Are you a whale or a mermaid?

Anyone want to be a whale with me?

peaceful parenting: I Want to Be a Whale: This little story, in its many forms, has been making the internet rounds again. Whether there actually was a gym in Paris (as the origina...

Gearing Up To Be Me

Everyday me likes jeans and t-shirts. And goes without makeup.
Everyday me likes flat shoes and tall socks.
Everyday me has a dry sense of humor, tends to be solitary and would prefer the company of a few to the company of many.

Everyday me has to go to a large company gathering in less than 2 months. Everyday me will have to put on a suit, make-up, heels and network amongst the company masses. In Las Vegas.

The company I work for is in a professional industry and appearances do still count. Lucikly, in our local office, my immediate boss allows us to be flexible in our dress code so I get to dress down more than I have to dress up.

Everyday me is annoyed that I have to go along with appearances and wear the right clothes and make sure to greet the right people. Everyday me wants to kick and scream and protest. Shouldn't I be appreciated for my brain more than my beauty? It's the same brain doing the same job, whether I wear jeans or a power suit.

I know studies show that people who dress more professionally often work more professionally and are more productive, but I seem to react the opposite way. I'm uncomfortable in my fancy work clothes. I don't feel like myself.

Everyday me will have to go into hiding a little bit while I pull out Professional me. I used to pull out Professional me a lot more than I do now. I think I must be out of practice. Everyday me is also practical and realizes that it is Professional me that allows my family to live the way we do and have the choices in our lives that we have.

I also know that Professional me is a lot like Everyday me, just a bit more spit-shine polished. Now, if I can just convince Everyday me that being Professional me is no more difficult than playing dress up, we might have a winner.

Owning My Choices

The Own Your Beauty movement has really gotten me thinking lately. Owning my choices is a complimentary concept. Everyone makes them, everyone has them, and we all try to choose what we think is best for our own development, happiness, comfort, health, etc. Just because someone chooses a different path than we do does not make them any less valuable or interesting.

Long ago I realized that the choices that I have made --good or bad, right or wrong-- have molded me into the person I am today. Most of the time I like that person. Therefore, those choices were the ones that needed to made. Had a made a different choice, I might not be the same me. I know that there are always going to be people who do not agree with the choices that I make, and I have made peace with that.

I encourage every woman to own her choices. There is a freedom in owning the choices that you have made. It settles the skin a little more solidly on the bones.

Many times I feel the need to justify a decision I made to strangers or acquaintances. That needs to stop. No one has the full story except me. And as long as I made the decision as best I could for myself, I don't need to let anyone judge me for it.

So go ahead; own that choice you just made. I sure did when I hit the publish post button.

Own Your Beauty: Through His Eyes

I try to accept myself for the way I look. I try to see myself as unique and beautiful in my own way. Sometimes I fail.

Then I remember: in his eyes I am beautiful.

In his eyes, I sing the best songs ever. I can make magical things appear out of my bag. I can turn any activity - like taking off clothes - into a silly song and game.

In his eyes I am there to carry him when he is tired and kiss him when he hurts. I make food magically appear when he needs it and join him in dancing to the ring of a cell phone.

When he looks at me, he sees no flaws, no marks that don't belong there, nothing that makes me less than whole.

I try to see myself through his eyes. And I know that I am beautiful.

Her Hands Are Now My Hands

I can look at my hands and see my mother. Hers are often arthritic and swollen, knobbly and housework roughened. However, as I bathe my young son in the bathtub, I can perfectly picture my mother doing the same thing to her son 50 years ago. My hands become hers; my love, the same she felt.

Her hands tell her story. Every time I look at her hands I can see her past and my future.

I can see the children she tended and the dishes she washed.

The sheets she folded and the scraped knees she bandaged.

The items she slings across the register as a nighttime cashier and the grandchildren she cuddles in close for hugs.

She was born in 1939. Her life hasn't always been an easy one.  She's seen several wars and lived on more than one continent. She's rasied four children. She's had to learn when to hold on and when to let go.

She isn't traditionally or classically pretty as society would define. I would offer a picture but she hates to have hers taken even more than I do. But she is my mom and she is beautiful to me as mothers are to their children.

Her hair may be gray and her body saggier than it used to be, yet she still wrestles in the floor with her grandchildren and is quick to spout off a sassy one liner.

I see beauty and grace in every one of the knobs and lines on her hands. I see her.

November - Own Your Beauty - BONUS - Pic of the Day

This is me. Bored at my desk. No makeup on. Face is dry from the cooler weather change. Taken with my phone as most of my pictures these days are.

November: There Are No Flaws

Wow, Own Your Beauty, this could be a tough one.

You want me to take a picture every day of me, or at least part of me. Hmm, I'll admit up front that isn't going to happen. Not just because I don't like to have my picture taken (which is incredibly true) but I also know I will forget and then I will get grumpy at myself for forgetting and feel as if I have ruined my own experiment. So, I will take them when I remember, when I find that moment of being centered.

I use the word odd to describe myself. Why? Because I think I am. I don't say it as a way to put myself down or make excuses for who I am. That word simply resonates with me. I think I will add to that description. I am not perfect, and yet I have no flaws. People will really think I'm odd if I say that.

I have chicken pox scars on my face because the case I had when I was 18 months old was very strong. I see them and yet no one else ever mentions them. Not people who know me, not strangers. I guess they are just part who I am.

I have stretch marks. I have a large c-section scar. I have short and muscular legs. I have a tiny Irish mouth. I rarely wear makeup. I prefer jeans and tshirts to any other clothing. I cry when I get angry. I like to be alone. I tend to give a lecture on what is really tea and what is not when people ask about it. I have very little modesty. I get impatient. My desk is organized chaos and I function well that way. I will not eat cauliflower. Sometimes I wish I wasn't a mom. My ultimate dream in life is to be a writer. I hate loathe math. I raise my child with some alternative parenting methods. I'm a cut-rate housekeeper at best.

I guess what I'm saying is that's I'm odd. And I like me that way.

Authenticity: Oops I Missed October's Homework

Over at BlogHer they are pioneering a year-long movement called Own Your Beauty. The idea is to create change, at the individual level, so that each woman learns to see herself as beautiful. We often see the beauty in others and forget that others see us as beautiful.

The focus for October is/was Authenticity. The assigment is to list all of the things you do that fill you with joy and/or grace. I thought creating this list would be easy. It wasn't, at least not for me. Here is what I have so far, I hope to find things to add to it. In no particular order:

• sipping good wine
• knitting
• having my son run up to me at the end of the day calling out "Mama" and giving me a big hug
• long, hot baths
• books
• getting a difficult deal done at work
• realizing that work was not the end all be all of my life and that the world would not crash down on me if I didn't get it all done
• looking at the professional maternity pictures I had done and realizing how amazing and beautiful and sensual I was then
• sharing my love for breastfeeding and natural birthing with others
• letting out loud, unrestrained laughter when something strikes me
• getting organized
• spin class (how I miss thee)
• yoga. balances my body, soul and emotions
• using sign language with my son. he isn't deaf but I love how we are learning to communicate in a variety of ways
• standing up for myself, even when I find it difficult to do so

I feel that I am missing the little things in my list. I am sure they will pop up sooner or later. When I am doing them and find the joy, I am going to remind myself to stop and savor that moment.

My moments of clarity came when I was pregnant. I realized that there was no reason not to be the person I really was. I didn't need to care what "others" thought of me. I started to stand up more for myself; started to do even the little things that before would have scared me. I realized that work was not my life and didn't need to be.

Here's to authenticity. I hope to learn more about myself on this journey.