where the grass is greener

Lately my daughter has been insisting that she has blue eyes.  I tell her "No, sweetheart, your eyes are brown.  Just like mine!  And your brothers', too.  Brown, dark, beautiful brown.  Like chocolate."

Sometimes she'll be satisfied.  But a few hours later she will start in again.  "My eyes blue! Blue eyes," she says, beaming at the mirror.

And it pains me a bit.  You see, when I was a little girl, I desperately wanted blonde hair and blue eyes.  I thought my own coloring was boring, but ...oh!  To have shining golden hair, bright blue eyes, to wear a pink ballerina's tutu - these were my dreams as a young girl.

So many times, I watch my little daughter.  The way she walks, her perfect confidence that she is lovely and adored.  I have a small tiara which sits on my jewelry box.  The other day I let her wear it for the first time.  We ran to the bathroom mirror: she to see how she looked, me because I wanted to witness her reaction.  Her face positively glowed.  I said "Oh Elise, you look beautiful."  Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, she looked at me with an expression of perfect happiness and breathed: "Yes."

I so want her to keep that.

I  want her to move with an air of confidence, to trust that what she has been given is just what she should have.  To like - nay, love, the color of her hair.  To fully appreciate the warm depth of her brown eyes.

And I suspect that much of that depends on me.

How I perceive my sense of womanhood.  Accentuating my femininity, embracing my body, my face...and yes, my eyes.  It's so very hard for me.  I made peace with my eye color years ago, but accepting other aspects of my appearance is a constant struggle for me.  Yet, I must, for myself as well as for her.

It isn't easy, mothering a little girl.  It's a joy, make no mistake - but what a responsibility!  I need to chose the way I speak about myself so, so carefully.  But beyond that, I want to learn to love myself better. To be thankful for my strong body, my health.  To thank the Lord for the belly that has carried six babies, the hips that have birthed five.  To accept that He has endowed me with my coloring, that He chose the hue of my hair and the shade of my eyes just for me.

To believe that I am beautiful in His sight, just as she is so beautiful in mine.

It isn't easy, mothering a little girl.  But it is a blessing...in more ways than one.

7 reasons I wear skirts

These days I find myself often putting on a skirt in the morning.  They are fun, flirty, and feminine.  So without further ado, here are the top 7 seasons why you'll often find me wearing a skirt.

1)  Skirts are womanly.   They're inherently feminine.  Honestly I think that's valuable in and of itself.  It seems to me that many womanly characteristics and pursuits are being discarded these days. They are seen as being old-fashioned or worse.  But I want to model for my daughter  - and yes, for my sons too - that I embrace my feminine side.  Skirts are a great way to do that.

2)  Skirts can be modest.  Clearly they aren't always.  Our culture tends toward the outrageous, and skirt length has been an example of that for the last 60 years - longer than that, really.  But it's more than possible to be fashionable and culturally relevant in a modest skirt. In fact, I've lately heard fashion experts advising against short skirts.  Even so, in this day and age I think it is vitally important to show the young girls around us that it's realistic and desirable to have an interest in style and beauty while remaining modest.

3)  Skirts are cool.  On warm summer days, skirts are hard to beat.  'Nough said.

4)  Skirts cover faults.  Please don't correct me if I'm wrong (*wink*), but I feel that wearing a skirt offers more grace to those of us with fuller figures.  A little less information about those thighs, a little more swish and distraction.  When it comes to the postpartum body (in my opinion) smoke and mirrors are where it's at.  And I love the way a knee-length skirt fans over my lap when I sit down.

5)  Skirts are versatile.  Dress them up or dress them down.  Once I wore a black skirt made of very casual material to a spontaneous girls' night out.  I didn't feel great about the outfit I'd been wearing that afternoon but I decided not to change clothes.  Instead I simply threw on a dark-wash denim jacket and wrapped a scarf around my neck.  When I got to my friend's house one of the other ladies asked me "So did you dress up just for tonight, or have you worn this all day?"    I was shocked (what a wonder a scarf is!) by her words.  My skirt was super casual, but it was incredibly easy to spiff my look up a bit.

I think it's equally plausible to wear skirts in a very casual way.   I have several skirts made of a material similar to the kind used for yoga pants.  Throw on a tank top and/or a zippered sweatshirt, a pair of flip-flops and you're ready to chase kids, change diapers, or simply putter around the backyard.

6)  Skirts are comfortable.  They're lower limb freedom, pure and simple.  And let me be frank: the elastic waistband is my friend right now.  I know certain fashion experts are against such things, but in my opinion these waistbands are a huge help to many a mama.  Many of my skirts are just as comfortable as any pair of sweatpants, and ten times as attractive.


7)  Skirts are fun to twirl in.   I learned this gem from my two-year-old daughter, and I must say she's precisely right.  When my little girl puts on a skirt or a dress, her first reaction is to spin around and say "Princess!"  She loves to watch her skirt float around her waist and legs.  Recently she watched me get dressed for the day.  After I put on my skirt, she wanted me to spin around.  I'll admit I obliged, and - well, it was fun.

And yes, I did feel (just a little) like a princess.

she's watching me

She's watching me.

When I grimace at my reflection in the mirror.

She's watching me.

When I fret about the number on the label of my jeans.

When I talk about flat hair, when I bemoan the size of my thighs. When I speak critically about my appearance, and the body God has given, she's watching me.

She's watching me.

When I complain about the endless crumbs on the floor. When I am cranky about forgotten toys and scraps of paper. When I lament the never-ending work of keeping up my house, she's watching me.

She's watching me.

When I speak about motherhood, when I mention marriage. When I honor or dishonor my husband, rejoice in the blessings of my children or reel under the responsibilities of parenthood, she's watching me.

When I come up against trials, difficult people, wearying situations. When I express anger, grief, forgiveness, or compassion, she's watching me.

She's watching me...how I embrace my femininity, my sexuality, my place in this life God has given me. How I view and treat myself as His child.

When I spend time on useless idles - things that have no lasting significance. When I place value on the things that are truly important, she's watching me.

When she considers the kind of woman she'd like to become...she's watching me.