I, Jess Brown, Unapologetically Love...

It occurs to me on a semi-regular basis that I am not the coolest cat on the planet. I mean, hell, I just referenced a cat as a mark of awesomeness (which I do think cats are pretty awesome). Anyway, I lean toward the opinion that since I recognize that I'm somewhat of a less than ideal human being, doesn't that in and of itself earn me numerous cool points? In the last hour or so, I tallied up a few aspects of my life that people would make fun of me about; however, I can't help but love these quirky traits regardless. There are too many uncool aspects of my life to name, but here a few important ones that make me proud.

1.  Hootie and the Blowfish: I can remember where I was the first time I heard "Hold My Hand" (Disc Jockey at Pemberton Square Mall in Vicksburg, circa 1994). My Daddy bought me the CD then and there. I didn't even have to do extra chores. Later that year, my grandparents entered my sister and me in a contest, and I won two tickets to see them in concert--the first rock concert I ever attended without a parent next to me. Honestly, I'm not sure what was better--the concert itself or the t-shirt I bought and wore on my first day of 8th grade.

2. Not having (or wanting) a smart phone: In fact, I rarely check text messages, answer phone calls, or anything of the sort. I'll even take this a step further and admit that I rarely carry the crappy cell phone I do have, and if I'm carrying it, seven times out of ten, the battery is dead. If I need to look something up, I can either wait until I get home or find one of the millions of people attached to his smart phone and charm him into looking up the information for me. Charming somebody works 99.999 all of the time.

3. Knowing technology does not make one smarter: Dumber and lazier, maybe, but not smarter. Don't believe me? Sit in on one of my classes where students have cell phones, ipads, Kindles, laptops, and many other devices all at their disposal. My students know that the way to my heart is through the pages of an actual opened book.

4. Being frugal: Unlike most people I know, I pay cash for everything. In fact, the only debt my husband and I have is our mortgage, which will be paid off in ten years. We do not finance cars, clothes, home repairs, trips, or anything of the sort. If we can't cough up the cash, we can't afford it and therefore do not purchase it. Sure, I often wear last season's skinny jeans, and my car is one step above something the Flintstones would drive. As long as I have some money in the bank, I'll sport a Hypercolor t-shirt from Goodwill and ride a bicycle 30 miles to work if I have to.

5. My child's eating habits--I am OBSESSED with what my child eats. I comb through recipe books and the organic produce section trying to come up with creative and healthy dishes for Jude to try. Some of them he actually likes. It's actually become a favorite hobby of mine.

6. New Orleans--Sure it can smell bad and some have deemed it one of the most dangerous cities in the nation, but I love that place more than any other on Earth. Its culture, food, atmosphere, architecture, and shopping  make New Orleans a place I want to aspire to one day live.


7. Accepting something for what it is--Not too long ago, I innocently made a remark about Chik-Fil-A kids' meals. I like them because they offer grilled chicken and fruit, which makes me feel less guilty about giving Jude fast food in those times where I'm in a pinch. One person actually retorted with "Ugh--Gay Chicken," then went on to admit how guilty it feels to think about how good the food is. Aside from my obvious thought of "Bitch, please," I couldn't help but feel sorry for this person. What's there to feel guilty about? If you're hungry, eat. If you want chicken, a hand spun milkshake, waffle fries, and good service, go there.  That's about as difficult as it should get when it comes to choosing a fast food establishment. Chik-Fil-A is what it is--a local fast food joint. Why people feel they have to exercise their moral compasses over eating some damn chicken is beyond me.


So maybe I'll never win any popularity contests, but I can say this about myself. I have very little shame. I can also add much more to this list of what I love: creative messes, bathroom habits, dirty jokes, crazy folks, tattoos, singing in the grocery store etc. However, my last student just turned in his test, which means I can now pick up my baby and head home!

