Bikini

I'm hoping the title of this post doesn't scare people away.  Because, really? What kind of interesting reading can this be for people? You either wear a bikini or you don't right? Do I really need to devote an entire blog post to the subject?

Turns out I do.

I'm going to turn forty next year.  I've noticed that on the beach, amongst my age group there are three different types of women: the ones trying to cover up all their "problem" areas with modest one pieces, tankinis, sarongs, and board shorts.  Then you have the proud bikini wearing mamas, who most likely  have the discipline to put in the hours at the gym to maintain their bodies.  And last is the group who'll wears anything they want- usually bikinis- despite the fact that they are far, far, far from anyone's idea of the Sports Illustrated Cover Model.

I'm usually in the first group, though I spent most of the past year half-heartedly trying to get to the ranks of the second group.  But for the latter half of my vacation, I forced myself to be in that last group, and I'm glad I did because I ended up making some surprising (to me, anyway) revelations.

But first let me take you back a bit.  When I learned last December that I would be vacationing in Hawaii this summer, I told myself that I was going to work hard and dedicate myself to getting into shape.  If you've been following this blog for any length of time, then you probably died of laughter before you even finished reading that sentence.  No one would be surprised, least of all myself, to hear that I didn't do it.  I didn't do it, and even worse, I sabotaged myself in the 3 months before I went and gained 5 pounds on top of the ten I wanted to lose.  (Why do I operate this way?  I don't know.  I'm sure the psychological reasoning is very Freudian and fascinating, but my interest in getting to the bottom of it is heavily blocked by the bottles of wine and kettle chips. It's hard to get past them.)

To get back to the story, I was a little disgusted with myself.  My friend had posted a picture of herself and her husband from their vacation in which she was wearing a bikini and looking fabulous. She was holding her husband's hand and grinning over her shoulder at the camera, while the sun created fabulous light that played on the ocean's surface in the background.  I wanted so badly for that to be me.  That picture was my inspiration and motivation for the entire time that I dedicated myself to my goal, the whole 4 out of 24 weeks of it.

Once on the island, it was with not a little self-loathing and bitterness that I unpacked my tankini and  my "slim fit" one piece, which, my friends, don't let the name mislead you, is not for slim people.  It's for chubby people who want to appear slimmer- and trying to pull it on is as much fun as trying to pull on a rubber corset (or so I would imagine, for those of you whose eyebrows just shot up).   I should also mention that snorkeling in that thing almost caused me to pass out since, even on land, it only permitted me the shallowest of breaths.  Underwater with a snorkel?  Fuhgettabouit.


Let me stop here for a moment and clarify something:  there is nothing wrong with tankini's or board shorts or one pieces for those people who like to wear them.  It's just that it's not a good idea to wear them when you're using them as a subconscious punishment to yourself.  And that's what they were to me.  I used to love the way I felt in a bikini.  I wore one almost everyday of every summer growing up- whether I was lounging in my backyard or at the beach.  I like gliding through water in one.  I like the way my back looks with that one string across the back.  I just like them.  And after I had kids, because my body was not the same, because my hips were wider and my stomach softer, I was ashamed of it.  So when I was pulling on the massively constricting one piece, or trying to swim around while a dumb tankini top kept floating up around my middle, I told myself that it was because I wasn't worthy anymore of a bikini.   In my head, I was protecting others from the horrible vicious sight of me in a two piece.  


How did I get to be so mean and critical of myself? 

One of my favorite people, Nora Ephron had wrote “Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was twenty-six. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don't take it off until you're thirty-four.”  I wish I had listened to her.  My metabolism is way past what it was at 34, and gravity is working it's weird magic all over my body, but I decided on that day, while there in Hawaii at least, I was going to be nicer to myself.  That meant forgiving myself for not looking like a bikini model.  It meant trying to push past all the cultural expectations and worries about what I looked like to others.  It meant joining the ranks of  that third group on the beach.  

So the next morning, I ditched the fam and ducked into a bathing suit shop where I bought a cute  bikini in my favorite color of blue.  Then I wore it.  I wore it despite my stomach that does a weird tri-foldy thing when I sit down.  I wore it despite my love handles.  I wore it even though my legs jiggled way more than I was comfortable with.  Did I feel great?  Please.  I can't lie.  It took a while to get over the self consciousness of it.  But I tell you what.  After ten years of swimming around with yards of extra material from tankinis and swim skirts floating up and getting in my way, it felt so good to snorkel in those blue, blue waters unencumbered by flappy board shorts or a waterproof corset.  And the bikini also gifted me with my most favorite souvenir of the whole trip: the tan line left by that one string across my back.

