CSquaredPlus3

Be honest...

I like comfortable shoes.  I'm also a typical gal who likes to look pulled together with my own sense of style.  It's a very casual style that I have, but I feel silly if I try to dress like a Junior League-er or keep up with the trendsetters when in reality I'm a quasi-urban-granola meets wanna-be-urban-cowgirl who loves her pearls and a well structured blouse once in a while [maybe that is a bit Junior League-ish].

I don't work outside the home.  Some days I only leave the house to pick up the older boys from school, so it's just 4-year-old boy and me together... all day.  Other days I take kids to music lessons, karate, run errands [not fancy places], and occasionally meet Chris for lunch.  I'm usually puttering around the house and yard [read here], doing the things that most stay-at-home parents do to keep the house running smoothly.

Again, I like comfortable shoes.  I've tried to deviate [read here], but I always return to comfortable.

When I went to Texas a couple of weeks ago for my 25th high school reunion, I packed what I thought were very cute [and comfortable] shoes.  I wore a pair of Dansko Mary Jane's on the plane and changed into a pair of Dansko green strappy sandals, with a heel, when I arrived at my friend Vicki's house because it was hotter than I expected.

As I unpacked, my two friends, Vicki and Rena, were there chatting as we played show-and-tell with clothes, photos and hair drama.  I showed them the shoes I brought and how I planned to incorporate them into my reunion outfits [this was a very casual reunion].

Vicki said, "Those look like something my grandma would wear."

Rena chose her words carefully, "It's just...  well... you look like you stepped out of a Columbia catalog."

I was shocked.  "You don't think these are cute?!  I'm not a Dallas-girl, ya' know.  This is me.  I live in Utah and I schlep kids around all day.  My life is very casual... and sporty."

Rena and Vicki wouldn't budge so I didn't wear anything Dansko to the reunion functions.  But I wore my comfortable shoes the rest of the time in Texas.

My Dansko collection:

 

They're not that bad.  Are they?

I have cute Non-Dansko shoes too.  A few kitten heels, strappy flats, and a couple pairs of I-Look-Ridiculous-In-These-Because-They're-So-Not-Me-But-My-Husband-Loves-Them high heels.

Maybe it's time for me to change brands of comfortable shoes.  I asked a gal at Anthropologie if she liked the Dansko Mary Jane's I was wearing the other day.  She said she did.  I figured she would because... she works at Anthropologie.  I needed the easy stroke.  She mentioned, politely of course, that I might find some comfortable, but up to date, styles on the Frye website.

I don't know.  Are they that bad?  Be honest.  [Except you, Vicki, Rena, and Dallas-girls.]

On Turning 43

My birthday was yesterday, June 5th.  I'm 43.  I asked all three boys how old they thought I looked.  Middle Boy [9] said 42, Toddler Child [3 1/2] said 23, and Oldest Boy [11] nervously looked to his father for assistance.  Chris told him to say 29.  I honestly don't care how old I look.  When I feel healthy and rested, I usually look better than when I'm sickly and tired.  My 91-year-old grandmother is beautiful to me, and she looks every day of her 91 years.

THOUGHTS:

Grey Hair - The last 12 months have brought a plethora of grey hair.  I now use an all-over hair color prior to adding any highlights or lowlights.  This bothers me more than I thought it would.  My maternal grandmother, referred to as Grandmother, had a head of white hair by the time she was 50.  It looked great on her, but I'm not feeling it.  Funny how that works.  She died 19 years ago and is deeply missed.

Toddler Child - I adore this little boy.  He'll be four in September.  His personality remains fiery, although he's behaving more civilized on occasion.  I feel 43, sometimes older, parenting a toddler.  Naturally, I have no regrets about the choice to add another child to our tribe.  I simply underestimated the level of physical and mental fatigue I would experience.

Changing Perspective - Fewer issues are black-and-white to me like they once were, and a handful have earned a definitive spot in my mind.  I find myself accepting, understanding and respecting intelligent arguments on both sides of an issue.  Sometimes I think it's empathy to a fault.  In a 20 year period I can recall being neutral on an issue, then leaning right, then a little left, then a lot left, then finding neutral again.  If my perspective isn't challenged, I'm either on too safe of a road, or I'm asleep at the wheel.

