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Self Portrait Tuesday

. . . Love is . . .

. . . . . nothing but smiles . . .

. . . it doesn’t hurt to have a captive audience either . . .

. . . because . . .

. . . it’s not so easy to sit still when you’re nineteen months old!

I’m loving every minute of this journey called motherhood.

It’s been forever since I’ve participated in SPT, but since today is my birthday, I thought I’d post my 41 year old mug.  That is, before my fabulous sister’s makeover.  This is pre-color and cut, sans makeup, bedhead, first thing in the morning.  Itchy scratcy hayfever eyes.  Moderately chapped lips.  Greasy hair.  What can I say.  I’m low maintenance when it comes to things like grooming.  I do brush my teeth.  (Most of the time.)

Lo and behold, the wonders that can be wrought.  My sister is an Artiste!  The new me, in my fun and funky new do.  (The new me, wearing my classic 20 year old black sweater which I’ve worn once a week every week for the last twenty years, no exaggeration, and how will I ever replace it when it’s gone )  It’s especially great for me to have fun and whimsical hair because it balances out the rest of me that is all business, seriousness, and responsibility (translation: stressed out).  She’s an amazing hair stylist, and I have the benefit of being her sister.  It’s a sweet deal.  Plus, it’s totally low maintenance.  The messier, the better.  I’m loving it!  She also gave me a bag full of goodies that I tend not to get for myself.  Things like mascara (L’Oreal Volume Shocking, and let me say, this stuff works magic on nearly nonexistent lashes like mine), lotions, lip gloss and balms, a compact eyelash curler, and a super light and fresh foundation lotion.  She knows me well; that I can’t stand the feel of gunk on my skin, and that I’m sensitive to and intolerant of many scented things.  All these finds are things I will actually use.   A treat! And then!  Then she took me to lunch and we dined on the most scrumptious and decadent dungeness crab and avocado sandwiches, topped with caramelized onions and melted cheddar.  Divine!  I had only been to that restaurant once before, years ago.  She, me, and P, we three.  Before things went awry, before he left this world.  A few tears were shed.  But we rejoiced in the life we have remaining, in the part of him that lives on in his children.  They are beautiful children, full of love and light.  Sigh…  I miss those kids.  They live far far away.

  Now isn’t this the creme de la creme!  My other fabulous sister, who was just visiting, has bestowed on me this most extravagant and delicious gift.  I feel a bit guilty about my post earlier this month, in which I lamented over the beauty of the outrageously expensive porcelain pot.

Oh the color!  Oh the shape!  My, oh my. . .  And it’s mine!  Sigh.  Ahhhhhh.  I am having the most fabulous of birthdays.  So much beauty and color. 

Speaking of color.  How gorgeous are these   Orchids from a good friend and orchids from Mr. Gadget.  I love orchids!  Such a fabulous birthday.  So much to take in.  So much to be thankful for.  Seeing my sisters.  Now that’s the best thing.  I’m all smiles because of them.  No, seeing my Boo.  Now that’s the best thing.  I’m all smiles because of him.  I know what it is.  It’s love.  Love is the best thing.  I’m all smiles because of love.  Love with a capital L.

I know the personal history theme is over, but I found this picture while digging through some old boxes of things. I’ve been on a sort of a downer lately, feeling anxious about things in general. Too much work. Not enough family time. Not enough baby time. Not enough me time. Thinking about self image and wondering why it is so easy to magnify the flaws and disregard the features. I’ve been feeling frustrated with myself for not being physically what I would like to be. Today, I would leap for joy to have the look that I had 25 years ago, in this picture. Yet in this picture, I remember the person I was then. And I had the same self image. I wasn’t satisfied. Oh if only. Such a tiresome and most shallow expression. Where is the thankfulness for all that is good in life So easily taken for granted.

