it's not my mirror's fault

for some reason my mind wandered this way the other night and, though (in my exhausted stupor) i thought what i was saying sounded well-said, i can pretty much guarantee you this post will not be nearly as eloquent.

 I was thinking, i guess, about beauty and how we, as women, see ourselves.  I only actually know how i see myself.  I see myself as short and fat.  very square-ish and rather Oompa Loompa ish.  i know there is this whole deal out there about not using the term fat and such against ourselves but i wouldn't be being honest if i didn't.  I see myself quite a bit larger than i am, and deformed, crooked.  I suppose that might be seen as a minor case of body dismorphia but i don't know.

What i know is that i am not, never was, and never will be a beauty.  i'll never be an hour glass figure that i grew up seeing as beautiful.  i will never be that tall, skinny, sexy chick that turns heads when i walk in the room.   Do i want that?  yeah, i kinda do.  I do not want to be thought of and treated as some sex toy for men but i do want to be That Girl (or Lady or Woman).

My mirror and i are not close friends.  i do not enjoy looking at myself in it.  I see those grey hairs, extra chins, dark circles and or bags under my eyes.  i see chicken wings and back fat and cellulose and flat ass and muffin top.   i see stretch marks and varicose or spider veins.   I see everything lacking.  This is on a good day.  so my mirror and i don't hang out much.  just tonight i realized that my chipped front tooth was kind of a Snaggle Tooth.  oh yea, great!   that makes me wanna smile more.  NOT!
   All this makes it hard to be self confident and have good self worth.  and it makes it hard to teach it to my daughter.  I have always been one of those, "i love sexy clothes!" kinda girls.  I love lacy undies and bras that show off the best of whatever the girls are working that day but they only work for me if i never look at myself in them.  i can look down and say, "yup, they fit.  not bad"  but sure as i look in that damn mirror they are off and stuffed in a bag, buried deep in my closet for a few millinea or till i find them in the next pack-out prep.   My friends are my yoga pants and T's or tank tops.  Give me a stretched out comfy shirt that gives the vague illusion of the possibility of something beautiful and desirable underneath and, believe me, a man's brain does the rest of the work.  

I think women are very hard on themselves, too hard.  Then we went to Italy where you find Much! older women in sexy short skirts and heels and flaunting their gorgeousness because they knew they looked good, even when it was questionable to all the foreigners around.  Italian women, and i think the French as well, had a head start because they are just gorgeous anyway, but then they have this confidence that can stupefy a man from across the road and half a block away.  One lil swish of the skirt and WHAM!  the poor fool has been hit with Hammer of Hotness.
    Somehow we, the lesser of the female gender, the "Not Marilyn Monroe/Dita Von Tease/Jane Russell/Sophia Loren...." of the world need to figure it out.  Because those stupid fashion magazines I'm addicted to won't help.  The stores with pretty clothes that don't fit my 5'1",  148 pound frame and look a lot less pretty on me don't help.  And aging isn't much help either.
    I know i can move into the better diet + serious exercise= weight loss and better health stuff but i'm talking about the "Look in the mirror while you are naked and say Damn Girl! you are hot!"   yeah,  how many of us out there can actually do that and not feel the need for a strong drink afterwards?    If you can then good for you because this place here on the sidelines of sexiness sucks.

  

God listens

...though he's picky about what he gives us.  He's given me a lot of what i thought i wanted.  Often as a lesson for being selfish and demanding but none the less, there it was, whatever i wanted.

    What made me think of this was that i was listening to people speak at a convention where my hub was the guest speaker.  One person asked or said something to the effect of, "did anyone know what they wanted to be in the 7th grade".     uhm,  yeah.  As a kid i wanted to be  many things.  A ballerina, a veterinarian, a go-go dancer in a fringe dress in a glass-bottom cage, a gypsy in a Vargo, a Fame or Solid Gold Dancer  (dancer apparently came up as soon as i could walk and talk at the same time), i suppose a doctor and a teacher each came up.  But in everything, from about 10 on, i wanted to be a mom.  i always played at baby dolls and with Christopher Robin, my teddy, but Mommy was my main goal in life.  and i knew i wanted 5 kids, 3 girls and 2 boys.  And God listened.  i mean, he changed it up but i got it.  sort of.  I have 6 kids, 4 of my own and 2 step kids (that 5 falling comfortably in-between).  To add to that he let my dance. Okay, not on Fame, Solid Gold, as a Go-go dancer, as a performer or a profession but dance i did, and sometimes do.  I have a fringed skirt, i've moved around a lot with my husband's job, living better than a gypsy. And i work with kids as a teacher assistant in a day care.
   On top of that i wanted to live in or see Georgetown in D.C, London, Venice, Ireland, Africa, Japan...all of which i have.  For my lessons he often let me date the guys i wanted.  uh,  yeah.  thanks God.  

But he listens.  and though i am a very poor example of a Christian (i'm more of a christian) i am one.  I'm actually a lot more Christo/Native American/Buddhist if that is such a thing, but God is the one i speak to and the one i think listens.

Something else he listened to was my desire for a daughter.  I was unmarried and "dating" around.  I said repeatedly that i wanted a lil girl when my youngest boy turned 7.   Then i met a guy i had no right to be seeing and got pregnant.  My son turned 7 in March and she was borne in June.  And here's the clincher, i was told i was pregnant.  Very literally within minutes of "the act" i was told, yes a voice in my head, "yes you are and it's okay"  and i knew.  A complete sense of peace washed over me.  I wasn't freaked out because, yes this sounds all very weird and like i drink too much, this was the second time it happened.  The speaking i mean.   but those are other stories and i digress.  The point is God listens.  i believe that.  And i just felt like i needed to say it.

Sometimes, all to often actually, we think he doesn't.  i think it's because we are so busy causing a commotion by  being selfish or arrogant or stingy or....  that we can't here him.  but he's there. and he's listening.   And for that i'm truly thankful.

 

Coca Cola Super Bowl 2014 Commercial "America The Beautiful" [HD]

I'm not a warrior

that's what he said.  He was all in tears and very upset.  It's something in the way his tender heart works, taking things from one topic to another and ultimately leaving him feeling deflated, defeated, crushed.  It all started on the way in from Scouts.  "Where did all the fish go after the flood?"    "That's a good question to ask God when you die."    really?  that's the answer?  place in a child's head the thought of dying simply because he wants to be educated on history? on faith?  on fish?
     he curled up next to me crying and we cuddled in my big bed and talked.  And he realized that, though his father is a fighter, he is not.  he is a lil boy.  he likes toy guns, Nerf guns, toy swords, SCA fighting, untrained Power Ranger kicks...but he is not and will never be (THANK GOD!!!) a fighter.

"I'm not a warrior, Mommy."       and i said, "i know."
"But, wait, you are.   There are different types of warriors.  You may never be a Marine like you thought, you may decide not to fight in the SCA.  You are a different kind of warrior."

We discussed things like Doctors without Borders and how they change people's lives. In the past we've discussed how some people build schools and homes, how people do good things in their communities like working the food banks, serving at shelters, sending up prayers for people whether you know them or not because it's all they can do.   I reminded him that he grew his hair out several times and faced bullying because he wanted to donate it to Locks of Love.  I told him, "See, you are a warrior.  You are the kind that heals."

He dried his eyes.  He was happy to learn that he wasn't "not a warrior",  but instead he was the type of warrior the builds.  Builds hope, and healing, and dreams, and love.  He's happy to know that, just because dad fights, doesn't mean he has to.  And i don't think he wants to.  And i'm happy, too.