In THIS body

(Note-none of these photos are of me) Via

Truth: my body is healthy

Truth: sometimes I hate it.

Some days I feel extra puffy, too curvy, overweight, disgusted with myself. Some days I feel healthy, strong, fit and happy. There's no constant to how I feel about my body, really, and I know a lot of others who feel the same way. I don't know how to relate to my physical being. If I tell my boyfriend I'm unhappy with my body, he offers suggestions of how I can make changes to become happy. This is not a flaw on his part. I present a problem, he presents a solution. The disconnect is that the real problem, as I see it, is not my body itself. I could work out more, eat less, lose weight, sure I could, I have. But that's not a solution, because my body isn't the problem.

No, the real problem is that I know that even if I did those things, my thoughts wouldn't change. There will always be things to dislike. I am too short, curvy by nature, while I enjoy the tall and lithe. I have stretch marks on my thighs-never mind that they come from the growth of muscle I experienced as a competitive figure skater, something arguably healthy and nothing to be ashamed of. My nose will always have a bump, my hair won't lay right. There will always be days where I can't stand to see myself in the mirror and days where I think dang, I look hot this morning. 

The problem isn't physical. So how can I fix it?

I don't know if I ever will "fix" it. But I am trying to wake up every day and learn to find contentment in THIS body. THIS body that I have right this minute. Whether I wake up feeling ugly or wake up feeling beautiful, my actual body is the same, and my ability to live in it and live a worthwhile day is not affected.

Via

And you know what?

In THIS body I earned three university degrees.

In THIS body I met and fell in love with my fiance.

In THIS body I have traveled the U.S. THIS body has climbed mountains, swam in oceans, hiked trails, camped out, skied, skated.

In THIS body I have loved, hated, given, taken, helped, harmed, learned, read, hoped, dreamed and been...happy.

In THIS body I have lived and like it or not in THIS body I will die. I wouldn't trade the body I have for a different one if it meant living a different life. 

No. In THIS body I will be content. In THIS body I will be happy. I won't always wake up loving myself, but whether I feel ugly or beautiful, I will remind myself each morning to be happy in THIS body and to love THIS body that enables me to live the life I love. I will treat my body with care, and if it is healthy, then that will be enough.

Via

*All of the above images are from the "Beautiful Body" project by Jade Beall. I encourage you to check our her website for essays and images of people finding beauty in their bodies just the way they already are.

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Dagnabit, candy corn!

"The worst thing about Halloween is, of course, candy corn. It's unbelievable to me. Candy corn is the only candy in the history of America that's never been advertised. And there's a reason. All of the candy corn that was ever made was made in 1911. And so, since nobody eats that stuff, every year there's a ton of it left over. And the candy corn company sends the guys to the villages and they collect out of the dumpsters all the candy corn we've thrown away. They wash it!! They wash it!

I'll never forget the first time my mother gave me candy corn. She said, "Here - Lewis, this is candy corn. It's corn that tastes like candy". [high pitched sound] This tastes like crap! And every year since then, Halloween has returned and I, like an Alzheimer's patient, find myself in the room, and the room has a big table in it, and on the table is a bowl of candy corn. And I look at it as if I've never seen it before. "Candy corn", I think. "Corn that tastes like candy. I can't wait". Son of a bitch!!

-- comedian Lewis Black, from The Daily Show"

Via

1) I love Lewis Black. He speaks the truth in a very angry manner that I find amusing.

2) I actually feel the exact opposite as he does about Candy Corn, and I'm mad at it because I ate too much of it. So I'm really mad at myself, but let us agree to place the blame on candy corn.

It tastes deliciously syrupy, since it's mostly made of sugar and chemical dyes. Plus, it comes in little bites and so you take a few because hey, a few bites can't be that bad for you, how many calories can be in something that's only .5 inches long? And then you mindlessly eat them and they're delicious, and then it's like well, I'd better get another handful since they only come out once a year. And by then you have consumed five handfuls and your stomach is revolted by the saccharine sweetness and you realize you made a really big mistake.



Via



And then the next day someone puts out a new bowl of candy corn and you know what? It only comes out once a year, so...

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This is a rant.

