Living in a bubble.

~My husband says I live in a bubble. Actually he says he works hard to keep me there. Not in a chauvinistic, "Woman, get me a beer and don't talk to the outside world" kind of way. In a very protective way. Which strikes me as funny because I think of myself as a tough girl who can handle myself pretty well. I'm strong - in all ways that matter. I bet I could even do ok in a girl fight if I had one of my big handbags to swing around. I'm a girly girl, not a prize fighter. I'm strong and I'm smart. Not Einstein smart, but I do ok. So with strength and brains, I should be able to take on anything. My mom calls me a scrapper. I have always been opinionated, bold, confident and well, scrappy. But, in reality, I think I have that little dog syndrome... I look in the mirror and see a Rottweiler when I'm really just a pocket dog that likes to sit in a bag (stylish and trendy of course)and be carried everywhere. When did I get like that? What was the key event that turned me from a junk yard scrapper to a foo foo poo poo doggie with a jeweled collar and painted nails? I think that life changing moment was when I met my husband. He always says he rescued me from myself. Did I need rescuing? Does a junk yard scrapper ever think they need to be rescued and carried around in a bag or in my case, wrapped in a bubble?
~~ The Candy Man. That's my husband. WOW. GOSH. He's amazing. I know how silly that must sound. I might as well say he is 'awesome', which he is. I'm a grown woman, smart and strong. I should be able to some up with grown up words to describe the most important person in my life. And influential. And inspirational. There, that sounds a bit more grown up. The Candy Man is strong - in more ways that matter. He's smart too, but where I am book smart he is street smart, worldly and wise. When I met him I was tough and independent and scrappy. He was everything I was and more. He was the first person I ever met that one uppped me. He was the first person that ever made me feel safe and protected and up until then I had no idea I needed to feel that way. So, over time, 13 years to be exact, I have become accustomed to being protected. Hence, my bubble life.
~~~It's a recurring discussion. He says he saved me and I say I saved him. He saved me from the tough, independent girl I thought I was and I saved him from the tough, independent guy he really was. He's a loner by nature. He's prone to dark moods. He's the blacksheep of his family. I see it in him, but I don't feel it from him. The magic of us is that he is almost always plugged into me. Not dark and moody but light and fun. And he is an amazing family man, wonderful husband and very engaged father. I wonder if he would have been like this with another woman/family? I'm not sure, but I am so grateful that he shares his life with me. And that we live in a bubble together.
~~~~The other day a group of friends went out to lunch for my birthday. We had very yummy fruity frozen drinks and had a discussion about our children getting into cars with people who have been drinking. On the way home my close friend says to me, "After that discussion we had at lunch here I am drinking and driving". Then she asked me if I felt safe with her? I said of course I felt safe because she wasn't impaired (we didn't have that much time) but mainly because it never occurred to me that she would let anything happen to me. She found that an odd way to look at it. I told her that I just assume, because of my years of being protected in my bubble, that anyone who loves and cares for me wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. "Accidents can happen" she says. Yes they do. But could they happen to me? I lead a charmed life, don't I? When did I begin to assume that my protective bubble would extend to every situation I am in? I'm not sure that's realistic, but I sure have come a long way from that scrappy dog way of thinking. Life in my bubble is good.

What do you wear to a blog?

~Well, look at me. My first blog. Here I am all dressed up and ready to go. Somewhere. Everywhere. Not just anywhere because I'm picky. Let me correct that... I am selective. I like the sound of that much better. I named my blog Girly Girl Grown Up because I think that fits me as good as any other name. I thought about "Channeling Doris Day", but a friend of mine vetoed that. It's not far from the truth, it just isn't as catchy as it could be. Everything has to be catchy. If it's not, then people just skip right over to the next catchy thing. People have such short attention spans, myself included. If I can't get an immediate spark from something or someone then I'm movin' on. That's too bad because I think we miss out on some GOOD stuff because we are in a hurry to find the GREAT stuff. And really, who finds GREAT stuff on every corner? From yard sales to clearance racks... you have to wade through lots of good stuff to get to that one really GREAT thing.
~~Time. No one has any. Well, no one I know. If you have some, can you send some to me, preferably gift wrapped in something pretty and frilly and girly? Which brings me to the title of my blog. I'm a girly girl. Always have been. If that is not catchy enough for you or if you are short on time then you might want to move on to the next good thing... maybe it will be GREAT even.
~~~I am a thirty something (hanging on to my 30's by a thread) wife, mom, friend, volunteer, community activist, Wonder Woman type. I don't have a really cool invisible plane but I do have quite a bracelet collection. Jewelry, purses, shoes. Ahhhh. Simple pleasures. Which brings us right back to the girly girl thing. I LOVE being a girl. Isn't that a tune from an old musical? I love those too. Especially if Doris Day is starring. She is my hero. Really. The ultimate girly girl, wife, mom, friend (I'm just sure of it), volunteer, community activist, Wonder Woman.
~~~~I live with males. Not exactly the optimum girly girl playground. I have a great husband and two great sons. BUT... there is a lot of testosterone in my home. Sports stuff. Smelly stuff. Boy stuff. I don't mind it. I'm a boy mom, I get that. I wanted boys. I prayed hard for a second boy after I had my first. I'm surely blessed. Is there room in my male dominated home for a girly girl grown up Doris Day wannabe Wonder Woman type? You bet! Being surrounded by all of this maleness only makes me more in tune with my girly girlness. Yes, my cute beaded shoes are sitting right next to some foul smelling soccer cleats and my latest must have frilly and furry handbag has a queso dip stain on it from an accidental 'uh-oh' by my youngest, but my stuff and their stuff can and do co-exist pretty well. Hey, there goes my new ankle strap wedges.... floating by in a river of testosterone. Gotta go fish them out and get all dressed up to go.