Yesterday the British government watchdog banned two L'Oreal print ads because they were 'misleading to the consumer.' The politician behind this decision, Lib Dem Jo Swinson says, "There's a big picture here, which is half of young women between 16 and 21 say they would consider cosmetic surgery and we've seen eating disorders more than doubled in the last 15 years. This ban sends a powerful message to advertisers -- let's get back to reality."
I guess I'm confused. A reality without makeup? Or a reality without supermodels wearing the makeup in advertisements?
While I applaud her goal - a world where women feel comfortable in their own skin - I have to say I found this just a teensy bit ridiculous. Banning a magazine ad of Julia Roberts' face isn't going to impact anorexia numbers one bit. In fact, the implication that government intervention is required to prevent women in general from mass misconception would be funny if it weren't so patronizing. Heads up! We don't think a $7 pot of foundation is going to turn us in to Julia Roberts or Christy Turlington.
I need my government to protect me from lead in my kids' toys and radiator fluid in dog food. I don't need my government to protect me from delusion.
I don't have the answers. Wish I did. I spent the first 40 years of my life wishing for less height, straight hair and smaller feet. I can't even tell you what was different at 40 - wisdom perhaps. I find myself surrounded by the friends who like me, in all my wonky weirdness, and letting all the others go. I don't really have any tolerance for the "friends" who buy me beauty products "to help." Nor the ones who come to inspect my housekeeping or compare kids.
Perfection to me is hours spent laughing with my gorgeous friends - who come in all shapes and size, ages and genders. It is sitting down to dinner with a spouse and children who have so much to tell each other that long after the food is cleared, we are still sitting there. Perfection is wonky weirdness. Because how boring would the world be if we all looked and acted the same? Even if we all looked like Julia Roberts and George Clooney...
Thursday 28 July 2011
Thursday 7 July 2011
Running Away with the Produce Man
Have you been to a Whole Foods Market? Until I went home to Denver last month, I had never seen one. Now, I want to live there.
For those of you who have not had the privilege:
Isn't it gorgeous? Everything in it's precise place. Neat and orderly. Makes me feel almost woozy!
Here's another one:
Sadly, someone with children like mine has been through and messed it up a bit - but it is still pretty spectacular.
Today, I told my husband I was going to run away with the produce man (PM) from Whole Foods.
He said anyone who spent all their time aligning lettuce with a spirit level had a profound mental defect and should be hospitalized.
This from a man who cannot locate the laundry basket with his dirty socks. (Hence, my enchantment with the PM.) My husband of 20 years feels that socks should stay on his feet until his backside hits the mattress. At which point, they hit the floor and remain there until he runs out and must do laundry.
I didn't know this was a genetic fault until I asked him to move the dresser in our sons' room. Twenty-seven (27!!?!?) filthy socks later, I am in therapy. Or, at least, my version of it - a big bubble bath and a glass of sangria.
I live in a house of slobs. Three men who have much more important things to do (recode computer games to make them more fun, light saber battles with the midges in the garden, reading LOTR for the 93rd time) than pick up after themselves. And they really don't understand what my problem is. They are perfectly content climbing over a mountain of socks to get in to bed at night. They see no problem with stacking the CD's from the broken holder (casualty of a wrestling match) on top of the dog's kennel and leaving them there for eternity.
It doesn't help that the dogs are all proper Yorkshiremen and have begun shedding as much of their coats as possible because the mercury passed 80 degrees three days in a row.
For 18 years, I have picked up and tidied and generally organized everything. If it were up to me, we would live in a place that resembled the PM's. Or at least as close as the Container Store could get us. But now I am in the chair and it isn't up to me anymore. God help me, the slobs are in charge of tidy and order.
And because they are all so adorable when they are sound asleep - I am going to have to learn to let things go and live with it. Or become a really sloppy (bubble scented) drunk...
For those of you who have not had the privilege:
Isn't it gorgeous? Everything in it's precise place. Neat and orderly. Makes me feel almost woozy!
Here's another one:
Sadly, someone with children like mine has been through and messed it up a bit - but it is still pretty spectacular.