Dieting, Baby Feet, and Trayvon (guess I'll jump on the band wagon and weigh in)

To start off, I announced on Facebook that I started a diet a little over two weeks ago. I'm not sure why I felt the need to put it out there--maybe for accountability? Anyway, I had gotten to the point where I hated the following: shopping for clothes, going out to eat (because I felt I wouldn't be able to control myself), and looking at myself in the mirror. Anyone who knows me knows this: I'm a sensible shop-a-holic (meaning I pay in cash), eating in local restaurants makes me happy and lends interest to my social life, and I don't exactly call myself vain, but I like trying new make-up techniques, so I must look in a mirror often. When I got to the point where I felt too fat for any of my favorite pastimes, I felt as though I just plain hated myself. It's not that I had all of a sudden gained a ton of weight. Actually, over time, (since grad school if I had to pinpoint when this started), I gained the weight and have hovered over this large number on the scale for a number of years now. I finally just got sick of it, which meant time for a change.

On Facebook, my doctor's office had advertised a free interest meeting for a diet program called Ideal Protein. Of course, being a vegetarian, I thought, "There's no way I could stick to that--too much meat, I bet!" However, something (we'll call him God) urged me to go. A few days after seeing the ad, I dragged my mama with me down to Baptist hospital, and before I knew it, I had signed up for the program. (My mother, however, decided to sit it out and watch me do it first.) As it turns out, the diet is surprisingly vegetarian friendly. Sure, I have a bigger challenge than the other ladies who eat meat, but I'm finding it's not impossible to get in all the protein I need in a day. Also, I no longer crave the bad stuff--you know--the carbs and the fat. For example, I ventured out with my family this morning to the Jackson Zoo for the annual Ice Cream Safari, which is basically a big ol' frozen all-u-can-eat buffet, and I didn't have one bite. Did the ice cream look good? Oh, most definitely! Did I think about what it would taste like? You betcha! So what stopped me from eating? I simply was not hungry for any. Also, I knew I would get something more satisfying later. Anyway, two and a half weeks later, I'm down 10 pounds. I have 30 more pounds to go, so my journey to a better looking me is far from over. Regardless, I'm incredibly motivated to get there.

Moving along to the next topic...

If you've seen my son in the last six months, you know about this--his tip-toe walking. Jude will not put his heels on the ground to save his life. Seriously. He'd sooner die (at least that's the tone his wailing squalls have when we try to touch his heels to the ground). Of course, I've known this was a problem, especially since Jude was a late walker, but I have patiently waited to see if it would correct itself. I'm not the type of mother who flies off the handle over things. Actually, motherhood has had a calming effect on me. I think it's why I don't have a nervous baby. However,  it seems half of my surrounding population tells me, "Oh, I had a child who did the same thing. He'll grow out of it" while the other half feels he should be rushed to the orthopedic doctor and ready to go under for surgery. To say the people in my life who have weighed in on this matter brought nothing but annoyance to me is the biggest understatement since nude colored lipstick. I'm ready to just pop off and say, "Are you paying these doctor bills? Are you buying his shoes? Oh, you're not?  Have I asked you for your opinion? Then back off!" In all fairness, I've asked a few trusted souls for their opinions, so I'm not talking about them.

Anyway, Jeffrey and I have made a decision about what we will do concerning Jude's gait. Here it is: It's none of your business. Yes, we are taking care of the issue the way we see best. No, we are not "NOT" doing anything about it so no need to worry. We have been just as concerned this whole time about Jude's walking as everyone else has, but we also feel we shouldn't make a big deal about it in front of Jude so as not to give him a complex about himself. At his age, we want him to understand that he is perfectly Jude.

And finally...

I don't have much to say (but do I have some thoughts about it!) about the Trayvon Martin case, and you know why? Because I wasn't there when it all happened, much like everyone else I know. (Although, I'm willing to bet that Trayvon was not exactly showing that same precious smile from the picture of him the media put out when Zimmerman first encountered him. Oh, wait. I wasn't there. My bad.) I do know this, though, after being summoned to many many jury duties. The people selected for the jury do not take the process lightly. Also, the jury is shown every piece of evidence, and they listen intently before making a decision. And believe me, they make an informed decision. That's all I'm going to say about that.

The Weigh In

No, this post isn't about weight, although you should know that I will be participating in a weight loss program at my doctor's office starting next Monday (when I get back from the beach--because foolish as I am to actually try to deprive myself of anything that tastes good, I at least have enough sense to start after I enjoy a shrimp po-boy or two.)

Actually, I'm writing as a follow up to the big shock I received New Year's Day--the one about my parents getting back together, later remarrying in early May, and finally relocating exactly 12.3 miles from my driveway a month ago.

