Die, Sleeping Beauty, die!

While we away this past weekend I was actually able to read several of the magazines I've been hoarding for this trip since flipping through the Pottery Barn catalogue can prove challenging on most days. One of these magazines was O, the Oprah magazine, and while I personally can not stand to listen to that hollering demagogue on her egotrip of a talk show and think she is thisclose to starting her own cult based on abuse of concealer, good lighting and the worship of cashmere, she does have an excellent writing staff and if you ignore any word Miss I Am Photoshopped Within an Inch of my Life on Each Month's Cover - seriously? Every month? - has written, you're in for a real treat.

Each month has a theme and this past month's was beauty. And while I thought a significant portion of the issue would be devoted to beauty products, specifically in the monthly featured "O List" which highlights for Ol' Eye Bag's acolytes living in trailers in South Dakota items they simply must have, such as $100/fl. oz eye cream that will change their lives, the writing in this issue was moving and deeply personal as various authors discussed their own beauty insecurities and body image. One of the lengthier pieces focused on the effect mothers have on their daughter's perceptions of themselves physically. As my own daughters creep closer to the age when they will start looking at their bodies instead of simply inhabiting them I reexamined how I am choosing to deal with issues related to looks when it comes to my kids.

I have tried, very hard, from the beginning to make looks and, body image specifically, a non-factor in my house. I have held my tongue a few times when I want to tell my girls how absolutely gorgeous I think they are. I don't mean I withhold compliments, but every mother thinks her kids are adorable and if I told them as often as I felt it Macy's might need one of their heads come November. My poor father in-law will attest to my earnest attempts to prevent all accolades from centering on appearance. I can not love him more when I hear him tell my daughters they are smart and fast and strong since I know he's doing it for me, a well as for them. My father must have thought me insane when I banned all discussion of weight around my kids. Even if it's to tell someone how great they look, I want to push off as long as possible the day my girls think, "You look so skinny!" is a compliment to strive for. Tony had to point out the girls weren't with me on vacation this weekend when I asked, "Do these pants make my B-U-T-T look F-A-T?", but it's second-nature now. And yes, I know the spelling thing is basically over since #1 can spell three letter words now. Damn literacy.

It's not only what you say, but how you act that can leave it's mark. My mother, who was basically a thin person, would occasionally during my teen years, go on a diet which consisted of eating nothing all day and them inhaling three pork chops at dinner. Yes, it worked, but she was impossible to deal with and we learned nothing about healthy weight management. When I, myself, was trying to lose my baby weight and started watching my portions I premeasured certain things when the girls were in bed for the night so they wouldn't think this is the way to eat on a regular basis. Having my kids has actually made me a healthier eater. Before kids I would only rarely indulge in favorite treats and then when doing so consume the entire container, box or tub. Disordered eating? Quite possibly. But now, to ensure my kids actually see Mommy eating her favorite foods, I do so with regularity in normal amounts. My girls also see me exercise regularly and this became a sticky issue when #1 asked why I run. After wracking my brain, trying to look into the future to see which of my responses would least likely result in her screaming on some therapist's couch fifteen years from now, "It's my mother's fault!", I answered, "I run because it makes me strong and gives me energy." Which she used this winter when I complained of fatigue. "Mommy, maybe you should exercise." Easy there, Jane Fonda.

Who knows if my efforts will pay off? As with all things related to child-rearing, you do your best and see what happens. I am beginning to see the fruits of my labor though. My oldest daughter's favorite Disney princess is Mulan because she's "brave and smart and strong". (Perhaps I coached her there, but I don't give a crap as long as she stays away from the repellent Sleeping Beauty whose name says it all. Wake up and get a damn job! What kind of idiot pricks her finger on a spindle anyway?) And recently we were having a discussion about a boy in her class who is a little chubby. We weren't talking about his weight, it was a story about art class, but when I couldn't remember who this boy was and she was trying to describe him she described his hair, his eyes, and then literally could not find the word to describe how he is shaped. She simply did not know the word "fat" could be used to describe a person. Huzzah!

That conversation is my fantasy made reality. I want my kids to live in a world where weight does not exist. Where their bodies are sources of strength and pleasure. Where how they feel on the inside is more important than how they look on the outside. While I know this is not possible unless we become Amish and move to a farm (I bet even those Amish chicks compare ankles though) I want to keep them innocent for as long as possible. Ask any woman and I'll bet they all can tell you the exact moment they thought for the first time something was "wrong" with the way they looked because of some comment made by an insensitive uncle at a Chritmas or stranger at the beach. The first time they hated a part of themselves. When they stopped thinking "This is my body" without any judgment, just statement of fact. If I could take years off my own life I would spare my children that. In my eyes, they are strong and beautiful and perfect. Maybe I'm wrong and I should tell them that when ever the thought crosses my mind.