All Bitches Are Not Alike or lessons we can learn from the dog show

It's red carpet season and while I'm not huge fan of awards shows I LOVE love love Fashion Police on E! with Joan Rivers, Kelley Osbourne, and the other two that no one really cares about. Yes, I love the snarky things they say and how Joan has an awesome habit of saying just exactly what it is that I am thinking. But what I most love is that Fashion Police never picks on women for their size. They celebrate the fact that every woman is different.
Yes, they say that so and so should have pulled on a pair of Spanx under that tight satin dress, but Spanx aren't exclusive to the big girls. And they often comment how certain dresses, while beautiful, do not complement an actresses body type. They recognize that Christina Hendricks cannot wear the same dress that Jane Lynch can wear. And Jane Lynch can't wear a dress that Sandra Bullock can wear. And so on. The judges on Fashion Police judge actresses and their respective fashions can't be judged against each other but only against their selves.
Seems like I've heard this theory before.
Oh yeah. At the dog show. Being a dog loving family, we always watch the Westminster Kennel Club dog show when it's on. And someone will always say something like, "Yeah, but that Lab is way cuter than the terrier!"
Perhaps, but that's not the way it works. A terrier cannot be a Lab. And that is just the way it is. There is an ancient Chinese proverb (isn't there always?) that says that one cannot fault a pig for not having the neck of a giraffe.
Are you getting it? I can't have the body of the girl that works out at the gym with me and she cannot have the body of the girl at the coffee shop. And while my body will never look like Cameron Diaz's no matter how hard I work at it, I can work to make it a better version of my own body.
Who knew Joan Rivers and a bunch of bitches had so much wisdom?

Hey, You Got Your Tickets?. . .

"What tickets?" you ask innocently.
"To the GUN SHOW!" I say flexing my biceps maniacally.
Mwaaahaahaaa!
Lame, yes, I know. But I have worked hard on my arms and as I have not yet reached my goal weight, these arms are rockin' proof that I have indeed been doing something and not just wished the weight away. If only.
My sister-in-law and I went shopping last night. Yes, I know it's been a theme with me lately but my kids and husband are gone and I have to get while the getting's good. I went chiefly for some new workout pants and cute black sandals, not I might add to wear together. I succeeded in those regards. I also walked away with some cute summer tops. Both of them sleeveless.
Sleeveless!!!!!
Previously, I would never have even considered baring my arms to the world. It was so bad at one point that I would have worn a sweatshirt over my bathing suit if I could have. No more! I always marveled at those women who, while obviously larger than myself, seemed not at all bothered by the fact that their arms were uncovered and out there. What freedom, I thought. What confidence.
Now I get it. I don't have to have the best body, I just need to have a body that I'm not ashamed of. And I'm not ashamed anymore.
In fact, I'm pretty damn proud at this point. Don't agree? Hey, you've seen my arms right?

Never Sure What to Say

We've all been there. That compliment that we're just not quite sure how to take. Is it back-handed or genuinely well intentioned? To be honest, I've never really been that good at accepting compliments, well meant or otherwise. Even when people are just really trying to be polite I feel like I'm somehow unworthy of it so I downplay it.
I've been trying to do better. When someone gives me a compliment I've been trying to answer with a simple "Thank you." and let it go. No qualifications, no doubts. It feels good.
But there is one compliment that I'm just not too sure of. How do you take it when someone says, "You look so good. You've lost a ton of weight." Umm, yeah I have. Thanks for noticing but did I really look like such a fat slob before?
OK, yes I was fat. I'm not ashamed to admit that because I've worked (and am still working) really hard to change that. I'm not embarrassed by the fact that I was fat. Now. But I used to be terribly embarrassed by the way I looked and any time someone mentions it, it takes me back there.
I know that most people don't mean it that way. Most people are genuinely happy for me, or at least I choose to think so. My group of friends have been especially great. Most everyone has struggled with weight at one time or another and we've all been through so much together that it is impossible to keep secrets or even have hard feeling with them. When one of my friends says that she can tell that I've lost a bunch of weight it makes me feel good.
But what about just casual acquaintances? People from town or people that I only see a few times a year? Yes, I've lost weight. And yes, I'm looking pretty decent these days. But because I look good now, does that mean I looked like a total train-wreck before? I know in my head that it doesn't. But still. . .
So, that's what I'm going to be working on in the next little bit. Learning to accept compliments at their face value. See, I'm more than just a pretty face.

