#MINE. (or Retail Therapy is for addicts.)

Hello. My name is Laureen Tavares and I am an addict.

My form of addiction comes to me in Fit and Flare dresses and vintage earrings. SHOES.
Shoes too. I love shoes....and necklaces. I adore them as well.

BUT. I have a theory for my addiction, an excuse if you will.
You see, I am in a relationship with myself. And as I am in a relationship with myself, all of my attention and extra effort should go to me. (I feel I am a genius over my thinking.)

Unfortunately I am neither rich nor morally adept to the selling my vagina/ oral skills for shoe money.
Shame that.
I love the feel of different fabrics. If I like what you are wearing I will complement you. If I love what you are wearing I will approach you like a skittish gazelle and slowly reach my hand out and announce "May I touch?" to uncomfortable smiles and reluctant nods of agreement.

Whatever, I got my fix.

This morning I snuck out of my house before the church crowd but after 2 cups of strongly brewed coffee.  My plan was to have some "ME" time. To browse a few stores, touch some fabrics and smell some purses.
You know, normal stuff.

The first store I walked through was a new one in my area. I walked through it clutching my purse to my chest and wrinkling my nose. It was icky, but I don't really care. I will buy clothing from the corner crack head if the merchandise is well crafted and interesting.

I walked out unfulfilled.

I next went to "window shop" at the shoe store, which housed a very helpful lady who brought boxes upon boxes of beautiful shoes for me to touch or shake my head at until I gasped and flung my left shoe off in order to try the new ones on.

My shoe landed in another box. I was impressed at myself, and smiled as my foot made sweet love to the 'shoe of perfection.'

"Oh my." The lady whispered staring off at my old shoe.

"Mine." I replied, slipping my new shoe off and replacing it back into the box with the utmost care and concern.

I left the shoe place quite happy indeed and sang to my new shoes in the car.

My next stop was the thrift store. I LOVE Thrift stores. I don't give a damn.
I find the most awesome interesting, is it ugly? is it cute? ....things in those stores.

I also find vintage earrings there.

I wheeled my squeaky carriage up to the glass counter and peer into it quite seriously.
"Can I help you?" An older lady asks from behind the counter.

"Yes, may I see those?" I point to an interesting pair of clip on earrings. "and these, also these....and.....Those as well."

I leave the store with 2 treasures.

The next store I enter, perhaps I never should have.
Then again....I believe it was meant to be.

FLASHBACK TIME.

Picture it.
It was Christmas time and my fellow Buhachians were gathered around a table at Brooks Ranch opening our Secret Santa gifts and wondering where the alcohol was. That is when it happened.

Tanya peeled back the paper of her gift and pulled out a beautiful purse.
I gasped.
My fingers flew to my mouth and I whined "THAT is supposed to be MINE!"
It was.
I knew it was. My heart knew it was, even my vagina did.

It was a Betsey Johnson Soft pink with a beautiful black bow. Oh! How I wanted to run across the table like a monkey, fling poop in her face and run off with the purse while screaming out simian grunts at everyone's shocked faces.

I could see it all happen.

I moaned and Brandee patted my hand.

"Miiiiiiiiiiine." I wailed as quiet as I could. "NO. That is not yours." Juan stated and I skinnied up my eyes at him and mentally kicked him in his no no spot.
I growled at him and crossed my arms.

My life was ruined. The end.

END OF FLASHBACK

 

 

 

Today I walked into D.D's and I was greeted as I tucked my car keys away. "Goodmorning!" I replied, and then.....I looked up.

This time, I didn't take the time to gasp. Instead I RAN while yelling "MINEEEEEEE." and hand slapping invisible purse snatchers.

I pulled it down and clutched it to my chest. "Mine." I told the security guard as I lifted the purse to my nose and rubbed the outside.

He raised his eyebrow and replied "Apparently." before turning and walking away.

"ARRRRRGGGG!" I screamed in victory, performed a flawless fist pump and then as a safety precaution, hissed at everyone in the general area before walking back to an empty isle and confirming with Jana (The original purse purchaser) that this was INDEED my purse.