Core Character - I don't think I'm radically different than who I was as a child, a teenager, or young adult.  I don't think many of us change radically.  We may soften or sharpen, become more educated, or not, endure unique life experiences that might eliminate or create judgments, but I think most of us remain fundamentally the same at our innermost part.

Facebook - Hated it.  Now I love it.  Reconnecting with people I probably never would have otherwise as well as connecting with new friends, has had it's head-bobbing-so-now-what-do-we-talk-about? moments.  As time goes on, those moments bother me less because the pieces of gold that surface as I pan are worth all of the who-the-hell-are-you? moments.  For me, it's been a gift.

This past year, via my Facebook experience and even writing this silly blog, I've learned that I am who I was, and I am who I will always be.  Life experiences have thankfully altered my perspective, but not my core character.  Old friends can see through life's sediment to the enduring parts.  New friends will learn what old friends have known.  It's humbling, refreshing, and comforting to see that under the layers of strata we all develop, is the same spirit that arrived at inception and will likely remain until the end.

Like a Training Bra

I was in the orthodontist's waiting room, thinking... Eighteen months?  Do I really want these on for eighteen months?  The Today show was on the television and I half listened to President Obama talk about the swine flu.  yeah, yeah, yeah... the CDC and the WHO don't know what the hell is going on yet...

The women behind the front desk were coiffed and smelled good.  Their voices dripped with the sweetness of saccharin as they spoke to one another.  Look. At. You!  I don't think I've EVER seen you in pink before... Gosh, you look pretty today!  When one woman would turn her focus back to a computer screen or files on a desk, the others would take in every detail of her appearance.  They all took turns participating in the covert operation of sizing each other up.  I stared at their teeth.

I got braces on my teeth last week.  Not Invisalign, but the old fashioned, silver, train track braces.  They're only on my top teeth with plans to add them to my bottom teeth in a month or two.  I've never had braces, nor have my kids, so this is a new experience for me.

I told Mother I had made the decision to get braces a few weeks ago...

Mom:  What's wrong with your teeth?!

I explained.

Mom:  Well... so much for saving money.  I thought you kids were trying to save money.

Me:  We have extra money this year in our tax-free medical spending account, Mom.  If we don't use it, we lose it, so I've figured out a moderate and responsible plan to contribute to the braces without draining the account in case we have an emergency.

Mom:  I still don't see what's wrong with your teeth...

Several of my friends have had braces and a few are wearing permanent retainers.  I've had plenty of people to call upon for encouragement, support and to answer my questions.  I'm comfortable with my decision and after nearly one week, I have no regrets.  Only 77 more weeks to go!

A friend asked me how my mouth was feeling.  The braces had only been on a couple of days.  I told her it was like my first training bra...

***********************************

When I was in the fifth grade I wanted a bra so badly.  I didn't need a bra.  At all.  Many of the popular girls were wearing them, so I believed I needed one too.  Mom took me shopping and we bought a training bra.  I loved how when I bent over to reach for something, the back straps were very visible.  I felt like a 35-year-old.  It was awesome!

I didn't wear the bra all the time, just when I wanted to look 35, like when I went to the skating rink on Saturday afternoons to skate.  Boys were there.  Lip gloss?  Check.  Pom-poms for skates?  Check.  Training bra?  Check.  Tight, satiny shirt so bra strap would be visible when I flexed my back?  Check.

Mom and I were going shopping one afternoon.  It was a big deal for the two of us to have a shopping day.  We had to drive from our small town, Winchester, to Muncie [Indiana] so we could shop at a real mall.  We usually dressed up and ate lunch in a restaurant.  I decided to wear the training bra.

Mom:  Chrisy, if you're going to wear the training bra, you need to wear it... all day.

Me:  I will, Mom.

As much as I liked having visible bra straps under my shirt, the training bra irritated me after about an hour.  If I was with Mother, she found a bathroom so I could remove the bra and she would carry it in her purse.

