It might be hard to believe, but this year is going on my 9th year of doing entertaining for children. 9 years of princess costumes and uncomfortable shoes. 9 years of dancing to the chicken dance in high heels. 9 years of hoopskirts and long sleeves in the scorching summer heat, and 2 years of being Elsa pretending that the biting, bitter winter cold doesn't bother me (The cold doesn't bother me anywaaaaays).
Before I go on, I have to say that I couldn't have done it without my mother. She's the one that has been doing this for decades. When I was a little girl, I remember sitting in her office, bored on weekends and weekdays, waiting for her. My mother would stroll in - clad in a sequined blue Cinderella gown, her whispy blonde hair up in curls and pearls around her neck. She was the most beautiful princess I had ever seen - and I wanted to be just like her.
As a teenager, at laugh at myself now. I was so stubborn, and argumentative, like all teenagers are. I argued with everything my mother told me to do. Study for the SAT's - try hard in math - apply for colleges and college scholarships. No, you can't skip that party I booked you for this weekend. No, you can't get a nose piercing. Nothing came without an argument. Why was she making my life so difficult? My mother was and is, as she describes herself, a hard-ass. And guess what? I'm still argumentative. And we still argue sometimes. But it's funny, because now I look back on my teenage and childhood years. And I look at now, and where I'm at. And I see the struggles with money and work and life and responsibility that many of the people I've known have gone through. And I can't thank my mother enough.
Because of her pushing me, she has made my life as an adult so much easier than it could have been. If she hadn't pushed me to take those AP and college classes, or study for the SAT, or apply the the scholarships I did, I wouldn't be where I am today. And furthermore, if she hadn't sat down to take the time to teach me face painting, balloons, and how to be a princess that doesn't disgrace herself, I would have struggled a lot more in my life than I have. Thanks to her, I can truly say that I am in a good, stable place: I've never had to struggle in ways that a lot of my peers have (though I've had struggles in my own way), I've never gone without a job because I've created one for myself, and I'm proud to say that's because of what she taught me and the hard work I've been inspired to pour into my life. My mom inspired me to face my life with passion, fire and inspiration, and it has never failed me throughout all of my trials.
Adulthood has brought the same unexpected financial hardships that anyone my age has likely gone through. Car accidents, break ups, hospital bills, tuition, and so much more. My parents have never been able to give me a lot of money, but my mother did something better - teach me the tools to create a business that has allowed me to save up enough to not have to struggle month to month. Teach me the tools to empower myself. Teach me that I can do business - I can talk to people - I can be whatever and whomever I aspire to be.
Being a princess has taught me so much more than just being able to do the chicken dance in high heels. It's taught me to think on my toes and to be creative. To come up with party ideas and activities that I'm not always completely comfortable with, such as filling an hour with music and games for 8 year olds.
It's taught me responsibility: if I'm going to go out and party, I still have to be ready for work at 9 am the next morning. I do not cancel parties unexpectedly, no matter what: sick, overwhelmed, busy, heartbroken, whatever. Over the years, I've had to drag myself to parties during the midst of all of these things, and it's been hard. It's hard to smile when your heart hurts. It's hard to dance when you're not feeling well. But being a princess is a commitment I take seriously, and I take making children happy seriously. If I ever do have to cancel for some reason - I will find you a replacement that you like, because it's the right thing to do. Being responsible also means juggling ordering balloons, placing phone calls, writing invoices, collecting payments, sewing and maintaining costumes, and rushing to work right after school despite a full time Graduate or college school schedule. It means training other princesses or entertainers if necessary. It means battling stress and exhaustion and not letting it show when I'm at events.
Being a princess has taught me to talk to people. I've had to get over my fear of phone calls and my shyness and cold call people. Discuss things with clients I have never met. Send professional emails. Settle issues calmly and professionally if they arise. Make small talk with confidence, be optimistic and bright, act confident even when I'm shy and unsure.
Being a princess has taught me to take things in stride. Things aren't ever going to go perfectly, You can plan a whole party and then have it all go differently. Maybe no one except the birthday girl shows up and suddenly you're just entertaining her. Maybe the kids don't want to do games and you have 30 minutes to still kill. Guess what? It's ok. Just roll with it. I've learned to rely on myself and my instinct, because I have experience and I know what to do. I can teach kids to swing dance. I don't know how to sing well? Well, being Elsa means I know how to sing now - so put on Let it Go and fake it! Fake ice powers! Practice princess lessons! Whatever it takes to make kids feel special and happy, because that's what it's all about. I help to create good memories. And it's extremely fulfilling.