*Ideally, a blog post titled Bikini would contain a picture of me in said bikini.  This is the best I can do.  Swimming in a bikini was fun.  Lounging in a bikini was great.  Walking around a beach with my kids looking for sea turtles  in a bikini required shorts.  Sorry.  It's a bit of a cop out.  Maybe next year I'll write Bikini Part 2, in which I'll work up the courage to love myself enough to not care about being photographed while walking around in a two piece.  Then again, that probably won't be necessary since I fully plan to hit the gym at 5 am every day this year.   I'm going to get in shape.  It's going to really happen! I can feel it! 

(wink)   

They Say I'll Get Used To The Geckos

Evening Gilligan.

What's up, Skipper? 

Ginger, Mary Ann... hello girls.

Oh, hey Professor.

Can I take a moment of your little gecko lives here?

Listen.  I hear that you all like to hang around Hawai'in homes and that it's nothing unusual.  They tell me that you're necessary and that I should even be grateful for your presence since you do help to keep the bug population down.  In the spirit of vacation, I am prepared to be okay with that.

However.

If you all are to have free reign of the house during my stay here,  I feel the need to clarify some boundaries between us.  It's not that I'm necessarily afraid of you guys, it's just that your presence makes me feel a little......on edge.   Therefore, I've determined that our cohabitation for the next ten days will be a more relaxing experience for us both if we can agree on certain terms and conditions.  So if you'd all be so kind as to raise your front right...paw? Foot?  Reptilian claw?....and swear to the following:

I, (insert retro tv show nickname here) agree that under no conditions will I loiter in any of the following areas: underside of the toilet lids, on doorknobs or on doors in general (cupboards included), on drinking glasses, on pillows, in beds, nor in shoes. 

I promise not to jump, scurry, or make any sudden movements at all in the presence of any human beings, especially the one standing in front of you right now. 

I will not crawl on or above the headboards during the hours in which humans are sleeping....or on the ceiling above them.

If, in an instance where any humans are somewhat "trapped" in your presence (say, while they are using the toilet facilities), I will freeze and not move a muscle until they can finish their business and leave.  I will especially not make any movements toward them while they are in such an indelicate position. 

See?  That's not too much to ask, is it?    I am prepared to give you nothing but space and the upmost respect, as long as the conditions outlined above are followed.  It is, however, only fair to warn you that should there be a breach of contract amongst any you- ANY OF YOU-forgive me, but I will lose my aloha.  I'll lose my aloha all over the place.

Consider yourself warned.  I thank you in advance for your compliance.





*You'll be happy to know that not one single gecko breached their contract for the entirety of our ten day stay.  Respectful law abiding citizens, those geckos are.

Postcard

Well, hi.  I wrote the post below in Hawaii.  You know, Hawaii?  In case the thousands of pictures we bombarded Facebook with while there didn't clue you in, I was in Hawaii.  Honestly, it was mostly Mr. C who took most of the photos, I was just tagged in them.  So, don't blame me okay?  And in case you were one of those people who were like "Okay, we get it.  You're on vacation in the tropics, enough already!", you should know that Facebook didn't even get the worst of it.  We were way more obnoxious on Instagram.  You wanna hear something cool though?  Two of the dancers that Matt took pictures of at the Luau ended up liking his photos of them.  I guess they found them by way of the hash tags.  
And here I thought hashtags were just supposed to be funny little things that you add on to the end of a statement for comedic effect. #technologicallychallengedmoron#clueless#dork

See?  Like that. 

Anyway.  I was going to post this while still on vacation but I didn't for two reasons: one, there were some technological challenges in regards to the sound, and two, when the day was done, it was more fun to sit on the porch and enjoy a glass of wine with my parents than it would've been to sit at a computer and write.  So I saved it all in my head to post incrementally here from home.   If, after all the pictures, you can stand to read two or three posts about my vacation, I'd be so happy.  If you can't, well then I guess it's time to click away my friends.  Click away.

So here's the first post.  It was going to be a kind of "wish you were here", but now it's a "wish I was there".  

Thank you all for reading, by the way.   It makes writing these so much more fun.



Aloha, friends.  We are on our third day in Hawaii. Hawaii. My parents are treating us to an all expenses paid trip, which officially makes me a spoiled brat.  If that makes you like me any less, it may help to know that I'm a very appreciative and grateful spoiled brat.

We're staying in a beautiful plantation style rental home on the Big Island.   Every morning I wake up, I pour a cup of Kona coffee, sit out on the porch and enjoy a few moments of quiet time.  If you want, click play and stare at the photo for a few moments.  It's the closest I can get you to here.