After an hour of shopping on this particular day, I couldn't take it anymore.

Me:  Mom, will you carry my training bra?  It's hurting me.

Mom:  Chrisy!  C'mon, you're fine.

Me:  I can't, Mom.  It's tight and rubs my skin funny.

Mom:  Take it off, but carry it in your own purse.

Me:  My purse is too small...

Mom:  Maybe from now on you shouldn't wear it when we leave the house. [Crushing, because that was the whole point, for THE WORLD to see that I was old enough for and possibly needed a bra.]

She took the bra and I don't think I wore it again for at least a year, maybe two.

***********************************

The braces?  Not uncomfortable at all for the first day.  Now?  My mouth is irritated, my teeth hurt, and I'd like my mother to carry them in her purse... for just a few hours.

Image of Darla from "Finding Nemo" courtesy of Google Images.

Vain

I don't photograph well.  I never have and I'm not upset about it anymore.  The camera loves Chris, Mother, and my brother Mallory Joe.  It doesn't love Dad, or me.  Our three sons are somewhere in the middle.  They're good looking boys and sometimes I get wonderful photographs of them, and sometimes I don't.  Any photographer will confirm these facts.  Some people are more photogenic than others.  I'm not fishing for compliments, nor am I saying I'm SO much better looking in person.

When I post a picture of myself, trust that I've gone through as many options as possible before I've shared it with you.  It's as good as it's gonna get, but I've put thought into it.  Except that one time... my dear friend Rena called and said, "Your eyes don't look right in that picture.  Did you do something?"  The answer was yes.  I overdid the Botox and had a Melissa Rivers, scary smile for a few weeks.  It's gone now.

I was tagged in a photo on Facebook recently.  It was taken at a high school reunion five years ago.  I'd seen the photo prior in a friend's album, cringed and thought to myself, Don't be so vain.  I hadn't been tagged with it at that point so I let it go.  People who visited his Facebook page and albums would see it, but the overlap of our circle of friends was small.  The majority of my Facebook friends would not see it.

I didn't like the picture because it highlighted the features on my face I've been the most self-conscious of my entire life.  It was not flattering of my nose and was taken prior to my Nasal-Surgery-Not-A-Nose-Job.  I was wearing bright red lipstick and my lips were curled under so they looked unusually thin and non-existent.  The angle of the photo, my side stance, and the great! sleeveless dress I wore made one arm look disproportionately big for my body.  The picture was taken at close range and was very unforgiving.  The two other people in the picture looked great.  I looked like Chyna, the female wrestler.

When I was tagged, the photo appeared in all it's huge glory on my profile page and populated one of my albums.  I saw it, gasped, nuked it, then frantically typed a note to the friend who tagged me, apologizing for my vanity and over-explained the situation. [This friend is a very nice man who I've had no contact with in 25 years, other than the brief hello and photo at the reunion.]  We had several exchanges, with me continuing to over-explain and over-apologize, resulting in him deleting the photo from his album too.  [This man is busy - job, wife, kids, etc..., and I sucked him into a babbling email exchange about how I looked like Chyna the wrestler in the picture, but I'm not THAT vain.  I'm NORMAL DAMMIT!  PLEASE BELIEVE ME!]

QUESTION:  My initial thought was I want veto power over all photos of me that others might share on Facebook or blogs.  However, I've enjoyed seeing 30-year-old class photos with 25 kids and a teacher.  A notification "rule" seems unnecessary in some cases.  What are your thoughts on photo sharing etiquette?

The Magic Dress - Revealed by Rena

My dear and beautiful friend Rena has graciously agreed to share photos of herself in the Magic Dress.  She is blessed with a trim figure [she eats right and exercises], so don't get discouraged when you see her.

A full length shot...

NOTE TO MODEL:  Rena Dear, I think you need to hem the dress about an inch.  Just my humble opinion.  You're a good friend.  Thank you.