Being a princess means strolling headlong into unknown situations with confidence. It means learning cultural competence - many clients will be offended if you don't partake in their food after the party. Some clients want you to come dance with them. Take your shoes off when you get indoors. Don't play the limbo. Act cool around blaring rap music. Brainstorm when the sweet birthday girl is in a wheelchair and the 40-people party suddenly has to be in a trailer indoors because it's raining - and nobody speaks English.
Situations can get difficult, but it means not breaking out of character even for a moment. Even when clients accidentally call Elsa by her "real name" or ask her what she's going to college for.
Being a princess means learning patience. Even when you've painted 30 kids and there's always just "one more"... and it's past your time and you're exhausted. Sometimes, it's just the princess thing to do and stay and make that one extra kid happy. You paste a smile on your face and keep going. (Being a princess also means knowing how to nicely say "you have to go back to the castle" though, too. :)
When it comes down to it, I could go on for days about what it means to be a princess. But at the end of the day, the crux of the matter is that it's been an extremely rewarding and fun filled life experience. My life has been so colourful and fun thanks to what I do. I've seen almost every corner of the state of Georgia. I've met mayors and basketball players and Doctors and physical therapists and so much more. It's costed me: I've gotten speeding tickets, I was in a car accident that nearly costed my life, I've spent more money on balloons than I probably spend on myself every year, and if you know me, it's also made me a bit of a workaholic, which I am working on.
But I'm glad for it all. I'm very proud of what I do, because it's helped to shape who I am. Sure, my closet is filled with princess dresses that battle for room with my other clothes for which ones can be hung up. Sure, I kind of talk in a permanent Disney princess voice even when I'm not trying to. But I'm also more business savvy, financially smart, professional and responsible, culturally competent, optimistic, strong willed, quick-minded, creative, and people-smart than I used to be before I ever did this. I'm confident: I have juggled this business for as long as I've been in school, and if I can manage the responsibility of a business every weekend - doing as many as 5 parties in a single day sometimes - while passing a full-time Doctoral program and juggling every day life - I'm confident that I can do anything. And that's why being a princess is one of my proudest achievements. That's why it's an achievement I'll proclaim loud and clear. Because I'm proud of who I am, and proud of who my mom taught me to push myself to be.
And with that, this princess is going to bow out and go back to studying for her musculoskeletal exam tomorrow - so that one day I can be Lacy Ball (Mason), Princess and PT, DPT. How's that for a resume?
Monday, February 15, 2016
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
My Journey to Georgia Residency
I've lived in Georgia as a student for a long time, but I never bothered to switch my driver's license until recently. After taking a defensive driving class in an attempt to lower my car insurance because I was told I could get points off my license, I was informed by Florida that Florida licenses aren't eligible for points reductions. Only Georgia licenses. Fine. So, I'd just apply for my Georgia license, and get my $95 points reduction that way.
So, two weeks ago, after obtaining way more information that I needed to - proof of residency, lease from the past 3 years, a dozen pieces of mail, bank statements, etc. (I like to over-prepare), I finally gave up my residency to the sunshine state and traded it in for a Georgia Driver's License. It was, surprisingly, super easy: way easier than I thought it would be. The up side? I can purchase a firearm here now. The downside? The circus that ensued.
First, I called my car insurance company to let them know I had changed my state. They forwarded me to a new agent and gave me a quote for a new Georgia policy. I told the agent that I would need to make sure that it was ok to switch my insurance (since I didn't have a Georgia tag yet), and she told me it was fine to call the tag office and check first.
Instead of telling me to switch my insurance to a new company as soon as possible, they (without telling me) automatically changed my policy to a $1000/month policy (an "out of state" fee). After receiving this bill in the mail and freaking out, I called them and told them I had been in touch with the tag office but would have been much faster with changing insurance companies if they had told me that suddenly my insurance was going to jump several hundred dollars up per month. I switched my insurance right away that day and spent countless hours on the phone trying to ensure that I received a refund for this lack of oversight on their part.
Then, that brings me to the tag office. After nearly 2 hours of waiting on the phone, I was informed that I would need a slew of paperwork to receive my Georgia tag. Georgia insurance - my vehicle title and loan information - but not just that. Since my car title also had my mother's name on it, that meant we had to get a signed power of attorney stating that I could go to the GA tag office alone, without her, to obtain my new tag. As well as a copy of her driver's license... as well as a copy of my Florida registration, which just so happened to be lost. After searching my entire apartment and the black hole that is my glove box, my mom just sent me a picture from online and I prayed that would suffice.
