My Mole

I have a mole on my face.

A mole - not a freckle - a mole. Sounds outrageously unromantic, doesn’t it? Mole… what an ugly word. At any rate, you’d be surprised how rare a face mole is. Thank the lord for Cindy Crawford, Marilyn Monroe and Ginger (from Gilligan’s Island, not my dog) who turned the facial mole into a ‘beauty mark.’ I’m lucky my beauty mark landed where it did - positioned above the right side of my top lip. What if it had been on the tip of my nose or right between my eyes? I’m lucky.

I held my 2 year old niece the other day as we were doing ‘lipstick.’ She did my lipstick, then reached her little index finger out and touched my beauty mark. She looked at me and then did it again. I chuckled. It’s not the first time the mark has caused curiosity.

Today I like my beauty mark. I wouldn’t even recognize my face without it, nor do I think I’d like it. But I haven’t always been that way.

I remember, as a kid, standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a knife in my hand staring at the mole. “If I didn’t have that I’d be cute,” I repeated over and over. Plus, the small white scar of a mole removed would certainly be easier to cover up with makeup than this mole. Luckily my fear of pain won out and I put down the pairing knife.

I usually forgot about the mark until someone commented on it in which case I’d become very self conscious. In the locker room, after Jr. High gym class, I remember a girl getting so close to my face and shouting “WHAT IS THAT? IS THAT REAL?!” I was completely horrified. I shouted back “Of course it is! You think I get up and draw it on every day?!” She was convinced that my mole switched sides of my mouth frequently. She also swore I copied Madonna, (who was rumored to have tattooed hers on LONG before tattoos were so commonplace).

I’ve had people reach out and touch it (aside from my darling niece who can touch it any time she wants to), stare at it for what seems like forever, and had NUMEROUS people jokingly tell me I “have chocolate above my lip.” I fell for it the first 5,000 times – frantically wiping at my face not wanting to look like I can’t eat my chocolate. They all chuckle at their cleverness as if I haven’t heard that joke before.

One day, while getting ready to go swimming with friends, my Grandma grabbed my face and studied it. Keep in mind; she’d seen me regularly for the past 10 or so years. She studied me as though the thing had just popped up on my face and announced, in front of all my friends “Oh honey, you’re gonna’ need to get that removed. No man is gonna wanna kiss that!” I crumbled. Everyone turned to look at my stupid face which I was casually hiding behind a beach towel. How could my always warm and loving Grandma say that?! I stared out the window all the way to the local pool thinking about my life doomed to no kisses - imagining man after man turning me away because of this grotesque growth above my lip.

Then I became an adult.

Turns out men were okay with it. In fact, they thought it made me look like a super-model (again, thank you Cindy Crawford!) I also noticed that girls drew moles on their faces for Halloween, and I had cast mates in various musicals upset that they can’t draw on their trade mark mole for the stage because I’m standing there with a real one. How about that?!

So I’m okay with it now. People have called the beauty mark “glamorous” and “classic” and who could feel badly about that? I’ve also had a fun way to leave mouth prints on notes, and describe myself to someone. Aside from the time Mark told me I might want to “get it removed because it could be cancerous,” (perhaps a miscommunication?) life with a mole on my face is now pretty good.

There She Goes...

That’s it. We’re done. We’re officially hanging up our judging ballots. They’ve ruined it.

They’ve ruined the Miss America pageant.

If you’re like my brother, you’re wondering aloud if it’s possible to ‘ruin’ an already lame event.

But we’re diehards. We Hansen gals love our pageants and always have. We grew up on them – all the way back to the Bert Park days.

Now we’re done. This last go-round was such a disaster, we wore out the TiVo, trashed our vocal chords and have hereby resigned to only watch said pageant if the purpose is to rip on it; the “Treat and Trash Fest” we’ve named it.

We’ve commented for years how they’re ruining it in their efforts to ‘freshen’ things up a bit. I maintain anyone watching or participating in a pageant is interested in tradition. We don’t really need the hip-ness of MTV.

