photo collage of awkwardness

you know how sometimes a photographer will do a collage of photos of a baby or little kid where they focus on individual body parts rather than the whole? those are so cute. the sweet little toes. the darling round cheeks.

brooke likes to take photos like that too; but they're not of sweet, plump babies, they're of me. she likes to stare at me, or more accurately, pieces of me. her eyebrows furrow as she stares intently at some portion of my body, and when i ask her what she's looking at, she runs for the camera to photograph exactly what she's looking at so i too can see why it's so interesting.

here are some of those photos.

let's start at the bottom and work our way up, shall we?

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14

i'm lovely, aren't i?

in case you're wondering just what parts of me were chosen for inspection and photography, in case you couldn't tell, they are as follows.

1. the top of my toes.

2. the sole of my foot.

3. the back of my calf.

4. my hip.

5. my hip while doing a side crunch. it looks sort of like bread rolls at subway.

6. obviously my stretch marks on my hip. 

7. my sewer rat peeking at her over the edge of my pants.

8. lower case "i" in the middle of my stomach. clearly there's an infatuation with my stretch marks. she keeps telling me that she wants to chew on my skin now that i've lost weight and it's looser than before. awkward.

9. my collarbone.

10. the side of my neck and chin.

11. smile line beside my nose and above my lip.

12. furrowed brows.

13. the side of my eye when squinting.

14. my forehead while making a shocked face.

here is a picture she drew of me today. it's really the icing on the cake.

i decided to return the favor a bit and take some lovely shots of her, but this post is already too long, so i think i'll save those for next time.

protecting our kids

i'm reading a book called "Protecting the Gift" by gavin debecker. i saw it recommended on some parenting page and thought i'd check it out. the main subject is how we, as parents, can keep our kids safe and teach them to keep themselves safe as they get older. i've read various versions of these sorts of books in the past, but this one was a different flavor. it was very practical and i appreciated that.

one of the big things it teaches is how to keep kids safe from sexual predators. that's a subject that makes most of us uncomfortable and some of us queasy. we don't like to think about it very much because there's so much shame and secrecy surrounding it. we think that it can't happen to our kids because we love them so much and we do everything we can to keep them safe. we are good parents, so everything should turn out fine.

i remember hearing as a young teenager that 1 in 4 girls would be molested before she reached the age of 18. i was horrified and would look around at my friends and wonder which ones it would be.

at the time i first heard that statistic, i didn't realize that it was me. even stranger, in hindsight, is that it had already happened, but i had suppressed it and wouldn't even remember for a few more years.

my family was great. my parents were protective and careful about where and how we spent our time. they were careful about who we could be around without close adult supervision. they did everything they could think of correctly.

unfortunately, what happened was something they never would have thought of.

the summer that i turned 5, my mom was babysitting for another girl who was about 10. we were often left to play by ourselves or with siblings or other neighbor kids without a whole lot of supervision. shortly after she started coming over, that girl made me perform sexual acts with the other kids. she would tell us that we were married, even going so far as to perform a "marriage ceremony" to legitimize the whole thing. then she'd give step by step instructions on what we needed to do to each other. we didn't like it, but she was way bigger than the rest of us and when we complained, she threatened to tell our parents what we were doing to each other and we knew we'd get in trouble for that.

thankfully, she didn't need my mom to watch her for very long and soon she was out of my life. looking back, i wonder what must have happened to her to cause her to be acting out in that way. she was clearly a very troubled little girl.

when i was about 12 years old, i got touched inappropriately by my orthodontist. it happened a few different times while my mom was sitting in the waiting room and the doctor was leaned over my chair, pretending to adjust my paper drool bib. or if he couldn't get enough privacy in the exam room, he'd find a reason why i needed more x-rays and he'd back me into a corner in that tiny room and grope me where no one could see. he never said a word to me that wasn't about teeth or my retainer. he just silently found opportunities to touch me when no one was looking.

i don't know why i didn't tell my mom about the orthodontist. i felt all skeavy and disgusting each time i went. maybe i just wanted to pretend it didn't happen because addressing it would have made me look directly at it and deal with it when i really just wanted to forget it ever happened.