I make it no secret that I wasn't exactly thrilled when I heard the big news. Shocked,worried, and weirded out actually better fit what I felt. While I don't recall either parent acting completely nasty to the other, (because I don't believe they would ever resort to that), I couldn't understand why they thought it was a good idea to get back together when so many years before, they had the bright idea to split up. (Ya'll can obviously tell that I'm not one of those glass-half-full people. I am, for better or worse, a realist.) I had gotten used to the eighteen-ish year reign of my parents' divorce, even though it's the only tragedy I'd ever experienced that even today, so many years later, I can't talk about all the way through without tearing up. However, the re-marriage and the move were happening whether I came on board or not.

Another thing I got nervous about was the move. My parents moved to Gluckstadt, which is the closest I've lived to either of them since I graduated from high school. I had gotten used to living somewhat on my own. (Here's a fun fact about me--I've never actually lived alone. Before college, I lived with one of my parents, during college, I always had roommates, and then I got married two weeks after finishing undergrad.) Throughout my adult life, I figured out how to take care of myself whenever I got sick, how to cook my own meals (after all, my mom was still just a phone call away), and how to raise my child without date nights and such. I took pride in those sort of things, so when my parents decided to move on in, I got a little scared of the change. My family's life was about to change. Now, I would just have to figure out some new routine even though I had what I thought was a quite perfect plan.

Now we're a month into this big change, and here's my assessment: It couldn't have gone better if we had tried. Now, I know why some kids move closer to their folks when they grow up. I enjoy getting to go to their house most days out of the week, mostly because Jude LOVES going to visit his Mimi and Grandpa Ron. A few weeks back, I got to actually go see my husband's rock band play, something I haven't gotten to do since I became a mother due to the fact that I don't have enough redneck in me to take a baby to a bar. My mother and I have had several impromptu outings since she's been here that usually involve a tasty lunch somewhere, and my dad and I have watched a lot of Milwaukee Brewers on T.V. They both have accompanied us to Jude's swim lessons, so now I have witnesses to my testimony that Jude will in fact be the next Michael Phelps. All in all, having the parents so close has ended up as a blessing for us.

I guess I just did what I do best--worried over nothing. However, I will weigh-in every so often about our arrangements, but for now, I see us only getting better.

Hold Your Fire

I've had this on my mind a while, but never thought to post about it until now. It's quite the southern tradition for fathers with daughters to threaten any boy's life who shows even a remote interest in their little princesses.

Now that I'm a mother to a son, I have some thoughts about this.

To those who may threaten Jude's life simply because he wishes to court your daughter, listen up!

His father and I will continue to work tirelessly to raise Jude right. Even just one month shy of two years old, Jude already knows to say "Please" and "Thank you". In fact, this weekend, he even said, "Yes Ma'am!"

He will learn how to treat women respectfully because his father sets that example in the way he treats me on a daily basis. Jude will witness a lot of things growing up in our house, but yelling, belittling, and hitting will not be among those things. While his father will primarily serve as Jude's chief role model, I too have a few things I intend to instill in him. Just as Jeffrey can show him how to treat a woman well, I will teach him about choosing the right kind of girl--the kind of girl who won't cuckold her man or stray from him because something "better" came along. That's the example I set for my son every day.

As far as worrying about whether Jude will put his hands all over your daughters and cause them shame, rest assured that if or when I find out about this imbecile behavior, I will snatch him bald-headed before you can even pull a trigger. However, bear in mind that he won't be the only one to blame in this scenario. It does take two to tango. Take comfort in knowing that when the time comes for Jeffrey and me to allow Jude to date, it's because we wholeheartedly trust that he can take a girl out and treat her with the utmost respect (but let's not confuse his respect for females with being a pushover).

Hopefully, if Jeffrey and I have done our jobs correctly, Jude will know when he gets to where he's old enough to date, he has picked a girl who has had a good raising like himself that engages in good conversation and loves life. And yes, I do hope he finds her pretty--both inside and out.

Jude does not come from the wealthiest family on the planet, but I can assure you he comes from one that loves him unconditionally and will stop at nothing to ensure his happiness and well-being.

