As a teenager I would stand at my bedroom mirror with a copy of Seventeen magazine propped up so I could see step-by-step how to style my hair with one of their umpteen “Get Gorgeous” or “Hot Hair” tutorials. I’m not sure why I remember one issue in particular.  Maybe it’s because  I spent a great deal of time modeling my ‘do after a model’s in that issue.  Alicia Silverstone was on the cover.

Ah!  There it is.  Thanks Google.

July, 1995.  That would have been a month before my 14th birthday and two months before I started high school.  I bet I had watched reruns of MTV Spring Break that day.  I wonder if I logged on to my America Online account that morning before ballet class?  Probably.  I no doubt took magazine quizzes to find out my dating style, even though I had never been on an actual date.  Basically, I was at the height of my adolescent insecurity and unknowingly headed straight for full-on teen angst and a diagnosed eating disorder in another year-and-a-half.

I think I remember trying for something new that summer.  I was headed for a new school, high school, so obviously a new hairstyle was in order.  No matter how many times I pulled my turquoise and magenta paddle brush through my hair, I couldn’t get it just right.  I would frown and say something to my reflection like, “Ugh!  I hate my hair!”  I slammed the magazine shut and stared at Alicia Silverstone in all her mid-nineties coolness.

Whenever the issue of beauty magazines and women’s body image comes up, I think of that issue of Seventeen.

Fast-forward 17 years to the other night.  I went through the Health and Fitness part of Pinterest to get some inspiration for working out and shedding a few holiday pounds.  Later, I stood at the bathroom mirror with my iPad propped against the mirror, trying to do my hair like a woman in a Pinterest hair tutorial.  I stared at my 31-year-old reflection, getting further frustrated that I suck at elegant loose fishtail braids.  Instantly Alicia Silverstone popped in my mind.  I looked at myself and shook my head loose of my attempted braid.

I thought of my two-year-old daughter and my pledge to not obsess over weight and appearance.  Yeah, I weigh more now than I ever have now that I have a desk job, but I’m healthy.  My husband and I  decided awhile ago not to describe people as “fat”, “skinny”, “chunky”, or “chubby” around our daughter there’s really no reason for it.

Just then she came in.  She was giggling and proudly showing me her full belly after dinner.  I closed my Pinterest app and scooped her up.  I said to her.  “Charlotte, you are so beautiful!  You have a beautiful, strong, healthy body.  Do you love your body?”  She smiled and said, “Ya! Lob my bodee!”  I smiled and instantly dismissed all the negative things I think about my appearance.  Whether it was 1995 Seventeen magazine or 2013 Pinterest, it seemed silly and I scaled back my weight loss resolutions.  I said “Mama loves her body too!”

This week I sort of geeked out over 12-12-12. All the other matching dates in this past decade were cool. I mean, who could forget lucky 07-07-07? This year was different because it’s likely the last triple date we’ll have in our lifetime. It will be 01-01-01 again on January 1, 2101, but that is 89 years away. With advances in modern science I could envision living to the extremely ripe old age of 120, but it’s unlikely. Another 12-12-12 is out of the question for me.

But, not for my daughter. She could live to see it.

Upon this realization I stopped and prayed. I prayed to God my baby would live 100 more years to see the next 12-12-12 on December 12, 2112. I prayed she would celebrate her 102nd birthday the month before, surrounded by her Great-Great Grandchildren. I imagined myself as a stunningly beautiful 131-year-old angel looking down from heaven. I’d watch her wheel up to her birthday cake in a super space age wheelchair she controls with her brain. I envisioned a 22nd century Willard Scott-like person wishing her a “Happy Birthday” on whatever medium has replaced television. She will regale her posterity with stories of her silly mother who typed out tales of her child’s life on an ancient computer. I will smile and laugh at my baby turning 102.

Even as a centenarian she will still be my baby.

I’ve been a little pouty the past few days. I haven’t been myself. I haven’t done my best work. I’ve been putting off all these fantastic blog posts I’ve had in my head. I’ve let the house get a little messy. I haven’t felt like cooking and our family has dined on cans of soup or Gerber Toddler dinners. I may or may not have only eaten leftover pumpkin pie for dinner last night.

You know how it is. Sometimes you just feel like wearing your hair in a ponytail and throwing on your glasses instead of primping. Good Lord! Please don’t tell my mom I haven’t finished the Thank You notes from Charlotte’s birthday. It doesn’t make it any better when I see over-achieving moms on the Internet with their gorgeous photos and stunning Christmas decorations already up.

I’ve just had two days of blah. Days where I killed a few moments making pictures like this on the iPad.

I could blame it on the cold I’m fighting. In recent months we seem to be passing around the same daycare snot nose between the three of us. I could blame it on the drab, drizzly weather. I could blame it on a post-Thanksgiving carb coma.

I could, but I won’t.

This post is me clearing my head and pulling myself up. I’m capable of more than mediocrity and I’m better than the blahs. I’m better than some lame-o who doesn’t do her best or compares herself to other people online. We have a great holiday planned and I have high hopes for 2013. With the sniffles waning, my body is begging for some exercise.

