A few years ago, my Blogger account got hacked and subsequently deleted. For a day or so, I had no clue what had happened and kept Googling my name to see if I could bring up my Blog site.
At the time, I was of course Whitney Hendrickson, and it was a little unsettling what instantly appeared.
An 18-year-old girl in Colorado named Whitney Hendrickson was pumping gas into her mom's minivan as she embarked on a tour of colleges with a friend. While standing at the tank, a truck swerved, hit the gas pump, and engulfed Whitney and the car in flames. She was caught between the minivan and the pump as fire and smoke surrounded her. Her best friend was left to watch and scream.
The fire department was on the scene within two minutes, and one firefighter approached as Whitney yelled for help. He reported she was holding her face in her hands as she was swallowed by the inferno. He attempted to save her with an extinguisher, but was ultimately told to retreat by colleagues.
This Whitney Hendrickson was an artist, an honors student, a twin, an older sibling, and people described her as "having a way about her that was divine."
The same search yielded results for the Whitney Hendrickson Cancer Facility for Women in Lexington, Kentucky. She raised 2.5 million dollars for an over 45,000 square foot facility that provides multidisciplinary ambulatory care for women suffering from breast cancer, gynecologic cancers, and lung, hematologic, gastrointestinal and urologic cancers. She also continues to raise funds for stroke recovery, supports exhibits at the Smithsonian Museum, funds the Kentucky Aviation Museum, and has an elementary school and high school gymnasium named after her.
Today, my son was playing on his iPad mini and Googled "Whitney Windham." Much to my chagrin, the lamest websites in the history of the planet popped up.
First, the Whitney Wyndham Hotel in New Orleans appeared. Fine. I grew up 3 hours from New Orleans and spent most of the weekends of my early life there. But, it's not even a spelling match for my name!
Second, there was this atrocity at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vyy2esvI7ew. It's a song by this bleached-blonde Texas girl called, "Get Past Daddy." I swear, the lyrics actually say, "I like your red truck, cute butt, but you gotta get past Daddy." If you would like to see/hear more, go to whitwindham.com. But seriously, this girl made me want to crawl in a hole and change my name. The tagline of her website is, "Some girls are just born with glitter in their veins." Awesome. Whitney, just go start your porn career now because your lyrics and comments about glitter have already layed the foundation for a future of Jenna Jameson proportions.
Then I got a little hopeful when I saw that there was a Whitney Windham who was recently hired as a mortgage consultant at a bank in Mississippi. See, we aren't all bad, I thought...
But the next entry was an absolutely insane mugshot of a Whitney Windham in Darlington, SC. She is wanted for domestic violence and apparently has escaped. Equally awesome.
What I'm trying to emphasize is there is a lot in a name. But you cannot let it define you. It took me until page five of Google results to encounter my own Facebook page or my Blog. And I think I'm a pretty damned good Whitney Windham.
I'm not the girl who died tragically in Colorado. Or the billionaire who endlessly donated to cancer research. I'm not the former beauty queen from Texas who doesn't have two brain cells to rub together. And I'm definitely not the lady from the trailer park who pulled some dude's hair out by the plugs.
We may love our moniker. We may be severely attached to what we call ourselves. And yes, family history and ancestry are incredibly important. But still, we shouldn't let our names define us. We will never be the people we were named for. Some of us won't even be the people we were when we reclaim our former or maiden names. And that is totally ok. It's up to us to create and sometimes recreate our own path and meaning.
I hope that as I re-enter the professional world, I can generate an internet search result worthy of who I think this Whitney Windham really is. But for now, I will mourn the loss of Whitney Hendrickson, accept the diversity amongst the Whitney Windhams of the world, and hope to God no one ever associates "glitter in my veins" with this Whitney. As far as I'm concerned, what runs through this Whitney is Blackfeet blood, strength, tolerance, and an independent spirit that won't be tamed. But I'm currently taking applications if someone would like to try. :)
Some people prefer to ignore their birthdays. Some people like to celebrate the anniversary of their favorite one. Some people prefer a peaceful dinner. Some people like to be surprised.
Me? I just like to do it up right!
I don't like a quiet affair. I like lots of friends. Tons of food. And even more wine. I like cake and insane laughter. I like reminiscing about past stupidity and maybe trying to get others to do something stupid with me again. And I cannot remember the last time I had an uneventful birthday.
I'll be the first to admit that my last 2 birthdays involved very late nights and mischief...But when I think back on previous birthdays, they really weren't that much different.
I got piercings...
I'm happy to see what this year brings, but I hope all of the excitement isn't limited to just one night. I'd much rather spread the fun over the course of a year.
So tomorrow night is my birthday celebration with the boys, and Saturday night will be the ginormous celebration with my girls. Watch out, Chucktown. We're comin' for ya. And I totally saw that sombrero in the attic last week...
On Friday afternoon, my boys asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told them all I wanted was some hugs and kisses and maybe a homemade birthday card. Teague smirked and said, "Seriously? You think I haven't already made you a card? I have it stashed at Dad's house so you couldn't sneak around and find it. I made it weeks ago."
It was very "Teague." It takes him 30 minutes to get dressed and 15 minutes to wander over and brush his teeth. Sometimes he walks around in distracted circles for 10 minutes before I can finally get him in the car. But a birthday card for his mom? Oh yeah, that's been ready for 14 days.
