Just me and P!nk...

Determined to prove I am not quite as full figured as I believe myself to be, my ever dutiful husband snatched up the camera when he got home from work last night and insisted that he snap a few shots of me, so I would stop droning on and on about it to once-and-for-all put the meaty topic to rest. I ask you, in the face of such an absurd demand, who can stand there and allow themselves to be shot-for-a-point with even an ounce of seriousness? I can not. So I posed. Like a model. For The Crazy Catalog. Because that's where I belong. With my husband. Who is the mayor of The Pages.

Now tell me this is not the pose of a model...

It's just that in my delusional mind, I am a rockstar, like P!nk. We are twinkies, she and I. Only her hair is shorter. And whiter. And her singing barely eeks out a victory over mine. Our bodies are hard and firm and we work out with our personal trainers an hour each day and our dietitians prepare healthy yet satisfying meals for us and we fly through the air at our concerts while we sing live. We are awesome.

Most of the time (as long a I avoid mirrors and cameras) I can gleefully dwell within the bliss of my imagined mirage.

Until we take family photos.

But as I was looking back through the pictures of years gone by yesterday, I recognized something about myself. At 38, I find my 28 year old self so, so enticing and beautiful and youthful and appealing. I look at that 28 year old mother of young children with great gentleness and kindness and compassion and acceptance. Far more than I gave myself at the time. At 28, I picked my pieces apart just exactly the same as I do now. Back then, I focused on my flaws. I despised my ripples. I peered at my face in the mirror, dissatisfied with what peered back at me. I did it at 18 also.

Here's the thing, if I don't begin to appreciate myself in a true, abiding, honest manner, I will do the same thing at 48 to my 38 year old self. And so on. Until my last decade has been lived and I have nothing left to do but look back.

In those final days when I am ready to depart this earth do I want to say I wasted my life with discontentment over the precious gift I have been given, that is me? I was graced this very face by my lovely mother. In my own hands, I see those of my grandpa and dad. My body is strong and willing and able to walk my dogs and run with my children and provide my husband affection. My crinkled eyes watch my family grow. My wrinkling neck holds up the head that houses my thoughts, my intents, my desires, my longing, my passion, my goals - not the least of which is to enjoy this fleeting life.

As I age and spread and even grow in perhaps undesirable ways, I pray that I gather the extraordinary courage few of us women afford our souls, to delight in myself. That I may learn to accept the hands of time with joy for what has passed, all the seasons and ages I have had the privilege of embracing. That I may tenderly care for and nourish and cherish myself now just as I would in 10 years looking back.

I wold be a fool not to.

Because Lord knows, at 88 I'm going to sit in my rocking chair and remember rockin it like P!nk at 78.