Since When is a Size 10 Plus-Size?

"Plus-size models in Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue!"

This is the big news from this much anticipated (you can debate "by whom") issue of the popular sports magazine.  Perhaps you would think that the women featured would be large, pudgy, a few extra rolls here and there, we know there won't be cellulite because they'll airbrush that out. Let's take a look.

For the swimsuit ad, the model is a size 16.  The model is in good shape for what we think of as a large woman, and of course, she's pretty in that SI model kind go way.  The interesting thing to me is that this is an ad - paid space in the magazine.  So message women: if you want to be this big and be in this magazine, you're going to have to pay.

The model in the regular featured pages of the magazine, is a 10.  Yes, that's the plus-size model.   Since when is 10 "plus-size"! And yes, I am complaining because I am just a chocolate cake away from this plus-designation. At one point, wasn't size 16 or even 18 the point where women had to go to the specialty shop or section in the department store? Then, I noticed it scooted down to 14.  Now we're down to a 10?

This is more than me not wanting to be a plus-size.  It's about what do we think a regular woman should look like?  That's a hard question, even if you google it. There's a lot of answers, but a seemingly consistent range is about 5'4, 34-35 inch waist (also the recommended waist size for health purposes), and 140-150 pounds.  This woman would be a size 12-14, depending on where she shops, because the other thing about women's clothes is that the higher end shops and labels assign smaller sizes. I mean that makes sense, if I'm about to pay $100 for a blouse, you better tell me I'm skinny.

So, what's that mean - we're all big? Even if that is the argument, from a labeling standpoint, shouldn't "plus" be some kind of outlier?  Like eggs. When I pay the extra for the "jumbo" eggs, they need to be significantly larger than the regular ones.

What does it say about our image of what women should look like with all kinds of mixed signals on sizing?  For instance, there's a size 0. What the heck is that?  Yes, I've seen women who are probably size 0 and I stare, wondering where do they keep all their internal organs, where is their spleen?  (Note, there is not a size 0 for men.)  Then there are obese women who claim that they are happy, despite the possibility of heart disease.  And then there are average sized women who we are now saying are large.  What's a woman to do?

I guess the first thing to do is not refer to Sports Illustrated for a reference point of what a normal women should look like. Even in the non-swimsuit issue, the women are professional athletes who spend their workday lifting, running, jumping, swinging, swimming and eating right.  We can't compare our hour at the gym on a good day, eating chips while watching How to Get Away with Murder lives to these people.  So I'm going to ignore the swimwear issue, too, because I'm not those people either.

Pass me another slice of chocolate cake.

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Lessons for My Daughters About #BreakingtheInternet

Many situations in life are what we call “teachable moments.”  They may be times when someone did really well, but sometimes (usually) the best lessons are from when something has gone wrong.

In the past week, there was one celebrity who tried to steal the internet spotlight by baring her a$$ on a magazine cover and everything else on the inside pages (although online, cover and inside pages don’t really matter, so we got a glimpse of it all, but anyway...)  Then, another who quietly donned a white jumpsuit and cape, had her husband-to-be suit up in white, and rode two white bikes to their wedding – and the pictures took the internet by a tidal wave.  Teachable moments.

So what can we teach our daughters from these two examples of womanhood?

Overt, aggressive, look-at-me, love-me self-promotion doesn’t always work out so well.  People don’t like being forced to look at you and give you compliments.  Have you noticed whenever a person or even business entity attempts the “make a meme of me” campaign, it usually backfires? A haughty “break the internet” push actually comes off as a little too much self-absorption, and while the buzz may be out there, it’s not necessarily good. I haven’t heard anyone say “wow, I was so happy that while I was drinking my coffee this morning, sliding through Twitter, her a$$ popped up on my screen.” (Yeah, I know some thought that, but I’m talking about the rest of us.) Same when girls are strutting around in dresses tighter then their underwear and just as short or posting 100 selfies a day.  Lesson: stop begging for compliments and attention; it’s not a good look.