Since I first found out Jude was going to be a boy, I have prayed that he will one day be a good husband and find a wife who loves him with everything she has. After all, Jude will eventually leave my nest to build his own. My realizing this is why I have a hard time around his birthday. Please realize that it may take a few relationships before he learns to recognize this sort of love.

Maybe instead of threatening bodily harm, you should stop and say a prayer or two that your daughters find some boy whose parents took a lot of time to think, pray, and discuss with their son about his future courtships. Just as Jeffrey and I lead by example, so do you. So in thirteen years or so, if you see Jude Brown driving down your driveway to pick up your daughter, just calm down and hold your fire.

Children's Literature As Told By a Cynic

Every night, I read Jude his bedtime story. Sometimes, I'll even read him two. This is one of my favorite parts of his routine as he loves a good story, and so do I. However, he does have his preferences, so like any good parent, I've taken to memorizing all of the favorites. Now, it's true that motherhood has changed me for the better, but there are those sarcastic parts of my psyche that still cling to me like barnacles to a ship. Even though, I love reading Jude his favorite books, sometimes I just can't help but to put that realist spin onto the story.

Take Pete the Cat, for example: A modern children's classic about a cat who, no matter what obstacle comes his way, chooses to always look on the bright side. One can find the lines "Does Pete cry? Goodness, no!" embedded in several parts of each book in the series.

Here's a brief excerpt from my version about the first book in the series where Pete continually steps in a pile of messes while wearing his brand new shoes:

...Oh no! 
Pete stepped in a large pile of....dog poop.
Did Pete cry? 
Hell yeah, he did! 
Those two pairs of Air Jordans didn't just fall out of the sky!...

And who can forget the classic nursery rhyme "Three Little Kittens"? Like Pete, a cat who hasn't figured out that he can walk all over God's creation sans footwear, the three kittens in this tale just keep on messing up the mittens they wear, much to their mama's dismay. 

Jeffrey and I have read this nursery rhyme to Jude since I was pregnant with him, so of course with that much practice in reading it, I've come up with my own version. Check out a snippet dealing with the aftermath of when the kittens ate pie while wearing their mittens:

..."Oh mother dear, see hear, see hear!
See, we have soiled our mittens!"
"Soiled your mittens?
You dumbass kittens!
What the hell's wrong with ya'll?"

Now, before anyone calls DHS on me for telling these stories to my child, bear in mind that I really do read the real versions of these to him and not the ones I make up. Jeffrey, however, gets an earful from me.

As bad as I want to be a published writer, I think it's safe to say that I can rule out a career in children's literature.

Stomp, Stomp!

I don't mean to step on any toes BUT....

Today marks exactly two weeks before the 2013 spring semester concludes, and what a wild ride it has been! This time of year proves less than ideal for me even with the promise of warmer weather, longer days, and brighter colors of the latest spring/summer styles. While most people might can take a breather or two to enjoy these aspects during this most glorious time of year, I have to hole up in my teaching cave, catch up on grading, and continue to convince my students that yes, in fact, we still have one more paper to compose and more objectives on the syllabus to cover. Crazy, I know!

So...since my stress level peak at this time of year (the other times occurring two weeks before Christmas holidays begin and two days before a summer session ends), I have decided to vent some of my frustrations through a blog post--most of the frustrations having nothing to do with school. I'll let you know at the end if I feel better.

Vent Session #1: T-shirts with those funky monogrammed pockets--This current trend makes my skin crawl.  I know some southern belle type (the type that has the accent and accessories but lacks the brains) thought it up because it would be just "too precious for words," which actually results in a finished product that looks like something a five year old would wear. Of course, I have strong convictions regarding wearing t-shirts in public anyway. Unless one sees me doing yard work (Ha), running, working out, or getting out of bed (though I don't generally  make that custom a public spectacle), he/she won't catch me in a t-shirt. Besides, a true southern lady would put forth a little more effort in her style beyond simply initialing the pockets of her t-shirts.

Vent Session #2: Second Chances--Chances are if someone asks you for a second chance, that means they've already received several for the same offense some time before your issue occurred. Just don't give it to him/her unless you want to witness the same offense again. We seem to be getting away from having others suffer the consequences when really, "suffering the consequences" is the reason I never received less than an A on a 9th grade art assignment after failing one I completed at the last minute while riding to school with my mother (who, incidentally, was the art teacher).

