if I could touch this place or feeling
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Sticks and Stones.

I've only had one broken bone in my life, but do tend to bruise pretty easily. I don't know if it's the fair skin, or that I'm a klutz, or just that I'm a girl, since a lot of girls say the same thing. At any rate, I can look down any given day and see all kinds of random bruises that I can't remember getting. They don't always hurt, but they're ugly and sometimes they last a long time.

Especially having red hair, I've been ridiculously fortunate not to be the brunt of nasty jokes much throughout the years. Maybe this is because I laugh at my own self a lot. Maybe peeps are considerate enough to save their ugly talk for behind my back. Or maybe -- just maybe -- it's because I try really hard to follow the rare and consistent traits that I grew up watching my parents and sister live daily and seemingly effortlessly, and I try to be kind (though I don't always succeed, especially when I'm stressed out). I'm forever laughing with people about my faults, and often pointing them out to those around me, but am not proud to say that especially in the past, I tend to be pretty sensitive when facets of me that I view as negative are pointed out, even by friends who mean well. But basically, when it comes down to it, I have really, really escaped a lot of life's barbs, and I am utterly grateful for that.

My precious sister got picked on a good bit in elementary and middle school. She is absolutely the sweetest person in the universe, so I think it offended me almost as much as it did her. She was very shy and quiet at the time, so I don't think that helped matters much. Thankfully, she came out of her shell and blossomed into a gorgeous, more outgoing but still very kind young lady, and boom, the jokes stopped. I don't think I ever realized, though, how much those jokes could have hurt her. I mean, I still haven't talked to her about it (I'm typing in a very stream-of-consciousness way right now, so I'm sure we'll discuss it soon), but good grief. It had to hurt. Basically a stick figure of a child, I often took up for her on the bus or wherever, using words as my fight and praying I wouldn't get beat up by the instigators.

Yesterday, I was insulted worse than I can ever remember. I also experienced raw, emotional hurt in a way I can never remember hurting. I don't know if the (not particularly nice in general) person knew she ruined my day, and possibly month, but she did. It was just a thoughtless comment, but absolutely unneccessary, and it made me feel fat and slobby and small (but definitely not in a good way), and like the biggest loser (but also not in a good way).

After crying pretty hard about the rude comments and seeking immediate e-counseling from 10 of my closest friends, including my mom & sister, I realized: there's something to that old saying.

Sticks and stones -- or in my case, being thrown from a horse -- may break my bones, but words won't break me.

(I wouldn't go so far as to say words can never harm us, because the initial bruise is pretty nasty. But thankfully, we have our circle of peeps who take care of us with the effect that rubbing alcohol and antiseptic have on bruises and cuts. And after a little bit, the bruises fade, the cuts stop bleeding, and hopefully later, we can look back at that experience as un-fun, but not life-altering.)

So what lessons did I learn from being school-bus-picked-on at 33 1/2? 
1. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.
2. Remember to be kind to others, because what we think are lighthearted comments may be really hurtful to them.
3. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.
4. Keep your "surmising," as my Nan would say, to yourself.
5. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.
6. Keep Taylor Swift in your iTunes. Always.
7. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.

Because in the end, thank the Lord, bruises really do fade and cuts heal. Especially with the soothing ointment of wonderful friends and family.

High Five.

Five things I'm thankful for today are:

1. A father who knows his stuff, especially when it comes to cars.

2. A sister who is genuinely sweeter than and has the purest heart of anyone I've ever met.

3. A mother who listens and loves, even when she might not understand or approve.

4. Blood pressure medicine.

5. The spirit of the area I'm from and live in.

FLASHBACK: April Fool's

As promised, I'm flashing back to some significant moments / trips / ideas / experiences as I have time. And when better to do so than when the meds kick in and is doesn't hurt to type?

My first flashback ties in with my most recent blog post, "A New Look."

On April 1 of this year, I decided it was high time to unleash 32 1/2 years of my mischevious nature the world. (Can you believe I'd NEVER done a for-real April Fool's joke till then? Such a waste.)

Anyway, with a little help from the awesome ALong, I decided to post on Fbk that I'd gone blonde.

Those of you who don't know me very well may not realize what a significantly big deal this was for peeps around me. My hair is red -- or as my Grandma Johnson always said, "auburn" -- and it's natural. I've never minded it, because a) I never got picked on about it, and b) always got plenty of positive attention for it. To boot, my hair is naturally curly, so I still get grief every time I straighten it and happen to be around my Nan or my Daddy. (Because heaven forbid a girl have more than one hair option after 22 years of the same old thing.) But anyway...you get the picture.

I thought when posting the statement on my Facebook status (Rebekah is blonde, and has decided that they DO have more fun!), I'd just get some fun feedback from my friends.