People like genuine-ness.  As much as we thrill in the drama of “reality” lives, in our hearts, we want to see for-real real, true love and friendship (or at least the image of it.)  So when photos of Solange’s wedding in white popped on the screen, there was a big collective “awwww, how lovely!”  Here was a celebrity who got married like a person with some sense who was focused on her own happiness, not “likes” and RT’s.  There were no secret, teasing peek photos at the wedding by the paparazzi hiding in bushes (the cute video of her and her son dancing looks like a friend took it on their phone) or month-long live E! coverage of the preparations.  I’m not naïve enough to think that there wasn’t a little bit of publicity planning involved in all of this, but the feeling was genuine and natural.  Sometimes we like things not being crazy over the top.  Lesson: We like that natural, real you better than the made-for-TV version.

In the real world, where the rest of us live, “breaking the internet” is not a real, tangible goal.  Sure, people like having a bunch of followers and friends, there’s a jolt of cyber-pride when you get some “likes” for a photo or status post. Heck, that’s what we bloggers live for – a share, a tweet, a comment. But all that amounts to very little in your quest to be a real, good, happy person.  Lesson: please, please don’t base your self-worth on electronic clicks, but instead on warm, live hugs and smiles.

And a few more quick ones:

Lesson: How you start is how you will continue.

Lesson: Pick your husband and life partner wisely. 

Lesson: Have more to offer the world than what’s physical.

And one more:

Don’t overstay your welcome.  If you somehow slipped into the party through the backdoor and folks tolerated you to stay – enjoy yourself, grab a drink, dance a little bit, don’t be a nuisance, and realize when it’s time for you to go.  Take your goodie bag, thank your host, and move on.

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Dress shopping - Nature or Nurture?

I’m going to a formal tomorrow evening. This, on paper, is a simple thing – get dressed, go to the location, eat and chat with friends.  And if I was a dude, my husband for instance, it would be that easy.  But we know, as women, going to a formal event is not at all that simple.

Of course, there’s the constant girl question – what am I going to wear? Because I do not have a ready-to-go gown in my closet. Really. Okay, I do have a couple long dresses, however, they were purchased a couple years and a few more pounds ago.  And if its one thing you can’t hide too well in a formal gown – those extra bags of M&Ms and cupcakes.

My girlfriend (who is also going, and also without a dress) and I spent an evening dress shopping. (Also, a difference between males and females, as I’ve never not once known my husband to require a friend to go with him to find a suit.) We headed out, with all the parameters in mind for a new formal dress, because there’s a lot.  Like, color.  Red is pretty, but is it too bright, too sexy? Black is classic, but does it get boring. I love green, but going into fall, its got to be the right shade. Too old for a pink gown and too tall for yellow.  And fit, of course. And consideration of what types of Spanx are going to be required to actually wear the dress outside of a fitting room.  And price for this one occasion, because I don’t have another formal on my calendar in the foreseeable future.  We took all of that – and one mall, four department stores, and a bunch of specialty dress shops, later – we were still without dresses, with one maybe.  We had to finish that missions solo, due to our schedules, but we did each manage to find something pretty.

Now, the last minute girly part.  What jewelry will look good with the dress? What shoes will we wear? By some miracle, or perhaps a schedule to busy to allow for shoe shopping, I have a pair in my closet that will work with the dress.  Letting my nails dry while I type this blogpost.

What makes us this way? Is it genetic, that we girls have to be so – well, girly?  Or is it nurture? I’ve repeated this same dress shopping thing in the past few days with my daughter, because the homecoming dance is coming up (yeah, my daughter going to a homecoming dance, another anxiety attack, another blogpost.)  We did the thing – multiple stores, which color, blah blah blah.  My son, picking out clothes for anything, is like “give me the blue one.” Done.  So is it in her chromosomes that she felt like she needed a new dress, is it the way I’ve raised her, or some greater societal influence? 

While we think on that, I’ve got to go figure out what I’m going to do with my hair.

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Stuff Every Woman Should Know

Do you know how to slow dance or check your oil? How to flirt or dress for your body type? How to give or accept a compliment or perform a breast self-exam?

 

According to this little blue book I picked up at BEA2013, this is just some of the "Stuff Every Woman Should Know" (by Alanna Kalb).  

