After Swimsuit Shopping

After swim suit shopping the air outside is bright and imposing.
After swim suit shopping I have never loved my jeans more.
Back in my car , my Pilot  feels safe and non-judgmental.  It accepts me, it smells like my stuff, it's appearance stays relatively the same.
Unlike my reflection in the dressing room mirror.  It is not safe. It is condemning, accusing , painful. And it does change, more so in the last few years than ever.
After swimsuit shopping every woman around me seems beautiful in her skin. Their thighs big or small are fitter than mine.  They seem aware that swimsuit season is around the corner and are able to go about their life just fine today.
I spend the next couple of hours contemplating why in the world we as women feel compelled to wear something equivalent to underwear for three months out of the year, in front of God and the whole world?  Who ever decided this was okay? If it wasn't for swimsuits I could feel good about my exercise routine and about the bread I like to eat.
After 35 are we really expected to have flat tummies and firm thighs? Really? Because if we all did, wouldn't a lot of good activities be neglected in exchange for having a body that can wear underwear in front of our neighbors unashamedly.  What is more important, making a life or making a perfect body?
After swim suit shopping I want to find significance in something whole , something unchanging .
After swim suit shopping I want to write something good and be aware of my creative side , and not think about my back side anymore.

pots and pans ( Written in Feb, just now brave enough to post)

Today my middle daughter started banging on pots and pans with utensils when she heard me and my older daughter arguing in my bedroom.  I stupidly shouted at her " Stop that, I can't hear myself!"  The argument heated up and turned into one of those that go down into the books but you wish you could forget forever.  My screaming made all the kids cry and  made my oldest scream louder.  I was a horrible role model and felt empty and sad all night.  I ask everyone for forgiveness and told my middle daughter that I would listen to her clue next time she started banging on pots and pans.  Love middle kids for this.
All my children sweetly granted me their forgiveness and I pleaded with Jesus for more that night while in bed. I felt like he held me. ( Kirby was out of town, thus the screaming would never have happened also showing my lack of self control without another adult in the house )  Pots and Pans sound way better than a screaming Mama.