when i was 18 and got to college, i got really sick with a nasty sinus infection that just wouldn't go away. i had to go to a clinic a few miles away from the school several times before i finally kicked it. the worst part of being sick was that each time i went to the clinic, i saw the same, yucky old doctor. even though i only had a sinus infection, he always directed me to strip completely and then put on a paper gown that opened in the front. i didn't realize how strange that was at the time and i was so sick that i hardly had the strength to care, let alone question a medical professional. when he came back into the room for the exam, he always opened the gown fully and took my pulse in my groin. he also handled my breasts to supposedly hear my heartbeat properly.

again, i didn't tell anyone other than some friends. none of us knew what to do about it. we turned it into a joke and made up an obnoxious nickname for him and tried really hard not to get sick enough to need to see a doctor.

my whole point in airing out my skeletons like this is to say that we need to protect our kids. we need to teach them to value themselves and what is right. we need to listen to any little warning bells in our heads, even if they don't make sense on paper. we need to teach our kids not to just obey anyone in an authority position. we need to foster a sense of self worth in them so that they won't be prey to the dirty old men, adults who take advantage of their positions of trust, or even other children. we need to enforce an open door policy, literally and figuratively with our kids. that way, we'll be checking on them often and supervising anyone who's with them. if something does happen, they'll know they can tell us. and if, by any terrible chance something out of line does happen to our kids and they tell us, we need to report it. not just try to stay away from that person, but get them prosecuted. the statistics show that anyone who does such a thing to one kid is likely doing it to lots of kids. it can go on for years and years and wound so many innocents who are too afraid to talk about it. too many of those kids will go on to hurt others in the future.

let's protect the gift of intuition and innocence by giving too much information rather than not enough. kids who are likely to be targeted aren't too young to be told about such things, even if their parents feel uncomfortable talking about it. you aren't protecting them by keeping specific info away from your kids, but you might very well be protecting them by sharing what seems to maybe be too much.

before and after

this is a big week for me.

i reached my goal of losing seventy pounds before the end of this year. i had dreams about it for about a week before the scale actually tipped, and i kept imagining my facebook status that i would write when i reached that magical number.

secondly, i finished P90X today. for those of you who are unfamiliar with what that means, P90X is a heavy duty video workout program that includes 12 different workout routines. you rotate them in a particular order for 13 weeks and hopefully you'll be in the best shape of your life when you finish.

you're encouraged to take BEFORE pictures when you first start P90X, which i did. then you can take AFTER pics to help you really see how far you've come. i wish i'd taken some before pics of me when i first started dieting, like they do on "the biggest loser" show, but i never would have wanted to be seen in a sports bra at the size i was.

i've arranged some before and after pics to show my progress.

2003

april 2011 - weight 205

september 2011

april 2012 after losing about 35 lbs

july 2012
i've been doing some leg workouts and i think it's starting to show.

my winter coat isn't going to work if it's big enough for brooke and i to wear together.

might be time for some new pants.

september 2012. current weight 131.

sept 2012

before - june 2012 before starting P90X
after - september 30, 2012 completed P90X
i had already lost 50 lbs in the before picture. i lost 20 more during the 13 weeks of  doing P90X.

june 2012/sept 2012

this one might be my favorite because until yesterday, i never knew my back and shoulders looked like that. i've never been muscley, so this is pretty exciting for me.

people keep asking me "what's next?" now that i've reached my goals. i guess the answer is that i keep on going. i don't want to be big again and i don't want to be unhealthy again. so i'll keep on eating right and making enough healthy choices to keep my weight under control. i'll keep on working out because, dang it's nice to fit into little clothes and be able to do things i'd had to stop doing for the ten years i was fat. maybe i'll do another round of P90X or maybe i'll switch it up and do lots of different styles of workouts. i know i love yoga and weight training now, so there are possibilities for more of that. maybe one of these days i'll learn how to run for more than 20 feet without being chased by anything scary. 

i don't know. i just know that i'm feeling pretty good about things as they are right now and i want the good to keep going.

the pink nightie

sometimes it's said of a kid that "they're in a hurry to grow up." i think i was kind of like that, except i wanted to skip the journey and zing straight to adulthood. i wanted to zoom from 7 to 20 in no time flat. i longed to hang out with the adults and listen to the things they said. i wanted to hear the gossip and absorb all the information that i thought i was old enough to understand.