Just a Few Notes on Being 30

It has been over six full months since I plunged into the big 3-0 and I really could not feel better. As my thirties were coming up, I was strangely clam about it, excited even. My only apprehension was wondering if my early acceptance of being 30 was setting me up for a major downfall. Not too sure about that one but for now I am loving being 30. There are no more questions of "who am I?" or "what should I do about this?" Being 30 has given me a strange permission to be an adult. I love it.
I no longer have to explain myself or what I do to anyone. I didn't finish college, I don't have a job, I'm basically trained for NOTHING. I used to feel really bad about all of this, but now I find it remarkably freeing. I do have a great husband who is a great provider for our family. I have two very well-behaved children. I have a beautiful home that I have had the privilege of making comfortable for our family. And yes, even though I don't work, I have a cleaning lady. Deal with it. I have. I no longer feel guilty about not having a "career" so to speak. I really admire all my friends who have careers that they love and are good at, but I have decided that "Housewife Philanthropist" is not a bad position to be in. 30 says that I don't have to feel guilty about it anymore.
But here recently there a few more things that 30 has been saying to me. Things like "You should probably be taking calcium so you don't break a hip down the road." Obviously 30 has never seen the padding protecting these hips or it might not worry so much, but that's beside the point. OK, I'll take your damn calcium. And, "Maybe glitter is no longer the way to go." That one I can live with just fine, thank you very much. And the killer, "Perhaps you should look into some wrinkle cream. At least around the eyes, hmm?"
Wrinkle cream?!? What the hell? Are you kidding me? My eyes are just fine. Oh, wait a minute. What's that? Is that the beginnings of crows feet? And are those squint lines between my eyebrows starting to be permanent? I keep telling myself that it has more to do with losing weight and losing some of the fullness that was always in my face, rather than any actual aging on my part. I doubt it. DAMN IT!

I was cursed with the oiliest skin known to man. I deal with teenage-like zits when most of my friends skin has been cleared up for years. You would think that would give me some sort of dispensation from early-onset wrinkles. Wouldn't you? I suppose not.
So I haul myself into Sephora. A sacrifice, I know. I mean, I'm hardly ever there. Only three of the sales girls know my name. Oh, and the one guy with the green eyeliner that knows how to apply false eyelashes just right. But no eyelashes for me. The girls look confused. No lipstick? No mascara? Not even some new bronzer? No thank you. Point me to the skin care. I'm here for my wrinkles. They all gasp in shock. Well, they would. They're all 20somethings. Bitches.
Now I'm really ready for 30. I've got all the tools in my toolbox now. I've got my peptides, and serums, and CoQ-10 complexes. I've got my multi-vitamin and my fish oil that promises to take care of my heart. I've got my Spanx (an oldie but a goodie) and I've got my big girl shoes.
Oh yeah! I forgot to mention the best part of being 30. I now have permission to buy ridiculously expensive shoes. Not Manolo's exactly - I mean, I still live in eastern Kentucky. But I am loving my new Cole Haan peep-toe pumps with the Nike insole. Oh, and the strappy sandals. And the Charles David boots.
See, 30 kicks ass! Mama don't shop at Payless no more unless she wants to.

The Shame Monster

I was just watching Dr. Oz and he was celebrating his 100th episode with people who have lost over 100 lbs. Great. I'm all about the inspiration, not to mention how desperately in need of it I am right now. So here was this lovely woman who had lost a jaw-dropping 195 lbs. The old fashioned, diet and exercise way. No surgery. And I was thinking, "Great! She must have some really great tips." and she did but that's not what struck me most about what she had to say.
She and Dr. Oz spent a lot of time talking about how when she was bigger she used to avoid things. She said that she would keep herself back from activities that she and her husband both enjoyed because she was ashamed of how she looked and she didn't want to embarrass her husband for having a fat wife. And she looked so sad when she talked about all the things that she had missed out on. My first thought was, "How ridiculous!" and my second thought was, "Hey, wait a minute. I do that. Crap!"
Then I got to thinking about all the times I have given less than my all because of my size. And not necessarily the physical limitations of being over-weight. I was thinking more about the times that I have been too embarrassed by my appearance to do something. Anything.
Turns out there were too many to count. For example, my husband and I have always wanted to go white water rafting. But I have been too embarressed to put on shorts in front of a large group of people. Especially people that I don't know. Forget about a bathing suit. And what if I went in the water and couldn't haul my fat ass back up in the raft? Then there are all the opportunities that I have passed up to travel different places because I am mortified of flying. Not for the normal reasons. I know that it is one of the safest forms of travel out there. No, what I'm scared of is the looks of the other passengers. Like, "holy crap. I hope Fatty doesn't set by me." It's horrible to even contemplate. Not to mention that I avoid, like the plague, any occasion where I would have to eat in front of other people. I feel like no matter waht is on my plate that people are judging me.
I know I can't be the only one who feels or has felt this way. If I was then Dr. Oz wouldn't be doing a show on it. So why do we  do this to ourselves. Why do we engage in thoughts and activities that we know are destructive? I know that I am being ridiculous even as I'm doing it. My husband has never in word or action indicated that he is in any way ashamed of me. Just the opposite, as a matter of fact.
The more I thought about this subject, the better I felt about it - ironically. Normally I would slide down a shame spiral until all that was left for me was a comfy pair of stretch pants. But, funnily enough, I actually feel pretty good about myself right now. I recognized that that was the  way I felt. Past tense. I try not to feel that way much anymore. Sure it creeps up now and then, but not nearly as often. Recently I even bought a very hot, hot, hot dress for a friends wedding. It was somewhat form fitting and bright purple. Something I would never have dreamed of wearing forty pounds ago, much less feeling comfortable in it. And what's more, if I do say so myself, I looked SMOKIN' hot in it. And you know what? I had a great time at that wedding. My husband and I danced and I ate and we had a blast.
So- lesson learned. The shame stops here. From now on when shame creeps in I'm going to instead focus on what I have to be proud of. I have accomplished a lot of things during this journey. Like losing forty pounds, and being stronger than I ever have been before, and having more energy for my kids and husband, and having healthier physicals than I've ever had before. So what if I was over weight before. So what if I still am. I'm working on it, aren't I? I'm not just setting there feeling sorry for myself, am I? No! Nor will I.
I figure in this life we all things that we may be ashamed of now and then. Who doesn't? But from now on, you aren't going to catch me setting around feeling sorry for myself. No, ma'am. My time is to valuable for that. Besides, I have to work on my upper-body strength. My big ass is going white-water rafting this summer. Look out!