We haven't even gotten to the emissions test part yet. Florida doesn't require emissions tests - I have never had an emissions test - for years, I wondered my on Earth these shady little emissions test stations nestled away in creepy parts of the city even existed. Apparently, Fulton County (Atlanta) requires yearly emissions tests to renew (and get) a tag. No problem, right?
Except a few months earlier, my cars "check engine" light went on. Freaked out about what could possibly be wrong with my 2012 car, Kris took it to get the code read and the technician said "oh, man, that's a bad code. You're catalytic converter's gone bad."
Well, that's an expensive $1000-$2000 fix. But it's not a problem, because Florida doesn't do emissions tests and only one side of the cat was bad, so the fix could wait, right?
No... by changing my driver's license, I now had 30 days to get my Georgia tag, and pass my emissions test. I took it by a repair shop and just got the code reset. I didn't know that emissions tests will fail you if you get your computer reset and take it in for testing too soon after. So that didn't work. Thankfully, Kris's family happens to have the hookup with car repairs, so after purchasing a catalytic converter online and Kris spending an afternoon down in Albany, my catalytic converter was thankfully fixed for a lot cheaper than $2000, for which I am endlessly thankful.
After running around the entire city of Atlanta to get paperwork notarized, tracking down pieces of paper that I haven't seen in years, and having to do it all on the one day of the week I have off from school, everything was finally ready to take to the tag office. Luckily, I had no trouble with my paperwork - I again brought way too much - and 7% of my car's value later (ouch), I finally received my new Georgia tag.
These past few weeks have been a goose chase: Atlanta's way of telling me "welcome to adulthood, Lacy!"
But hey - at least I can buy firearms here, right?
I'm sure it's going to be equally as much a joy to change my name in just a few short months - though, I can't really complain. A few afternoons of trouble to spend forever with the man of my dreams? It will be a pain, but the trade off is totally worth it!
So, two weeks ago, after obtaining way more information that I needed to - proof of residency, lease from the past 3 years, a dozen pieces of mail, bank statements, etc. (I like to over-prepare), I finally gave up my residency to the sunshine state and traded it in for a Georgia Driver's License. It was, surprisingly, super easy: way easier than I thought it would be. The up side? I can purchase a firearm here now. The downside? The circus that ensued.
First, I called my car insurance company to let them know I had changed my state. They forwarded me to a new agent and gave me a quote for a new Georgia policy. I told the agent that I would need to make sure that it was ok to switch my insurance (since I didn't have a Georgia tag yet), and she told me it was fine to call the tag office and check first.
Instead of telling me to switch my insurance to a new company as soon as possible, they (without telling me) automatically changed my policy to a $1000/month policy (an "out of state" fee). After receiving this bill in the mail and freaking out, I called them and told them I had been in touch with the tag office but would have been much faster with changing insurance companies if they had told me that suddenly my insurance was going to jump several hundred dollars up per month. I switched my insurance right away that day and spent countless hours on the phone trying to ensure that I received a refund for this lack of oversight on their part.
Then, that brings me to the tag office. After nearly 2 hours of waiting on the phone, I was informed that I would need a slew of paperwork to receive my Georgia tag. Georgia insurance - my vehicle title and loan information - but not just that. Since my car title also had my mother's name on it, that meant we had to get a signed power of attorney stating that I could go to the GA tag office alone, without her, to obtain my new tag. As well as a copy of her driver's license... as well as a copy of my Florida registration, which just so happened to be lost. After searching my entire apartment and the black hole that is my glove box, my mom just sent me a picture from online and I prayed that would suffice.
We haven't even gotten to the emissions test part yet. Florida doesn't require emissions tests - I have never had an emissions test - for years, I wondered my on Earth these shady little emissions test stations nestled away in creepy parts of the city even existed. Apparently, Fulton County (Atlanta) requires yearly emissions tests to renew (and get) a tag. No problem, right?
Except a few months earlier, my cars "check engine" light went on. Freaked out about what could possibly be wrong with my 2012 car, Kris took it to get the code read and the technician said "oh, man, that's a bad code. You're catalytic converter's gone bad."
Well, that's an expensive $1000-$2000 fix. But it's not a problem, because Florida doesn't do emissions tests and only one side of the cat was bad, so the fix could wait, right?
No... by changing my driver's license, I now had 30 days to get my Georgia tag, and pass my emissions test. I took it by a repair shop and just got the code reset. I didn't know that emissions tests will fail you if you get your computer reset and take it in for testing too soon after. So that didn't work. Thankfully, Kris's family happens to have the hookup with car repairs, so after purchasing a catalytic converter online and Kris spending an afternoon down in Albany, my catalytic converter was thankfully fixed for a lot cheaper than $2000, for which I am endlessly thankful.