when i was about twelve, i started being allowed to shop around the mall with a trustworthy friend while one of our parents wandered around the mall apart from us. i thought that was about the coolest thing ever. i had a little bit of money because i always babysat, pet sat, raked yards, cleaned the house, washed the car. anything to get some moolah into my pink, pleather wallet.

i liked to buy my own clothes when i was with my friends because then i didn't have to listen to my parents' opinions about them. of course i thought i was a mature woman with my own income, so surely i was old enough to pick out my own attire. however, my parents, being conservative, had other ideas. they didn't mind if i bought my own stuff, but they didn't hesitate to shuttle me right back to the mall to return my purchases if they didn't fall in line with the standards that had been set for me.

it didn't take me long to learn how to get things that were acceptable to both my parents and myself so as to avoid the embarrassment of having to return things. it was awful to be asked by the associate doing the return, "reason you're returning this today?" and having to answer with my eyes averted, "my dad said it looked slutty."

there was one time though, where i decided that i didn't care what they thought. i was going to buy any old thing i pleased that was within my budget. i loved silky, lacy things, and underwear in particular. i was browsing through a department store's lingerie department. i meandered out of the bras and through the girdle region. before i knew it, i found myself in the land of sexy teddies. the things surrounding me were so beautiful and elegant. they were pleasing to the eyes and the fingertips and i longed to own one of my very own. i wanted to put it on and wear it under my clothes. i wasn't entirely sure what the intended purpose of such clothing items was, but i knew i had to have one.

i couldn't afford most of the lacy pretties, but i found a sale rack with some lovely little things. there was one pale pink, fake silk number with a scalloped lace neckline and skinny little straps. i held it there in the j.c. penny's and debated with myself. what would i ever do with this? did i really want to spend all the money i had allotted for clothes on something that i could never show to anyone? i put it back and started to walk away, but it called out to me in a gentle, whispery voice. it promised that i'd feel beautiful when i wore it. it assured me that no child had ever owned an item of such elegance.

i hesitated for only a moment longer before i snatched it up, hugged it to myself and rushed to the counter to pay. an elderly saleswoman waited at the desk to ring up the next customer. i tried to control the trembling in my hands as i set it down. she raised an eyebrow in clear disapproval. her look plainly stated that in her book, i wasn't even old enough to wear makeup, let alone buy a sexy nightie that would no doubt be put to shameful and unladylike uses.

in response to her disdain, i determined to be as womanly as possible. i puffed out my chest to show off my new breasts. i raised an eyebrow of my own and looked her right in the eye, just daring her to question my morals or maturity. i knew of no laws forbidding twelve year olds to purchase underwear and i was ready to state that for all to hear if she dared to so much as cluck her tongue in criticism.

when the transaction was complete, i walked sedately away, shoulders back, head held high, not letting on that my heart was pounding in terror and excitement. my friend was giggling and elbowing me in the ribs, but i held onto my mature facade until we were out of sight of the store.

we immediately raced into a bathroom where i threw away the bag and receipt and stuffed the beautiful silk treasure into the bottom of my purse. i couldn't risk getting spotted by my parent while carrying a bag that i wasn't willing to explain.

when i got home with my negligee, i held it up and twirled around in front of my mirror. i imagined wearing it to sleep or to church under my conservative dress. but somehow, i could never get up the nerve to put it on. i held it and petted it, i even ripped off the tags, but after each time that i admired it, i tucked it away in the bottom of my toy box full of stuffed animals to prevent it from being discovered.

after a few months of keeping the nightie in hiding, my guilt was becoming unbearable. i had figured out the reason that women bought such things and i knew i wasn't ready for sex. it no longer pleased me to look at it and now i sort of understood that the snap-crotch wasn't there to make going to the bathroom easier. i couldn't even think of it without feeling a twist in my gut, knowing that i shouldn't own it. i thought about throwing it away, but couldn't bear the idea of letting something so pretty go in the garbage. i had no friends who were old enough or slutty enough to be wearing such a thing for a boy or man, so i couldn't give it to any of them.