Our reigning Miss America, Miss Michigan, can’t ride a bike (which she seemed to think was charmingly cute), certainly can’t sing (painfully obvious during her horrid rendition of “Somewhere over the Rainbow”), and can’t keep her lipstick straight on her face (check out her crowning moment). She’s a mess and she’s supposed to be “Our Ideal” as the song says? Come on! No one wants to be her.

But the fact that the lame-o judges overlooked our sharp, poised and stunning Miss Utah wasn’t the biggest problem of the Pageant.

First of all, they had an awful host. A no-name man, who seemed rough around the edges, stuttered, stammered and told stupid jokes. Where’s Donny Osmond or Ryan Seacrest?!

Secondly, they’ve broken the girls up into different groups for the beginning of the show. It has something to do with a reality TV show which followed the girls as they prepared for the pageant (another rant for another day). The groups were something like “States with the Most Wins” and “Runners Up.” Then there was the brilliant “Brown Eyed Girls” groups which I thought was the stupidest until they actually had a group of the oldest girls, they wittily called the “Grown Ups.” WHAT?!?!? Do we really need to point out who the ‘old’ gals are? And by old I mean 24. It was terrible.

Fast forward to the announcement of the 10 finalists (down from 16 finalists). This year instead of calling out the names of the winners, giving them their moment of celebration and giving us a chance to see who they are again, the Pageant folks thought it would be a good idea to announce the losers. Yes, that’s right. The No-name host said “This is the one time you DON’T want to hear your name.” And he proceeded to call out loser after loser beginning with our accomplished Miss Utah who, with much class, dropped and did some push-ups (she’s a military gal). How awkward. How awkward to hear your name and know you’re out of the competition. They had lost, they had to look gracious and then they had to go sit on the ‘grandstand’ – makeshift bleachers they’d set up on-stage for the losers to watch the rest of competition and “eat carbs.” Duh! Yes, they actually brought out trays of doughnuts.

I think the worst part though was the talent competition, which has long been my favorite. I used to eagerly wait as each girl stood at the mic, sat at the piano, or warmed up in their toe shoes (over the years we’ve even seen baton throwers, trampoline jumpers and one gal came out and displayed her seamstress work). This year the Pageant folks thought it would be a fun twist to have all 10 girls come out in their talent costumes but only let 8 perform. Isn’t that awful? So the girls sat there, all anxious to hear their name and wondered if they’d really get the chance to perform while the host would periodically come out and announce the name of another loser. As a performer I was outraged. How completely unfair. These girls need to 1) KNOW they’re performing and 2) Need time to mentally focus. It would be impossible to sit on stage, hear your name, feel thrilled you got to perform and then shove all that down so you can focus and do what you need to do.

Bleh!
So, officials of the Miss America Pageant, take note: You have now lost 6 devoted and loyal viewers who have watched your “scholarship pageant” faithfully, for the past several decades. And, for a show that used to have 31 million viewers and now only has 2 million, you can’t afford to lose any of us.

There she goes, Miss America…

Perhaps it’s time to put the crown in the Smithsonian and leave it as a piece of wonderful Americana.

Predictability

I love that I can come to my blog and see postings from some of you. Thank you so much for taking the time to read AND post. Hearing what you’re thinking has been great so thank you!

I also wanted to thank you for the support after my bitterness rant. You had some really nice things to say which I needed to hear – thank you, thank you!

I went to CostCo the other day to print up some photos. Along the entry way was a massive wall of vitamins which made me chuckle.
What a wonderfully predictable society we are and I love that about us!

I love that come January we’re all tightening our belts both financially and calorically. We’re getting out of debt, and getting out from underneath our extra fat layers. How fun to know that we’ll all be gluttonous together starting at about Halloween. Then we try to stick to the ol’ resolutions, at least through January but then – it’s Valentine’s Day!!!! And it’s all downhill from there because we have a new reason to celebrate every month.

There is great comfort in that, I think.

Mental Vacation

Wow… has it really been over a week since I posted?

I’m sorry. I know you’ve heard it before but I simply don’t have the luxury of the precious time I had before. Not to mention, when I do have time my surroundings are NOT conducive to any creativity. Who can wax philosophical about anything when you smell a mix of formula (baby’s), Diet Pepsi (mine) and dog breath (Ginger’s)? It’s hard, I tell ya, it’s hard.