Last night there was a storm that rolled through D.C. and B-more. It knocked out the signals along the train tracks. It resulted in a 3 hour train ride home, during which I really had to pee but was reluctant to give up my seat so I just held it and squirmed. As we neared the 2 hour mark of sitting with strangers in a tin can my Nook's battery light started blinking. No! I screamed silently to myself. For what would I do without entertainment? Stare out the window and get increasingly angry, most likely. Not that I wasn't already angry. Especially when the conductor kept getting on the intercom to ask us to "please be patient." I'm being patient now stop asking me to because every time you do Iwanttopunchyouintheface. I finally made it home around 8 p.m., giving me just enough time to eat, shower, and go to bed so I could get up and do it all over again this morning.

 

Then this morning, there were still train problems, resulting in a 3 hour commute back in to work, and leaving me with 2 hours to make up out of my own time. At one point the conductor actually announced that the engineers were "talking about moving the train." Id've laughed if I didn't feel like cryin'. Once I got to D.C. the Metro was all effed up, but I did finally make it to work.

 

Now, I try to keep my perspective about these things. It wasn't anyone's fault we got stuck, and the conductors were doing all they could to get us home (after all, they had to get home too). And having a commute means I have a job right? Right.

 

That's part of the problem. See, there's no one to be angry at. I'm stuck on a train with hundreds of other strangers who work in D.C. and thus usually think that they are more important than everyone else and have to get home/to work on time, as if the rest of us don't, and...I just have to shut up and take it. I'm at the mercy of the train once I step aboard, and there's nothing I can do about it. And while I tell myself that there are many, many reasons why this isn't a big deal (it means I have a job, I live in one of the most prosperous nations in the world, I have the privilege to take a comfortable train to work, etc.), the moral of the story is: I'm still pissed off. And I wish there was someone to whom I could direct my anger so I could just punch them in the face and feel better.

 

End rant.

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It's Friday I'm...sucked in to a new TV show.

I just discovered the show "Scandal", which started last April and is slated to return Sept. 27th, and I've watched the entire season and I. am. hooked.

First of all, I have a girl-crush on Kerry Washington (she's gorgeous! Her skin! Jealous.), and she wears awesome outfits as Olivia Pope. Plus, the character is Bad. Ass. I like that. I wish I could be a bad ass sometimes, but I have too much empathy and I like to make people happy, not mad or sad, which Olivia Pope does on a regular basis.

I love the show "Bones", but I have to say that it may have jumped the shark this season. Thus, I am glad that "Scandal" has begun, since it actually may be better than "Bones". Each character is arrestingly complex, and every episode continues a storyline while offering a resolvable mystery to give some satisfaction by the end of the hour. It's great.



BAMFS. Via



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Workin' for the weekend.

I'm really, really glad that it's a holiday weekend. I'll let Winnie the Pooh tell you my main plans.

Via.



I love sleeping. B wakes up by 7:30 even on the weekends, just naturally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. If you let me, I'll sleep past noon. Even after going to bed at 9 p.m. I may have a problem. Still, I can't wait to finally get some decent sleep in.

My other focus for the weekend: lose 5 lbs/learn to love myself. I realize this is a bit ambitious for a weekend, but I might as well start somewhere. I've really been struggling this week between wanting to buckle down on my eating habits and just lose 5-10 pounds so I can be a skinny bitch and just accepting that a healthy body weight for me involves a little pudge in the middle and enjoying a treat without guilt.

I inherently rebel against the idea that I need to be a certain weight to be happy or beautiful. And yet I can't quite seem to convince my sub-conscious to adopt that mindset. Instead, I'll eat something, then berate myself for doing so, even if it was healthy. Then berate myself for berating myself because, hello, you need to eat and there's no shame in feeding oneself, or even in enjoying one's food. This weekend I'm going to try and adopt the following attitude:

Via

In lighter news, I wore these things this week and liked them:

Any advice on how you find balance between being healthy and accepting a body that is amazing, whole, and allows you to do so many things while not looking like some societal ideal would be appreciated!

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An "empire" no more.

This makes me laugh.

Via



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It's Friday, I...can't decide how I feel about the Olympics.

I have a love/hate relationship with the Olympics. (With the exception of a certain phenomenally famous swimmer who shall remain nameless who played an instrumental role in the closing of my ice rink. I have a hate/hate relationship with him and if I ever see him I hope I have the courage to punch him in his smarmy face).