that left me with only one option that i could think of. i had to give it to my mom. i knew that if she'd caught me with it, she would immediately think that i was trashier than i was. at that point, i hadn't even kissed a boy, so i didn't want her to think that i was that kind of girl.

mother's day was approaching, so i decided to give it to my mom as a gift. i would act like it was a recent purchase and always intended for her.

i called her into my room that afternoon and handed her a plastic bag containing the slinky garment. i told her that i didn't give it to her in front of the rest of the family because i didn't want to embarrass her. i tried to play it cool. woman to woman. as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a child to give her mother a piece of sexy lingerie for mother's day.

she looked at the nightie. she looked at me. she narrowed her eyes, but i maintained what i perceived to be my air of mature innocence.

i suspect it was badly wrinkled from being crammed into my toy box for months and maybe even a little dirty or frayed from being petted by my childish fingers so many times.

i told this story to my mom the other day, hoping to hear her end of it. she didn't really remember at first, but then she ran up to her room and dug around in the bottom drawer of her dresser. she pulled an old plastic bag out and slipped the very negligee in question out of the bag and into my hand.

my eyes widened. i couldn't believe it still existed. i petted the cheap silk for a moment and then dropped it like i'd been shocked. i looked at her with a horrified expression and asked if she'd ever worn it for its intended purpose. she laughed and assured me that it had never been worn and she gave it back to me.

that night, i took it home. i told my husband of 14 years the story and pulled the little nightie out of my purse...

let's just say that even after 25 years, this little number is still hot. 

super aspie

i've been thinking about this aspergers thing again. actually, i've been thinking about it for the past 6 years, but as brooke gets older, my perspective changes.

i've been trying to decide if i consider her to be "special needs." i've never had a real need to qualify her in that kind of way because she's never been in day care or school. nothing more organized than sunday school or gymnastics class for the most part.

to me, she seems completely "normal" and functional much of the time. when we're home, which we are the vast majority of the time, she's happy and content and generally busy doing things by herself during her free time. we've developed routines to help her deal with the things in life that she hates or doesn't understand and we don't see many freakouts anymore.

when we went on the cruise a couple weeks ago, i was filling out registration forms ahead of time for the carnival camp. it was to allow brooke to do activities on the ship with some other kids and to give chris and i the chance to do something without her. there was a separate form to fill out if your child is "special needs." i hesitated and then didn't fill it out. she'd done so well at camp in ny the previous month that i thought maybe we wouldn't need to tell anyone on the ship that there's anything different about her. i thought maybe she could just be treated like every other kid and be fine rather than being treated with special concern or condescension.

i was wrong. i ended up having to fill out the form after all once an incident in the child care room popped up, resulting in her screaming and crying and insisting that she was never stepping foot back in that stupid place again. a couple days later she was reluctantly willing to try again in order to see a kids only magic show. as she walked sullenly away from me at the entrance, i quietly spoke to the woman in charge of check-in and said, "brooke is.... slightly autistic... and..." but before i could go any further, she said, "the whole staff is aware of brooke and we know ALL about her and her needs."

i swallowed the giant lump in my throat and all the words that wanted to spew out. i resisted the urge to slap her or thank her or snatch brooke right back out of that room. i clenched my teeth and i walked away. i sat on a bench a few feet away where i could see brooke through the window for the whole hour she was in there because she wasn't even willing to go in unless i promised to stay right in that spot. while i sat there, i held back tears. thinking or saying the word "autism" in reference to her makes my heart ache and my eyes leak. i rebel against it.

i want so much for her to like life. i want her to have all the chances to experience everything good and fun. i want her to be treated like all the other kids, but when she is, the result is all too often a fiasco. i want her to feel like she fits in.

but much of the time, she doesn't.

recently i've had some conversations with family members about her having aspergers. i think it's hard to understand. i don't for a moment feel like brooke is broken or defective or disabled. i don't feel like she needs to be "cured" if such a thing was even possible. she is just wired differently in a world where most people are wired more similarly.

