I’m a 1950’s style homemaker.  I cook, clean, bake, sew, clean, do a majority of child rearing…

But my job is easy.

I know many say that being a stay at home mother is the “hardest job ever” but it’s not. Let’s be real.

I don’t answer to a boss outside of my Husband. I wear what I want (okay, sometimes what He wants), go to the gym leisurely every day, volunteer my time, enjoy my children. If on a whim I want to head to the beach I do just that.

The unsung hero of the home is our Head of Household, my dear Husband, MR.

He works not for one person or two but four.  Everything we need He provides. Everything we want He considers. Invents money, pays bills, saves for retirement and college and vacations and emergencies all on His own.

Dresses for the business world while i dilly dally in yoga pants and a tee every day. Is out the door by eight while Mickey Mouse Clubhouse plays in the background. Answering to a boss. Dealing with the public. 12 hour days. Two hour commutes. Sack lunches. Late appointments. Days like today; horribly frustrating, ridiculously long.

And He does it all because of a dream shared by us both. The dream of the past when a woman can stay home and happily tend to her house and husband; the dream which requires a tough, diligent, committed, dominant man to go out and work hard for His family.

If you were to ask Him, He’d say my job is the harder. But the lady of this household must insist: He is the sun, and we all just revolve around Him.

He is our everything. And we are lucky as Hell to have Him.

Kind Regards,
Mrs. Darling

I completely adore my curves. ADORE. But of course, like so many other women, that has not always been the case.

I was recently reminded that there are women out there in the world of all shapes, all weights, all sizes, and all measurements who are disappointed in their bodies. Women much smaller than me can still want to change clothes with the bedroom lights off. We should never judge a female’s struggle for body acceptance based off of her size. Small girls hurt. Medium girls won’t look closely in a mirror. Big girls do indeed sometimes cry.

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I vividly remember a decade ago sitting in my art history courses in college and watching the women of the ages being represented in paint by the masters. Seeing a stream of The Birth of Venus, Venus Anadyomene, Danae with Nursemaid, Three Graces, and on and on and on. Throughout the ages, throughout the periods, artist after artist. It was so different from what I was used to seeing on television, in the movies, in the magazines.

I saw these painted woman and I saw myself in them. Not only did I see my curves reflected, very similar body structure, but I saw them as so breathtaking and so raw and so real, it became more difficult to not see myself in that same light.

I didn’t change my measurements. I only changed my mindset.

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I have never seen a gravestone with somebody’s final weight etched into it.

What we remember about people are their morals and values; the impact that you had in their lives. How hard you worked, how hard you loved, how hard you tried.

Our children will look back at photos one day when we are gone and they are grown and notice the light in our eyes; the smile on our faces. The happiness we were exuding that day.

Not the double chin or the arms that could be more toned.

We as woman can be so caring and accepting and non-judgmental of other woman but still beat ourselves up. We still hide our bodies and lower our head and turn off our lights.

It is time for a mindset switch instead of a measurement adjustment. No more confidence we “fake til we make.”

Just MAKE IT.

Make the decision to hold your chin up and say, “I am more than a size on a belt or number on a scale. I am an amazing woman for a million different reasons and none of them have anything to do with the way I look. I am smart and loving and a positive contribution to society and my family. I will love myself for who I am at this moment in time. I will let go of the self-loathing and instead of worrying about wearing spanx I will only worry about whether I am wearing a smile. I am real and I am raw and I am breathtaking. I am a work in progress, and I celebrate that.”

That, ladies, is how you will be remembered. By being that woman. Not as the insert-whatever-you-picture-your-ideal-body-image-is woman.

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Time to encourage the realness and rawness of the woman you are and the women you surround yourself with.

Spend some time checking out these two great sites:

My Body Gallery; What Real Women Look Like A website where you can type in your real dimensions and view other women of the same measurements.

The Shape of a Mother A website of real mothers and their bodies after pregnancy and childbirth.

Start to see that you judge yourself a thousand times more harshly than necessary, and then start to see how all of this doesn’t matter anyway.

It’s not about the measurements.

It never will be.

Kind Regards, Mrs. Darling