But I digress. The Olympics alternatively makes me feel motivated to get out and work and then like crap because I know I don't have the discipline or work ethic to even get close to competent in any of those sports. So I will likely tune in, and then flip to Bridezillas or Beverly Hills Nannies or something that makes me feel good about myself in comparison. You know, like any person with self esteem would do.

And when I am feeling bad about myself because I am not an Olympian (and obviously I recognize that not many of us are and I'm not expected to be. Am I making myself sound crazy in this post? Probably), I will remember this:

Via

Let us not compare ourselves to Olympians, but be happy for them and remember our own personal talents. Not that mine are going to win me any gold medals, but they're perfectly sufficient.

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Question for the movie industry.

Why are movie commercials now announcing that they will be playing in "3D and 2D" theaters? Aren't all non-3D theaters 2D? Those would just be called...theaters. 3D you can single out as special, yes. 2D, no.

Also I got a lovely striped sweater! So cozy. Here at work we call such things a "wubbie". Meaning we're more or less using it for comfort as you would a blankie or stuffed animal. And I do do that. And I'm not ashamed of it. (This from a girl who didn't put her blankies away until middle school...I still have them but they're mildewing. B has also been known to find me in bed with a Care Bear if I'm sad).



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24 in 24

Sooo some of the bloggers that I've been following in this new blog adventure are doing a link up hosted by Erin of Living in Yellow in which you take your age (for me that would be 24.  In a few months I turn the big 2-5. Which seems like some sort of milestone except that I'm not sure what I have to show for it so...) and list something you want to do within the year for every year of your age.

Her entry? Twenty Six in Twenty Six

1. Go back to Disney World with my parents.

Aren't they adorable?

2. Get engaged to my B! (and married? We'll see. Don't worry, B knows this already).

3. Move up in my career (a girl can dream, right?)

4. Move to a new apartment. Preferably in a nicer neighborhood. By nicer I mean without trains and neighbors whom evidence suggests may be utilizing some sort of illegal substance.

5. Participate in a "fun" race such as Warrior Dash or Color Run. Disney also has races! (Hint hint family. I actually think it would be really fun to run the Disney Princess Half Marathon. Or the 5K, as that seems a bit ambitious.)

Via. How cool would it be to run with B in princess and prince costumes? I don't really think he'd go for it though.

Via. I'm really more of a Snow White girl anyway.

6. Turn my master's thesis into an article for publication. This seems like a lot of work and I thought I left that behind in grad school so we'll see.

7. Bake and eat a delicious pastry type dessert from scratch, with real ingredients (no non-fat this or that), and not feel guilty about it.

8. Stop eating candy from the ever plentiful candy jar at work. (Co-workers! You're ruining my figure. But I do love the Peanut Butter Snickers. So thanks, at the same time).

9. Take a tropical vacation with B. (We're looking at Mexico...ok we're dreaming about it. But still.)

Via. I'm actually more excited about the prospect of going to Chitzen Itza than I am by laying on the beach. Because I don't tan and I'm a history nerd.

10. Get an iPhone. I still have a non-smart phone, and it works and it's ok...but wow they're cool.

11. Stop spending so much on clothes and mix and match what I have. And like it. Especially stop buying more striped shirts.

12. Get a new camera. A nice one. Where I can play with the settings and actually maybe like the pictures I take.

Like the Nikon D3100. Oooh, shiny.

13. Be completely content with my body. Whether that comes from acceptance of what it is at any given point or from ramping up my workouts and cutting out splurge-y foods. Or a combination of both.

14. Trade in my automatic Jeep Compass for something with a stick shift. I used to own a pick-up trick with a manual transmission and I really miss the feeling of driving it.

15. Get more involved at church.

16. Take a day trip with just me and my little brother (who is not so little, at 18 and almost 6 feet tall.)

Us at (where else) Disney World, getting ready to shoot some stuff on Toy Story Mania. This was about five years ago, so he's even more grown-up looking now. Ack! Where did the time go?