i've been trying to think of a way to describe it to someone who hasn't done the research and doesn't want the long answer. i haven't found anything i'm fully satisfied with, but the best thing i can compare it to is being left handed. in a world dominated by righties, there are challenges for those rare lefties. they aren't sick or defective or in need of correction, but they need special scissors and they hold their papers differently. sometimes they'll bang elbows with their rightie neighbors, but if a little bit of care and planning is taken, the differences can be comfortably accommodated without a lot of undo attention.

that's what i try to do in brooke's life. i try to do that bit of planning and accommodating in advance so that things can flow smoothly. i'm trying to teach her how to explain herself and her differences to people in a clear and concise way so that they can understand her unique needs and still respect her as a whole, interesting, articulate little human. i'm also teaching her that just because someone is older than her, it doesn't mean they're right. i think it's really important for her to believe in herself and her own knowledge and opinions because there are so many ignorant, judgmental, rude people, adults included, in the world. she needs to trust that she's okay even if someone tells her she's not.

it seems to be working so far. she considers aspergers to be her own personal superpower. she embraces her differences and feels sorry for those of us who don't see the world from her fabulously interesting perspective. i hope she'll always feel that way about herself, no matter what she encounters in her life. 

i'm not invisible

i got married in my early twenties. i was younger than a lot of girls, but i'd dated a lot of different guys and i felt confident that i knew what i was looking for and that i'd found it when i met chris.

before i was married, i felt like a confident, self-sufficient woman of the world who could handle anything that came my way. i had a lot to say and an opinion about most subjects, which i felt free to share any time with anyone.

my husband is very good at holding his tongue and over time, i learned to keep my mouth shut until i'd filtered my thoughts through my brain and decided they were worth spilling out onto the people around me. i think this is a good quality most of the time.

i learned how to delay any real decisions until such time as i had discussed them with chris. he's never been demanding about how i spent time or money, but it seemed reasonable to share those decisions rather than just rashly do whatever i felt like without thought to the other half of my partnership.

then i became a mommy. it was what i'd always wanted and i was very happy to have my little girl. my life revolved around brooke and her needs.

over the years, it seems like more and more of my self has vanished as i've dedicated myself to caring for my family. i ate what they liked, i slept when i needed to sleep so that i could best accommodate the lives of my husband and kid. i go where they want to go and watch what they like to watch.

as a larger woman, i've dressed in a way that would blend in to the background and i didn't do anything to draw attention to myself because i didn't want anyone to look at me and think the fat girl was getting out of hand. if i was invisible, no one would notice all the ways i was lacking.

when i think back to the time when i felt most like i knew who i was and was in control of my own life, i picture a big mouthed, hootchie-dressed, smoking girl, with super-high heels. i see long acrylic nails, red lipstick and sleeping til noon.

i like that girl, but those things don't fit me anymore. there has to be a way to rediscover or rebuild myself into a current version that will work for my life and not leaving me feeling like i only exist for the services i perform for others. i want a sense of self-satisfaction that isn't about anyone else, but isn't totally selfish either.

this year has been a time for me to start figuring that out. i still don't know what direction it's going to take, but i'm putting some time and effort into exploring my options. i've made myself more of a priority than i have in many years and it feels good.

maybe eventually i'll figure it out. i don't think the new me looks like either of those girls up above. i think she looks more like this. and she's not invisible.

nervous

i've been writing my whole life. i started out writing love notes to my mom and dad. i filled up diaries in elementary school to document my every thought, feeling, or irritation. i wrote letters to all my friends as well as pen pals i picked up around the world. i've had a pen in my hand since i developed enough fine motor skills to make letters look like anything legible.

i've always been a reader too. books, magazines, newspapers, letters, notes, recipes, graffiti. i can't fall asleep at night without reading. i start reading from the moment i wake up in the morning and in one way or another, i keep it up until i fall asleep at night.

i've always suspected that one day i'd write a book of my own, but i was rarely willing to whisper that dream out loud for fear of being mocked. i guess i always thought that people who said they were going to write a book were like those folks who said they were going to make it big in hollywood one day. or be recording artists. or sports.... guys. what do you call people who play sports? i never watch so i don't keep up with those things.

but lately, i can't fight the feeling that there's a book trying to escape from my brain. it's like there's a swirl of words and ideas and possibilities that won't leave me alone and won't let me rest. it has to be written.