After running around the entire city of Atlanta to get paperwork notarized, tracking down pieces of paper that I haven't seen in years, and having to do it all on the one day of the week I have off from school, everything was finally ready to take to the tag office. Luckily, I had no trouble with my paperwork - I again brought way too much - and 7% of my car's value later (ouch), I finally received my new Georgia tag.
These past few weeks have been a goose chase: Atlanta's way of telling me "welcome to adulthood, Lacy!"
But hey - at least I can buy firearms here, right?
I'm sure it's going to be equally as much a joy to change my name in just a few short months - though, I can't really complain. A few afternoons of trouble to spend forever with the man of my dreams? It will be a pain, but the trade off is totally worth it!
Monday, February 1, 2016
Less Than 4 Months!
I remember our second date because it's the night I truly started to like him.
It started at Dr. Bombay's, one of my favourite, quirky coffee shops in Atlanta. Nestled into a rather dark space and tucked away in Candler Park, Dr. Bombay's had rows and rows of $1 books and umbrellas hanging from the ceiling. The bathroom had pages from Grey's Anatomy on the walls.
Kris came and sat down next to me, rather than across from me. I still didn't know him well, but I grabbed his right arm to get a closer look at his tattoo.
"I'm an INFJ. Do you know what your Myers-Briggs is?" I asked him. We launched into what probably turned into an hour and a half long conversation about personality types. He talked about books and lent me Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I gave him Atlas Shrugged and a book of poems by one of my favourite poets, Sylvia Plath.
It was getting dark and I was tired of studying when he suggested taking a walk through Candler Park; it was right across the street. Say what you want about accompanying a man you've hardly met into a dimly lit park late at night, but I decided I really trusted Kris. I decided to go.
We walked through the park, the stars lit up better than I normally saw them in the city. The park was quiet - only a few passerby's. "It's really safe here," Kris assured me. We walked, and I thought about our date the night before. How we'd gotten locked into Oakland Cemetery because it was past dusk and I was scared of being caught in a graveyard after nighttime but Kris hopped the fence and raised his arms up to help me. I climbed the wall and fell into his arms. I caught his gaze before he lowered me down; it lingered for a second, and then my feet were on the sidewalk.
We got to a grassy part of the park next to a few small oak trees. We stood, we looked at each other, and I looked up at the stars, trying to distract myself from the obvious feelings I was starting to develop for a man I had thought would be just another date.
What normally might have been a typical second date conversation (Tell me about your siblings, where do you want to travel one day, blah) ended up turning into a nearly 4-hour conversation. Kris suddenly told me his entire story - his sad, lovely, beautiful story. And I did something I had never done for anyone before: Not even people I had dated in my longest relationships. I opened up and told him all of mine. I told him all of the ugly sides of me, the parts of me I hated, the secrets that ate away at me just a little and then some. I told him my thoughts on all of it. And when I finished my story, he put his arms around me, and I was okay with that.
It must have been one in the morning when we left. Way past a curfew if I still had one, but it was Friday, and I only had one job the next day, and something told me to let the evening run its course. We walked back to Kris's car and we both realized that neither of us wanted to say goodbye yet. Which is why when Kris asked me if I wanted to go home and see his cat, I agreed - either it was the cheesiest and weakest attempt to get a girl to go home with him, or it was an earnest question in an attempt to spend as much time with me as possible - regardless, I was about to find out that it was a totally earnest question on his part.
Sure enough, there was an adorable, fat, fluffy cat named Sparta waiting for me when we went back to his apartment. I fell in love with him immediately. And then Kris played guitar for me - he played me a song he wrote, and it's still my favourite one out of all the songs he played, because he wrote it.
We watched Great Gatsby until it was 6 in the morning with me sitting on the opposite side of the bed because I was shy and didn't want him to get the wrong idea (Yeah, I know I just went to some dude's apartment in the middle of the night, but that's just me, I guess.)
By the time he left me back at my car in the morning after we'd eaten breakfast at Majestic Diner, I realized I really didn't want him to go. But he left, I went to work, and then fell into one of the deepest sleeps I'd had in a long time after I'd gone home.
2 weeks - that's how long it took for me to realize that this guy was here in my life to stay. He was different than anyone I'd ever met, and I realized that after all of the questioning and soul-searching I'd tried to do when considering who was the right person for me, knowing who the right person is shouldn't be a guessing game of pros and cons. It should be effortless. And it was.
It's less than 4 months away from our wedding, and in the midst of wedding planning, I still have to pause and look up at him from across the table in a coffee shop and have to catch my breath. He's the kindest, most incredible man I've ever met, and he gets to be in my life forever. How incredible and wonderful is that?