 

Check out the photos below to see the corset-style seaming under the bust and above the hips.   Even if a person is not as petite as Rena, THIS, along with the Spanx-like fabric, is what makes every figure look gorgeous in the Magic Dress. [Click on photos to enlarge.]

I hope this has satisfied any lingering curiosity.  The dress discussion is now closed.  To those who were "over it", please accept my apologies.  The end.  Good bye.  No more.  Adios.  Ciao.

The Magic Dress

Mother and I enjoy shopping together.  We always have.  When I was a young girl, we'd drive from Winchester, Indiana, to Muncie for mother-daughter shopping days.  Even though I was as young as eight, I really believe Mom valued me as a shopping partner.

Now that we're older the only trouble we occasionally have is that we head out in the morning, take a lunch break with a bottle of wine, then shop some more and end up buying matching outfits.  We live in different states so it's really not a problem.  Other than that one time we met in Las Vegas a few years ago and had packed a few of the same sweaters.  We worked it out [they looked better on me].

Mom took a trip to Indiana in early October and spent the last day with a friend in Indianapolis.  They shopped a little and Mom's friend wanted to go in a store Mother and I never go to because it looks... trashy.  Much to her surprise, Mom left the store with a new dress (happened to be a dress her friend purchased too).

Mom called me when she returned to Arizona...

Mom:  Chrisy, you have got to go to [trashy store].  Marsha shops there and I was watching her try some things on, and she tried on the cutest dress.  I was just waiting for her, so I tried it on too.  It. Is. Fabulous.  It's black, has a perfect neckline, fitted three-quarter sleeves, perfect length.  I'm telling you, you've got to go try it on.

Me:  Did you buy it?

Mom:  YES.  We both bought it.  It's made of this magic fabric.  It's like a big Spanx, only a little thicker.  It holds everything in.  I'm telling you, it's unbelievable.

Me:  How much was it?

Mom:  Under $200.  Get the dress.

Three months later...
I was returning a few things after Christmas.  I popped in [trashy store] and said, "I've never been in here, but my mom bought a dress a few months ago... you probably don't have it anymore.  It's black, three-quarter length sleeves, wide belt, and she says it's made with some magic fabric, like Spanx."

The salesgirl took me immediately to the dress.  I tried it on and Mother was right.  It's fabulous.  It looked good with my stubbly legs and grey wool socks.  I bought the dress.

Two days ago...
I was talking on the phone with my girlfriend Rena who lives in Texas.  She has more occasions to wear nice clothes than I do, enjoys well fitting clothes and appreciates a bargain.  She's a shopper too.  I told Rena about the dress, Mother,  Marsha, magic fabric, etc. ...

Yesterday - Email from Rena...

Subject:  Magic Dress

Okay, I got it!  And the votes are in – it is fabulous.  My little kids were expecting it to do something other than look great when I called it “magic.”  Mother agreed that it is a beautiful shape and that the belt made it.  [Private girl-talk discussing our sizes and weight.]

Mother thought it was so adorable when I told her that you were NOT sharing the dress with any other woman in Utah, but that you had to tell me about it.  [More private girl-talk.]

Hey, what about a tan – I need one on my legs if I’m going to wear the dress without hose.  Know a good fake tan product?  I haven’t looked at those products in over 25 yrs.  Let me know if you have a recommendation. [If anyone has recommendations, Rena and I would both be interested.  More private girl-talk.]

Love you for sharing and ... [Compliment from Rena that makes me blush.]

Rena

So, as long as Marsha in Indiana, Mother in Arizona, Rena in Texas, and I... don't attend the same function having grabbed our little black, Magic Dress, I think we're good.

Does it hurt? Will it make me pretty? I'll do it!

Chris received an email recently from a business acquaintance who's launching a new web service.  It's called Beta Test Beauty and it's "...a market research service for skin and beauty-care makers..." They're seeking people who are interested in sampling products then answering a survey.  The products are provided free and participants will be paid.  I've signed up, but have no personal experience to share yet - good or bad.  Check it out if you'd like.

