News Flash! Loren is NOT America's Next Top Model

Every year when the Miss Universe Competition is televised I ask myself the same questions:

"Why didn't anyone call me to try out? How do they know they have all the beauty in the universe right there?"

These types of contests are so unfair, because there are so many beautiful aspects to a person, beyond the physical, and you can see the beauty in almost anyone if you look from the right perspective.

Sometimes I watch the show America's Next Top Model, and I can understand why the models cry when they get voted off for "taking bad pictures" or "having no personality." To judge a person in that way is so harsh. In the mall there is a modeling agency that solicits people. Sales representatives always stop me and ask if I would consider getting my children into advertising or television. Why would I want to inflict that kind of pressure on them before they've had a chance to grow some self-confidence? "No thanks, I'll keep them anonymous." I say. They must be really desperate, because sometimes they ask me to sign myself up. "Only if you can get me into that Miss Universe Competition." I joke. I'm about 13 years too old for it now.

Self esteem is something I try to nurture in my children, because I've always masked the fact that my own is not as high as it should be. I don't want my daughter to look in the mirror and worry that she appears "too fat." I want all three of my children to know how beautiful, talented and loved they are. This wish may be an uphill battle to accomplish, however, because no matter what what my husband and I tell the kids, they still are bombarded by a warped, harsh society that pressures them to value and chase all the wrong ideas. Why is my self-esteem not where it should be? My parents gave me a loving, safe environment. It's because of the media messages that pressed down on me as I grew up. Commercials, billboards and magazines make me continuously question so many physical aspects of myself on a subconscious level.

Once I was daydreaming about media pressures on teens while I was at church. I was looking around at all of the statues when I noticed that none of the saints have fitted clothes. The emphasis is on their faces, and their hands, not the appearance of their bodies. It may sound silly, but this realization brought me some peace, a little rest from the constant images of "flawless" beauty.

Am I ever going to be America's Next Top Model? Obviously, for many varied reasons, no. I am, however, whether I like it or not, a role model. Who knows how many people I can touch with the influence of my own actions? I'm learning that the real beauty in life is found in action, not in the mirror.

At work I tell teens that they are all role models, and they laugh. "Not Me!" They exclaim. They don't want to accept the inevitable responsibility. Hopefully, over time, they will get the message, and see how connected we all are.

I feel most connected to nature and God at the beach. There is something overwhelmingly peaceful and mysterious about the movement of the ocean. The ocean makes me feel small, and it should, because in the great scheme of things, I am. Can something small have power? You bet. My small body may currently contain me, but I struggle not to let it define me. The realm of my influence is endless, and moving beyond my sight, just like ocean waves.

I have some bad news. You may not be America's Next Top Model either, but whether you like it or not, you will be a role model to someone.

“Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.”-Mother Teresa

Princesses Use Sledge Hammers, Sometimes

My son is waving his arms in frustration. "No no, no! Princesses don't put together big girl beds. They're not builders! Boys are builders. Go in your kitchen and make me and daddy some ABC Pastina." I'll have the blue plate and daddy will have the red one." I'm about to step into this conversation and set my son straight when I hear the princess' reply. It's a happy-go-lucky, "Okay." Followed by, "Do you want some milk or soda with your Pastina?" This is shocking. Should I tell her not to take that kind of bossing from her brother? Maybe it's my fault. I'm letting her watch Walt Disney films too often. She's dressed like Snow White and her plastic princess shoes click-clack on the floor as she prepares a plastic lunch for the "men." Clutching an overloaded basket of laundry, I pause in the doorway to watch. As I peer over the dirty sock near my nose I wonder, maybe she's just like me.

Downstairs there is construction going on in the kitchen. Ned the contractor is motioning for me; he's ready to take down the outside wall. I was promised a sledge hammer and the opportunity to help, just like they let homeowners do on HGTV. Ned gives me directions before I start, in the odd language that only his crew and Tigger the tiger seems to understand. "Now, take the thing, swing hard and aim for the bottom of the hoo, hoo hooooo!!" He stands back. Far back. I swing the hammer as hard as I can, and one by one the century old beams dislodge and crack. I'm having so much fun smashing the wall; I'm guessing this might be more therapeutic than Yoga. Ned and his crew have paused to watch me, grinning. They're obviously getting a kick out of this scene. Everyone is standing around me cheering when I hit the new Sheetrock. "Oops, I say, dropping the tool." I feel like Lucy Ricardo
minus the red lipstick, house dress and heels. Ned pats me on the back. "Fugetaboutit! The "Rocker" will patch it up tomorrow. (He's referring to the amateur boxer who resembles Rocky, but actually is the Sheetrocker who comes on weekends, Ipod on belt, dancing, on stilts.) Ned congratulates me. "You took down the wall all by yourself!" I had such a blast I feel compelled to ask..."Ned, can I help you once in a while?" He pauses, eyebrows raised, "You wanna work with these ladies?" The contractor gestures to his all male crew, who mutter politely inaudible responses to his ribbing. "Sure," he laughs, not serious.

I resume sorting the laundry, thinking about roles and the differences between the sexes. My daughter is tugging on my shirt. "Mommy, brother is saying I can't help daddy put my big-girl bed together and I have to make lunch for them. He says I'm a girl." I bend down to her level. "You are a girl, but I don't think your brother is being fair."
"Brother is ri-dick-lous Mama, so I play a trick on him." My daughter's wearing her plastic mechanical wings that I bought at a garage sale from another industrious little girl. At the moment, she resembles a garden fairy gone bad."What did you do to him?" I'm wondering why I haven't heard protests from him yet. "I-don-know," she shrugs, grinning. Minutes later brother storms in holding a play napkin like evidence. He points, accusingly. "She blew her nose on this picnic napkin and put it on my pillow!"Little sister digs her hands into her hips, ready for a fight. "You were being mean and I am ANGRY! I'm a magical mermaid who can make mysteries happen! I'm going to marry a prince when I am big and his name WILL BE CARLOS!" Sister storms out, metallic wings flapping. Big brother and I are silent, surprised by her confident speech and interesting future plans. After all, she's only three years old. I'm thinking I want to be just like her when I grow up!