It started, in all places, in an Egyptian museum of antiquity. I was taking my 11-year-old son, Jacob, to a class on ancient games, led by the museum's young director. As he was walking around to the groups of kids and adults learning the game of Senet, he knelt by my son.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked Jacob. "Are you beating your grandma?"
I looked up sharply. "I'm his mother," I said, a little more irritably than I'd intended. It was not the first time I'd been mistaken for Jacob's grandmother, and, understandably, at 47, I do have friends who have grandchildren. But this, I decided, right then and there, was going to be the last time anyone made that mistake.
Taking Stock
What about me was making people think I was a grandmother, when, in fact, I am a senior writer for a very hip high tech company in Silicon Valley? It was time to think like Clint and Stacey on TLC's What Not to Wear. I had just lost 30 pounds on Weight Watchers, didn't that make me look younger? Well, no. That made me look thinner. Truth be told, my weight loss left the first unmistakable traces of "turkey neck" that had previously been filled in by fat. And my proud new jawline? It was wavering, not perfectly straight, as it had when I was twenty-five. Okay, so not everything is an upside. But what could I do? I decided to find out.
"Though I was still on solid foundation, I was definitely a fixer upper."
Eyes, Hair, Lips, Figure
A good, no-nonsense look at myself made me realize I needed a complete renovation. Not that there was anything wrong with me as I was, it's just that as time went by, parts of me had gone out of style, bits of me needed a fresh coat of paint, and though I was still on solid foundation, there was no doubt about it. I was a fixer-upper.
What I had been doing to myself over the years had worked. I didn't smoke, drink, abuse drugs, lay out in the sun, or fall victim to vampire fads. I knew how to apply makeup--for a seventeen year old. I knew how to dress professionally--in 1995. I understood I was an "Autumn"--but still thought I could get away with the same shades of magenta I forced my hapless bridesmaids into, and I believed, to the bottom of my heart, that pastels made me look younger. They did. I looked about four years old. With wrinkles, like those poor kids with Progeria, that premature aging disease. No question about it--this overhaul was going to be major--and expensive.
Come with me now, as I figure it out, slowly chip away at the "old" me, and hopefully emerge with that all-important curb appeal. I don't claim to be much of a teacher, but I can write, I can listen, and I can make recommendations based on experience. So let's learn together.
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You go with your re-inventing self, Pam! By way of sharing rather than advice, my 360 mirror is telling me that everything is sagging and drooping and pointing in directions I wish they weren't. After my own substantial weight loss, I need serious nips and tucks. I'm not too tripped up by that though - it is what it is. I'm existing in the state of thinking I could use a little mental/emotional "growing up", feeling as though there are 3 15-year-olds in my head. I generally like those girls, lol, and while I embrace that "less mature" part of me, I seek a little balance. I'm in a constant state of evolution as I try to figure out who I am in this new body and the mindset that accompanies it. I look forward to learning how to "re-be" along with you!
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