My Beauty Philosophy (today)
I don't begrudge any person for wanting to look attractive.  I currently don't judge women or men who choose to use Botox, Fillers, Thermage, Lasers, etc... if it enhances their self esteem.  I also admire those people who are at peace with their appearance and don't feel the need to moisturize, plump, fluff or pluck.  How freeing that must be.

My Skin History (like you care)
In the 1970s I recall laying in the sun with Mother.  If I was reading a book, resulting in my face looking down towards my lap, she would lovingly say, "Chrisy, tilt your head back.  Your face needs a little sun."  I was eleven.  She was only trying to be helpful.

In the 1980s I lifeguarded during the summers throughout high school and college.  I never wore sunscreen.  Ever.  On my days off, I sunbathed in a bikini so I wouldn't have Speedo tan lines.

During the winters while attending college at NAU in Flagstaff, Arizona, I worked at Snowbowl - a ski area - in the Rental Shop.  I loved having a tan face from skiing, and often sat outside during my work breaks, tipping my face to the strong, mountain sun.  No sunscreen.  Ever.

In the 1990s Chris and I raced mountain bikes.  The unique tan lines cyclists get are a badge of honor, but for a gal, not so pretty.  When not riding, I sunbathed to even out my tan.  For hours.  Again, no sunscreen.

Ruh-Roh (not looking like the other girls my age?)
When I turned 35 in 2001, I looked in the mirror and said, "Shit."  Years of sun worship had taken their toll.  I vowed to use sunscreen daily, leave behind my tanorexia, and pursue safe wrinkle-reducing creams and strategies.  Pale is *pretty*, I decided.  I also became a marketer's dream.

The Products (you name it, I tried it)
I've tried everything over the past seven years.  Expensive, inexpensive, and infomercial products.

Little by little my skin began looking better. 

I can't tell you if it was Creme De La Mer, Darphin, La Prairie, Strivectin, Mary Kay, faithful sunscreen usage, or Kathie Lee Gifford's stuff on QVC.  Maybe a combination of everything, but there was a definite improvement.  The fact that I hadn't been baking my skin for a few years helped, I'm certain.

Then, I plateaued around the age of 40.  Nothing seemed to work any more.

Mother (trying to be helpful, and usually right)
"You know Honey, a little Botox and Filler wouldn't hurt you...  I really like that More magazine.  You should read it..."  She's been trying to get me to read More since I was 35 and accused her of prematurely aging me. [FYI, Mother has only heard that Botox and Filler are a "good thing".]

Botox and Filler vs. Expensive Creams? (laughing, snickering, winking with those who know)
So I did it .  Not a lot of it, and only a couple of times.  Mother took me in July of 2007 and I got some Botox and Filler.  To be honest, it was too much Botox and since then, I've found the amount that softens deep lines without affecting expression.  I've been told by close friends that it's so subtle, why do I bother?  Because it makes me feel better.  That's why.

The only creams I use on my face now are Retin-A and Neutrogena SPF 45.

Confessions
1.  Even though I signed up for the Beta Test Beauty project, I can't imagine I'll ever return to spending money on creams and serums.  Retin-A, sunscreen, and a little Botox twice a year...  I'm good.  Even if I don't do Botox - the Retin-A and sunscreen are better than anything I've done prior.  [Mother gets me Retin-A in Mexico.  Shhh.]

2.  I like More magazine.  I don't have a subscription, but I pick up an issue occasionally.

3.  Mother was right.  She usually is.  Except for the part where she prematurely aged my skin.

4.  I haven't had Botox in over six months and it REALLY does leave the body in 3-4 months.  I didn't believe people who said that, until I'd done it myself and felt sad when it's effects were gone.  I don't know when I'll do it again, but I will, and it won't be very much, but I'll feel happy, even if no one else notices.

5.  I had Filler in my nasal labial folds - the parenthesis on each side of the mouth.  FYI, Botox does not hurt.  Filler hurts.

Moral of the Story
Whether you're choosing to age naturally or... not... Use hair color, hair remover, moisturizers, sunscreen, make-up or... not... Let's try not to judge one another.  I don't get professional manicures...  you don't bleach your mustache.  We can still be friends.