I was nominated for Homecoming Queen that year, the fall of my Senior year. I don’t know why. I wasn’t crowned, and that didn’t bother me. I remember feeling so uneasy being the center of attention. I don’t like that feeling at all. I try to stand to make myself look as small as possible, so self-conscious of the midsection and the legs. My calves were so big I had to take my boots apart and re-sew the zippers in to give me a little more room, as much as I could possibly get. I was always in danger of them exploding from my legs. Now that would have been a sight! I’m the one next to the king. A bit heavy, and very much aware of it. Today, there is much more of me. A hundred pounds more. What an awful thing to put in writing. What a shameful thing. Four pounds a year for twenty five years. It can creep up on a person, and it wasn’t a bit hard. I actually wear it rather well, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. It makes the denial just that much easier. I wonder why the person in that picture couldn’t be happier with herself. How shallow was she There were probably people who would have loved to have her face, her skin, her eyes, maybe her hair. But she didn’t pay much attention to those features. They came with the package. She didn’t ask for them. They were just part of the genetic roulette. As were the legs. How foolish is it to let such a thing contribute so much to the total sum of self worth

Very foolish. Very shallow. There are some things in life that the girl in the picture can control. Self worth is a choice. What a shame that she keeps forgetting this. She flashes a toothy smile, tosses her head, and is on her way, pushing those thoughts behind her for another day.

February Theme: All of Me.

Up close and personal. A forty year old complexion. One might be able to see the wrinkles if it weren’t for the water retention.

Up close, it looks kind of scary to me. All these bumps and lumps and things. And fuzz in places. I don’t like to look up close.

I don’t wear foundation. The thought of colored goo all over my face kind of grosses me out. I don’t use fancy schmancy cleansers and products. I just never got into all that personal care stuff. Probably because at the core, I’m lazy. I wash my face every morning with soap and water. Once in a while I might use lotion, if it’s winter time, the skin is dry and scaly, and if I remember. Usually, I don’t remember.

I don’t use makeup remover. Well, I do. It’s called a pillowcase. What little makeup remains by the end of the day accompanies me to bed. I don’t wear very much makeup. Eyeliner, brow pencil, a little shadow, mascara, and lip color. I use that all day lip stuff, so it goes on once, and if it lasts, it lasts. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I’m not the glamour girl of my youth, and I can’t be bothered with using much of my precious time on appearance. I give it the bare minimum effort.
I think I’m aging rather gracefully, even so. I’m not complaining. But then again, I don’t look too closely.

Self Portrait Tuesday – Personal History III

Forty years ago, or thereabouts, my parents dressed me in traditional Korean garments in celebration of my first birthday and my mixed heritage. Every brother and sister has a similar photo commemorating their first birthday. The girl’s dress has been worn three times. The boy’s garment had been worn six times, between 1963 and 1982, until last week, when my beautiful boy turned one. I waxed nostalgic and dressed my blonde haired blue eyed quarter Korean beauty in the traditional garb for his first birthday picture.

Self Portrait Tuesday – Personal History II
In 1971, Professor Pig followed his heart and sold his home in a quaint university town, gathered up his Honorable Bag and tribe of unruly children (number seven in utero), and journeyed to the Sceptred Isle to spend a year in the sacred walls and halls of the esteemed Cambridge University. The Professor had his own passport, and his family shared one. This is the family passport photo, although it’s missing one child (who is, sadly, missing once more; this time, forever).

The band of foreigners made their home in a humble flat on Norwich Street. Number 19. A young Squished Piggy, a misfit in her own land, found herself somewhat of a celebrity. After all, the English children had never seen an American before. Are you a North American or a South American she was asked, time and again. The shy girl who had no friends in her home land found herself befriended by two young girls, Bernadette and Elizabeth. There were afternoons with tea and toast and walks along cobbled roads lined with berry bushes. It was the happiest year of a young Squished Piggy’s life.

Years later, in 1994, a grown Squished Piggy made her way back to 19 Norwich Street. She walked the streets of Cambridge, and marveled at the majesty of the university –the grounds, the architecture, the history. No wonder Professor Pig was so enamored with the place.

Fast forward another ten years and a few more travels. Warsaw. Manchester. Mexico. Paris. Rome. By 2004 the Squished Piggy passport had run its course and finally expired. Present day. A new life. A new look. A new passport.