I look at the next 4 months ahead of us and I treasure these times: the times we are spending not only planning our wedding, but planning our lifetime ahead of us and laying down the foundation of our marriage.
I'm a lucky girl, that's for sure. I never was able to see the big picture before, but now I see what God was planning for me in the last few years - and it's more perfect that I ever could have imagined.
It started at Dr. Bombay's, one of my favourite, quirky coffee shops in Atlanta. Nestled into a rather dark space and tucked away in Candler Park, Dr. Bombay's had rows and rows of $1 books and umbrellas hanging from the ceiling. The bathroom had pages from Grey's Anatomy on the walls.
Kris came and sat down next to me, rather than across from me. I still didn't know him well, but I grabbed his right arm to get a closer look at his tattoo.
"I'm an INFJ. Do you know what your Myers-Briggs is?" I asked him. We launched into what probably turned into an hour and a half long conversation about personality types. He talked about books and lent me Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I gave him Atlas Shrugged and a book of poems by one of my favourite poets, Sylvia Plath.
It was getting dark and I was tired of studying when he suggested taking a walk through Candler Park; it was right across the street. Say what you want about accompanying a man you've hardly met into a dimly lit park late at night, but I decided I really trusted Kris. I decided to go.
We walked through the park, the stars lit up better than I normally saw them in the city. The park was quiet - only a few passerby's. "It's really safe here," Kris assured me. We walked, and I thought about our date the night before. How we'd gotten locked into Oakland Cemetery because it was past dusk and I was scared of being caught in a graveyard after nighttime but Kris hopped the fence and raised his arms up to help me. I climbed the wall and fell into his arms. I caught his gaze before he lowered me down; it lingered for a second, and then my feet were on the sidewalk.
We got to a grassy part of the park next to a few small oak trees. We stood, we looked at each other, and I looked up at the stars, trying to distract myself from the obvious feelings I was starting to develop for a man I had thought would be just another date.
What normally might have been a typical second date conversation (Tell me about your siblings, where do you want to travel one day, blah) ended up turning into a nearly 4-hour conversation. Kris suddenly told me his entire story - his sad, lovely, beautiful story. And I did something I had never done for anyone before: Not even people I had dated in my longest relationships. I opened up and told him all of mine. I told him all of the ugly sides of me, the parts of me I hated, the secrets that ate away at me just a little and then some. I told him my thoughts on all of it. And when I finished my story, he put his arms around me, and I was okay with that.
It must have been one in the morning when we left. Way past a curfew if I still had one, but it was Friday, and I only had one job the next day, and something told me to let the evening run its course. We walked back to Kris's car and we both realized that neither of us wanted to say goodbye yet. Which is why when Kris asked me if I wanted to go home and see his cat, I agreed - either it was the cheesiest and weakest attempt to get a girl to go home with him, or it was an earnest question in an attempt to spend as much time with me as possible - regardless, I was about to find out that it was a totally earnest question on his part.
Sure enough, there was an adorable, fat, fluffy cat named Sparta waiting for me when we went back to his apartment. I fell in love with him immediately. And then Kris played guitar for me - he played me a song he wrote, and it's still my favourite one out of all the songs he played, because he wrote it.
We watched Great Gatsby until it was 6 in the morning with me sitting on the opposite side of the bed because I was shy and didn't want him to get the wrong idea (Yeah, I know I just went to some dude's apartment in the middle of the night, but that's just me, I guess.)
By the time he left me back at my car in the morning after we'd eaten breakfast at Majestic Diner, I realized I really didn't want him to go. But he left, I went to work, and then fell into one of the deepest sleeps I'd had in a long time after I'd gone home.
2 weeks - that's how long it took for me to realize that this guy was here in my life to stay. He was different than anyone I'd ever met, and I realized that after all of the questioning and soul-searching I'd tried to do when considering who was the right person for me, knowing who the right person is shouldn't be a guessing game of pros and cons. It should be effortless. And it was.
It's less than 4 months away from our wedding, and in the midst of wedding planning, I still have to pause and look up at him from across the table in a coffee shop and have to catch my breath. He's the kindest, most incredible man I've ever met, and he gets to be in my life forever. How incredible and wonderful is that?
I look at the next 4 months ahead of us and I treasure these times: the times we are spending not only planning our wedding, but planning our lifetime ahead of us and laying down the foundation of our marriage.
I'm a lucky girl, that's for sure. I never was able to see the big picture before, but now I see what God was planning for me in the last few years - and it's more perfect that I ever could have imagined.
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