 

Do you know how to change your oil, sew on a button?

It's a catchy title and a purse-sized book and of course, I wanted to make sure that I knew what I'm supposed to - especially by now, at my age, I figured I should have this stuff down. As I looked over the list, I realized that most of the items, I was a little iffy. 

 

Change a tire? When I used to drive my dad's small 2-door Japanese car, I could. Before I could even go for my driver's test, he made sure I knew how to take the flat tire off and put on a new one. But now that I drive a behemoth of a vehicle that carries 4 kids, their bookbags and sports gear, a dog, and a couple of friends - I don't even try.  The one time my tire blew out - on the highway, on my way to a meeting - my friend had her AAA card out without even a discussion of us trying to change it.  The big auto-repair dude working hard to jack up my car on the hydraulic jack and power tool off the tire, pretty much confirmed that that was not only the best, but only choice.   

 

How to slow dance. Okay, dancing is one of my major weaknesses. On a good night, if I've had a good mojito and no-one's talking to me too much, I can keep up with the Cupid Shuffle, but don't ask for much more than that. But slow dancing, that's pretty simple. Hand on the waist, hand in hand, smile, and follow along with your guy. I can do that. Keep it simple, no swinging, no spinning, no cheek-to-cheek tango (that requires at least another mojito and a shot of tequila).   

 

How to pick a signature scent. Apparently I'm not good at this, because I don't have one, I don't generally wear perfume.  

 

Self-defense techniques - this is a good one. Although I have a white belt in Tae Kwan Do (I quit after my brother jammed my finger with a really good roundhouse kick), I couldn't fight my way out of a wrestling match with my 8-year old. I've never been in a fist fight and my only defense mechanism is to scream and cry and swing my arms like a girl.

 

Hmm. Surprisingly, at my age, there's still a lot of things for me to learn. But I do know how to sew on a button and fix a hem, wear colors that look good on me (why I never wear blue), cook a few good recipes, and give a compliment. But it's nice to know there's things I still have yet to learn. Otherwise, where would we be if we've learned it all?

     

 

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Go on - Get the Bikini

The summer days are dwindling down and perhaps you've done a good job in avoiding wearing a bathing suit all summer.  Isn't that one of the most stressful shopping trips known to woman-hood? Especially after you've hit a certain age and had a kid or two or four? Especially if you could, if you had to, live on chocolate cake and coffee ice cream?  Stop denying yourself the cool refreshment of the summer pool and get to a bathing suit shop. In fact, go ahead and get the bikini, if you want to! 

I own one-piece bathing and bikinis, two-pieces if you prefer. My one-pieces are the traditional sports, racer-back bathing suit that I wear when swimming laps and the other is a simple black suit. Like the LBD, everyone should own a flattering black bathing suit.And I have a pile of bikinis. Yes, I wear a bikini. Why? Especially, with the whole four pregnancies and love of chocolate thing? Because, once I tried one on, I realized, I actually didn't look as bad as I had feared. Now I'm not claiming I'm ready to walk down the Victoria's Secret runway, but I don't look like Dumbo's momma either.

Picking out a bathing suit takes time. Lots of it. Probably one reason moms never have new bathing suits, or when they do, it's something they grabbed off the rack at Target while picking up toothpaste, dog food, and a mixing bowl.  So, first, you've got to make time. Leave the kids home or go while they're at camp/school/a playdate.

 

Where are you going shopping? Whether its Target, a department store or swimming suit specialty shop, pick somewhere with a variety and options you really do like and can afford. So, how much should you spend? Don't necessarily get the cheapest one. Spend a bit on the one with stretch (look for Lycra in the materials) and that fits you really well.  The cheap ones will sag after a few wears and that doesn't look good on anyone. And of course, end of summer is a great time to get suits on sale. You can also check sports stores and swimming shops, especially if you want something sporty, for end-of-season clearance. You're better off with one great suit that's going to last and not fade, then a bunch that you're going to be throwing out by next summer.