After becoming secure in the knowledge that I did INDEED have the purse that has been searched for since December I placed it in my cart and went to peruse the clothing.

2 hours later I arrived at home and peeked in the door. "Emmaaaaa." I called out.

"Yeeeees." She answered with a smile.

"I think something happened."  I whined through the small door space.

She stared at the door and I pushed it open. "WHY did you let me go shopping without you?" I demanded and plonked down my treasures.

"Ohhhhh Mamaaaaa." Emma whispered.

"This is all your fault you know."

(my behavior was a standard guilty wife move. I learned it after 13 years of marriage. When you feel like you did something wrong, turn that shit around and blame the husband for a random and confusing act that doesn't make any sense. If you are any kind of wife, you will receive an apology for your act.....Works every time. except on daughters.)

"Mine!!??"

"Well. It certainly isn't MINE." I sat down on my couch. "But know what?"

"What." Emma sat on the arm of the couch and smiled at me.

"I got treasures!" I whispered. Smiling at my hoard.

"I can see that you did."

"Don't JUDGE me Emma! I Neeeeeeeeeeeded these treasures! A ton of my clothes need to be put on the *retirement rack!" I crossed my arms and felt guilty. "Now I feel guilty." I stated the obvious

"Why do you feel guilty?" Shane came into the room.

My eyes lit up "Look at my treasures Shane!" and I waved my hand over the boxes and bags that Karma was snuffing into.

"I see them! And you deserve them, so do NOT feel guilty." Shane smiled at me.

"See Emma, why cant you be nice like Shane?" I teased her and she laughed and growled back "I didn't even SAY anything."

"I know. Sorry. old habits and all that." I replied and then I pulled out my purse. Emma ooohed and ahhhed with me over it and Shane even fake complimented it.

A little bit later I sat my purse on the bed and sighed while I stroked its beautiful pink quilted hearts.
Guilt, once again, started to creep back in.

I had two choices here. ONE of which was to return my treasures.....

The other was pressing my nose against the purse and inhaling another hit of my drug of choice.

Once I was properly sated on Betsey Johnson, I headed back to my closet to make come cuts.








* retirement rack:
 is a rack of clothing that holds various items that I no longer am interested in.
Once I am no longer interested in an item, if in good working condition, I place it on the "Retirement rack" where it stays until It catches my eye once again. I just pulled a pair of pants down that were from '99 and I quite love them.

Full Circletime.

I sat at circle time with my "booger picker"wand and an audience of teeny tiny faces.

"How many have been tested for kindergarten?"

Half of my class raised their hands. The other half shifted nervously on their bottoms.
"I want you to remember to do your BEST when you are tested. This is what you have been working all year for. Please DO NOT tell the teacher that you do not KNOW, when you DO know."

I glowered at a certain boy genius who had done just that. A boy who can look at a, 'E' and exclaim with boredom "Capital E, Ehhhh, Excellent"

The boy who was being growled at shrank, but only by a bit.

"If you are intelligent....show it off. You go to school at Buhach Preschool...YOU are an example of excellence and I am proud of all of you."

They smiled and a few children yelled out "I love you Mrs. Beanie!"

"I love you too. But not when you fart."
 They giggled and snorted and one or two farted, (just to prove me wrong.)

This is why I love circle time. It is my favorite part of the day. It is not for simply reading stories and singing songs. It is where confidence grows and bonds are made. It is where children talk about what is on their heart, in their dreams and what they are most excited for.

Spring cometh,
And with Spring comes that time of the year that I get to revel in, That I enjoy the most.
My classroom runs like a well snotted machine and the Fall is but a distant memory....

Fall....*groan* or the gathering of wool.

The beginning of the year brings me my dirty, knotted, raw (albeit CUTE) wool. It has yet to be washed, carded or spun.

My class of 28(ish) does not know how to line up, recognize their name or put things back where they first found them.
It's kind of chaotic, and I run around like the dragon lady breathing fire and my famous adage: "In Pre-K we don't..."  and can include any number of things including, but not limited too...

"In Pre-K we don't stick our fingers in our butts and then try to hug our teachers."(true story)

"In Pre-K we don't act like animals... Unless it is national act like animals day."