Today, I told my husband I was going to run away with the produce man (PM) from Whole Foods.
He said anyone who spent all their time aligning lettuce with a spirit level had a profound mental defect and should be hospitalized.
This from a man who cannot locate the laundry basket with his dirty socks. (Hence, my enchantment with the PM.) My husband of 20 years feels that socks should stay on his feet until his backside hits the mattress. At which point, they hit the floor and remain there until he runs out and must do laundry.
I didn't know this was a genetic fault until I asked him to move the dresser in our sons' room. Twenty-seven (27!!?!?) filthy socks later, I am in therapy. Or, at least, my version of it - a big bubble bath and a glass of sangria.
I live in a house of slobs. Three men who have much more important things to do (recode computer games to make them more fun, light saber battles with the midges in the garden, reading LOTR for the 93rd time) than pick up after themselves. And they really don't understand what my problem is. They are perfectly content climbing over a mountain of socks to get in to bed at night. They see no problem with stacking the CD's from the broken holder (casualty of a wrestling match) on top of the dog's kennel and leaving them there for eternity.
It doesn't help that the dogs are all proper Yorkshiremen and have begun shedding as much of their coats as possible because the mercury passed 80 degrees three days in a row.
For 18 years, I have picked up and tidied and generally organized everything. If it were up to me, we would live in a place that resembled the PM's. Or at least as close as the Container Store could get us. But now I am in the chair and it isn't up to me anymore. God help me, the slobs are in charge of tidy and order.
And because they are all so adorable when they are sound asleep - I am going to have to learn to let things go and live with it. Or become a really sloppy (bubble scented) drunk...
Thursday 30 June 2011
Earth
It doesn't matter how smart you might be or how educated - your kids will bring you right back to earth (with a bump) in a hurry.
Here's the message our 9 year old left on his Dad's voicemail this morning:
"Dad, this is your son, Ron. I need to leave you a message. You will need some paper. Do you have some paper there? I hope you have some paper and a pencil. (long pause - presumably for his slow father to retrieve said articles.) We need cheese. Sliced cheese. For sandwiches. Eggs, olives, and wait a sec. I can't read mom's writing. I think it says bananas. But we don't really need bananas. We have 2. You can get more when those are gone. Tomorrow maybe. Because Charlie & I might have them for lunch. Okay Dad? I hope you got this on paper. Because that's it. Hope you're having a good day there with your friends."
Now, I cannot tell you how happy this made my heart. First and foremost, because it is just simply hilarious. But secondly, because my husband is one of those incredibly bright, technowhiz people - he majored in physics for goodness sakes - I mean COME ON. He has also never been pregnant. This may seem obvious to some of you - but I'm telling you - I used to be smart too. I could hold my own with this man any day and twice on a weekend. But then the progesterone poisoned my brain cells and I passed 39 candles on my birthday cake. Now, I can't remember why I sat down at this desk.
Anybody know?
So, it did my heart a world of good to hear that little pipsqueak leaving that message for the Brain. I might live on it for a week at least!
And, my baby is a sweet boy who wished his dad a nice day. Who thinks all his dad does all day is hang out with his friends and play on computers...
I think I'll spend the next week asking dh to do things and then handing him notepads - really short lists of things - if it doesn't fall out of my head first.
Here's the message our 9 year old left on his Dad's voicemail this morning:
"Dad, this is your son, Ron. I need to leave you a message. You will need some paper. Do you have some paper there? I hope you have some paper and a pencil. (long pause - presumably for his slow father to retrieve said articles.) We need cheese. Sliced cheese. For sandwiches. Eggs, olives, and wait a sec. I can't read mom's writing. I think it says bananas. But we don't really need bananas. We have 2. You can get more when those are gone. Tomorrow maybe. Because Charlie & I might have them for lunch. Okay Dad? I hope you got this on paper. Because that's it. Hope you're having a good day there with your friends."
Now, I cannot tell you how happy this made my heart. First and foremost, because it is just simply hilarious. But secondly, because my husband is one of those incredibly bright, technowhiz people - he majored in physics for goodness sakes - I mean COME ON. He has also never been pregnant. This may seem obvious to some of you - but I'm telling you - I used to be smart too. I could hold my own with this man any day and twice on a weekend. But then the progesterone poisoned my brain cells and I passed 39 candles on my birthday cake. Now, I can't remember why I sat down at this desk.
