It's a process

I first wrote "Its a process." I'm usually a great speller - especially out loud, for long words. You'
re, your - do not phase me. This short one though, I never, ever remember. I usually avoid it, spell out "it is" and sound way more formal than I've intended.

As for the process, it is my legs. Or, rather, coming to terms with them. Looking at hairy legs and not immediately thinking them ugly. Or unfeminine. I'm still smack-dab in the middle of that process. I still find they look strange. I don't like them very often, yet sometimes I get over it and don't care. And I think this may be part of the difficulty I've been having. With my legs, and with anyone (especially a women) who doesn't look magazine-perfect. My legs are a total failure of what fashion magazines tell me I should look like. The rest of me, I can do a pretty good job of molding into a "tall enough to hide I'm not skinny enough" image of mainstream advertised femininity. I'm lucky that way. What isn't up to snuff I can hide easily enough. I have great skin, and thick hair.

But the issue is that I've been trying to see my hairy legs as beautiful.

And I'm not so sure they are. I mean, I like my legs for what they can do, but the problem (even on blogs that encourage women not to care what people think of their legs) is that the question is still in terms of how I look. To myself, but really that means to others, too. I think what I'd rather feel is that they are strong and who cares how they look, it matters they can dance, and take me to work, and help me give horse-rides to my kid, and hang out on the side of the amazing coffee I can brew, next to the Sunday New York Times crossword I can actually solve, by Monday some weeks. By. My. Self. That is what I want to think about me, and not about how my legs look.

 

















This also goes along with the problems I have "just noticing, not judging" how people look. I've realized that in the same minute, I can see a woman, notice that she would not be featured in a magazine (the classifying my brain does immediately), and then also tell myself she is a perfect example of a human being. Not just a woman, but a person, who thinks, laughs, talks, works, cries, and is. This works much better for me than just trying not to judge how a person's body looks. And I'm thinking it can apply to me, too.

My hairy legs don't look like anything in a magazine. I don't know if I'll ever call them gorgeous. But some of this exercise, at least for me, is to think of myself as a human being first, and not in comparison to how someone in a photo looks.

And, based on a TED talk I watched last week, about the sexual objectification of women, part of what I stumble on in looking at these blog photos of women's legs only, is that it is only one part of the body you see. Instead of the whole person.

If that third photo is of a woman who wants to be elegant and gorgeous, I think that is a FAIL in my mind. If it is of a person, who can do and think and make, it is fine. It is good. And both the crossword and the coffee make me proud.

Sandpig, sandpig.

Just as I was thinking that Zurich winter was going to be the end of me this year, our Easter trip happened. We'd been through a bunch of ideas for getting back to North America for some sun, and they just had not panned out. Too long of a flight (27 hours?!) or too high of a price ($6000 for the three of us) for the Easter week. And then the memories of the jetlag that would not be conquered at Christmas time. So, we decided to learn from our Yuletide mistake and stay local. Swiss Airlines has a great feature which lets you dial in a price (which is a pretty good tracker for flight time) and, get this, a TEMPERATURE RANGE. I dialed in between 70 F and 90 F, and we wound up booking direct flights to Palma. It was the warmest place we could manage, while still being aware of State Department concerns and assuring non-stop travel.

We nailed this one. A small, family friendly hotel (Hotel Migjorn, near Campos) run by British expats, full of kids' amenities and in the countryside; a brand new rental car big enough for just our stuff, and 4 days of almost no clouds and about 72 F. Four beaches of silky white sand, many meals that were memorable (including the most gorgeous plate of tapas I've ever met at Perla Negra in Es Llombards), and three (or was it four?) trips to the island's best gelato shop (in Cala Sant Jordi) for a whole loving boatload of gelato in cones dipped in chocolate.

The water was still really cold, but nothing else was. The people, the food, the weather.

Now, I do have to say that our return to Zurich started promptly upon boarding the flight. Before we even got near the snow-covered Alps, we were surrounded by the surliest-looking, sun-burned people I think I've ever seen. No party atmosphere on that flight out of Palma. 

Best thing I learned on the trip - mostly a reminder, that we have to keep taking vacations, that are not about doing almost anything. Sure, I bought a few pairs of linen pants that I hope to someday wear to a very casual part of Zurich, and M saved me from buying a flowy, white shirt that would have never made it out of my closet. But mostly, we were looking for a beach to visit each day, to play in the sand, and as long as we got that and some food at regular intervals, we were great. No checking the phone, no texting or Facebook, and no trying to visit with others. Family trips, those to visit family, are rarely about taking things slowly. And although they are also vital, as A is growing up, and so we stay connected, they have about as much in common with vacations as mentoring graduate students has with managing them (which, really, given that professors are supposed to do both, should probably be reviewed by someone in charge somewhere at some point).

Best thing we did on the trip? Hard to pick, but the recurrent building of a sandpig sculpture on each beach kept things pretty coherent for the three of us.

Final thoughts - a bit more thought on the inflight programming that everyone has to see. Tom & Jerry and a chicken that shoots upwards of 1000 eggs out of its....egg-producing-organ? Not so bad for toddlers. The Best of Mr. Bean? Not so good for toddlers.

Exercises in calming-the-f*()&$#-down

My daughter's daycare is celebrating Swiss Mardi Gras this week. So the plan, as approved by the little one, was to dress like a snowman today. As an homage, I expect, to her favorite (and, really, only) cartoon, the British Snowman, and Snowman and the Snow Dog.

Saturday we found some black felt for buttons and last night M found some short sticks to be her hands for the initial reveal at school. You know that, after 5 minutes, the face make-up will be smeared, the sticks will have to go away lest a mini spiderman, or baby crocodile get their eyes poked out, and the hat and scarf will be in a puddle on the floor. But that's okay. That is why we take photos before leaving the house.

I'm so zen about it, eh? What calm, and ease. Had she said she wanted to wear the puffy vest inside out so the animals were showing instead of the snowman-perfect white, I would have said "Fine." Had she not wanted a hat, she would have hear "Sure, little one."

And had you been at our house last night you would have seen me trying to convince her of all sorts of things that this costume absolutely had to include, because I had yet to realize this wasn't about me. It wasn't about putting together the perfect costume. It wasn't about me getting really creative (partially to get back for all those fall-carved-radishes that blew mine away in November) and making the cutest snowman. It wasn't about my voice expressing hurt feelings because she didn't want to go along with what I wanted for her costume. 

Well, let's just say that after an initial 10 minutes, it was no longer about that. But it took a lot of stuffing my comments back into my mouth, consciously, to let it go.

And M read her a story about a little bear who doesn't want to wear the costume his Mami made him for Fasnacht. And he doesn't end up wearing it. I probably should have read that story with her, too.

Come this morning, and she's actually pretty excited to get ready. One good thing - the costume involves face paint, which is always a bit hit with kids her age. And new or old clothing she hasn't worn in a while. And white shoes to go to school instead of usual boots. And the fluffy vest is on, white side out. And the mask with carrot. And the hat and even Papa's red scarf.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the littlest snowman.