Happy Halloween
Princess Leia and Yoda
Princess Leia and Yoda
Princess Leia and Yoda
Kirtsy: Fall Weddings
Today I’m a featured curator over at Kirtsy! I know, right? What are they thinking? The topic is fall weddings, which I am totally qualified to discuss since I was married in the fall of 2005. Remember?
Awwwww…
Wait, where are my shoes?
No matter. Come visit me over at Kirtsy to see some gorgeous images that celebrate autumn nuptials! And thanks to the Kirtsy Chicks for the opportunity. You all are rockstars!
A Day to Celebrate Myself
I’m not very big on my own birthdays. I’m not one to throw parties or demand large gifts or obsessively check Facebook for happy wishes. Though I do appreciate all those wishes, and try to give my thanks to those that give them, I just don’t think my birthday is that big of a deal. It’s not that I am afraid of getting older, in fact, it’s probably the opposite. I can’t wait to be thirty…like, seriously, can not wait! Most of this stems from me being so much younger than many of my peers, and always feeling like the youngest kid in the room. I was seventeen years old when I went to college, not even old enough to get into a 18+ bar, let alone drink alcohol. I got married and had my first kid at twenty-three, when most of my friends were still in college themselves. The new friends I made through work or playgroups were all at least ten, fifteen, even twenty years older than I was. And when I got my current job, one that I covet, I was by far the youngest person in that position. Most people assume I’m older than I am, which is why I easily forgave Lucy’s best friend’s mom, who asked if I was turning thirty-five today. When I tell people I’m turning twenty-nine, I see them do the math in their head, trying to figure out when I had Lucy and how old I was when I got my job, and it’s extremely frustrating.
But back to the happy part of birthdays. Today I’m turning twenty-nine, one year away from the big three-oh, and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to decide what this means to me. I have lots of plans for the upcoming year, many of which require massive amounts of self-study, which, let’s face it, isn’t fun for anyone. But it needs to be done. I want to find ways to make my life better, more appreciated, a happier place to be.
But for today, I’m quietly celebrating with the people that love me most. People who, despite my petty whining, do think this day is a pretty big deal. Oh, I love them so.
On Beautiful Little Girls
When I was growing up, I didn’t hear very often that I was beautiful. It wasn’t that my parents didn’t think I was, I know they did, but it wasn’t something that was emphasized. My parents raised their first set of kids in the 1970s, when women’s lib was all the rage, and although I’m sure here and there they told me I was pretty, they were used to putting emphasis on other things. I was smart. I was funny. I was kind. I was a good friend.
And yes, all of those things were true I suppose, but I never heard that I was pretty. That I was beautiful. That I was attractive in a physical sense. I was a tomboy and shunned most things pink and sparkly, so maybe I wouldn’t have responded to that kind of praise in the first place, but the fact is, I didn’t hear it. All thru grade school and most of middle school, I was referred to as a good athlete or a gifted student, but never, ever a pretty girl.
In school I was relentlessly teased for how I looked, so tall and gangly and dirty and clueless. All of these things, combined with what I was told at home, convinced me that I wasn’t pretty. That I would never be beautiful. And I understood that if I was, I couldn’t be all the other things I wanted to be. Sure, I could be smart, funny and athletic, but I couldn’t be pretty too. That was the trade off. It was the always prevalent stereotypes: the smart ugly girl versus the dumb pretty girl.
So that’s why, when I read the thought provoking article on HuffPo regarding how to talk to little girls about beauty, I responded differently than many. While I agree with the author that we should always be sure to emphasize inner beauty and intelligence when speaking with little girls, I strongly disagree that we shouldn’t tell them they are beautiful as well. Why can’t they be both? Why can’t I think that my daughter’s eyes are the most gorgeous things on the planet and also think her sense of humor is outright awesome? And more importantly, why can’t she think that of herself? What is wrong with a girl who is confident in how she looks? Why is that so scary to people? Are we afraid that if girls own their beauty we won’t be able to sell our ideas of beauty to them anymore?
Of course, I don’t want my daughter to base her self-worth and value to the world on her outward appearance, but not acknowledging it at all it is a fake out. It’s setting her up to fail, because of course, OF COURSE, she will at some point question her outward beauty and what she looks like. She will wonder if she’s pretty enough, tall enough, thin enough. I don’t want her to do that, but she will, it’s human nature. And I’d much rather have had her learn from me that yes, her, with her freckles and squinty eyes and (probably will be, damn genetics) crooked teeth and glasses, with all of those things, she is freaking gorgeous. And that if she’s fat or thin or short or tall or whatever…she is always beautiful.
Different is beautiful. When she gets dressed up for the prom, I will tell her she looks stunning. When she skates down a giant mountain on a longboard, I will tell her she is gorgeous.
Because she is. And there is nothing wrong with her knowing that. And owning the crap out of it.
*Hi five, sisters!*
(Conversation inspired by Rebecca Woolf, Longboard Girls vid via Design Mom)