 

Now - on to the store!  Grab up everything that you think you would like. Don't worry yet whether you would look good in it or not, just get it. Skirted polka dot? One-piece with cutouts? String bikini? Black one-piece? Whatever, get it. And don't worry about what all those articles say about what bathing suit fits your body, given some "imperfection." Do you ever look at those models? That one showing off the suit that covers a "problem tummy"? Please. If I looked like that chick, I'd be wearing a bikini to PTA meetings (and isn't mine glad I don't?)  So back to my point - get all the ones you like. Now go find a dressing room.

 

Hang up all the bathing suits in a couple piles - most likely will like, maybe this will work out, and ooh! If this fits, I'm going get an ice cream cone! 

 

Start trying them on. It'll take a couple for you to figure out what does and doesn't look good on you. I found those skirted one's did nothing but make my thighs look bigger, so threw all skirted things out of the running. Figure out what works, what you like, what makes you smile at your reflection. 

 

Pick out your favorites from your pile of what makes you happy. And admit it - you didn't look as bad as you feared. Remember that show, Look Good Naked or something like that? Those women - and probably most of us in real life, too - think we look worse than we really do. We should be nicer to ourselves.

 

Now, before you change your mind - hurry to the register with your bathing suits. Then grab your best sunhat, a good book, and head to the water.

And tell me - what kind of bathing suits make you smile at your reflection?

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Stepping out on Faith

- Swim half a mile in open water (a real body of water, not a pool.)  Check.

- Run across a 1.5 mile, really high bridge.  Check. 

- Participate in a skit in public.  

- Pursue a passion. 

 

I don't like participating in skits.  Actually, let me correct that - I hate participating in skits.  Especially in public.  For me, any public performance is a break-out-in-sweat event.  Especially some improv thing.  How much do I hate being in skits?  So much so that in the Girl Scout activity guide where it lists skits as an activity option, I skip it just to avoid the possibility that the girls might ask me to be a part of it.  Yeah, I'm that bad.

 

So what happens this evening?  I go to a women's conference and get put into a group and we have to do a skit!  And it was at church so I couldn't say no, nor could I come up with some lie about why I wasn't going to do it.  I would've much rather run on the cold, long bridge again.

 

Why?  Why do we not like doing certain things?  We're scared, right?  Scared that we won't be successful - won't finish the race, will drown, will not be interesting in the skit, will be a bad speaker.  We're scared of failure, because it will be in front of everyone and who wants to do that?  Well, yes, of course it's the public part because we don't care what happens when we're  by ourselves.  I talk all day long when there's not a bunch of folks looking at me.  

 

I had to do the skit, no way out of it.  Hmmm...

The theme of the conference is about stepping out on faith, maybe that could be a hint.  Faith - the belief and trust in things not seen.  And that "thing" should be bigger than yourself because if all you've got to believe in is yourself, it would seem to kinda limit your expectations.  The key to having faith is that the thing you believe in - deity, spirit, star - should be a wiser, stronger, more knowledgeable being that knows what's waiting for you on the other side of whatever venture you are stepping into.  For me, it's God; it could be something/body different for you, but let's hope it's bigger than you.

 

Back to the skit.  Can't say I wasn't nervous, can't say I was good, can't say I was enthusiastic.  I was  none of that.  But having faith doesn't make you all the sudden not nervous or good or enthusiastic, you are still you after all.  Faith is not a magic wand - it's a journey, you're stepping in faith, moving forward.  Well, I made it through the skit.  And guess what?  My group won as the favorite skit!  That's the other thing that happens when you have faith.  Somehow the people, the resources, the stuff that needs to be in place for you to succeed is put where it needs to be.  For this skit, it was the enthusiastic, obviously skit-loving ladies in my group.  

 

What about that other thing on the list?  Following my passion, pursuing a dream.   Taking a few steps.  This blog is one of them.  Thanks for walking with me. 

  

Stepping out on faith... fashionably.

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100 Hairstyles in a Lifetime

Hoda & Kathy said that a woman goes through 100 hairstyles in her lifetime.  That's at least what I read because I was watching them with closed-captioned while on the treadmill and surprised to see them in the morning.  I had gotten so used to them at 2 a.m., I forgot that the daylight behind them wasn't a studio trick.  But now, having to wake up at pre-dawn to get ready to send the foursome off to school, I'm back to watching the real-daylight, closed-captioned, version.  Okay, back to the hairstyle thing.