Well, that's pretty much an understatement of the results. The whole scenario was hilarious. A lot of peeps didn't believe me, so I (confidentially) begged every graphic artist type I knew to puh-leeze photoshop Reese Witherspoon's hair on one of my pics. Thankfully, Shannon's friend was about to do it quickly, so up it went.

Well, from there, the comments exploded. They included:

The skeptical:

• "This is fake! I see mountains in the background."


• "Is that a wig? That sort of looks like a wig..."

The incredulous:

• "You really DID it?! Wow!"


• "That red hair was so unique...but this looks good, too."

And the complimentary:

• "Whoa! You've never looked so good in your LIFE!"


• "Amazing! You should've gone blonde YEARS ago!"

Etc.

Finally, it was the complimentary that did me in. After a couple of days of gushing raves about how I looked better than ever, I became depressed at the same old dog staring back at me every time I passed a mirror. So I admitted it was a joke, and that was that. (Or so I thought.)

Somewhere around the-jig-is-up time, I was on the phone with my mom, who had found a great deal on some expensive towels I like and was seeing if I wanted any. My sister called in while we were talking, so I told my mother I'd call her back. My conversation with my (usually ridiculously sweet and mild) sister went something like this:

• RJ:
  Hey Kim!
  


• KJW:
  WHAT?! I cannot BELIEVE this. After all the pushback I got for a few highlights to cover my GRAYING hair, you go and DYE YOURS BLONDE????? TELL ME this is a joke.
  


• RJ:
  (laughing) Oh, you saw Facebook?
  


• KJW:
  YES, I saw FACEBOOK. This is unbelievable!!!!
  


• (in the background) Kim's husband Steve: Is it real? Well, IS IT?
  


• RJ:
  Kim. Of course it's not real. Can't you tell that's a Photoshopped pic? Why would I do that and not tell you?!
  


• KJW:
  Oh! Ok.
  (yells: Steve, it's not real!)
  


• RJ:
  If you saw it, do you think Mother did? Maybe I should call her back now...

So call my (typically sweet and gentle) Mother back I did. And that, my friends, is when the REAL fun began. THAT conversation followed THIS general line:

• RJ:
  (laughing) Hey Mother! That was Kim -- she'd just seen Facebook. She thought my April Fool's joke was REAL!!!! Hahahahahaha!
  


• Mother:
  WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WASN'T REAL? THAT WAS FOR APRIL FOOL'S? I WORRIED, I STEWED, I HEMMED AND HAWED AT THE OFFICE. I MADE MY COWORKER PULL IT UP TO 1,000% TO MAKE SURE IT WASN'T A WIG! AND IT'S NOT REAL????
  


• RJ:
  Um...are you still in the department store?
  


• Mother:
  YES, I'M STILL IN THE DEPARTMENT STORE! Buying towels for YOU! Who almost gave me a HEART ATTACK. I told them at the office: "That is the WORST frost job I have EVER seen in my LIFE!"
  


• RJ:
  Mother, it was a joke.
  


• Mother:
  A joke? A joke. It was a JOKE?! Well, I hope you got a good laugh out of it, little missy. Do you know what people would DO to have your hair color? And you have it NATURALLY!
  


• RJ:
  And it's still its natural color. That was Reese Witherspoon's hair Photoshopped on my face.
  


• Mother:
  Little lady, ANYONE can be a blonde. ANYONE. But not everyone can have your shade of red hair. If you EVER get a frost job like that...
  


• RJ:
  I don't think they call them frost jobs anymore...
  


• Mother:
  It doesn't matter WHAT they call them! It's awful, your hair is perfectly FINE like it is, and ANYONE can be a blonde.
  


• RJ:
  Um, are you still in the store?
  


• Mother:
  Yes.
  


• RJ:
  And there's probably one or two blondes who can hear you?
  


• Mother:
  :: sigh :: Well, maybe. But THEY KNOW. They chose that hair color because they didn't have hair like YOURS. NATURALLY.
  


• RJ:
  Should we talk later, maybe?

And on it went. For about two weeks.

The hits kept on rollin' -- I actually got a CALL from a cousin whom I NEVER hear from personally. I didn't even have the number he called from in my PHONE. I've basically communicated with his wife or his assistant for the past five or so years, unless we were in person, at a family gathering. But he called all by himself...for this?! Oh, but yes.

My Nan gave me about the same drill as my mother, but louder.

(And people, I'd just like to say: blonde hair is beautiful. As is straight hair. My family just has some sort of...obsession?!...with curly red hair. So do NOT take it personally. As Angela says about this and the ex-boyfriend who flipped every time I got my split ends cut, "Apparently, it's really not your hair after all. It's everyone else's, to tell you what you can or can't do with it.)

So from this experience, I learned why it took me 32 1/2 years to do an April Fool's joke. And why the next one probably won't come around till I'm 64 1/2. Those suckers are EXHAUSTING!

Also, actually getting highlights this summer to cover my gray strands was much less painful than it could've been.

Thank you, April 1, 2009. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.