And The Title of Champion Weirdo Goes To…Me!


I….am a weirdo.

Now, those who have known me from childhood are already rolling their eyes and muttering, “Tell us something we don’t know….”, even as they recall my outer weirdness: Getting stuck in a tree at recess (elementary school)….green carpenter’s pants with red tennis shoes (my favorite outfit in the 8th grade!)….loving Air Supply when everyone else was into hair metal (high school)….the purple plaid pants that I loved so much I even wore in a drama, sigh…..

So yes, I had my own brand of nerdy geek going long before this pronouncement.

Somehow, I managed to squelch that after graduation. I moved to the city, pursued my degree, got a nice job, married a great guy, secured a promotion and a move to a bigger city, served in youth ministry, and maintained the facade of being a nice, normal adult that fit in with society at large.

But my inner weirdo kept screaming to be let out.

It started at around age 30, when I rediscovered the library and began reading more than text books and work literature again. But instead of just mysteries (my fave), I began to devour books on simplicity. Seeking a simpler life. Finding my inner happiness away from the surrounding materialism and clutter.

I stopped shopping at malls (except for big clearance sales or true necessity) and began scouring thrift stores, yard sales and church bazaars for unique treasures. My inner weirdo began to smile again.

I began job-sharing with a friend at work, and found time to write, to live, to breathe. My inner weirdo began to hum.

I started to dabble in growing things with the hope of not killing them until I’d had a chance to eat them first. My inner weirdo begin to sing.

Even as motherhood and life threw me into turmoil, the inner weirdo clamored for attention and freedom. I tried to fit into the mold expected of me. Be THIS type of Mom…THIS type of neighbor….THIS type of woman.

I’m not even sure what finally liberated that inner weirdo. Acknowledging that I’ve had failures in life — and accepting that it’s okay? Maybe. Admitting I will never be the perfect mother (whatever the heck THAT is) and being okay with that, too? Well, my kids already know I adore and enjoy spending time with them, and that’s more than many have. Knowing that I can’t please everyone, that not everyone will like me, not even (gasp!) family? The benefit of getting older is finding the freedom to let go of others opinions of you. And letting go of your opinions of them. (Why can’t we figure that out at 20?!).

My inner weirdo enjoys having a half-dozen cats…gardening all summer…camping instead of luxury vacations…hiking alone in a woods…the occasional writing project…the eternal hope that I’ll get serious and write a book….and reading a good book for so long I lose track of time.

My inner weirdo does cartwheels over canning projects…finding an old plate to love at a thrift store…meeting my kids wardrobe needs several sizes ahead at yard sales…washing and reusing ziplock bags….figuring out one more thing I can make at home instead of buy…handwashing and solar drying clothes…and going on decluttering binges several times a year.

My inner weirdo enjoys the freedom of homeschooling because it works for us…giving my children a multitude of inexpensive ways to encourage their imagination and creativity…taking unexpected travels with the Husband’s job…giving my oldest wings to pursue her interests in all things art and crafty (and closing my eyes at the mess, sigh)…teaching the youngest to try something new, even as we work together to help her control her body and temper on tough days when health issues arise. Because no one else is going to love her through it like me, her weirdo mother — or love her more.

My inner weirdo gets that by the world’s standards, I’m not…normal. I’m not marking my accomplishments with pay raises, promotions and transfers (but if your inner weirdo needs that, bully for you!). I’m not seeking fame and fortune (Except as a writer. Someday. If I ever write that book!). I drive a vehicle to the wheels fall off, and then figure out a way to put them back on. Because it’s fun! I’d rather take my kids to explore the beach for days on end than hit an amusement park. We go to the zoo on free days instead of buying a membership (because then we’re guaranteed not to use it!). We spend every sunny summer day at the pool. And I’d rather grill out with friends than eat at a five-star restaurant any day. Even if it means missing out on a chance to have a babysitter and a meal I didn’t cook that one or more persons won’t like or will need help cutting up. And that’s saying a lot!

I mean, I dream of hiking the Appalachian Trail someday. For six months. With bears. Alone.

See? Inner weirdo.

And with any luck, when it’s all said and done — my kids will be just fine with their weirdo mom.

And if I’m really lucky, then maybe — just maybe — they’ll want to be weirdos, too.