Deep breath. Shake it off. Let’s do this.

When I wrote this post about loving the new Pampers commercial with the baby girls having crazy bed head, I had no idea Pampers would actually see the funny picture Greyson took of Charlotte.  They asked to make her the Pampers Beautiful Mornings baby on their Facebook and Twitter this week.  “Of course!” I thought.  “How fun?!”  My mama heart was so swelled with pride at that image of my little cutie’s crazy hair.  Pampers’ more than 1.3 million followers got a glimpse of my girl.

When the picture went up on Facebook yesterday, it got lots of likes and comments.  Most comments were very sweet and flattering.  Other mothers shared their kids’ crazy bed head stories.  Everyone got a laugh at Charlotte’s funny hairdo.  Someone said Greyson looked like Seth Rogen.  Ha!  He gets that a lot.

I don’t know what it is about human nature, but naturally I focused on the three nasty comments from total strangers.  It was all I could do not to drive to Whereverville, California or Someplace, Illinois and angrily unplug the laptops of the morons who would dare say mean things about my kid.  (Oooh!  Unplug them!?  I’m such a destructive rebel, I know.)

Like this Internet user who thought it was okay to say “Kid is kind of weird looking. And i know im not the only one thinking it”  You think?  Yeah, that is kind of the point.  It’s weird and crazy hair.  That is the whole point of the picture and the ad campaign.  (Oh yeah, capitalize your “I’s”!  )  

I got all defensive when I read, “Dad’s lookin mighty creepy behind that phone…”  I mean, who is she to say that about my man!?!?  Greyson on the other hand laughed and said he did kind of look creepy and went on to make fun of other creepy Internet pictures.

Someone else said, “Stupid picture.”  Okay, then why even comment?  Thanks to Amanda who defended me after that comment.

I learned a few things from this experience:

1. I figure Katie Holmes must be ready to rip the throats out of the paparazzi and any writer for US Weekly.  Seriously.  I got bent out of shape over near-harmless comments on Facebook and she has to see pictures and read whole articles about her daughter’s lifestyle and welfare.  Be nice to Suri!  She’s somebody’s baby!  (Okay, I understand comparing my situation to hers is a bit of a stretch.)  
2. I learned that is the risk you take when you share your child’s image with the world.  I understand the risk I take writing a blog and having people read it.  I signed a waiver saying it was okay for Procter & Gamble to use the picture and I leave my blog open for your comments every day.  That’s what I decided to do and I have to take whatever comes with it.  I’m not trying to make money off my kid or anything, I just like writing about our lives.
3. I learned I need to relax my inner Mama Bear.  It’s okay.  It’s not a big deal.  I think my baby is beautiful.  Who cares what strangers think?

I love this picture.  It makes me smile.  I’m glad it made so many of you smile.  Thanks Pampers, and thanks to all the kind friends and strangers who write nice things on the Internet!

We’re kind of a big deal in the local toddler birthday party circuit lately.  (I hope you read that sentence in Ron Burgandy’s voice.)  It  seems like every weekend we’re at some preschool hot spot or in a suburban backyard sipping juice boxes.  That’s just how we roll.  Don’t hate.  Mama’s gotta get her cupcake fix.

We’re in full-tilt party planning mode as Charlotte’s 2nd birthday is Friday and her party is Saturday.  I’ll let you in on a secret.  I love it.  I stayed up well past midnight Saturday night cutting out “2’s” and “C’s” for her Sesame Street soiree.  Oh, how our weekend “partying” has changed!

I’ve noticed something about the last five parties for 2 and 3 year-olds that we have attended.  At every one of these shindigs, the Birthday Girl or Boy did not open their gifts in front of their guests.  These were parties both in homes and at local attractions.  Granted, there were a couple of parties we had to leave early.  They may have opened presents after we left, I dunno.  We hung around late at the party for the son of our very close friends.  Most people had gone when I asked if  he could open his gift from us because I knew the parents would get a kick out of the present we found for him.  Other than that, I didn’t even know if the child got their gift until the Thank You note.  (Which annoys me by-the-way.  I’m not a fan of the Thank You note.  I personally think it’s unnecessary and I feel silly when I get one.  I’m not giving you a gift to get a note about it.  I also procrastinate when writing them.  I know!  I know!  Call Miss Manners!  I’m an outrageous faux pas!)  

Anyway, I got to thinking about Charlotte’s 1st birthday party.  Did I commit a major kid party no-no last year when my then one-year-old opened her stack of presents in front of everyone?  Did I bore my guests to tears and come across as an attention seeking moron mom?

I personally like seeing the child open their gifts.  They get to tear paper to reveal some noisy, blinking nonsense.  It’s cute.  Who doesn’t like seeing a kid get a present?  I considered having Charlotte just open friend gifts at the party and save family presents for later.

What is the etiquette these days?  Is there a rule, or is it decided on a party-by-party basis?  What have you done in the past?  What have you experienced at other parties?  Should I have her open her gifts in front of the group, or wait until later?

I’m excited to hear your take on this.  Thanks!

(Oh, and I did write Thank You notes and I will again this year too.  Relax.)