You Have Arrived.

Colonial Williamsburg.

Jamestown Settlement and Powhatan Village.

The American Revolution Museum at Yorktown.

Traveling backward and forward in time as we visited living history museum after living history museum exhausted our feet and filled up our brains. We learned new things and reinforced previous understanding by walking the streets and encampments and engaged the people around us in conversation.

I think smoke was coming out of the boys' ears. And there might have been an incident or two of total breakdown and rolling on the floor.

It was time to stop. To decompress. To process through all the information of the past days. And there is no place better to unwind than at the beach.

So we plugged the address into my GPS and waited for that red target to appear and the voice to let us know, "You have arrived."

We not only arrived at an adorable purple cottage with a little slice of heaven just steps past the back door, we arrived at the perfect spot to just sit. To be together and to enjoy each other after days of pressure and agendas.

We arrived at a place where a kid doesn't have to worry if he is allowed to touch. Or to laugh too loudly. Or run.

The kids had arrived.

And at 40+ I've finally arrived at a place in my life where I don't care.

For the first time since the twins were born I put on my bikini.

And not the one with the cute retro high waisted bottoms.

I put on my bikini because I'm 6'1", dang it, and one pieces don't even fit me that well and I'm tired of picking my bathing suit out of my crack. I put on my bikini because tankinis kind of drive me nuts, the way they flutter up around my middle when I'm actually in the water.

I put on my bikini because I'm tired of believing that stretch marks, extra skin, and a "broken" belly button are things that need to be hidden. This is my body. And it is a body that stretched and grew 3 babies -- 2 at the same time, for goodness sake. And if I can't admit that 15 pounds of twins growing inside me might have stretched out the skin on my stomach and left me with an outtie rather than an innie, well, that's just dumb.

I put on my bikini because it's important for me to believe that my body is normal. That my body is nothing to be ashamed of. And it's important for my boys to know that, too. Normal is not what they will grow up seeing on TV and in the magazines. Normal comes in all shapes and sizes. Reality ages and gets stretched out.

This is what reality looks like. In a bikini.

I have arrived.

(But not quite at the place where I will be posting a photo of myself in a bikini online)

Thankful

My current view isn't too terrible. The cat is cute and cuddly. I like the photo on the wall. The shelves are piled with some books I'll be reading shortly.

 And best of all, I don't have to see this:

Yeah.

This was actually the "cutest" of a few pics, according to my darling (and honest) hubby. So. I'm looking and feeling pretty fantastic right now.

Thank you, oral surgery.

I don't remember the recovery process being so miserable after the 1st two wisdom teeth came out 20+ years ago. But then, it was 20+ years ago. I was still 20-. And I didn't have 3 munchkins who don't seem to understand when mommy needs a sick day.

I am incredibly thankful, though.

The surgery had no complications, despite all the forms they made me sign.

My dad drove 7 1/2 hours each direction in order to be the "responsible adult" who sat in the waiting room for 2 hours during the procedure and then hang out with the kids while I attempted to sleep off more of the anesthesia. And he went to the grocery store for me. Twice.

The hubs took an entire afternoon as an admin day and worked from home so that the Wild Things wouldn't also have to sit in a waiting room for two hours. He cooked dinner and even brought me breakfast in bed. And he is bringing me a doughnut after work today.

Maybe I've been pampered. Let's look at that picture again.

Do I look very pampered? Despite all that's been done for me, I don't really feel pampered. I've felt drunk and slightly nauseous for the past 24 hours, actually. I guess the drugs are working?

I'm thankful, too, that we were actually able to get in a half day of school. I just put out a stack of the stuff that didn't require much talking on my part and told them to get it done in whatever order tickled their fancy.

I may have bribed them with video games when they were finished.

Whatever.

Don't judge.

Or judge.

I'm just thankful they are playing nicely together and are not fighting over the title of King of the Wild Things.

What are you thankful for today?

The best way to spread Christmas cheer...

We are still trucking along on our countdown to the birth of Christ. This was a week loaded with crafts and music, movies, lights, and goodies.

December 8:

The symphony orchestra here put on a family-friendly Christmas concert. So we went. We tapped our feet and bobbed our heads as they played. We sang along to the sing-along bits. We might have even sung along (although much more quietly) to the not-so-sing-along bits. Because it's how we roll. We like singing. And songs.

December 9:

This was our bad day. The boys misbehaved. I misbehaved right back. It was ugly. In between the ugliness, we cut about 100 paper snowflakes to liven up the classroom. Later we made snowman luminaries and decorated our patio. Before bed we enjoyed hot cocoa and marshmallows. Even the bad days can be redeemed.

December 10:

We made "stained glass" Christmas trees for the sliding glass doors. Then we met Daddy for dinner and went out together to choose this year's new ornaments. At first the kids were disappointed because I didn't go to everyone's favorite big box store. They might have been eyeing some Star Wars ornaments there a few days prior. And I might have avoided it to force them to think outside the galaxy far far away. In the end, they were thrilled with what they found. N picked a golden-sequined nutcracker, W picked a panda, and L picked a kitty. So them. I love it.

