I Love My Butt

I know this may seem odd at best and completely self absorbed at worst, but I'm being serious here. Something has been on my mind a lot lately - something relating to body image and self esteem and parenting. I'm going to try to make sense of it here, if that's ok with you.
There are not many other parts of my body that I would say I "love" - there are a few I like, and a lot that I simply tolerate - but I've always been happy with my backside. There's nothing particularly special about it really. I've always just.... liked it. Simple and easy. So why haven't I been able to do that for all of myself? My thoughts on the whole thing are a bit convoluted, but hang with me for a minute.
My beautiful mother has a rather large rear end (sorry Mom - I'm outing you a little in this post). It's true. But it's great. She never seemed to mind it. In fact, I think she rather likes it. And my Dad used to call it the Great White, in this completely adoration-filled way, like it was one of his favorite things about my mother.
I look a lot like my mother. She calls me her Mini Me. Everyone who knew my mom when she was my age gushes about how uncanny it is when they meet me. So it was natural, I think, for me to like the parts of myself that Mom liked in herself. It was even more reassuring to know that men might like it, too. (I have a lot of thoughts of the power of a Daddy's words on his little girl, but that's for another day.) I never consciously thought about all of this until very recently, but I think the way my mother spoke about herself (and the way my father spoke about her) influenced the way I thought about myself.
And to be honest, I never really heard my mother speak kindly of many other parts of herself. I remember her lamenting that she had inherited her father's nose. I know she wishes she had longer eye lashes. I know she thinks her hands are knobby and unattractive. Basically, she picks herself apart, just like the rest of us. But here's the thing: she is incredibly beautiful. The only person who isn't completely convinced of that is my mother. And that sucks. She deserves better.
So do I.
So do you.
I have a very long list of complaints about my body; my tummy pudge that won't go away no matter how hard I work out or how clean I eat, my big nose, my short legs, my broad shoulders, my small boobs, my crooked smile, my small eyes, my thin hair. (As I'm writing this I'm picturing that Dove commercial that made so much buzz. Have you seen it? Ugh.) But I think it's time to throw that list away.
I am a Mom now, and little ears will hear what I say.
When I was 21, I was in a Christian discipleship program for young adults. It was like boot camp for your faith. Early every morning, our director took us through a workout. He often brought his two beautiful daughters with him. I think they were something like 4 and 6 at the time. They were incredible little girls: super active and strong and happy. They would get right in there with us - work their little tails off - and then hit the showers with us afterward. One day, one of these beautiful little girls started crying in the locker room. When we asked her what was wrong, we were horrified to hear her say that she thought she was fat. Each and every one of us felt an instant pang of guilt, one that I carry still. We knew exactly where she had gotten that idea. Us. The way we spoke about ourselves. (To the parents of that little girl: if you're reading this, I don't know if I ever told you just how sorry I am. I am so, so sorry.)
Our words have so much power.
If I put those ideas into my own daughter's head.... shame on me.
I know I can't be perfect all the time - none of us can -  but I can certainly be better. I can work on it. What if I simply started saying, "I love my shoulders, because they are strong. I love my tummy, because it is soft and feminine."? Even if I don't necessarily believe it. Just say it anyway. And maybe I don't even need a "because." Maybe I can just say, "I love my legs. I love my eyes. I love my nose." Phew. I just tried that out loud, and it was hard. Even sitting here all alone. It will take a lot of work. Because I'm not talking about just changing thoughts, I'm talking about actually changing words: what comes out of our mouths when others can hear. And that's scary. Because it's safer to sound self-deprecating than self-idolizing, isn't it? No one wants to sound conceited. Can't you just hear everyone thinking, "Well someone sure thinks a lot of themselves"?  (I could go on for a long time about why I think this is. About how society likes it that way: to describe confidence as conceit and to promote self degradation. Because if we are never satisfied with ourselves, of course we will have to spend more money in the pursuit of something better.) I say phooey  to all of that. It doesn't make you conceited to accept yourself as you are. It makes you healthy and happy. And if someone thinks less of you when you start thinking better of you, well phooey on them too. Because you are more important.
And so am I.
And so are my kids.
I'm going to work on acceptance. Satisfaction. Contentment. And I'm going to speak them out loud so my children can hear me. And I'm going to pray that my daughters will find it perfectly natural to say the same things about themselves, and can avoid at least some of the struggle we have all been waging for so long. Maybe we can all work on it and can raise a new generation of people more likely to be kind to themselves and to each other.
And maybe, by working on this for the sake of my kids, I'll actually start to believe some of it.Wouldn't that be lovely?

Drake in Motion

I realized the other day as I tried to show a co-worker some pictures of my son that I have so few recent pictures. I used to take ten a day! Now there were only one or two from the past month that you could really see his smiling face. So over the past week, I've made a conscious effort to try to capture a few more shots of my handsome Little Man. And that's when I remembered that I didn't stop taking pictures of Drake, he stopped holding still for them. Seriously, this kid never stops! He has so much energy and even more curiosity about the world around him. I'm lucky if I get a few moments of sleepy boy cuddles first thing in the morning, and then he wants down and he wants to run. He will stop to play with a toy for a moment, but the instant I reach for my phone to take a picture, he's off and running again. Yarg. I guess I just need a better camera. ;)
I thought I'd share a few "action" shots with you, since they are the most accurate representation of his life right now.