Crews stood there looking a little upset. I'm not sure if it was because Teague didn't think to tell him my birthday was coming or if he thought he could just sign the one Teague made. Regardless, I explained my birthday wasn't until Wednesday and that he had plenty of time. Besides, I'm turning 35. I'm not very excited about it. So I'm definitely not trying to push up the date or celebrate early. In fact, we could just put it off indefinitely and that would be cool.
Anyway, Teague said he wanted to take me out for a fancy dinner on Wednesday night. I was thinking he probably meant somewhere like Panera Bread instead of the boys' usual go-to: Sonic. But he surprised me and said he wanted to go Stars, a beautiful grill room I adore downtown. http://starsrestaurant.com/
Jokingly, I asked if he was going to make our reservation and bring all of his Tooth Fairy money so he could pay. He looked a little skeptical about my requests, but didn't say no.
This morning after he left for golf camp, I grabbed my phone to check emails. This is the screen that popped up:
On July 15th, 2011, I posted a blog entitled "First sleepover." It was the very first time I had EVER spent the night away from my firstborn and I was absolutely terrified.
A few days before, a classmate's dad had contacted us about a sleepover. I was immediately horrified. I was sure that my five-year-old was in no way ready for a sleepover and I was totally opposed to the idea. However, after talking with Jack's dad, Pat, and learning that he knew the ropes (4 kids of his own) I felt comfortable enough to let Teague go.
I practically packed Teague an entire suitcase for just one night. He had rash guards, sunscreen, a life jacket, and a bag of snacks big enough to supply an army for a weekend. I let Pat know that Teague only ate 3 things and he most likely wouldn't eat anything until he came home the next day. I also sent several cans of Pediasure just in case Teague preferred to drink his meals instead of eat (the norm). And then I tried to settle in for a quiet evening with only one child.
But at 9 o'clock I started getting texts. Teague wasn't feeling well and looked like he might throw up. Within 10 minutes, Teague had puked all over Pat. And the bathroom. And the Master bedroom. Pat told me he had cooked Teague a pizza, baked him chicken nuggets, and "fried up a mean grilled cheese," but Teague had refused it all. Eventually, he had consumed one bite of a cupcake.
They had been boating all day and Teague definitely didn't make drinking water a priority. Mix that with total food refusal, 100 degrees, and it's a bad combo. By 9:30, Colin was on his way to Kiawah to pick up Teague. For those of you who don't live in Charleston, it's a solid 45-50 minute drive each way.
I learned many things that night:
1) If your kid is at a sleepover, don't ever feel free to drink as much as you want. You could be called upon at any hour to go pick him up.
2) Even the most experienced parents can't soothe your kids the way you do.
3) It's never too far to go pick up your kid.
4) People will surprise you with their kindness when your kid pukes all over their house.
5) Sometimes you have to let go and put a little faith in someone you have a good feeling about. Even if you don't know why yet.
6) Kids remember their first sleepover and can recall every detail of that experience. It's a total rite of passage.
7) I wouldn't change anything about that first sleepover experience: Teague felt comfortable with Jack and his dad, and he knew we would be there when he needed us. He has known it ever since.
Tonight is Crews' first sleepover. He's been begging and pleading for at least a year. He has been ready for a long time, but I find it so hard to let him go. He may only be 4, but he is much older at heart. He is bold because of his brother. He is strong in spite of him. He is tough because of his mom. And he is my little blond warrior.
Tonight will be much different in the Mease house. Crews has been there a million times, but this moon will mark his initiation into "The Big Boys Club." I'm so proud of him for taking the leap. I'm so grateful to Shannon for taking on both of my boys. And I'm so happy that my kids will always have the memories of their first sleepover with people who mean the world to me.
Night Crewsy. I'm pretty sure you are stronger than us all!
I've never been much of a stress eater. When I get upset, I tend to avoid food. My appetite diminishes. I get more active. And usually, I can't stop running.
But I'm gonna be totally honest: I haven't gotten off my butt in over 3 weeks and I have eaten just about everything in sight.
Trauma. Drama. Sadness. Whatever you want to call it, it has turned me into a garbage disposal. A soft, squishier version of a garbage disposal who sits on the couch and thinks about cake. A lot. And lately, I have just driven to the store and bought some when that happens. Well, maybe not the store. I DO have standards after all. But I have driven to Cupcake more than 6 times in under a month. And I hit up just about every bakery in San Diego over the course of 5 days.
One day, I stopped into Extraordinary Desserts for a snack:
Unfortunately, I had 4 of them...
Today I was looking through the photos on my phone and I swear there are more pictures of food than there are of my children. Now, it's not entirely uncommon for me to photograph my food. I used to blog about cooking all the time. I love posting pics of fantastic meals to Facebook and remembering great dishes I've enjoyed; however, the sheer amount of food I'm consuming has quadrupled, and my amount of activity has hit the negative realm. Therefore I am blog-vowing to turn the tables (literally!) and get back into a healthy routine.
I ran for the first time in over a month yesterday. And today, my body hates me. But when I get up tomorrow and force myself past that first, horrible, awful, terrible, angry mile and actually feel good for rolling myself off the couch, my body will forgive me and eventually it will start to reward me once again.
So bye-bye churros dipped in chocolate. See ya later 18 raw oysters eaten every other day. Adios Bagel Nation and Ye Ole Fashioned butterscotch sundaes. This girl is getting off the buffet train and stepping back onto the treadmill.
It was real. It was fun. But it's not real fun when you begin to swallow your clothes.
Wish me luck!