December 11:

This one always tops my list of best days. We snuggled up for a movie marathon and slumber party under the tree with a few of our favorites: Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. This year Elf graduated from a Mommy/Daddy movie to one for the whole family, and the laughter was loud and contagious. Okay, so it didn't end up being much of a slumber party. All the men in this house are night owls, so there was no chance of any of them falling asleep during the movies (although the same cannot be said for me). The grown up boy and 2/3 of the littles immediately decided their beds sounded way more comfortable than the sleeping bags on the floor. They abandoned me and Thing 2. At some point in the night, we each retired to our rooms also. We are lame, and I wouldn't change a thing.

December 12:

The kids and I headed to the Aviation Museum to see the miniature train, grab a candy cane from Santa, do some airplane crafts, and practice our skills in the flight simulators. It's so pretty there, and it's not crowded, so we get plenty of personal attention from everyone. It was lovely and low key. The perfect end to the day was a Christmas gathering of our friends from church.

December 13:

The light rain all day kept the crowds away from the Christmas lights at the botanical gardens. No complaints from us! It was beautiful. And what's a little damp and chill when you can just pop into a pavilion for cocoa and popcorn?

December 14:

Cookie Day! Another favorite. We made our list of favorite treats to bake and eat and give away. From there to the grocery store for all the ingredients. And an afternoon of baking and decorating and sampling with my little helpers. Deliciously fun.

You could really be a Beau Brummell, baby

(or Lessons learned from letting go...just a little bit)

A little while back I came across a blog post which detailed the adventures of a mommy who let her toddler son dress her for a week. I thought it was hilarious and adorable all at the same time, so I challenged my lovely sister-in-law to allow her little man to dress her for a day. She accepted the challenge and sent me a picture of herself looking perfectly beautiful in mismatched clothes and with her hair styled like Elsa (who happens to be my nephew's girlfriend).

She then aimed the challenge back at me.

It was not something I had really planned to do.

You see, my guys are not toddlers anymore. While that might be an advantage in some ways (they aren't going to forget to pick pants for me), they are each very opinionated about fashion. And their styles are quite...unique...at times.

I don't always let them branch out on their own with their clothing choices. I like to have a little influence...er...control...over what they put on. I don't force them into a dozen layers of "coolness," but I do like to make sure they match.

Perhaps they wouldn't even be interested, I thought. Maybe, just maybe, bigger boys have no desire to dress their mommy. Pleeeeaase don't let them want to dress their mommy.

They wanted to dress their mommy.

I could feel the butterflies in my stomach as I knew I had no control over what I had just set into motion.

Mr. W got to go first. This boy is a fan of the graphic tee. If available, he likes pants with patterns, and he always likes his socks to show...even over the top of his high tops. He has also been known to attempt to style his hair with some gel to look more like Superman.

He knew exactly what shirt he wanted me in. I don't have a lot of graphic t-shirts, and he particularly likes the one with circus elephants. He paired it with a floral skirt, tall mismatched socks and my chucks. He insisted that my hair be down and straightened and added a scarf and the watch his daddy gave me for our engagement. He weighed his options before choosing a colorful messenger bag and glasses, not contacts.

This outfit was fun and super comfy. I kind of felt like a quirky high school student as I was out and about. He was really proud of what he selected, and it was nice to see him smile at me when I wore it.

The next day was Mr. L's turn. Little Mr. L has a unique style. He doesn't follow anybody's rules but his own.

He sorted through every piece in my closet, declaring each of them "pretty" or "bleh." I noticed pretty quickly that he gravitated toward color and pattern. When he paired up a huge multi-colored sweater with a bright, busy skirt he was so excited that it made it easy not to cringe at the choices. He wanted my brightest shoes and socks with tiny kitties had to be visible. My hair, he wanted me to just brush and then leave the way it turned out. A fan of accessorizing, he wanted glasses, my "special" watch, and he chose my sparkliest bracelet as well as a bracelet he had created for me with ribbon and fake flowers. I think he would have chosen a necklace or two, too, but I managed to distract him with bags before he settled on one. It should come as no surprise that he chose the messenger bag to compliment this ensemble.

I have to admit, I felt a bit silly wearing all of this at the same time. I was even tempted to specifically NOT leave the house. However, I had promised that I would take them to a pizzeria for dinner. I felt better about myself when I glanced at the table next to us and saw a lady confidently wearing head to toe sequins, faux fur, and animal prints. She clearly felt fabulous. I did, too, when I saw the proud look on Shorty's face.

Last, but certainly not least was Mr. N. He likes to wear items which are his favorite color or which have a favorite animal on them. He would wear the same shirt every day if I let him. He also loves to "look handsome" and to add bling. He doesn't just put on one button, he wears all of the ones he can find, plus his watch, and also a necklace.

At first, he was a bit insecure choosing my clothes, but once he found my orange tunic he was full of ideas. Leggings, leg warmers, and high heeled boots, as well as my big yellow handbag. My hair should be curled and I needed glasses. He put a watch and a bangle on each wrist and two necklaces around my neck (one was also a watch). 

