When talking about a girl’s body image, you have to go back. Waaaaaay back. All the way to the early years. Because a child will remember if people noticed her and whether they said nice things or a plethora of backhanded compliments. You know the ones.
“Oh she’s as skinny as a beanpole!”
WHAT THE HELL IS A BEANPOLE???
“She eats just like a bird!”
THAT’S CAUSE YOUR EGG SALAD HAS SHELLS IN IT, LADY!
Thankfully what I remember hearing is comments about my hair. I had long strawberry blonde hair and strangers would often comment to me or my mother how beautiful it was. They also commented occasionally on my freckles, which when you’re 6 are adorable. I can’t say the same at 28 because now I only have them on my arms and they’re called moles.
Back to my hair. On nights before big school days, my mom would often braid my hair in two pigtails. Then one or both of my older brothers would grab hold of the braids, making motorcycle noises as they “drove” me screaming around the house.
The next morning, my mother would help me get dressed in some sort of skort or jumper, as that is all my closet consisted of. Then she would take out the braids and begin brushing my hair.
Then she would brush even more…
and brush just a little bit more…
until my hair was the equivalent of one of those static electricity balls you see at science fairs.
And that is why I held the title of Miss Midwest Afro Queen, circa 1991.
Tell me your thoughts! What comments did you hear growing up?
What fashion choices make you happy instagram wasn’t around then?
Should my mother be allowed to touch anyone else’s hair?
In search of the perfect Throwback Thursday post for this week, I happened upon a fascinating little book called…my first diary.
I was 10 when I started writing in it.
Classy right? I mean, nothing screams “Miss Havisham: The Early Years” like brocade fabric and a floral arrangement. Add some dust to the bears and I’m set.
No, seriously. If y’all catch me wandering the blogosphere in my wedding dress, wearing only one shoe…somebody better speak the fuck up!
Look at the lock on this thing?! I picked it with a bobbypin.
Who, exactly, is this going to keep out?
I guess it’s a good thing I at least hid the book somewhere safe because otherwise the kids on the playground might have decrypted my code names for the boys in our class.
“I’m sort of calling the boys names like tweeter butt, piddle skiddle, flem wad, emo ponco, tonto, estupedo,…”
I vote here and now we bring piddle skiddle and tweeter butt back!
*begins painting picket signs – Long Live Tweeter Butt! Piddle Skiddle is my Homie!”
Here’s another glistening dewdrop of an entry from my 10 year old self:
I decided I don’t want a boyfriend. I can wait.
I’m in a reading program!! It is fun.
I’m on break for piano lessons. I’m glad.
I’m not mad at anyone. That’s good, huh.
I have 3 penpals: Andrea, Jessica, and Katie. Their (yes, I know it should be ‘They’re’) from PA, WA, and WI.
Ok. Let’s just ponder this post shall we?
I think, rather I KNOW, my favorite part is “I’m not mad at anyone. That’s good, huh.”
In true form, I used my diary as a venting tool, and I’m betting I’m not the only one who did so. Therefore, the majority of its pages are filled with angry content about how mean all my siblings are and what backstabbers my best friends are.
Can someone say redheaded temper???
I can graciously say that I no longer fill my diary’s pages with name calling and hate letters. I’ve grown up since then. But there’s something to be said for the way a child gets things off her/his chest and moves on. They fume for the length of a page and then they wonder what’s for dinner. As adults, we don’t always heal so easily. As funny as these diary entries are, they are also a good reminder not to dwell on the negative things in life, but to move forward and enjoy the positive. Like reading programs. 😉
Did you ever keep a diary?
What shocking things did you scribble on its pages?
Do you journal now? What do you like/dislike about it?
As little girls we daydream about what our wedding day will be like.
I was so obsessed with it I wore my grandmother’s old slips and paraded around our front porch, two steps at a time and always in a straight line. I went through boxes of kleenex by piecing together homemade gowns for my Barbie dolls.
Now that I’m actually wedding planning, I can’t wait for the day to be over and the stress of really planning a wedding to be gone.
Soooo THAT’S the reason all the Disney movies go from first kiss to wedding to credit roll. It wouldn’t be a fairytale anymore if you had to listen to Cinderella talk about table settings with her stepsisters. Or see Snow White hit her prince over the head with the registry scanner because she wants 500-thread count sheets and he wants low ball glasses on clearance.
But as of last week, I made the last payment on my wedding gown and got all my accessories.
Let’s hope it’s an improvement from my dress-up box days.
What things did you daydream about as a kid that were different once you experienced them?
Meet my parents.
Here’s another glimpse into my writing project this week. I’ve spent more time editing the chapters about my family’s restaurant than any other chapters. So much to fit in.
This throwback thursday features another themed New Year’s Eve Party – pajama jammer. My pops wore long underwear, and if I know him, the butt flap was probably open. (But he would have had undies underneath!) At least, I hope so.
I’m pretty sure I had a Christmas dress at one point that matched my mother’s nightgown.
And you can see I’m modeling a very similar plaid ensemble. (pronounced un-some-bleh)
I’m calling this shot…Escanaba in da Moonlight meets The Berenstein Bears.
What’s a funny memory you have of your parents?
Can’t think of one…what about the way they dressed you? Huh, huh?
Since I’m writing about my childhood, I thought I’d share a few throwback thursday pics.
I call this one my Anne of Green Gables look. I mean, look at that straw hat!
I knew every word. Every. Word.
Love and Green Gables,