Day 12: Subject and Her Spawn Enjoying the Sun

Chaz and I were waiting for the bus this morning, enjoying the sunshine.  Elliot was, too, but he ran inside to get a book to read on the bus, and therefore missed out on the moment of selfies.

Squinty pic brought to you courtesy of me not having

enough damn sense to turn away

from the sun. 

Ah, but I can learn!  Check out that Chaz smile.

Me and My Girl.

Tomorrow will feature Elliot.  Because balance is important.

Days 9, 10, and 11: Subject Was Busy Partying.

Okay, so, I wasn't actually partying all three days.  But let's just say that there was a day of set-up, a day of actual party, and a day of recovery. 

It takes a lot of time to have fun.

Here, though, are some images of me from the past few days:

My friend took a bunch of pictures of me, and Google helpfully turned them into a gif!  This is apparently what I look like when I'm letting someone photograph me, and then I get distracted by a baby.

This, by the way, is my favorite still from that set.

There's more!  Perhaps you've heard of jello wrestling.  Well, at my party we had jello THUMB wrestling.  I was the undisputed champion, with four bouts and no losses. 

I'm on the right.  This is my victory handshake.

Tragically, jello thumb wrestling has some unintended, long term consequences.

Behold.  I am a smurf.

Last, but not least, I offer you an actual video!!!  It goes to slow motion right before the flames happen, so don't do what I did, and think "huh, did my internet die?"  Also, please be advised it is NSFW, due to the fact that I swear very loudly at the beginning.

I'M ON FIRE!!!!

Day 8: A Study of the Subject's Tongue.

I've spent years taking pictures with my tongue out.  I think it started as a defense mechanism, because I don't really like pictures of myself, but over time it's gown into a statement.  This is how I feel on many days, and I don't really see the need to hide it.  So here you are, a study of me, and my tongue, through the years.

Day 7: Subject has a Head Cold

Some days, even if you feel positive about yourself, you feel generally wretched.

Fortunately, having your puppy snuggle with you can make it better.

Day 6: Subject's New Tattoo

If I am going to call this blog Acceptance365, I suppose at some point I have to stop hiding behind dogs and children and actually post some pictures that contain things I need to accept about myself.  That's a little scary, though, so today I'm easing into the shallows by posting some pictures that are a mixed bag.  There are some things I need to accept, but the focal point is something I love.

This, ladies and gentleman, is my new tattoo.

It's surprisingly hard to take a picture of one's own back, even with the aid of mirrors and what not.  

My tattoo is beautiful.  I love it.  And I guess the point of this blog is to try to love everything else in this picture as well.  So... this is my back.  Sometimes it punks out on me, and that's not my favorite thing, but most of the time it is both strong and serviceable, and I appreciate that very much.  

Thanks, back.  You're doing a great job.

Day 5: Subject and Spawn say "I Love You."

When Elliot and Charlotte were in preschool, they had a teacher that knew ASL.  Neither of them came away with many signs, but Charlotte grew attached to the sign for "I Love You," and uses it with great delight at the slightest opportunity.

Yes, she's wearing a bikini top.  Yes, it's February, and quite chilly out.  

Yes, there are parenting battles I choose not to fight.  

Moving on...

Today I earned the coveted high sign by giving her chips.  Clearly, I am doing a stellar job with this whole "buying my children's affections thing.

My son is brilliant in many ways, but he has some issues with fine motor skills.

There we go!

Elliot has to work harder to make his hands sign properly, so I'm more likely to get a verbal acknowledgement from him, but when I told him I wanted to take a picture he gave me his best effort.  And I think, really, that's probably a better sign of how much he loves me than any finger signal.

For my babies.  An "I Love You" back.

And here we have the promised daily picture of me.  An "I love you" for my babies, and for anyone out there whose feeling like they need it today.  Here, I'll even throw in some bonus love, just in case:

Day 4: Subject Cannot Adult Today

I should really be working.  I mean, I have so many things I do that fall under the category of "work", and I'm never caught up on all of it.  It's a 100% guarantee that there is something important that I should be spending my time on at any given moment.  With that as a preface, you might expect that today I will offer you an action shot.

You would be wrong.

I call this one Subject Staring Off Into Space.  Why am I staring off into space?  Well... you know...

Reasons.

I could have a whole series of photos and hang them in art galleries across the world.  And people would be like "Hey, you wanna go see that new Woodard exhibit?" and their friends would be like "What new Woodard exhibit?"

"Oh, you know, the one where it's this one chick staring off into space.  It's called Subject Cannot Adult Today."

Day 3: Subject Tries to Take a Picture With Her Dogs.

 I have two dogs.  One of them is secretly a criminal mastermind.  The other, I am fairly certain, was the living inspiration for Doug the Dog from the movie up. 

I thought, for today's post, I might try getting down on the floor and snapping a few candids with the puppies.

I... have had better ideas.

 A wild Callie appears.  She's NOT super effective.

Chimbasa decides to investigate what the hell is going on.