100 hairstyles.  That's a lot isn't it?  What exactly defines a "hairstyle"?  A ponytail one day and a french braid the next and a messy bun the next don't count, right?  Because if every time you do your hair different counts, I think my 7-year old might be pretty close to her lifetime limit.  I think a definite, obvious cut or color or almost-permanent curling or straightening would be required to count as a hairstyle.  In which case, I am woefully below my lifetime limit.  I think I've only had my hair cut, more than a couple inches for a healthy trim, maybe half a dozen times.  And coloring?  Once in college when I did it myself against the warning of my room-mate.  Yeah, frizzy, light brown/dark orange really wasn't such a good look.  Almost as bad as growing out light brown/dark orange with black roots.  And now, I'm pretty much going with the not quite straight, not quite curly, better off tied up look.

And do you count the times you tried to cut your own hair?  My second daughter would have a couple checked off on that list; she thought scissors were a good, quick way to demonstrate her dislike for a particular ponytail and her desire for bangs.

Does this also count the myriad experiments that moms go through trying to figure out what to do with their daughters' hair?  Over the past couple weeks, I've been with a couple different groups of mothers and each time, the conversation has wandered into the "what do you do with her hair?" realm.

What grade of hair does the girl have?  How long is it?  Does she play sports?  Does she like barrettes?  Is her hair "natural" or have some kind of processed treatment or whatever there is in between?  How old is she?  What products have you tried?  What worked?  What didn't work?  Braids, twists, blow-dryer, flat-iron, curlers?  Shampoo and condition?  Shampoo only?  Condition only?

On and on.  Try it.  Put about 3 or 4 moms of girls together, give them a few minutes, and watch the conversation turn towards hair. 

 Half of our hair product inventory: just for one day.

Why?  Because, aside from the desire for healthy hair, we moms are judged by what our children look like!  True?  True.  You know when you see a child with crazy looking hair, you don't shake your head and think "what has that child done to her hair?"  No, instead you think "what the heck is wrong with her mother letting that child come out of the house like that?"  Thus, our daughter's hair goes on the list of things to stress about. 

So, those 100 hairstyles?  We probably go through half of those before we are old enough to wrestle our heads from our mothers and start our own experiments.  We run through a bunch more trying out whatever's the "in" style of that time.  And then we leave a few for when our daughters are still interested enough to play in our hair and style it with 55 barrettes (probably one of the best looks I've had in quite awhile).  

What's been your best hairstyle?

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Who said we could have it all, anyway?

As a college student, I frantically studied compound interest rates, internalized queueing theory to the point that, even now, standing in a line, I look around for a more efficient way to manage all the waiting people, and calculated and recalculated linear programming models to optimize moving crates on a ship to port.  Like everyone else in my classes, I imagined one day sitting at a grand desk, sitting atop the broken ceiling glass, as the COO of a major manufacturing corporation, an international one so that I could and would be required to travel regularly.  At the same time, I would be a mom who showed up for the chorus performance, baked cookies for the Valentine’s party, taught Sunday School, and kept an immaculate home.

I soon came to the realization that all that wasn’t possible, at least not for me.  This realization became evident to me as I worked 12 hours a day, on the late afternoon/night shift in a production facility.  I almost forgot what my husband looked like awake.  But I thought that if I changed my professional goals and realigned my plans, I could have more of what I wanted – a career and the life of June Cleaver - if I was a teacher.

When my daughter was born, I had all intention of going back to work and I did.  I enjoyed my job, I really did love teaching, but I couldn’t wait to get back to her.  I was so anxious about what she was doing and what I was missing in her little teeny life while I was at work.  So, I eventually quit.

And that was hard.  Because it’s hard to answer that inevitable question at alumni events with “no, I’m not working, I’m staying home with my daughter.”  It’s hard to explain to folks why I was sitting at home playing pat-a-cake and Itsy Bitsy Spider with an MBA hanging on the wall.  It was hard watching my friends’ careers take flight.  It was hard walking around empty handed at my husband’s work events while everyone else was passing out business cards.  Being a stay-at-home mother was a very hard transition, almost more so than becoming a mother.