17. Take my grandmother to lunch. She is awesome and I don't spend quality time with her nearly enough.

18. Master some new recipes so that we don't have to have chicken and steamed veggies for every weeknight dinner.

19. Get a new mattress. Seriously, the one we are sleeping on belonged to my great-grandmother. No joke.

19.5 Wow this is a lot of things to come up with. I'm glad I'm not older. This seems quite ambitious for my usual energy level.

20. Skate at least once every few weeks.

Ah, the good old days.

21. Learn how to balance my time between work, family, friends, B and-what?-time for myself.

22. Start really saving for a house.

23. Actually make one of the DIY projects I keep pinning here.

Such as this. Looks deceptively simple, so I'm sure to screw it up.

24. Find at least reason to be happy, grateful and content in each day.

So there you have it. Likelihood that I will accomplish all those things? Slim to none. However, it's good to have goals and aspirations, amirite? Thanks to Erin @ Living in Yellow for the link-up and idea!

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What the hell, Monticello?

First things first:

Stripes!

Hot chocolate with peppermint marshmallows. I am aware that it is July, but it is cold in my office.

Now for the real story of the day: Monticello and Abraham Lincoln's birthplace. These are my personal, biased opinions.

Sinking Spring Farm is part of the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace NHP. The park itself encompasses the site where he was born and lived for the first two years of his life (Sinking Spring), as well as the site where he lived from ages 2 to 4 (Knob Creek). I visited on my recent road trip and was disappointed. Not sure what I expected, but this wasn't it.

It looks like a mausoleum. Kind of contradicts the "humble beginnings" that are such a big part of what Lincoln's legacy is associated with. I mean sure, they have a "reconstructed" log cabin inside:

But my personal philosophy in public history is to use objects/reconstructions in such a way that makes history real to people. I wanted to be able to walk around what I had thought was presented as a farm and imagine what it really would have been like growing up there, but I didn't really feel able to do that here. Because it felt like I was at a shrine to a log cabin, a shrine to the American idea that you can come from humble roots, pull yourself up by your bootstraps and become whatever you wish, not a place designed to help me understand and connect in a real way with an historical figure. 

Knob Creek Farm wasn't any better:

This is not the cabin Lincoln lived in. It was rebuilt from logs of a cabin his neighbors lived in, which is still neat. However, there was no information at the site. Just a cabin and a closed tavern. They tried, I guess.

We also stopped at Monticello. Now, I've been there before, and I love it. I also love Thomas Jefferson himself, but that's beside the point. (I may have told B last night that if Thomas Jefferson were alive today I might be dating him instead of B). This go round, I noticed something I hadn't before.

WHO THE HECK PUT MODERN BATHROOMS INTO MONTICELLO? Unacceptable. Jefferson was the architect of the building, and he clearly didn't add modern bathrooms for the convenience of 20th century guests. I'm not saying he wouldn't have had he been around for the advent of indoor plumbing (he liked technology quite a bit actually), but the point is that he wasn't. For us to get a true understanding of the building he built and life there, whoever committed this travesty should have left well enough alone. After all, they already built a gift shop with modern bathrooms right down the entrance way, so it's not as if people can't use the facilities. I'm just saying they shouldn't be able to do it in THOMAS JEFFERSON'S HOUSE.

This PSA was brought to you by someone who clearly has a lot of public history rage (thanks grad school!).

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On make-up and wearing pins with prints.

I'm leaving on a 3 or so day road trip tomorrow, and I've decided to leave my make-up behind.

That isn't very exciting news, except that when I decided I wasn't going to pack it (I'll be with a long-time friend and her infant, neither of whom is going to judge my bare face or less than stellar complexion), my first thought was, wait, maybe I should, just in case. And then I thought, just in case of what? What could happen that I would absolutely need my make-up? Am I really that attached to it that I can't go 3 days without the security of having it around, even if I'm not putting it on?

I thought I was pretty confident and had a good attitude as far as make-up goes: I enjoy it for the most part, use a bare minimum on most days, but if the mood strikes I go without. It should be something used for fun, not an obligation. Now I'm thinking maybe I use it as a bit of a security blanket. On days when I'm feeling particularly insecure, it helps me at least feel as if I'm hiding some of my flaws, real or imagined. But if I want to be a person wholly myself, confident in my own personality and intelligence, does that not mean acceptance of my own flaws? Further, does that not mean I should be able to shed any type of security blanket, and stand confident on my own, flaws and all?