I’ve been working on getting myself together and ready to find some type of gainful employment. I chuckled yesterday as I was all dressed up (to seek said gainful employment) in my red pea coat and fabulous heels walking around with my good pen in one hand and juggling a big box of wipes and 4 diapers in the other. Wow… this is different, I thought - sort of felt like I was in a movie.

There are actually quite a few things that regularly remind a new parent something strange is afoot. But that’ll be a different list for a different day.

Today, I’d like to take you away from SLC. Doesn’t that sound nice? I’m looking out at the sheet of white lying over my car and the candy bar wrapper that must’ve fallen out as I slung my clubby snow shoes to the ground. The sky is such a heavy gray not only can I not see the mountains, I can’t see where the pavement ends and sky begins. At this Starbucks we’re all pale, and drab-looking, bundled up in our layers and dreading any time someone news comes in, opens that door and allows a rush of Old Man Winter’s blades of fury and rage to stab into our skin and cut through our chest. Hmm… that was a little dramatic, wasn’t it? Perhaps, but I’m painting a picture here.

Cue slack key guitar.

Today, we’re going to Maui!

Doesn’t that sound nice? Run to your closet or anywhere else you may have buried your long forgotten summer clothes - Shorts, swimsuits and flip-flops a must.

We get off the plane in Kahului to a wonderful aroma of something floral, something sweet and pleasant - Plumeria or hibiscus. The airport is open, no fluorescent lighting, no manufactured air, and no drab walls with lame artwork. Our skin instantly drinks in the moisture, relieved to not be ensconced in gloves and happy to be getting nourishment.

The ride to where we’re staying is so immensely gratifying your body almost aches with relief and delight. Windows down, the 80 degree air blowing over your skin, you inhale deeply letting the last of SLC out and letting Maui and its island warmth in. Our room overlooks Ma’alaea Bay, a crescent shaped harbor where the whales congregate to birth and frolic. Opening the sliding glass doors, we instantly hear the lull of the right now lazy ocean rolling onto its sandy bed.

Eager to greet the ocean and banish the gray sheen that has settled onto our complexions, we hurry to get out of these Utah clothes. Slowly removing layer after layer we excitedly (and grudgingly) crawl into our swimsuits, wrap a brightly colored beach towel up to our necks and flip-flop out to the seaside.

Lounge chairs perfectly placed with the proper combination of sun and shade, we lay down the towel, then ourselves. But it’s nearly impossible to lie still with our eyes closed - how can one be in the midst of such breathtaking beauty and not want to sneak a peek… several peeks for that matter. The majestic and willowy palm trees move gracefully against a brilliant and cloudless blue sky while the sea’s expansive arms reach out to the horizon so that, again, we can’t tell where the sky begins.

The wafting scent of dog breath fills the air…

Wait a minute… what?

Sadly… I must return you to your regularly scheduled weather forecast which I believe is somewhere in the scary 20s or something.

Duty calls.

I hope you enjoyed this mental vacation since, I don’t know about you, but it’s the only one I can afford!

Aloha!

A Letter From Mom

Dear Victoria,

It’s 9:40pm., January 2, 2008 – Happy New Year!

You’re about 8 weeks old. I’ve bathed you which was very harrowing for you, sorry about that. I’ve put you in your very warm fleece PJs , fed you your 4 ozs, swaddled you and laid you in your crib.

This is the first night I’ve given you a bedtime. You were in bed by 8p and it has been glorious for me. I’ve been able to fold the laundry, wash your bottles, have a treat and even watch a little TV. Someday, you’ll understand.

But I miss you. I miss looking down and seeing you slumber – your incredibly sweet little face; peaceful, safe and content. I miss seeing your rosy, plump cheeks, your little lashes and your perfect nose. I can’t help but put the baby monitor up close to my ear every few minutes just to hear you breathe your little baby breaths.

I don’t know when you’ll read this; when you’ll be old enough to understand.

