TheMommyBlog

Tuesday, March 01, 2005 Me, Me, Me

Someone dear to me called me on the fluff, and he was right. Ever since posting those photos I have been doing a slow burn about several things. The men in my past. Body image. Consideration. Control. Jealousy. Ego. Perfectionism. Frustration. Depression.

As so may of you have kindly commented, I was something of a hot tamale. All of the wedding photos and the modeling photos are from a period of about five years in my early twenties. I was modeling a lot because I could get the work, and it was easy money and something you have to do before you hit 25 and are over the hill in that business.

Having said that, I will also say that the men in my life during that stretch (maybe longer) still found something in my appearance to improve upon. My first husband used to call me Marcie, as in marsupial. Will someone plese identify my pouch? Because I don’t get it.

The man I nearly married before him used to ask me to lose a little weight before his father or his buddies came to town. Also? To wear a little more makeup. Granted, we’d all put on the Freshman Fifteen and I was given to sweats, but still.

He is a good man, if a bit jerky in his youth. I actually had lunch with him a couple of weeks ago, and we talked about the reasons for the broken engagement for the first time in sixteen years. As I told him about some of the things that made me feel less than treasured, and measured on the wrong markers, he was mortified and stunned and embarrassed. He kept asking, “Did I really say/do/mean those things? I am so sorry, and don’t blame you a bit. I always thought it was because you were mad about ______. You made the right choice and I am sorry for having caused you so much pain. And for your having to relive it right now, with all that is going on.” The best moment was him doing a double take when he saw me walking toward him and said, “Wow, you look exactly the same.” That shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did, but hey. I’m still human.

I’m just sorry that conversation was so seriously delayed, because I didn’t need to think of myself in his light all that time. But then again, he probably needed those years and the experience of marriage, commitment, and fatherhood to gain the proper perspective.

My current husband (no, it’s not final, give me some time to break the habit) also had periodic concerns and comments that sent me reeling. You look at those photos of an emaciated bride. How could there have been anything critical to say about my ass in a bikini? On our honeymoon? (Sorry, babe, but I think the publishing restrictions are going to be hard to follow. It’s out of context, but if it still rankles thirteen years later, accept responsibility and suck it up.)

What makes me mad about this collective story is that I let any of it get to me. I freely admit being the beneficiary of excellent genes—my parents are good lookin’ folk—and so didn’t make any particular efforts, but come on, man. Why the need to exert power or influence or dominance or perverted pride or whatever was going on in their heads? I still think about it and resent it.

These days, I accept who and what I am. I look at my scarred and rounded tummy and think about my babies. I can see the distinctive marks of each Cesarean delivery, of the surgery to remove my own alien, and the squiggly lines I didn’t accumulate until the 41st week of my fourth pregnancy. Even they are kind of cute, and the story behind them always makes me smile.

So now, as with so much in my life, I have come to my own accomodations and remain the sole custodian of my own self esteem. No one else has the right to tamper with it, knowingly or not, and no one save me has responsibility for its health and luster.

*stepping off soap box*

Monday, February 28, 2005 Me, Me, Me

Can someone please explain to me how the French Market Pig wall pocket utensil holder and the Sereghetti Lion canape plate draw interest while my china stands by the punch bowl gazing awkwardly into her plastic glass?

Sheesh, even the Camel Salt & Pepper Shakers got nine bids.

And if the Adorable Porcelain Teeny Tiny Tails The Berry Toss Game actually sells I will have to throw myself off a cliff.

Also? Good. God.

What do this baffling creations have in common? They are all made by the same company that made my china.

*Holds tufts of hair straight out from head and runs from room, screaming*

Sunday, February 27, 2005 Me, Me, Me, Memes

Gail and I have been emailing and commenting about hideous design choices stemming from wedding-induced hysteria, compounded by the influence of the 80’s.

Here’s the challenge: post a photo of your wedding dress (the longer ago you got married, the better; mermaid ruffles a plus) either in the comments or on your own blog and link back here to let me know. If you are not married or have never had the pleasure, we will gleefully accept prom dress photos instead.

Before you get all shy and nu-uh about it, remember that there are far worse examples out there. I want to see YOUR wedding dress. You can always blur the face, unless the makeup is outrageous as well, in which case we demand close-ups.

Oooh! And bonus points if you can name your wedding or prom song!!

In return, I will post pics of BOTH of mine. Yes, you heard me. BOTH OF THEM.  One from 1989, one from 1993. In. living. color.

Now go find your albums and start scanning!!!

UPDATE: I couldn’t pick one from each. Instead I started an album! Here are a few from the first one in 1989, and here are a few from the second in 1993. Look for Debbie in each!!

SECOND UPDATE! I have finally been able to upload Gail’s pictures. That’s right, in the plural. I especially like this collection because she sent pics of her Junior Prom, Senior Prom, and wedding, and it is the same guy in each. Too bad it’s not the same girl… kidding!!

Sunday, February 27, 2005 Me, Me, Me

• get down and my knees and thank all that is good for the Orkin man
• put liners back in cupboards
• put every.single.dish, glass, cup, and serving piece through now-vacated dishwasher
• get lobotomy
• try not to let children rob me of sanity
• pretend I don’t hear Alec Baldwin doing horrific train voices all.day.long.
• wash six loads of laundry
• Ebay my horky collection of 80’s china
• actually, it’s not horky if you like black and white
• with gold trim
• the dessert plates have flying fish on them
• it’s only been used like three times and not once since 1993
• it’s high-end stuff, by Fitz and Floyd
• and service for 10 like I have goes for about $1,800 on replacement.com
• so, if you are interested, drop me a line
• my kids will never give me time to get it listed anyway
• throw me a bone here
• maybe you’d like to bid on three kids instead?
• I’ll throw in 8 Thomas videos to sweeten the pot

Saturday, February 26, 2005 Me, Me, Me

Remember, way back, when I realized that someone who works at a talent agency in L.A. had an email address identical to one of mine? I tried to sort it out, but in the end it was better to just leave it alone since it is an address I rarely use and even more rarely check… well, today I mosied on over because I want to sell something on Ebay and couldn’t remember which email address was associated my account.

I immediately noticed two things:

1. I had 1,036 unread messages. None of them urgent.
2. I had a verrrry interesting email intended for this other person. I normally do not open any mail not intended for me, but this one was titled, “Casting Call” and as a former model/actress, I couldn’t resist.

After cranking my gaping jaw shut again, I thought, ‘Yeah, riiiiight. This is a wise move. For anyone, really.”