But it was a choice that I made, with 100% support from my husband.  I weighed the options.  I could be a working mother, at whatever career level I aspired to, or I could be a stay-at-home mother.  (Now, as an aside, let me say that both of these terms are a bit inaccurate as every mother is “working” and not too many “stay-at-home”.  But, back to where we were.)  It was obvious to me, that I couldn’t “have it all”, not if “all” was defined in the way I had framed it in my head when I was 20-something years old – a high-level, travel around the world, executive career and a be-there-for-every-moment motherhood.  There was no way that was possible as far as I could see it.  Many women are still striving for this holy pink grail of womanhood, but  I still don’t see it - not for me, not for anyone.  At the risk of annoying or insulting any of my acquaintances, I don’t know anyone who does have it “all”.

I have friends who have dynamic, interesting, awe-inspiring careers and no children, friends who are fully and wholly devoted to their house-full of children without a career in sight, and friends all along the continuum in between.  We each have made some crucial, important, and very personal decisions and choices to be at our particular point in life.   There’s not one that I think has it “all”, but I do believe that most of my friends are happy with their lot, whether heavier on the career side or the family side, or somehow balanced.  Even the idea of a balanced work-family combination, it still considers a selection of choices.  I know women who have good, mid-management careers who have forgone the climb up the ladder because they would rather spend some time cheering on basketball games and sitting through dance recitals.  I don’t know if that’s having it all, but it seems like a pretty good mix.

The entire discussion of having it all is interesting, because it seems almost faulted at its root.  In what other aspect of life, can we have it all?  Yes, I do lament that I can’t have a perfect hourglass, size 4 figure while by-passing the gym and eating chocolate cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Not ready to offer me a solution, are you, because that’s just ridiculous.  Even Jesus couldn’t have it all.  He begged His Father for some other solution – could He be the Saviour of mankind, but not have to die as prophesied for the past couple thousand years?  Apparently not.  So who are we to think that we can have the corner office and the corporate jet, and still make it to school for the sing-along and have a ready plate of brownies every time the little folks get off the bus?

I think we all can strive to find the mix that works for us.  That configuration of professional existence, motherhood, wifey-ness, and our own personal self that defines who and what we are.  Instead of worrying about how to have it “all”, I think we should focus on having what we want, really and truly.  Do we really want to be a corporate executive or do we really want to be a mom or do we want something in between?  There’s no right or wrong, and there’s no need to rearrange society so that everyone can have all of both.  And we shouldn’t make it seem like there’s something wrong with any woman (or man, for that matter) who isn’t trying to grab all the crayons in the box.

I don’t have any scientific numbers or quotes from highly intelligent people to bolster my position.  Partly because I’m writing this post in the middle of the night, while eating a peanut butter & jelly sandwich for dinner because we were at a swim meet until almost dark and then came home and watched the Olympic trials long after my children should’ve been in the bed.  Partly because I will forget to look for any factual evidence by the time I get everyone to their activities and return to my computer for a few quiet moments tomorrow.  And partly because, well, I figure I’m intelligent enough to at least come up with my own opinion, without anyone telling me what I'm supposed to want.  And so are you.

Here's a question...

Do you carry your purse or not?

Even when our most valuable possessions were a couple broken crayons, some Now N' Laters, and a few nickels, we learned as little girls not to leave your purse laying around. Now that I have more to lose, I still wonder when is appropriate to leave my purse, when I need to walk around for just a little while.

At church- I notice some women carry their purse when going up for offering or alter call. You would think church would be a safe place to leave your purse on the pew for the 2 or 3 minutes it will take for you to circle the aisles, but I think this falls in the "everybody in church ain't saved" category of thought.

Volunteer booth - You're working the book fair at school or the health fair at the community center. You just need to run to the office to get some more flyers. Do you leave your purse under the table, with your fellow volunteers or take it? If you take it, does that send the signal that you might not trust them? Will they be offended? Or do you say, "I'm leaving my purse, can you keep an eye on it?"

