Eyes of the Beholder

I heard a quote at a fireside one night that has stayed with me for years.

 "Even an old barn looks better with a fresh coat of paint."

I resemble that remark.

    Actually, I feel really pretty in this picture. Photo editing software might just be a greater invention than the flushing toilet.

Teenagers get a terrible rap. But I think they are the best. I'd fill my house with them if I could. Oh, wait.....I did. Miss Brianna decided that if people are going to read a blog written by some woman with a gazillion little people they might want to know what that woman looks like. And since she knows someone that takes pictures.....

It was really strange doing a photo shoot with myself as the object. Surprisingly strange. Over the years my 'get ready' routine has gradually lessened to the point it is nearly non-existent. Seriously. In high school I used to need an hour and a half just to do my hair. Granted those were the days of 'wings' and perms and a four year obsession with wanting to look like Marie Osmond.

I showered, dressed, did make up, hair and packed a diaper bag in 15 minutes flat last Sunday.

How has it come to this?

I think it's a priorities thing.

In my teen years my biggest priority was to attract the man of my dreams. Mission accomplished.  What took me years to realize was that he is attracted to me, not my hair. Good thing because my hair falls out after I have a baby and I've had 13 babies. Do the math.

My growing up days were also filled with a lot of pain in the self-image department. I was relentlessly teased about being flat chested. I had boy legs, hairy arms and big feet. It didn't help that I was afraid of my own shadow. I actually had a panic attack and walked out of Geometry my Sophomore year because a boy turned around in his seat and talked to me.

I've changed a skosh.

Life will do that to ya.

When you haven't slept more than a wink for days on end and you get a chance to take a quick shower...you learn to skip the shower and take a nap.

When you splurge on some really good lipstick and after one use your toddler decides to eat it (or paint the cabinets with it) you learn to laugh at their creativity......and keep the Chap stick.

When you're a size 14 in January, a size 8 in June, and back to a 12 by December you learn that spending more on jeans than sweats is a bad bargain. Besides, the brown sweats make my bum look perky and that's saying a lot from my perspective.

When someone you love has never been able to walk, let alone run, you get over your varicose veins really fast.

And when I finally realized that the beautiful, put together woman sitting on the back row was also painfully shy and we'd totally miss out on a great friendship if I didn't step out of my comfort zone, 

I decided to get rid of my comfort zone.

So I let Miss B, with the help of Miss Emily, put me all back together again. She even let me borrow some of her fabulous clothes which, come to think of it, probably belong to Miss Nichole. Talk about traveling pants.

But I still felt weird.

 I felt out of sorts because it was just me.

 All by myself. 

No sweetheart with his arm around me.

 No baby slobber smattered on my shoulder.

 No toddler wiping the remnants of lunch on my kneecap.

 No little boys pulling funny faces when everyone else in the picture is smiling. 

No beautiful daughters to draw away the attention. 

No teen aged son standing tall so I could feel short.

 Just me.

And that just didn't feel like me at all.

Oh...and thanks to my ever generous Uncle John. It was very good of you to run out of gas in your super cool car right at my feet and insist that I jump in and take a few snaps. (Even if it did just come out of a storage unit.) If you ever need someone to babysit it on a Friday night......