Anybody know?
So, it did my heart a world of good to hear that little pipsqueak leaving that message for the Brain. I might live on it for a week at least!
And, my baby is a sweet boy who wished his dad a nice day. Who thinks all his dad does all day is hang out with his friends and play on computers...
I think I'll spend the next week asking dh to do things and then handing him notepads - really short lists of things - if it doesn't fall out of my head first.
Wednesday 29 June 2011
Home
I just got back from a trip home. I call it home. My kids think of it as grandmaville with a Sonic. To them, here is home. Yorkshire. Funny accents, sheep, green everywhere you look. Castles, abbeys and stone walls. Where their beds and dogs and baseball gloves are kept.
Denver is home to me. I am perpetually lost without the Rockies to the West. If only it weren't so darn difficult to get there. A full day traveling - we leave here at o'dark hundred in the morning and arrive there 23 hours later. Seriously, how many times can you be asked to remove your shoes in one day before it loses some of its charm?
I spent a fabulous week shopping and taking craft classes with my mom and sister while my boys went to computer camp at DU. Met my girlfriends for lunch and an afternoon craftfest - even had a mini family reunion. Discovered that my baby sister can access the internet on her cute little phone while I drive her down the Valley Highway in my rental minivan. Very exciting for me. Not so much for her.
I bought myself some new perfume. Having worn the same one for the past 20 years, I decided it was time for a change. (Real trend follower eh?) The girl who pushed my chair for me at DIA smelled marvelous so I splurged and bought a bottle of her frangrance - Dolce and Gabbana the One. Yummy! This is what it looks like in case you too live in a cave (my sister's words) and have no idea what is going on in the world:
Then, on the flight home I was looking through the SkyMall magazine and noticed that they were selling Dolce & Gabbana the One for MEN! MEN!!? We'd just left Atlanta. I had 8 and a half more hours to stew over whether or not the lovely woman at Macy's had sold me men's cologne. (My baby sister is dying inside reading this right now!) Surely not - she was so much fun. Spraying all those colognes for me and giving me all the yummy samples...
Turns out, I bought the right one. The woman at Macy's was delightful. But I didn't even check for 4 days - because when we got off the plane, my darling hubby greeted me with "Mmm, you smell good!" Which, let's admit it - was all I really cared about in the first place.
Denver is home to me. I am perpetually lost without the Rockies to the West. If only it weren't so darn difficult to get there. A full day traveling - we leave here at o'dark hundred in the morning and arrive there 23 hours later. Seriously, how many times can you be asked to remove your shoes in one day before it loses some of its charm?
I spent a fabulous week shopping and taking craft classes with my mom and sister while my boys went to computer camp at DU. Met my girlfriends for lunch and an afternoon craftfest - even had a mini family reunion. Discovered that my baby sister can access the internet on her cute little phone while I drive her down the Valley Highway in my rental minivan. Very exciting for me. Not so much for her.
I bought myself some new perfume. Having worn the same one for the past 20 years, I decided it was time for a change. (Real trend follower eh?) The girl who pushed my chair for me at DIA smelled marvelous so I splurged and bought a bottle of her frangrance - Dolce and Gabbana the One. Yummy! This is what it looks like in case you too live in a cave (my sister's words) and have no idea what is going on in the world:
Then, on the flight home I was looking through the SkyMall magazine and noticed that they were selling Dolce & Gabbana the One for MEN! MEN!!? We'd just left Atlanta. I had 8 and a half more hours to stew over whether or not the lovely woman at Macy's had sold me men's cologne. (My baby sister is dying inside reading this right now!) Surely not - she was so much fun. Spraying all those colognes for me and giving me all the yummy samples...
Turns out, I bought the right one. The woman at Macy's was delightful. But I didn't even check for 4 days - because when we got off the plane, my darling hubby greeted me with "Mmm, you smell good!" Which, let's admit it - was all I really cared about in the first place.
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