He was so proud. He said it was the best I had every looked. This was definitely the most high-maintenance outfit of the 3, but it was also the one closest to something I would have chosen for myself. I felt pretty "normal" as we ran errands.

Things I learned from this little experiment:

1.  My boys crave control, and it is healthy for me to relinquish some of mine so they can have a bit more.
2. No matter how strange you think you look, people are not going to ask you about your outfit. They just aren't. They may snicker once you have walked away, but who cares?
3. If you act confident, you will feel confident.
4. If you feel fabulous in a floral skirt and fuchsia sneakers (or sequins and fur), you are fabulous. There is power in holding your head up high.
5. There is nothing wrong with planning an entire outfit around a favorite piece. Or two.
6. Mixing and matching is liberating.
7. Color is your friend. Don't hide from it.
8. Sparkles and bangles and bling make you feel pretty. Remember going overboard in the play jewelry as a kid? Yeah, that.
9. Fashion truly can communicate who you are, how you feel, and what you value.
10. There is nothing, NOTHING, that I wouldn't do to see my little men beam like they did when they looked with pride on their mama out on the town wearing what THEY had picked out. We will likely be doing this again next month.

What do you think? Are you up to the challenge?

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it. ~Confucious

Here I am. Truly me. Fresh from the shower, I brushed my hair until it was free from tangles and then let it air dry. I applied lotion to my face. Nothing more. This is me with no product, no makeup, and #nofilter.

As women, we have been told and have come to believe that this is not enough. That this is not okay. That this is not beautiful.

Worse, that this is not normal.

When we leave the house this way we get told we look "tired" and asked if we are feeling alright. We feel sub par and frumpy just by looking...well...like ourselves.

Products and makeup are fun and they certainly serve a purpose. Trust me, I have my own battery of beauty products filling bathroom drawers. I love them. People have been applying makeup for thousands and thousands of years. I'm not going to bring down a centuries-old tradition with one blog post. However, thousands of years ago, the cosmetic industry was not part of a profit-driven market bent on making some people rich by making the rest of us feel insecure.

I've read that women spend an incredible sum of money on beauty supplies. One article claims $15,000 in a lifetime, while another breaks it down to approximately $100 each month. That's a huge amount of cash. I could sponsor 3 children through World Vision or Compassion for that much  money. Or, if I only sponsored 2, I would still have enough left over at the end of the month to buy myself something to feel pretty.

I'm not trying to lay down some huge guilt trip on the way we spend our money. I'm just as guilty of self indulgence as the next gal. What I'm more concerned about is a culture that has us convinced that the bare minimum of how a woman ought to look when she wakes up in the morning is not even close to reality.

A society that fosters dissatisfaction in ourselves to the point of self loathing, eating disorders, and the belief that we shouldn't, couldn't be seen without our "faces" on. The false notion that there are women out there who have perfect bodies, perfect hair, and perfect complexions.

Let's get real with each other.

At least sometimes. I understand if you love the glamour, the fun, and even the art of makeup. Awesome. Rock it, my friend.

But, sometimes, let's put the brush down and take a deep breath.

Let's look at ourselves in the mirror and in our pictures and truly see ourselves. Let's show reality to one another. Let's not put that filter on our Instagram pics. You know the one. The one that smooths out the laugh lines and evens our skin tone. Let's get used to the way we actually look. Let's be okay with ourselves. And let's be okay with each other. Let's stop perpetuating the lie.

Do you know one of my favorite parts of getting used to the way I actually look? I don't have to do nearly as much to myself to feel like I've gotten all gussied up.

After a long day chasing rugrats, I felt like I needed to powder my nose before heading to the in-laws for the evening. I threw my hair in a clip, added a headband, used some chap stick and put one coat of mascara on my lashes.

Suddenly, I felt fancy. Yet I was still fresh-faced and fancy free.

Sure, I could stare at that picture and find many things "wrong" with the way I look. But who says that they are actually wrong? It's just the way I look. You look the way you look. It's different than me. Your skin, your eyes, your hair. They are different than mine. They are very likely different than the images we see on the screens and pages in front of us. That doesn't mean they are wrong, and it makes me sad that we think they are. And that we are, unintentionally, raising our children to believe these things are wrong, too.

I try very hard to make sure my boys see me at my worst the way I actually look. I guard my words around them. I make sure not to say things like, "I am going to go make myself pretty," then disappear into the bathroom only to come out with a different face. I want them to understand the way real women look. And to know that that is beautiful, too. Reality. It's pretty amazing.

I challenge you, ladies (and gentlemen), to learn to love yourself just the way you were created. And the way time has etched itself into you. Love that wrinkle, that mole, even that cellulite and those stretch marks. Learn to see yourself with #nofilter and not cringe...perhaps you will learn to like what you see.

In the doing so, the loving of ourselves, our children may learn to love themselves unfiltered, too, and to know that they are beautiful.

Things are beautiful if you love them. ~Jean Anouilh