"In Pre-K we don't whine. We speak like we mean it."
(although once, while whining a child argued "Yeth I am whining....but I MEAN it.)
Who can argue with that?

In Pre-K we are ladies and gentlemen and are kind to everyone. My class is biased, The Strongest, fastest and strongest THING that you can BE is a lady. Sorry gents, you are amazing and all...but Beanie is all about Girl power.

Monday I had a little girl walk up to me mumbling and teary eyed.

"I am sorry, I cannot understand you love. Perhaps you can speak like a lady and we will figure it out."

Her tears were wiped, her shoulders raised and in a clear strong voice she told me what the problem was. I was so proud.

Yep. Ladies rule the world. Last week I had a boy ask me if he could be a lady when he grew up.

"That is a discussion for your parents and a surgeon my friend." I replied.
 He nodded and we moved forward.
____________________________________________

"MRS.BEANIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" a little girl cried. Tears fell. "Nicolas says I cannot be a lady!"

"Hmmm." my brow scrunched up and I turned to Nicolas for explanation.

"WELL we are playing Spiderman! She can be the black Spiderman she cannot be a lady. Ladies do not make webs!"

"Nicolas, Ladies make human life. We form BRAINS in our bodies. Don't you think that being able to create a human being is a liiiiittle more powerful then creating a web system?"

"WELL." Nicolas started...then seeing that both Addison and I were standing with our hands on our hips (Addison was tapping her toe) "She can always be a Lady Spiderman then..." He said turning around with a slump in his shoulders and yelling to his friends "Addi is ganna be spiderlady... she can make brains."

Addison and I smiled at each other. "And THAT is how you handle THAT." I winked at her.

"YEP!" She shouted, hugging me quickly before running off to play Spiderlady. (Like a BOSS)




In the Spring, the flowers bloom and my little dirty wool balls have been cleansed, carded and spun into beautifully well lined skeins of yarn. Not bound tightly, but loose and neat and ready to be woven into well taught individuals.

On Friday at 4:30 I stood in my class with my hands clasped behind my back and I realized, as I looked around, that it was unnecessary for me to do so.

My children had come in, hung up their hoodies and retrieved their activity of choice. They were building machine guns, Cutting pictures from magazines and coloring papers.

I sat down on the floor and looked around.

I watched my kids play and argue and come to resolutions. I watched them apologize and laugh with each other and put everything back where they found it.

I saw one child fall and another help her up and ask her if she was okay.

I saw one girl exclaim that she had no friends, and another offer to let her play with her group.

I saw a child's shoe untied and watched another kneel down to tie it, all while chatting and laughing with each other.

I am always trying to take the time to look UP, into the sky..at the world, enjoying each moment that life gives me.
This day I was enjoying sitting down and watching all of the hard work that my children have done come to pass.

This is how Kindergarten testing should be done. By sitting in a classroom and observing amazing.

Jelly Beans for Jesus.

This story has been waiting to be written for quite some time now. Each time I would think about writing it, My mind would shy away from the thought simply because I wasn't ready to share it. Not yet.

This story begins from my childhood.

Where a little girl is raised in a Baptist church surrounded by yellow grass and blue-grey gravel.
As a child, I don't believe that we went to church regularly. We were "Holiday Hallelujahs."
Which means, we only attended every holiday.

 I never quite felt comfortable there, I felt that we were imposters. And when our Pastor would speak about being faithful and not ONLY coming on holidays, I thought he was speaking to me and I would cringe and avert my eyes.

Never the less, as far back as I can remember...I loved Jesus and I knew that we were supposed to listen to what the bible told us.

Every Easter I would wake up with immense joy at the powdery footprints surrounding my Easter Basket.
And inevitably,  after Church service, that joy soon slid into guilt about receiving candy and celebrating after everything that Jesus went through.

So, as a child (and with a face full of tears and snot) I would sneak outside and bury Jelly Beans for Jesus.

They were always the white ones.
I was pretty sure that Jesus's favorite color was white, since he was always wearing it in the pictures, also.... I hated the white Jelly Beans and I didn't think he would mind.

