Ideal Woman vs. Ideal Me

I’ve been thinking lately (uh-oh!), and I’m beginning to realize that there is a huge difference between my concept of an ideal woman, and the actual best version of me.  Here is a comparison – Ideal Woman is who I believe I’m supposed to be, and Ideal Me is what I imagine myself doing while still feeling true to myself and being happy.

Ideal Woman: Drinks tea every morning

Ideal Me: Limits coffee to once or twice a week, in a fun cappucino mug, to savor the whole  experience.  I will NEVER enjoy tea.  I might learn to deal with it, but I will never see it as indulgent or relaxing.

Ideal Woman: Jogs and does yoga or Pilates at least 5 days a week

Ideal Me: Starts up rollerblading again.  Climbs on the slide and the couch with her kids.  Hoists herself up on every counter she can get away with.  Balances on curbs.  Sees the world as a big jungle gym where she can constantly challenge herself just to answer the question “can I?” or to make herself laugh.  I will NEVER exercise regularly for prolonged periods of time.  I am not an athlete in my identity, I do not enjoy training toward a goal, and I could not possibly feel like a happy, fulfilled person while knowing I have to get up every morning and lace up my running shoes.

Ideal Woman: Strictly vegan, eats lots of leafy greens, fresh fruit, and nuts.

Ideal Me: Tries to save dairy for special occasions, since she’s allergic.  Eats fruit pretty frequently, and nuts on occasion.  While I believe that my body would be its healthiest and most energetic if I was vegan, I will NEVER be able to deny myself all dairy products without self-pity.  And self-pity is not something I want to choose to live with all my life.  Realistically, that means that a happy, fulfilled me cannot be vegan.

Ideal Woman: Up before six every morning, takes in the sunrise, exercises, meditates, writes in her journal, etc.

Ideal Me:  Gets dressed and applies her makeup within an hour of waking up every morning, regardless of what’s happening that day.  I will NEVER be a morning person.  Not only is it not in my nature, but I love sleeping in and associate it with leisure, so forcing myself to get up freaking early every morning would again bring self-pity into my life.  Even if I developed the habit of getting up before six and my body adjusted to it, I could not sleep in on an occasional weekend or stay up late some night without messing up my body’s sleep cycles.  I would always feel contrained.

So those are the ones that I have recognized so far, although I’m sure there are more.  What unrealistic or unfair expectations do you tend to hold yourself to?  Is there an ideal model that you aspire to be like?

P.S.  I dyed my hair red yesterday.  With henna.  It’s redder than it looks in this picture.  It’s blotchy, and Dan thinks it’s all wrong for my skin tone, but I love it.  I can’t even tell you how much I love it, or why, for that matter….



I’m not really acing this NaBloPoMo thing this year…

Great Post

So I have this really great post planned.  Actually, it’s a series.  I was thinking it through and gathering some data for it yesterday.  Pretty excited.

Then I threw up this morning, at about 5:45am.  And the rest of the day has gone accordingly.

Dan was kind enough to take a day off work to care for the girls, which I am so very, very grateful for.  And so I spent most of the day in bed, or occasionally shuffling around the house, always armed with a large bowl and wrapped in a blanket.

It’s so cute when a two-year-old watches you puke.  “Oh!  You’re frowing up, mommy?  You’re really really sick?  I’m sowwy!  I frowed up yesterday in mommy and daddy’s potty.  I did.  You’re frowing up in the purple bowl, mommy?  The purple one, and not the blue one?  Oh!  I’m sowwy…”

Gross, but cute.  And the moral of the story is, of course, that my fabulous post will have to wait.  So will my Oregon Health Plan application, which was supposed to be RECEIVED by DHS today.  I sure am glad that they’re lenient…

Lazy Saturday

Saturdays are better with StumbleUpon.

Today, I came across a very powerful essay about girls, size, and self-worth, and I thought I’d share it with y’all.

So here you go.  Happy Saturday!

It’s over there!

My post for today is right here.


Last night was kinda crazy, and I totally forgot to post.

*hangs head in shame*

But I’ll make it up to you with TWO (count ’em: 1… 2!) post today!

First, this completely pointless and boring post apologizing for the lack of yesterday’s post.  Lucky you!

Second, a real, super-awesome post later today.  Or at least moderately awesome.  I guess we’ll have to wait and see…

See ya’ then!

Faith in Humanity

Someone told me that America wasn’t ready for a black President.

Someone told me that our nation was too full of hate.

Someone told me that the South was still too full of bigotry.

Someone told me that there were more distrustful white folks than decent color-blind people in the US of A.

That someone was wrong.

Someone told me that America wasn’t ready for a Barack Hussein Obama.

Someone told me that we could only elect Presidents with Western names.

Someone told me that Obama’s name was too Muslim in a Muslim-fearing country.

Someone told me that we could never trust someone who had even the slightest, most disputed tie to Islam.

Someone told me that we could never hand over the leadership of our country to a half-Kenyan man.

That someone was wrong.

I’m not here to gloat.

I’m not hear to say “I told you so.”

I’m just here to say, “We’re better than you thought.”

“We’re bigger men, bigger women than that.”

“We’re greater than our fears.”

“We’re not a nation of bigots.”

“We’ve grown up, all of us.  We’ve grown out of our racist paranoia.”

And so I guess I did tell you so.  And I’m glad to say you’re wrong.  Not because I want to do a victory dance.  Not because I want to rub your face in your misjudgement.

Just because I’m so, so happy that we’re better than you thought we were.