I'm not OK, if you're not OK

What the hell is up with us as women being so competitive? No I'm not talking about who has the bigger . . .um . . .bag, or even the oft' debated Mommy Wars. I'm talking about the unspoken, but universally understood competition between all women as to who is worse off.
No one pulls us aside in Middle School as gives us that talk. "You know, Suzy, you really shouldn't be too proud of your body and you should take any opportunity to put yourself down especially when you are around other girls." Now, of course, no one says those things to girls, but we all understand them nonetheless. If your friend hated her nose, then another friend hated her flat chest, and of course you hated your ass.
Obviously everyone has something about their body that they are less than pleased with- I mean, we are women after all. But what up with the one-upmanship?
Typical conversation:
"Oh, my God! I hate my ____!"
"Please! I would trade your _____ for my _____."
"Your _____ is fine. Look at my _____. It is huge!"
Sound familiar? Sound like middle school? Of course it does. But guess what? This conversation took place just a few weeks ago at a girlfriend's house. There are a group of about 8-10 of us (at any given time) that have been friends for a long time and have a standing 'girls night' where we all try to catch up and revert back to high school. This year the majority of us turn 30, which has apparently triggered some sort of Valley Girl Ass Envy.
It reminded me of that Sex and the City episode where the women are all setting around eating pizza and discussing plastic surgery. Carrie, of course, hates her nose. Charlotte hates her thighs, and Miranda hates her arm jiggle, or some such shit. Then they all look expectantly at Samantha. Clearly she is supposed to inject her "I hate my ____." s here. But she just looks at them with a "WHAT?!" expression on her face. They are all surprised to learn that Samantha considers herself just fine just the way she is. In fact she deems herself- Pretty Damn Terrific! Samantha is, in fact, surprised to learn that her clearly beautiful friends are not satisfied with their bodies.
So there I was in my friend's living room, wishing I could be Samantha, while listening to every one lament this, that, or the other. Then it inevitably comes to be my turn. Normally I wouldn't hesitate. "God, I hate my belly!" and I do. But not tonight. While I do still wish my belly was less jello and more J-Lo, for the first time in a long time I am proud of my body.
Did you hear that, world? I am proud of my body.
No, it's not perfect. Far from it. But I have recognized that it will never be perfect. Even those Supermarket shelf Super Models do not have perfect bodies. Airbrush, anyone?
No, what has changed is my attitude about it. No, I do not have the tall lean body of Gabby Reece, but no amount of diet and exercise, or even plastic surgery, will give it to me. So why try?
No, I'm not giving up on weight loss. Just the opposite. I cannot give myself a perfect body. But I can give myself the perfect body for me. I have worked hard this year and I am stronger and leaner than I have been in a while and that is something I am very proud of. I have lost almost 40 lbs., I have more energy and better posture, and due to some serious weights my arms are now well-defined.
So the point of this little rambling is this: Maybe being perfect will not make you as happy as you imagine it will. But accepting what you have while working to make it better will definitely make you happier. The proof? Yes, I have belly jiggle but I do have a mighty fine ass!