Clearly, I am losing the puppy battle.

Woman down.  Radio for backup.

Day 2: Subject With Her Daughter

Tonight, Chaz decided to climb up in my lap for some snuggles.  It may have been because there was another baby around, and she felt like she wasn't getting the attention she deserved.  It may have been because she was at her grandparents for the beginning of the week, and the lack of Mommy time was catching up with her.  Or it may just have been that she was buttering me up in an attempt to get me to fetch her milk from the kitchen.  Who knows.  But I took the opportunity to get photographic evidence that, for the moment at least, my little girl is fond of me.  I plan on showing them to her frequently during her teen years.

Day 1: Subject in Her Bathrobe

I've been thinking a lot about appearances recently.

It isn't any one thing that has provoked this line of thought, but rather several. It's the article I read saying that I shouldn't tell my daughter she is beautiful. It's the way that some of my male friends just don't get it when I tell them not to call me pretty--to call me charming instead. It's the posts about body image and acceptance that sometimes fail to acknowledge just how hard that acceptance can be, and the other posts that are about making yourself over into something perfect, so you don't have to struggle to feel acceptance for yourself anymore.

Except, of course, you kind of do.

I tell my daughter that she's beautiful a lot. I know the arguments against it--that I'll teach her that her appearance is a thing worth commenting on, or that she ought to seek approval for her appearance on a regular basis--but I've given the matter careful consideration, and I think the truth is that she'll learn those things, anyway. I did. My parents always valued my mind and abilities, and yet from the day I first made contact with the world outside my childhood home I was learning the lesson that is plastered on every billboard: Your appearance matters--maybe more than anything else. I'll never forget when I was ten years old and saw a teen beauty pageant on TV, and I started crying while watching a fourteen year old girl--tanned, blonde, and rail thin--do a simple tap dance. It didn't matter to me that she wasn't particularly talented, or that the whole idea of being a pageant girl sounded excruciatingly dull to me. I cried because I knew I was never going to be like her. I was never going to be one of the beautiful people, and the realization of that knowledge hurt.

So I tell my daughter she's beautiful every day, because if the world outside my door is going to teach her that beauty matters, then I want to teach her that what she is--short, round faced, and gap-toothed--is beautiful.

I do hope, though, that someday she will look at me and say "Mommy, why do you say that? It's not like it matters. Why don't you tell me I'm so good at puzzles?" Because I tell my daughter that she's beautiful, but I also tell her that it's not the reason I love her. That everything else that she is matters so much more.

It's a lesson that is hard to internalize, not just for women, but for men. Women have a hard time not obsessing over whether they're "pretty enough." Men have a hard time understanding that their validation is not required. I am a slow learner. It took me a long time to move past my ten-year-old's pain of not being beautiful. It wasn't until I was in my 30's that I started telling men that I didn't need to hear that I was pretty. That I'd rather be told I was charming, or clever, or funny. More often than not the response is a puzzled look from the man in question, and a reiteration. "But you are pretty."

It's hard, too, because remnants of the ten-year-old are still in there. There are still people in the world who I really want to find me attractive. But those remnants are small, and rest of me wants to bang my head against a wall that men I know and like think that the most positive compliment they can give me is about how I look. I'd be more upset, but I know that one of the problems is that we're all trained to go fishing for compliments by bashing ourselves.

And we--not just women, but everyone--have a tendency to bash pretty hard. Recently I was listening to a male friend complain about how he looks, and I was wondering to myself why everyone seems to think this is a female specific trait. We ALL have insecurities, and we ALL have a tendency to say those insecurities out loud, in the hopes that someone will correct us. I saw an article making the rounds a while ago that was addressed to the mothers of young girls, saying that we have to stop. That we are teaching our daughters self-loathing, by focusing on what we like least in ourselves and reviling it out loud. Sometimes we're hoping someone will contradict us. Sometimes we're just wallowing in our own insecurities. But either way we're teaching our children (not just our daughters) to follow in our footsteps, and we have to stop.

As a mother, I've got to say, I feel like I have enough of a job already. I don't really want to take on the task of rewriting generations of mental conditioning. It seems like a pretty big job.

But, on the other hand, I really, REALLY don't want either of my kids looking in the mirror and EVER saying, "Ugh. I hate my ____."

So I guess I'm gonna give that "rewriting mental conditioning" thing a go.

I don't think it's enough to stop hating on ourselves, though. I think, if we really want the message to come across, we have to start treating acceptance as an active, not a passive thing. And that means being happy with who we are, whether it's the "ideal" or not.

I'm going to start posting more pictures of me. Unphotoshopped. Unfiltered. Unposed. Just pictures of me, being me. I am not going to get rid of the ones that make me look tired, or like I have a double chin. I am not going to consider if the angle makes me look plump or svelte. I am just going to post pictures of me. They will all look like me. And that will be fine. Because there is nothing wrong with me.

It's like a 365 Challenge, only instead of a different subject it's always the same: Acceptance. 365 Days of Acceptance.