The burying of Jellybeans was planned around my very large family. When my dad was with the horses, my sisters in their room and my brother off to goodness knows where, I would race outside with my sugary offering clutched in my fist.

I buried the beans with tears running down my face and a whispered "I'm so sorry Jesus"

He always listened and accepted my Jellybean banquet. (It at least pacified my guilt and I could move forward with my chocolate bunny addictions.)

After my parents divorced, I believe that my father was trying to find Jesus himself. My sister and I attended new churches with him... all kinds of new churches. 7th Day Adventist, Episcopalian , and Catholic to name a few.

We always felt weird.

We always felt like outsiders in our new classrooms and wearing our new dresses and I was confused.
Isn't Jesus in every church?

As a teenager, I wondered if it was new people that my father was looking for.
As an adult I believe it was acceptance.

After I had my son I started to read the Bible.
Even at 17 the miracle of him shook me to the core. Look at this beautiful boy that God made.
Shane enchanted me and scared the fuck out of me at the same time.

Soon enough I put the bible down for band aids and tending skinned knees.


When Shane was around 5 years old I sat with my then husband outside under our giant pecan tree. It was a tradition with us to enjoy the evening together and talk about our days.
Mommy/Daddy time, we called it.

My head was tipped back against the wicker seat and I looked up at the stars peeking through the tree. It was so beautiful that it brought back a memory...

As a child my father would take us out on nights for a walk.

We would go all over the subdivision, him with his gnarled manzenita walking stick and us with our bare feet. 

We would find a quiet cul-de-sac and lay down to stare at the stars.
Sometimes we would lay there for hours it seemed and my dad would point out the constellations and teach us about the stars. "Look at the beautiful night that God made you." He would say and I would be filled with pleasure over the gift that spread out above me.

......That night, I sat with my husband and looked up at the stars. And while it was nowhere near as beautiful as the clear and clean night sky of Don Pedro, It still marveled me.

"Isn't it sad that as adults we always forget to look up?" I murmured to Chris.

"Mmmm" he agreed looking up at the sky next to me.

I smiled "Look at the beautiful night that God made you." I leaned over whispered to my husband, smiling at the memory of childhood.

He took a drag off of his cigarette and then he snorted.

My head lifted off of the seat and my eyes skinnied up. "Did you just SNORT at God?"

"Mmmhmmm"

I sat up "Mmmhmmm...and WHYYYY did you just snort at God?"

"Because I don't believe in God." he shrugged exhaling smoke from his nose.

"AH!" I screeched and jumped up. "YES YOU DO!" I pointed to him.

"No I don't." He calmly stated reclining back in his chair.

"Something is HAAAAPPENING." I started to pace

"Yes. You're freaking out." he nodded

"no.No. NO! There is absolutely NO way that you DONT believe in God. I would have known."

"It has never come up."

"Uh HELLOOOOOO! We have gone to church!"

"No. YOU and Shane have gone to church."

I gasped "Oh no, you know what?"

"What?"

"I rebuke you." I growled at him

"You CANNOT rebuke me. I am your husband."

"I take it back."

He laughed and wrapped his arms around my pregnant stomach "There are no takesey-backsies with marriage."

I slapped at his hands "Don't."

"Are you serious right now?" his chuckled turned to belly laughs and my eyes skinnied up so far, I could barely see.

"If you don't believe in God, what precisely DO you believe in?" I asked him through gritted teeth.

He finished laughing, wiped his eyes and shrugged "Evolution"

"No." I gasped

"Yes." He nodded

'YOU believe that we are all evolved from monkeeeeeeeeys?" I screeched at him.

"Well. Honey, YOU believe that a mystical being built man from some dust and I don't judge YOUR thought process." And he began to explain his theories which, even 15 years later I cannot remember.

I just gaped at him. "You lied to my dad. My dad never would have let me marry you if you said you did not believe in God. He would have anointed you with oil and baptized YOU!"

He snorted "Your dad also thinks that I am a republican, remember? YOU made me lie about THAT."

"AUGGGHHHH! If my father knew you were a democrat he would have SHOT you! I was saving your LIFE!"

