I almost never get to lounge around in my pajamas, pimple cream, anti-aging, anti-wrinkle cream slathered on my face, and watch TV. Certainly during the week when I am the first to get up to pack lunches, start breakfast, coffee and green tea, lining up shoes and coats, watching even a little would be out of the question. We have the morning routine timed to the last second and if anyone needs to so much as blow his nose, we could get off schedule. But some Sunday mornings when absolutely nothing is scheduled, I allow myself a Super Soul Sunday on OWN, videos on Vh1 Classic or if I really want to feel old, check out current videos and marvel at how little I know about what is happening in popular music, or maybe some entertainment news, BBC documentary, or Sex and the City reruns.
Inevitably, I stumble upon some infomercial that will guarantee with the loss of some blood, sweat, and tears AND huge bucks, gorgeous, youthful skin, a gorgeous, youthful, tight, no-signs-of-having-children or a peppermint-bark-problem body, or luxurious, youthful, tangle-free hair that looks like I get it done at the salon every day. Ageless beauty, it says, and I am mesmerized. I study the lines and wrinkles of Valerie Bertinelli and the increasingly, so easily gorgeous Cindy Crawford and I think, "That's it! That's the product for me." Or better," I will definitely work out for forty minutes a day, every day, sweating my face off and then go make dinner". Or," yeah sure, my hair is short but wouldn't it be nice to have that silky feeling even on my wee strands?"
Though I am getting older, watching my body change and let go of the lifetime of hours of tedious working out, afternoon facials, and cute haircuts, inside, I still feel like I graduated from college just moments ago. I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror while standing with the girls as they brush their teeth before bed or in the reflection of the car window as I pile everyone in or out and cannot believe that it's possible that that woman is representing me to the world. I am a softer, less angular, less stylish vision than the one I imagine of myself. I am not mad at it. Have come to accept it on some levels. But wouldn't mind a little help with the tweaking sometimes.
I have a cousin who is a plastic surgeon in Santa Barbara and have asked him and his wife countless questions involving terrifying procedures that will lift what were once hot boobies and turned into Mama mammaries, remove a bit of the junk bouncing out of the trunk, and lighten the load of the bags I am carrying under my eyes. I am a little too much of a wimp to handle these surgeries, as is my pocketbook, so I have gone a new direction. IT WORKS body wraps came to me from a friend on Facebook. She was selling them and posting pictures of all kinds of bodies on a wall of extreme transformation. I thought, "who knows if this really works, but I sure as heck want to find out!" As I mentioned, my pocketbook is a bit of a wimp and I did not want to commit to the fee for a possibly maybe. So I entered a contest on her website and if you can stand it, I won! Day two of the aforementioned experiment begins tomorrow.
I can't tell. I really can't tell if I see any difference after the first wrap which consisted of an herb-soaked, body part shaped napkin or cheesecloth that I squished and wrapped around my legs, then Saran wrapped for better travel and waited. I drank about 2 gallons of water and ate like a bunny. The next wrap will be done tomorrow, a full 72 hours after the first as is required. It smells great and I feel like my jeans might have fit a little less snugly in the thigh area. Pictures will be taken tomorrow before and after and we'll see. As I walked to my car, legs wrapped and Saran wrap swish-swish-swishing, I had to laugh out loud to myself.
What I never really realized, somehow missed all throughout my youth, was that when I was young, it came easy to me, easier than I believed. And I'm not alone. Look at a picture of yourself from back in the day. You are cute. You are hot. Your skin is smooth. Even after a night of partying, you look vibrant and fresh. I am surprisingly okay with this. I wish I looked a little better, sure. But a wiggly belly, tickled in bed by my six and three and 1/2 year old feels kind of jolly. I can work out some day. I can eat a little better, take in fewer brownies and more green things. I will. I will. I will. And I am sure twenty years from now, I will look at the pictures of me, wiggly belly and all and say, "Beautiful."
(c) Copyright 2012. Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
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