I'm Not Famous

I feel like I may have mentioned this before, but maybe I have only mentioned it to Dave.  Although, I'm pretty sure my little sister knows this quirk about me all too well.   You see, I have this problem.  I used to secretly, not so secretly, hope that "people" would be watching my life and finally realize what a great spy I could be--recognizing my "raw talent"-- and then recruit me and give me all the training I would need to be the next James Bond.  (Although now that I'm publicly writing this, I have officially dashed all hopes of it ever happening.  The words "Corynne" and "spy" are forever cached together on this thing we call the World Wide Web and my incognito status is forever compromised.)(I just can't let go of the dream, though, you know?!)  And if not that, I sort of always have this kind of ridiculous notion--or feeling, if you will-- that people are watching my life as if it were a very interesting movie.

So in that spirit I boarded a train the other day--feeling as if the whole world was watching me in interest.  I was catching BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) into the city--all by myself--to meet my love and feeling so official, and grown up, and cool and stuff.  The train was packed--standing room only--so there I stood, hanging on to one of the rails and trying to act nonchalant.  I saw some cool scenery and decided to take a picture.  While my camera was out, I noticed my reflection and I just love taking pictures of reflections, so I snapped off a couple of shots when suddenly a horrible realization swept over me and kind of took my breath away: I was not a cool, hip, grown up person that people were admiring at all!  I was still my 12 year old self on that ferry boat to Catalina Island.  The one where I had struck up a conversation with a kind old man and at the end of the trip he told my mom what a very nice son she had.  I clearly remember wearing a flannel and a horrible baseball cap that day with bluntly cut, shoulder length hair.  Not so different from my ensemble today... Today I was older, with a little more of a chest, but still looking no more than 16 years old with my hair pulled back in a bun and stuck through the hole of a surf hat.  Jeans, boots, a grey t-shirt, and a blue jacket/sweater thing completed the outfit. The only difference today was, the kind man I was talking to on this train wasn't quite as old as the one on the ferry.  Try as I might, I'm still the same old person who is just as likely to be mistaken for a boy today as I was back then.  Truthfully, I kind of laughed at myself in that moment.  It was a good dose of reality.  "You are not living in a movie, Corynne.  You are simply standing on a train looking slightly dopey, but having a great time.  Enjoy the moment.  Sheesh!  No one else can enjoy it for you by watching it."

In the end, I got to have a cup of coffee with my favorite guy who likes me just the way I am: not a spy, not a boy, not that cool. Just plain old Cryn.  But he makes me feel like a movie star!  I'm really lucky.

We Go Sledding and Caiden Snags Some Fame

Most of the places I lived while I was young involved snow.  Sledding was second nature.  It was especially fun to be towed along on inner-tubes by our horse or my dad's truck.  Sadly, my children know nothing about snow.  They've only had one or two encounters with the fuzzy, white stuff.  One of the times was when we pulled off the highway while driving through the Grapevine to get to southern California.  We stopped for 3 minutes so they could touch it and throw a snowball.  The other time was on a brief trip to Kansas when a light snow fell, but promptly melted as it hit the ground.

So when I noticed that a neighboring town was hosting a "Winter Wonderland" and parade with a sledding hill involved, I knew we had to go.

Elliott had no problem sledding like a pro, but Caiden got cold feet at the top of the hill.  There were tears and everything.  But I wasn't going to let her give in to her fears, so I waited with her at the top until she went.  I wasn't going to give up; and I wasn't going to let her give up either.  After all, its not everyday that you find a 40 ton mound of snow to sled on in 65 degree weather.

After about 15 minutes or so, Caiden mustered up her courage and slid down the hill.  At the bottom, we were met by a journalist who told me he had "watched the whole thing unfold."  Apparently, he was touched by Caiden's little journey and wanted to put it in the paper.

They put a couple of pictures of her in the Marin Independent Journal with a little caption, her name, and a bit of her struggle.

 (IJ photo/Frankie Frost) Frankie Frost

(IJ photo/Frankie Frost) Frankie Frost

And so, one of Caiden's life long ambitions has been fulfilled.  She told me some time ago: "I want to be famous.  I want people to know my name."

Well Caiden, now they do.  Congratulations. You made it.

The Time I Missed Caiden's Birthday and Made it Up to Her

When I went to that Pastors' Wives' Conference last month I missed Caiden's 5th birthday.  So sad!  Dave was here, though, and he brought cupcakes to her school and took Elliott and Caiden out to Caiden's favorite place to eat: "Sliders."  They took a super cute picture of her there and gave her presents and everything.

I told her that we could have a party when I got back, but everything got so busy on my return that a whole month flew by before I knew it.  I started thinking that maybe what they had already done was enough birthday stuff, but then Caiden kept saying, "I had my fake birthday.  I haven't had my real birthday yet."  And things like that.  When I told her that she did, in fact, already have her "real" birthday, she started crying.  "No, I didn't!" she said. "I didn't get to have my party yet and I still don't feel five!"

Well, of course, after hearing that, I had to give the girl some closure so we threw her a tea party themed birthday party a full month after the fact.  She loved it.  And now she finally feels five.