i don't know if it'll ever get published or if anyone will ever read it, i just know that i can't wait any longer. i can hardly even go about my daily routine of schooling brooke and cooking and doing the other stuff that fills up my days because i'm so distracted.

i've read other bloggers who wrote posts like this. then they disappeared. it felt like the post of death to a blog. i hope that's not the case here, but i think i understand it now. it's not really a choice so much as a necessity for the writer. oh my gosh, i almost just suggested that i'm a writer. that's a class of people that i don't fit into because i'm not one of those cool kids. but write i must. thank goodness summer vacation is just a few weeks away or i think my brain would explode.

i'm feeling all vulnerable and nervous and excited. like i just opened up my guts and showed them to you. for me, telling embarrassing stories about myself is no big deal, but sharing an honest feeling out loud makes me want to cry.

holy crap. what am i doing?

the poopy tent

for the first nine years of our marriage, chris and i had only one bathroom. we lived in several different houses, but always with just one bathroom. when we were newlyweds, it initially seemed like no big deal. i'd never lived with any man to whom i wasn't related and they certainly weren't going to invade my privacy in the bathroom. in my growing up house, doors were kept closed and knocking was strictly enforced.

this was not the case once i was married. suddenly there was an open door policy for the most part unless pooping was underway. but there came a time when eventually, even the poops had to be interrupted by the other partner. if i was down to the wire on time before i had to leave for work and the man was in the bathroom dropping a man-sized load, i had no choice but to brave the stench-o-rama that was my bathroom in order to get myself ready to go.

it was very difficult to stand in front of the sink slapping my makeup onto my face as fast as i could (there was no other acceptable mirror/lighting place in the house) while fanning the door with one foot to keep the air circulating and the stink to a minimum. meanwhile my new husband was sitting 17 inches to my left with his pants around his ankles and a magazine on his lap as he pooped just as care-freely as if he were completely alone. he'd sometimes turn and smile serenely at me and tell me he loved me.

even worse than chris pooping next to me, was when i needed to go, but he was in the bathroom shaving or brushing his hairs or whatever men do in the bathroom. i was mortified. i couldn't bear the thought of my beloved seeing my delicate self taking a dump, particularly while he was close enough to reach out and pat me while i did so. i would turn my face and scowl toward the shower so that he couldn't see me. i'd close my eyes and imagine i was alone or stare at the shower curtain, blushing at the shame of my predicament.

one day while staring at the curtain and trying unsuccessfully to rush the man out, i was contemplating how to go about wiping in a sneaky fashion. and let me tell you, it can't be done. you just can't hide the necessary motions from a person who is that close to your body, especially when they're amused by your discomfort. then the thought popped into my head that i could pull the shower curtain around my body and form a sort of shelter to block myself from the nearby viewer's prying eyes.

surely, it looked very silly to see a toilet with a big flowery shower curtain-covered lump perched on it, but it provided the much needed illusion of privacy. from that moment on, the poopy tent became the standard for any time one of us needed to go while the other was occupying that space. and the cat loved to join us in there for our stinky camping adventures.

sometimes i miss our early days of being married, with fewer responsibilities and the freedom to sleep in, but i never, ever miss having only one bathroom. 

chemical peel hag

earlier this week brooke was working on a story for a little school assignment. she decided to write about two hag queens. she had fun writing the story and decided to do a couple illustrations to go with it.

she pulled out a piece of paper to begin drawing, but then paused with a bewildered look on her face. "mommy, i've never drawn anything ugly before. i don't know how. will you sit across from me so i can look at you?"

me, "are you saying i'm an ugly hag?"

brooke, "no. but i only usually draw cute things."

sigh.

here are the story and drawings if you want to see them. she decided they were good enough that they should make it onto her blog.

this happened the day before my chemical peel. now would be a better time, i think, for looking at my face while drawing an ugly hag.

i had no idea what to expect with this chemical peel business. i've seen the sex and the city episode where samantha gets a peel and her face looks all burned and disgusting, but the dermatologist assured me that what i was getting was a different type. i got the vitalize peel.

