Confessions of a (Wannabe) Pioneer Woman

Ok. Confession time. I’m a little, kinda, sorta, maybe a little bit jealous. Of her. The Pioneer Woman. Because she’s living out my fantasy life and I’m living out my reality life. I know. Jealousy is a no-no as a Christian. I didn’t say I was doing it *on purpose*, and I know that still doesn’t make it right, but there ya go. It’s the truth. I’m a little jealous. Wanna know something, though? Truly? I’m only a little jealous.

No really. And that’s like a really weird thing for me to be….”a little jealous”… as opposed to a whole lot. Ordinarily jealousy for me is (was) a fierce thing. There was no such thing as being a little jealous. It was knock-down, drag-out, all-systems-go jealous. I’d spend so much time and energy focusing on being jealous…on wanting what the other woman (whoever that happened to be…the gal carrying her newborn around the store, the heroine in the latest romance book, the TV sitcom character with the outrageously funny husband and houseful of kids, etc) had that my own life would suddenly be 200 times worse than it was before and I’d hate every single dadgum bit of it. My whole attitude would change (for the worse) and all those around me would suffer because of it.

Not so much now. And I can’t take the credit, by the way, that would have to go to Jesus. I know it’s been Him changing me from the inside out….not things on the outside changing me.

Anyway. The difference is, while I’ve been (obsessively…I really do need to work on this aspect of things…) soaking up every single word and picture and everything this Pioneer Woman has decided to share with the world because I am L O V I N every bit of it for the last week or so, totally not getting what I should get done actually DONE, my attitude hasn’t deteriorated. And while I’m jealous in a “I so love your house, I would so love to live on a ranch, I would so love to be able to take pictures the way you do, I would so love to have more kids, I would so love for my hubby to step in and save the day for me all the time, etc” way, I’m not so focused on the wanting what Pioneer Woman has that I’ve given up on liking what I have. This is new for me. I kinda like it. In fact, I have to say I’m kinda proud of myself.

I do love her house and her kitchen and her renovations and her bathroom and her porch and her lodge. Absolutely. Here’s the thing, though… (well, two things)… #1) I’m so happy FOR HER (and her family) that she has those things. AND #2) I recognize and realize that I really do have my own version.

I love that:

  • I have a house.
  • It is paid for.
  • It has big rooms (though admittedly, not as big as Pioneer Woman’s…I’m a *wannabe* remember!)
  • I am able now to do renovations on my house (umm, on a TEENSY scale comparatively, think more along the lines of band-aid makeovers, but STILL…I’m having fun with the ideas)
  • my bathroom has a new floor that I love, pretty (BRIGHT!) rugs, a sparkly new toilet, and a functioning tub (this is a big thing for me, this bathroom thing…it’s a post in itself, truly)
  • I have a big, big porch. It needs a lot of work to get it to the kind of porch I really want, but it’s there ready for me to work on. I don’t have to start from scratch.

I WOULD so love to live on a ranch. I HAVE always dreamed of it. Well, a FARM was actually more the direction my dreams would take, but still. Something in the country with lots of vegatation, some animals, lots of quiet mornings and afternoons, and very few neighbors or buildings. I don’t like driving at all (another post!), I don’t like crowds at all (again…another story), I just don’t like cities. Period. I don’t. I’m a country gal at heart, and while I’m not living in a very BIG city, in fact it’s more of a Hicktown than most, it’s still too much city for me to feel comfortable in.

On the flip side, though, I love *visiting* (smallish) cities. I love going to new stores (think Target!), and eating out (think Furr’s!). So maybe a small town like Hicktown really is more suited to me. Although I can’t say I’d mind if we weren’t quite so in-the-middle-of-town.

I WOULD like to take pictures like she does. I never have, and I’ve always wanted to. In fact I quit taking pics of my own two ‘punks’ (I prefer to call them chitlins or dorks, though) in part because I HATED the way they came out. This improved ever so slightly when I got my first digital camera, but then the HOUSE was so awful looking I didn’t bother much with snapshots anyway. This improved ever so slightly again when two things happened: 1) Santa brought hubby a new digital camera this last year, it’s much nicer and better than the one I got 6 yrs ago…technology changes, ya know. and 2) I’ve been able to start doing the band-aid makeovers to the house. The new paint job in the living room has done SUCH a number on me!

Soooo, while I am still *a little* jealous of Pioneer Woman’s photographic gift (yes, it’s a gift with her, not to be confused with a skill…sure she’s been learning new things, but the gift was there to start with, she’s been refining it is all…totally!), I am heartened by the realization that there may be hope for some at least *passable* pictures in my own future based on the fact that better tools and prettier settings have already made some difference. Especially if I am able to further improve my tools (I SO want a camera like hers now!) and prettify my settings even more. Yes, prettify is a word. I just said so. And also? It didn’t get underlined automatically like all the other misspelled words do, so it MUST be a real word. And even if it’s not, I just said it was.

Oh and the hubby thing? Ok, so Mike doesn’t step in and save the day for me in such dramatic rescue-me-from-the-irate-500lb-animal ways all the time (ok…ever!). BUT he does “save the day” for me in other ways. He does, truly. For a start he goes to work every day (well except his days off, of course) to earn the money to pay for our disgusting food-habit of eating 3 meals a day. This also pays for my absurdly insane shopping sprees on fabric and/or books. Not to mention the dental work for the kids. (Orthodontia is no small feat, let me tell ya!)

Also? He’s my version of the Marlboro Man. (He smokes…but not Marlboros…those are too expensive, thus the “wannabe”. HAHA) He chuckles when I get silly. He doesn’t think it strange that I decorate Christmas trees with Chinese fingertraps and/or small stuffed animals or that I wrap each individual limb of the tree with a double strand of lights (one steady-on and one flashing) every single year because it’s just NOT RIGHT if it’s not done that way. He doesn’t think it strange that I eat coffee creamer straight, but not in my coffee. He doesn’t think it strange that I tie my hair in knots for fun. He doesn’t think it strange that I prefer daisies over roses and silver over gold or that a bookstore makes me drool. He didn’t think it strange at all when I told him I wanted a denim couch, bright red mini-blinds, and eyelet curtains. Ok, he did, but he also knows that’s just me. AND he said ok. In fact, he even went looking for red mini-blinds. Because he’s my (wannabe) Marlboro Man and I’m his (wannabe) Pioneer Woman. After all, blue walls, denim couch, red mini-blinds, eyelet curtains, wall-mounted gumball dispenser, and daisies scattered about the walls….this IS kinda forging new territory isn’t it? If not, don’t tell me. Allow me the illusion of believing I’m breaking new ground here, k? Thanks.

He’s probably the only person on the planet who would (or could) put up with me. Which means that I do kinda have a place of my very own. And that kinda saves the day for me.


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