For the .005% of you who guessed correct, this is me. Your’s truly. And this has got to be the Holy Grail of embarrassing pictures. In fact, I dare you to show me a worse one. It could be fun. I could start a poll and the best (or worst) picture could win a prize.
In attempt to make me feel better when first seeing this picture, my brother’s girlfriend Kate once told me I looked like the cutest Hanson brother.
It was my thirteenth birthday party if you couldn’t count the candles. When I say ‘party’ I’m not referring to my 30 best friends most 13 year old girls have. Notice the table attendees? Probably not. Just the family. I wonder why. I also wonder why my mom ever let me out of the house this whole year. This may be the sole picture/reason I have questioned homeschooling for Holden. Lord, have mercy on his adolescence.
My mom had some strange obsession with making birthday cakes to look like big poofy skirts of the barbie doll stuck in the middle. They totally would have made an “Entertaining” Pinboard in 1999. This was probably the same barbie used a few times before. Parents do that you know, hide toys and bring them out later to trick you into thinking it’s something new and exciting.
Wait, I was wrong about recycling that Barbie.
This one is Princess Jasmine. I think I was 5. I told you my mom was obsessed.
Get to the good stuff.
Why on earth would I post the one picture I swore to secrecy? Anyone who is exposed to the internet could see this?
This post right now is going to be primarily about me, but I am not a vain person. I couldn’t make that point clearer without taking it to the extreme. And, if it made you laugh, or hide, then I’ll take it.
So who am I? I don’t know the one point in life when a person can be defined. When do you know ‘who’ someone is? When they turn 5? When they become engaged? How about when one becomes a parent? When they die? It’s a question that may go unanswered for a long, long time. And is someone defined by what you see? Partially if you are or have to be a visual person. Brown eyes. Blonde hair. 5’2.
I think for the sake of this blog, when I describe someone, I’ll try my best to speak of them as something ongoing, something that continues to grow and form every day. That leads me to another unsolvable and highly debatable question- do people change? I’m saving this one for a later post.
The past 25 and a half years have probably contributed if not molded who I am right now, but I’m not going to waste a breath educating you on where I lost my first tooth, had my first kiss, or even attended college and all that jazz. I’m sure some of those stories will come up later on. Nontheless, let’s begin. This is me as of now- this is who I am and what I know of myself as of June 2012.
My name is Samantha Frances, and I am 25 years old. I live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. This is home for me. This is home for my son. I grew up with a father in a collegiate coaching career, which meant my family lived many places across the United States. Always something new and exciting. The majority of my childhood was spent in non other than South Bend, Indiana; call it Mishawaka if you will, or the “Princess City” as I was corrected before. It was there I learned right and wrong. So, I would describe myself as having traditional Midwestern values at heart yet I am very open-minded. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re white, black, gay, or straight. I am a humanitarian.
Me right now. The me I know right now is Christian. I pray a lot. I pray about everything. You give me something you need me to pray for and you bet you’re ass I’ll do it. I believe in the power of prayer. My faith in Jesus has gotten me through some rough times, my friend.
The me right now is very much a multi-tasker. I am a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a neighbor, and a friend. I am a real estate agent. I am a self-made interior decorator and expertise crafter. I am a painter. I am a reader and I am a thinker. I am a facebook-aholic and I can pin faster than I’ll Have Another can run. I don’t tweet.
I am a mom. I have become a better me. The way I feel I am is an enhanced, more intricate version of the way I was before. Instead of thinking before speaking, I think five times before speaking. My senses are stronger. I like to compare myself to the Twilight characters once the humans turn into vampires. Don’t act like you don’t read the books or at least have watched a movie, or two, or three… But here’s the comparison, I’m deeper in all aspects of myself now. Spiritually, emotionally, intellectually, and every other word you can add an “-ly” to at the end. As a mom, I feel like myself now more than I ever have been before. And as a divorced mom, I’m ten times more myself now than ever.
Adjectives. I am happy. I am outgoing. I am creative. I am brave and resilient. I am wise because of experience.
Finally, I am a lover of all things kind.
I think of defining myself, and I wouldn’t be able to fully grasp what I am trying to say without my family and friends. They are my world. I will have many, many posts about the important people in my life. Back to the point, to me, you become a product of who you are around. Whether that changes you for the better or worse is ultimately your choice. Nature vs. nurture? You can probably tell I lean towards the side of nurture now that I am a parent, but I also backup nature on some subjects I feel strongly about. Take that Aristotle, I will contradict myself up and down all day long.
Remember, I am open-minded. This blog may have a lot to do with parenting sooner or later. But let me just say this: it doesn’t matter to me how you parent your child. It matters to me how I parent mine. I won’t judge. I may disagree with giving birth straight onto the ground so that Mother Earth is the first one to influence your baby like in some cultures, but whatever float’s your boat is fine by me. I think I’ll pass on eating the placenta too.
Okay! Now I feel like I’m getting somewhere… if anywhere. Did everything I say just make sense? Well. It’s a start.
Though, I just realized that the three pictures of myself (author of this blog) are probably the three worst I could have ever used to introduce myself. One right after 10 hours of suffering the most horrific, unmanageable pain in my life. Another the ugliest picture of myself known to a camera. And the third, when I was five with a face covered in some frosting.
So, I would like to go to bed feeling better about myself. In an effort to redeem any self confidence I have left, here’s a better and present picture.
Not without my main man though… the reason behind this blog. This was on Mother’s day 2012.
Do you like the picture? Every ugly duckling grows up sooner or later. Or gets their braces off. Or waxes their eyebrows. Or goes on accutane.