But its kind of funny because as a result of celebrating her October 2nd birthday in November, she now associates her birthday as being near Christmastime since all the stores were decorated at that time...  I may have psychologically damaged her just a little bit. :)

I'm Not A Model, But I Do Know How To Wash My Face... Sorta.

This is embarrassing, but relevant: I went to modeling school when I was 15 or 16 years old.  Its not what you think.  They let everybody in.  Thats how they make their money.  It certainly wasn't because I was pretty or cool or anything like that.  In fact, when I was 14 years old I was mistaken for a boy!  And that was well past the age when I had wished I was one.  I had also been told I resembled The Hanson Brothers--It wasn't a good time period for me.

I grew up with an amazing mother.  She built houses with my dad; was the foreman on a cement pool installation company when they met;  installed flooring like carpet, tile, and wood throughout her life; and even did a stint as a taxicab driver during her youth.  My mother could do just about anything and still, to this day, has occasional wrestling matches with my older brother.

I was a tomboy--not exactly through and through, because I hated spiders, didn't really love to play outside, and have a vivid memory of sitting on the stairs, when I was about 5 or 6, totally distraught over my large thighs (ha!)--but I always resented the fact that because I was girl, I couldn't be a cowBOY.  A cowGIRL with piggy tails just isn't as cool.  I resented the fact that I couldn't take my shirt off when I was hot or pee standing up (although I've heard that my mom could do it like a champ back in the day).  I wanted to be just like my mom; strong like my mom and be a laborer, like her.  But she never encouraged that.  "No, Corynne," she'd say, "You don't want to do this kind of work.  I want you to do something more ladylike."  At the time, it frustrated me. I thought I would prove her wrong, but I never did.  My mom seemed to have a knack for having a bead on what her kids would pursue, but that's another story.

Anyway, I didn't know it at the time, but I needed that fool modeling agency to make me comfortable in my skin, my girl-skin.  It was something my mom didn't really know how to teach me.  But that's okay.  I didn't even realize I needed it until years afterward.  Modeling school was like a ladies finishing school for me.  At the time, I think I thought I had a shot at being famous or publicly touted as a true beauty, but in the end, I am happy to settle with just being comfortable as a female.  I learned a lot of things during my "modeling training."  For instance:  I had never had a face washing routine, tweezed my slight unibrow, known anything about makeup or how to wear it, manicured my nails, or had a proper answering machine message.  These were all things I learned at the agency.  Some of them are shallow and dumb, but to this day, if you call my cellphone and get the machine, you will hear a rather proper greeting, which I get teased about all the time, but still can't quite seem to shake the habit of.  I learned that at modeling school! (Not to mention how to walk down a catwalk with attitude...)  Now, I know that all of this sounds so ridiculous, but would it help if I told you that I was also home-schooled and never grew up around kids my own age?  I had no peers until 10th grade.

Everything I know about hygiene and presentableness comes from that modeling agency, my little sister (in-law) who is a make up artist, and a few consultations at Sephora.  So, I'm a prime candidate for improvement and enlightenment when it comes to these things.

So, here's the real reason of my story.  I was going to tell you that I went away for a few days to a pastor's wives' conference and while I was there (with hundreds of other women) I had an enlightening discovery!

One of the mornings I was there, a friend/mentor of mine and I were discussing face washing in our shared bathroom for 6:  "I love the way it feels after I wash my face, but I hate actually doing it," I complained.

"Why is that?" she asked.

"Because its so messy.  Water gets everywhere!"

"Well, that's because you're splashing water everywhere like that!" she chided.  "I don't know how you even do that."

So, my kind friend proceeded to explain how a real lady washes her face and I was just absolutely stunned. I never knew there was another way to do it besides splashing myself silly with water, and then sudsing up with soap as bubbles and water drip down my arms and face and neck and then splash-splashing again to rinse.

Apparently, all you need to do is get your hands wet (not your face!), add soap, lather a little in your hand, apply to your face and then wet a washcloth with warm water and gently wipe it off.  So soothing, so relatively dry and civilized.  I'm almost 30 years old, people.  This is a revelation!  Some things you just can't learn at school.

(me on the right)

Adventures with Pumpkins

Saturday is always a bit of a let down for me as a pastor's wife.  I still always wake up with that Saturday hopefulness and sense of adventure, but as the sleep fog begins to clear, I remember that my adventure buddy still has to study.  Turns out its not Saturday at all--just another work day disguised with a really, really exciting name.  Its weird how that Saturday mentality just sticks with me even when it no longer holds the same meaning as it used to.  (I'm not complaining... just explaining.)

This Saturday, as the sleep-fog wore off and the subtle disappointment crept in, I became inspired to enjoy the fall atmosphere with the kids, even if it was that tricky day of the week.  So I got up, made waffles(!), and we headed off to the pumpkin patch.  We included our friend Caroline.  

 

I still missed my adventure buddy, but that doesn't mean we can't still have fun without him.  I think I'm finally doing better than the band tour days when I would just sit on my bed and sob while he was away.  Does this mean I'm growing up?!