i got it tuesday morning. it didn't hurt to have it done. but the chemicals that were rubbed all over my face were so strong they took my breath away. three different things were rubbed into my face and the first was just like nail polish remover. it was used to remove any oil so that toxic liquids that were rubbed on next would absorb better. i don't know what the next two things were, but each time, as the substance got close to my nose, i literally could not take a breath for a few seconds and i thought i would choke, but she quickly put a fan up and made that crap dry quickly and as it dried, the choking sensation went away. it was a bit distressing though to be trying to gasp for air, but have my airways were blocked by the fumes.

my face turned a little yellowish when i left the doctor's office, like i had jaundice again, but then it looked mostly normal for the rest of that day and the next.

yesterday though, the third day, i woke up looking like a lizard in a full shed. i put on moisturizer like my paperwork said i could, but that burned like heck for a couple minutes and then all the top layers of skin looked kind of grayish and the new skin underneath that was starting to peek through looked bright pink. twasn't a pretty look.

today it's getting better. more has peeled away so that a lot of my new pink skin is showing now. i feel like a bug that is cracking out of its old shell and shimmying out into the world with my tender new skin showing. i think i should sit tight for a couple days until i firm up again and am less susceptible to predators.

and then when i'm whole again, i'll change my pillow case. because i suspect that it's starting to look like this. but less snake shaped. more face shaped.

day before peel

when the peeling first started. this was right after i moisturized.

all red and tender, but not fully peeled around the outer edges.

three weeks later -
UPDATE/CONCLUSION: it took about two weeks for my face to stop peeling and then feeling rather scaly. it definitely looks better than it did before the peel, but i can still see some of the old acne scars and melasma that it's supposed to be removing. i guess that's why you're supposed to get at least 3 peels to see the full results.

sheri-licious

my good buddy Karen over at Ow, My Angst did a fun post a few days ago where she gave herself a makeover, jersey-style to show her love of the tv show Jerseylicious. it's a show about some jersey girls who do hair and makeup ~ and when i say they do them, i mean they do it all excessively. tons of makeup crammed onto their faces and big, big hair.

i thought it would be fun to do one of these myself, so i asked her to make it into a meme in order to make it seem like i wasn't just being a lame copycat, even though i am. you'll see her linky and note at the bottom of this post if you want to participate too. men, that includes you. please, feel free to indulge your inner diva and take pics to show us your creative process.

that means i'm the first to jump onto the karenlicious bandwagon with a makeover of my own.

with no further adieu . . .

i filled my bathroom counter filled with various and sundry hair and makeup items.

then I started with a blank canvas. scary, I know.

then i painted my face with waaayy too much concealer, foundation and powder.

next comes the choice of what color to put on my eyes. those are always the most fun to create.

 this was done with brow liner, 6 different eyeshadow colors, plus black liquid eyeliner out the wazoo.

i guess it's time to do something with my stupid hair. hmmm.... i don't have a bump it to lift it up. or any extensions. or a flat iron. dang it, i'm just stuck with my hair dryer and standard curling iron. well, it's not big enough to look like a proper jersey girl, but it's bigger than usual. let's just overlook it, shall we? look at my lipliner instead, okay? niiiccee!

smile pretty for the camera!

okay, i'm starting to feel weird about taking my picture all alone in my bathroom with a face caked in goop. maybe if i make some faces, that'll help.

i've got some great stink-face going on here.

it's feeling less and less like jerseylicious and more and more like glamor shots gone horribly wrong. in my bathroom.

 okay, that was fun. now it's time to go cook dinner and toss in another load of laundry. i'm so glamorous i make those licious girls jealous.

brooke decided to let me make up her face and floof up her hair today too and she wrote about it and included pictures on her own blog. to see and read about it, check out hers here. it's funny.

if you want to join in the face painting fun, here's karen's blurb and info.

The "Karenlicious Meme"

Make yourself delicious!  

Karen is a blah, boringly natural housewife and mom most of the time.  But she made herself DELICIOUS. 

 

Here's what you do:  throw a shovel-full of makeup onto your grill.  Take as many before and after photos as you want of your transformation. Post these insane photos for all the world to see, with the "karen-licious" banner.

Invite your friends to pass it on and be ridiculous too! 

Then go wash your face.  You're fine just the way you are.  But not today!  Today you are

KARENLICIOUS!