Keeping His Cool

I haven't posted in forever - literally forever - and I should probably apologize for that or try to catch up on everything I've missed or write some long winded post about how much Drake has grown in the past six months.... but forget all that. I just want to show you these pictures.
These are the various ways we have tried to ward of the heat this summer with a crazy active toddler. Isn't he the coolest?

Ashamed

I'm sitting here misty eyed right now because my husband loves me even when I screw up so badly.
We got our tax return early last week. It was long awaited and desperately needed. We had talked about the things we intended to do with it, and it wasn't going to go nearly as far as we wanted it to. But things have been so tight for so long, and retail therapy is such a very real thing for me...
I spent $600 in three days.
You guys, that's so much. And it was on well-deserved things! Much of which you could even put in the "need" category for the family. A few things for the kitchen, an Easter outfit for Drake and myself (on clearance, at an outlet store), Easter basket goodies (and I don't believe in buying 99 cent toys - if you are going to get them something, better to get one or two things that will last than 10 things they will never play with), some groceries... I don't know. I can't even tell you where it all went. Oh, I went to lunch with a friend, too.
And that's the problem. I can so easily justify any of it. And in a different situation, no one would judge me for purchasing the things I did. They weren't extravagant.
But our budget is extremely tight. Justin is the only earner in our family right now, and we just bought a house last summer. Between that, the astronomical price of gas for Justin's huge commutes, and our other monthly bills... well, that's all there is. And then there's the house that is still very much a construction zone. And several buttons on my computer have stopped working and it threatens to crash daily. And Drake still doesn't have a crib. And, and, and.
And so the tax return had very specific tasks to accomplish. And I messed it up.
And I knew it. And my heart sank and my face reddened once my husband knew it. I could see he was upset - angry, even. This isn't the first time I've messed up like this. I don't know how he puts up with me.
Most of it was un-returnable. There was nothing I could do to fix it. So I took my application to our favorite local bar/restaurant - desperate to be able to tell my husband I was going to help. (So far, I haven't heard from them.) And I made sure not to spend another cent.
That's why, when I ran out of my prescription, I didn't say anything. Not because he would have said no. He would never say no. But because he's already stressed and it isn't fair.
He just found out that I've been out for three days. And he's sad at me for not saying anything. And I'm sad at myself for creating this whole mess.
Why can't I break this cycle? Please tell me someone else out there has struggled with compulsive spending and found a way to break the habit (not just started making more money so you could afford your spending... that may not be an option for me).
Lord, help. I want to be a better wife than this. My husband so deserves it.

playing dirty

There are literally a dozen other posts I should be writing - ones I've been intending to write for weeks, or even months. But right now I can't resist the urge to show you these pictures and to tell you about my son's first experience playing in his very own back yard.
Yes, last summer I laid him on blankets in the grass and he rolled around, but this toddler of mine is a whole different human. He's really experiencing things now.
So far this Spring, our adventures had been limited to the front yard, which is unfenced and small. Mostly I corral him in and away from the road and he gets angry and the whole thing lasts about ten minutes. We've been doing this because - and this is embarrassing - there was dog poop littering every square inch of the back yard. It was a mine field of varying levels of decaying shit. Yuck.
Today I spent nearly three hours in the back yard during Drake's first nap picking up poop, trash, and sticks and then raking the entire thing (I am going to be so sore tomorrow!). All so that Drake could play in his back yard (and so that I wouldn't gag when I looked out my back window). It was so worth it.
I mean, do you see that kid's smile? He played hard. Running after balls and throwing rocks and digging in the dirt and splashing in the dog's water bucket. He got good and dirty in his brand new 'clean' back yard.
He had his very first strip-before-you-go-inside experience.
Welcome to your childhood, Son. Soon enough we will be hosing you off in the back yard from the messes you make on your outdoor adventures. But I promise to be right there with you. Anyone who knows your Momma well knows that she's always loved to play in the mud.

Today, it was spring

 

The sun was so bright, it actually hurt my eyes, even with my shades on. It shone so warmly through my window on the way into town that I had to take off my navy sweater. That navy sweater was over a daffodil yellow blouse, paired with baby pink skinnys, because the sun insisted I wear Spring colors. I wore my beloved Toms for only the second time this year.
On our drive, the ponds behind town had shed their icy tops and the surface shimmered happily with remembered fluidity. The geese were back. The horses waggled their heads, working out the winter stiffness. When Drake and I got back home, we ran around in the grass and explored the edges of our yard for tiny green sprouts pushing through the grey earth.
Oh, it was lovely.
Tomorrow it's supposed to snow. And for three days, it's supposed to snow. Freezing temperatures and white accumulation. Just in time for my birthday. This happens nearly every year. Montana thinks snow is an appropriate birthday gift for this Spring baby. I love you, Montana, but you got the wrong message. I want blue birds and green buds for my birthday. Sandals and light cardigans. Sundresses and drinks on the patio.
It's ok. You can try again next year.

The counter balance

This is my own response to myself in my last post.

Waking up to this face every day - to his smile and his bright eyes and his hugs and his giggles and his kisses and his Drakeness - is the sweetest way I can imagine starting a day. My heart is big and I'm starting this day feeling grateful and bright.