He chuckled.

I did not.

I spent the following hour as a 22 year old trying to PROVE Gods existence to my 31 year old husband, but at the time he just shut it down. Each and every piece of evidence that I provided him, he had a scientific belief to fire back at me.

The argument ended with "I am never speaking to you again." And a "Okay I believe in God, are you happy now?" to which I was not.


When I turned 30 my faith fell. I questioned everything as my life spiraled downwards.
I went from a Stay at home mom to a full time working, single mom who went to school at night.

My life went from Flourishing to floundering.

I shut down the world around me and focused on my small family.
Sometimes waking my kids up at 5:00 to go out to breakfast with me before work and school that night.

I held tightly to them, and as I did I let go of everything else.

Every belief that I had as a child went away as I discovered how to be ....Me.

At 30, I met Deanna, a woman so cloaked in the belief of God, she would sing "Praise Jesus!" when something good happened. Or bad.

She would tell me  "I know you do not love Jesus, but Jesus loves you!"  And I would roll my eyes at her and thank her and tell her she was crazy.

There was no judgment in her whatsoever. Whether I believed in Jesus or not.

I would crack jokes  "I keep trying to find Jesus Deanna, but he is hiding from me."

She just smiled and shook her head and told me "When you are ready to see him Beanie, he is right next to you."

I'd shake my head and walk away.

It is funny how traditions still remained with me, even when I claimed unbelief.
My children and I still clasped hands and bowed heads at dinnertime.

My Praying man painting always hung above our dinner table.

And while I joked about Jesus, I always thanked God for everything and every single year, I buried Jelly beans for Jesus.

In the spring of 2012 I started working at Buhach Preschool and I noticed something strange. Something intriguing.

You see my heart is a teacher, but my brain is a writer.
I love asking questions.
I love doing research and finding out the reasoning behind the human emotion.
I don't just love it, but at times it keeps me awake at night, until I spill my findings onto parchment and leave it for others to ingest.

I have often written feelings and emotions and asked a friend to read it.
"Take this from me" is what my mind speaks. And then I am relieved of it.

A sigh is felt in the very center of me, and from that moment I can move forward to analyze another...feeling, emotion or curiosity.

And at this time the curiosity was...Jesus.

Everyone surrounding me at my work loved Jesus. I would ask them questions and they would reply with faith and failings and unendingly...with patience.

I decided to research Jesus. And for me it began with the Bible. A book I once revered, I now despised.
A belief I once "rebuked" my husband over, was now ridiculous.

When I opened my bible, I laughed and rolled my eyes. My plan was this: I would read the Bible cover to cover. I would ingest every word and come out in the end certain of myself and ridiculousness of it all.

I allotted myself time before work and each and every day, without fail...I would come out and with scorn, read aloud to Brandee a passage or two. I would end it with "Can you believe that shit?"

Soon enough, I came out less and less to scorn the bible.

I questioned Birdie at work about passages and took note of her individual beliefs over what each one meant.

I did not ask kindly. Once, when I was still deep into the old testament I asked Birdie to show me JUST one part of the bible that depicts love and not cruelty.

"One?" she questioned

"Yes, Just one." I replied

She pulled her bible from her purse and lifted the entire thing.

"No." I shook my head

"Yes." Juan argued from over the desk.

Still, despite the fact that my questions and the way I asked them were incorrigible, each one was answered kindly and eagerly by both of them.

During a couple discussions Juan would insist "I KNOW you believe."
I would shake my head and cross my arms.

"Yes you do."  He would stubbornly insist.

It took me one year to read the Bible from cover to cover, and when I reached the end I closed the book and shook my head.

I had started reading the bible with a hardened heart and a critical eye.
And I had ended it by finding strength and love.

In that bible I relived childhood memories, learned life lessons and became happier then I have ever been in my entire life.

It is not a faith born of ignorance, or because I was told to believe it. It is one that I studied with extreme prejudice and questioned Myself.

.... what a different person I have become, simply by observing joy in others and wondering what placed it there.....Wondering so hard that I picked up a Bible and grudgingly and unerringly sought it out.



Romans 5:4