I'm not saying that I want to ditch make-up for good, just that I think maybe I need a little reminder that I am the same person with as without it, and that there are a lot more important things to think about than whether I have cover-up stashed in my bag.

So I'm deliberately leaving it behind with the intention of enjoying the pieces of the world I discover on my short trip without also feeling as if I'm hiding parts of myself from them.

ALSO,

I tried to re-vamp my interest in wearing an old printed tee shirt today by wearing a pin that I placed in such a way that it interacts with the shirt pattern, and I like the result.

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I am Covered in Baby Spit-up.

And I love it. Well, not the spit-up specifically, but I love babies, and they come with spit-up and drool and such, and that's okay with me. When I was feeling led to serve my church in some way, I knew it would be in the nursery. I love taking care of babies, and I've been doing it since I was 12. Further, I love making parents feel like it's okay for them to take some time for themselves, be it at church or on a date. I love them being able to know their infant is well cared for and loved. Today in the nursery I was caring for an A-dorable 5 month old. He fussed, and sometimes wailed, and then he spit-up on me four times. But I thought to myself, I love you anyway, and I coddled and bounced and loved on him until I figured out how to settle him down. And really, is there anything sweeter than snuggling a happy infant? I think not.

Via LadyHudd on Etsy

If I don't go get some baby snuggle time, I start wanting an infant of my own. And since we are nowhere near that stage of our lives, B is happy to send me off to get my fix...even if he doesn't understand it. But look at that Disney baby! How could you not need to snuggle it?

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This used to be me.

This used to be me:

I used to be a competitive figure skater (I wasn't, like, Olympics great, but I was competitive!).

And this is where I spent, oh, I would estimate at least half of my time from ages 6 to about 20.

And now it's gone. It closed about 4 years ago. I don't care to remember the exact date or year, honestly, because it really, really sucked when it closed. Like a sucker punch. It was out of the blue, and the owners, whom we had seen as family for years, only gave us a few weeks' notice. And just like that, the place that I had gone almost daily to train, but more importantly to see my friends and my loving, supportive coach, where I had my first job, where I taught little children how to skate, was closed to me. I went back a few weeks later while they were cleaning the rink out. The electricity was off and the ice was melting. The building fell into foreclosure and was auctioned off recently. They tried to auction the trophies my teams had won over the years, but a few of the coaches talked them into giving them up for free, argueing that they didn't belong to the rink, but to the skaters.

Overnight, nothing was the same. The friendships I built there are for the most part still in place, but more difficult to maintain, and not as close, as we no longer have the touchstone of work or practice to force us to stop and spend time together, and our outside interests are so divergent. I still skate every few weeks or so, but having taken a few years off I'm almost embarrassed at my deteriorated abilities. 

Maybe it was good. A sort of forcible leaving of the nest. It pushed me to define who I was outside of "a figure skater". Still, I dream about it. In most of my dreams it has re-opened as an ice rink again, and I'm able to go back to coaching, and bring B around and show him off and help him understand this place that played such a big part in creating who I am. The only thing that makes the dreams stop is to take myself skating again-to stand in the middle of the rink, feel the cold, listen to the quiet, and feel at peace. Then I go home to the things and people that define my life now, and I am happy. 

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How much do YOU pay for underwear?

I was leafing through Marie Claire's July issue and noticed that on one page they were featuring cashmere underwear. For $495. That's egregious. If you pay that much for your underwear I cannot be your friend. Even if you can afford something like that, which I clearly can't (I've never spent that much on one item of clothing in my life, and that's clothing people are actually going to see), aren't there better things you could do with the $475 you could save by buying regularly priced underwear (several pairs even!)? Feed the hungry, sponsor a kid in a third world nation, anything? No, you butt needs cashmere? I guess we can't be friends then. Too bad, as you sure are one stylish lady.

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Barbara Mikulski is a Bad-Ass Chick

"I say to the women out there in America, let’s keep this fight going. Put on your lipstick, square your shoulders, suit up, and let’s fight for a new American revolution where women are paid equal pay for equal work, and let’s end wage discrimination in this century once and for all". -Barbara Mikulski

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