Vent Session #3: Liberal Politics--The older I get, the more I despise liberal politics. Somebody please show me a liberal who isn't name-calling/shouting/imploring scare tactics/down on his or her own luck and refuses to take responsibility/wasteful, and I may consider softening my stance a bit. In all fairness, though, I do like their art. Ted Nugent, while I admire his stance on guns, just never really did it for me on stage.

Vent Session #4: Paying for Other People's Children When I'm Doing Good to Pay for My Own--If someone wants to bang the stuffings out of any and everyone he/she chooses, by all means do so (only if the other party consents, of course), but I don't think I should have to pay for the child that might result from said choice. I teach day, night, online, and summer courses while my husband slaves over a computer during his "free" nights just so that we can provide our child with everything he needs and even a little of what he might want--food, clothing, shelter, and the best possible education our area offers. Maybe I sound like I'm on a high horse, and maybe I am, but the way I see it: I made the choice to get through school, then marry, then establish a career path, then have a baby just as someone else chose differently. Obviously, my paycheck came in yesterday, and I'm just a tad disgruntled that a third of what I earn goes to a bunch of meat-heads who dole some it out to people who made a less than ideal choice. Shoot. I'm a teacher married to a teacher, and I also suck at planning and math. However, if I can figure out how to make my money work for me without having to borrow or depend on anyone else, anybody can.

Vent Session #5: Poetry--Year after year, I realize more and more that for every good poem, about 5000 bad poems exist, and I'm not just talking about poems by students. (A few of those are actually good.) What's worse than bad poems? Surprisingly, not the poets themselves (although, they're pretty bad). No, it's the people who read them and sing all kinds of praises about them, but when asked what the poem means, they don't know except that the poet uses big words, so therefore, it must be good. Oh, Brother.

Anyway, that concludes my vent sessions for tonight. Keep in mind these opinions (look closely, and you'll notice I didn't try to pass them off as facts) belong solely to me. I do not speak for anyone else. 

Warning: It's Not a Funny One

This morning on Facebook, I looked at my newsfeed and saw where a "friend" (meaning Facebook friend--haven't seen the person in years) posted an article about Mississippi's abortion clinic remaining open with her own caption that read "Great news for Mississippi."

I promptly unfriended her.

This is not great news for Mississippi. In fact, this is terrible news. I make no secret to anyone who asks about my stance on abortion. I am wholeheartedly pro-life. I hate how pro-choice supporters throw around that phrase "Women's Rights" as if  we pro-lifers are so backwards in our thinking. Maybe they do support women's rights more than I do, but I'm for the rights of everyone, including unborn babies, and yes, women. I just don't feel anyone should have rights at the expense of another person. So no, I'm not backwards in my thinking.

Now, back to the Facebook post: another person responded to this "great news" by proclaiming how everyone should be supportive of this judicial decision, pro-choice or not. After all, this gives women an opportunity to have a "safe" abortion, and that's what's important--keeping these women safe. Hmmm....so if I decide Jeffrey's comic book collection and sci-fi nerd impersonation (which sounds worse than nails on a chalkboard, I assure you) becomes more than I can handle, will the government provide me a safe place to kill him? I mean, hey, I am a woman, and I want my rights! (By the way, I don't wish to kill my husband. He takes out the trash and does laundry. I would be a fool to off him.) See what I mean? Exercising my "rights" would deny Jeffrey his, just like it would deny that baby his/her rights.

I have toyed around with the idea of becoming a volunteer who talks to pregnant women considering abortion. Every year, I feel a stronger urge to do it. At one point I inquired at my church and was told that it was extremely heart wrenching work, but I should do it if I felt led. Honestly, I didn't feel led at the time, maybe because I didn't have my own children then, and I wouldn't have been emotionally equipped to handle it.. Fast forward several years later, and I think I need to make a few phone calls. This issue nears closer to my heart with every abortion post I see.

I realize this debate will not end in my lifetime. However, while I'm here, I should take a stand. People may wonder why I didn't argue with this person on her Facebook wall, but why should I? She had every right to post her thoughts on her own wall; my response to her would have only fueled an ugly debate, nothing would have been resolved, and everyone would have walked away as angrier and nastier people.