Dinner - You're out to dinner and have to go to the ladies' room. If you don't need your purse, do you leave it at your seat or take it anyway? Or does it matter who your table mates are, whether your friends or co-workers?

And what if you are the person left behind? Do you feel offended if someone takes their purse with them? Or are you relieved so you won't have to take any responsibility for it?

No answers today, just wondering. Feel free to chime in.

Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful

I've never been in a fist fight. Though I have been invited to participate in a few, mostly in high school, I politely declined, offering to allow my male friends and neighbors to take my place.

What was the impetus for these invitations? It usually started something like this: "Look at her. She think she's cute. Always wearin' a ponytail." Yes, I had long hair, generally attributed to my DNA. And for style and function, it was often in a ponytail. And for that reason, a number of girls who did not have the same genetic, stylistic, or functional option would invite me to get off on a particular bus-stop or meet them in the chorus room. Without any scientific evidence, I would imagine that the majority of female-centered altercations begin in a similar manner.

At a young age, I came to understand that such invitations actually were not about me, but instead about the other girl's battles with her own self image. At my more advanced age, I now understand that, unfortunately, some women haven't moved past that battle with their own self image.

Keri Hilson's "Pretty Girl Rock" should be a regular feature on our internal soundtrack, ready to play whenever someone looks us up and down and rolls their eyes. (Girls, you know the look.) I don't think you should be conceited, in fact, I've never identified myself as "beautiful" in any serious way. But I'm confident enough that on a good day, with the perfect level of humidity, just the right shade of lipstick, and a good pair of shoes, I actually think I look kinda nice. Shouldn't every woman be at least that confident? We should all be secure about our beauty, our strengths, our identity so that we do not have to resort to ugliness towards others.

In saying "don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful", it's actually "don't hate me 'cause you don't think you are beautiful". It's the realization that the rolled eyes have nothing to do with the me, but with the other person.

I try to instill a love for self in all my children, but I especially encourage my daughters to love their curly hair, their too long legs, their braced teeth. I know that at some point in their lives, there will be some girl who invites them to get off the bus. When that moment comes, they need to love themselves enough to decline the offer and save their beautiful selves for an invitation to something more fun.

Effort of Maintenance

A great memory is not one of my strengths, however, if I could remember, I know I wouldn't count more than a dozen times that I've been to a hair salon and had a professional haircut and style. I have, or used to have, that easy, wavy, "wash & wear" kind of hair. Every now and then, my mother would trim the ends and some old friends may even recall that with a cup of mayo and a plastic cap, my hair was refreshed, deep conditioned, and shiny again. Yeah, my hair was that easy. But as I've gotten older, I've found that I am needing to spend more time and money on plucking, pulling, trimming, covering up, moisturizing, soaking, and manipulating. And getting more suggestions from beauty professionals of additional things I should pluck, wax, and cover up.

The concept of "maintenance of effort" in the education budget means, in layman's terms, that a school system must spend at least the same amount of money on each student as it did in the previous year. It can spend more, but not less; to spend less, the system would incur a penalty. I thought of that today (I know, too much time in too many PTA meetings) as I was getting my hair done. There's no going back, is there? I am past the days where a quick shampoo and condition will give me long, bouncy, waves. I can do it; often, when in a hurry, I'll rinse and condition and run off to run errands, but my hair is not the mane it once was. Where a swipe of lipgloss used to be enough, now I need a few minutes for a mini-makeover before getting out the door. Lets not even talk about a diet of Ruffles and Pepsi at twenty years old vs. now. When I was younger, walking across campus was enough exercise. Now, I've got to fit in a regular run and workout on an almost daily basis. To try to go backwards, a penalty would be incurred.

I believe the concept of maintenance of effort is to ensure that a system is in constant improvement. That at a sign of hardship, resources are not cut or diverted somewhere else. This concept forces us to take care of ourselves, whether there are braces and team uniforms to pay for and carpools to drive, a career to keep up, an aging parent to care for, or all of the above. Despite the fact that life gets busier and more complicated as we get older, we all want to continue to be our wonderful selves (we all do consider ourselves to be some kind of wonderful, right?). We have to at least make the effort of maintenance.

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