I hold you and wonder about your future, like every mom does. I wonder about who you’ll be, the choices you’ll make, and hope you’ll be happy with your life and yourself. I find myself feeling envious of you sometimes. Your life has just begun and you have this clean slate – a beautifully clean slate full of opportunities and adventures. Today you have no regrets.

Then it breaks my heart to know I can’t protect you from pain and hurt. That someday someone will hurt your feelings, and you’ll hurt someone else. Someone won’t like you, someone will say mean things, some boy will break up with you, and you’ll feel fat and ugly. It will hurt. It will shake your confidence in yourself and there is nothing I can do about it. As helpless as you are now, it leaves me feeling more helpless.

So for today, I just enjoy you.

It’s amazing to look at your beautiful bright eyes, your delicate fingers lightly resting on the bottle.

You are utter perfection.

I used to gripe to my mom about how I thought my hands were ugly. She’d come back quickly and say they weren’t and they were “hands with talent.” How lame that sounded to a young girl who was far more interested in being cute than having talent. But I get it now. I know there will be a day you’ll look in the mirror and see nothing but flaws, we females are like that. How do I show you the perfection you are? How can I bring you back to this moment, this time of pure innocence and show you just how exquisite you are? It’s baffling to me that you could look at anything about yourself and not think, “I’m completely amazing.” But I’ve been your age and I know that it’s difficult.

So be kind to yourself. Please be kind. For this perfect wide-eyed creature resting so peacefully in my arms, please, please promise me you won’t be mean to her.

The Sound of Romance

I don’t want to speak too soon… but I think I have a few minutes of downtime! I’ve been doing lots of reading and research and I think I’ve figured out how to get Victoria in bed a skosh earlier and actually buy myself some quality down/writing/cuddle-with-ginger/eat-my-chocolate time! Feeling pretty good about it… so far… Again, no jinxing!

Sound of Music was on the other night, did you watch it? I trudged in the house dragging Victoria in her 50+ pound car seat, my 50+ pound purse and 50+ pound Ginger pulling at her leash. I came in, flipped on Channel 4 and there it was. Now, I know you’re thinking this is going to be a big ol’ gush-fest about how glorious a musical it is… and you’re right! It is – it’s brilliant. But no, that’s not what this is about.

This rant is about romance.

Remember the scene where Maria and Cap. Von Trapp dance out on the patio while the big gala is going on inside the Von Trapp estate? Maria is teaching the kids how to do this particular waltz and then the Cap steps in. The electricity between the two is utterly captivating. I stood in my living room, with Ging running around waiting for her food, my coat still on, keys firmly wrapped in my fingers and watched. I felt flushed as Maria looked in his eyes, my hands heated yearning for that deliberate yet indulgent touch and I tingled as I felt Cap Von Trapp’s stare, “Wow… does anyone really look at anyone like that?” I muttered to Ginger who was sitting intently at her food bowl - waiting.

THAT is romance!

The next day I mentioned to my mom that The Sound of Music was on TV and the first thing she said, unsolicited by me, “That is one of the greatest love scenes ever!” We sat there with our Diet Pepsis reliving the pure romance of that scene and how brilliant it is.
Movies are missing that these days. Each time I settle into a romantic comedy, or any movie where I know a man and woman might mingle, I’m hopeful. I’m hopeful that the fool-directors might possibly get it right this time. Yet movie after movie, I’m left disappointed. All too often they completely skip the romance! Movies today do a couple of things: Skip the romance all together and cut to the couple rolling in the hay. Or, they show the woman throwing herself at the man; lunging at his lips like a linebacker towards the opposition, hardly a romantic image.

Where’s the romance?!

Isn’t anyone romantic anymore? Where are the men who act like men? Who make the first move, who move in on their woman and wrap her in his arms, and linger… linger above her lips… and maybe say something so she feels his breath against her delicate skin. Where are the men who would be slightly off-put by a woman they barely know throwing herself at him? Are there no men who yearn for the chase?

What about the women? Come on ladies… think back. Admit there is nothing like being kissed by a man. A real man. A man who saw you, looked at your perfect lips, couldn’t hold back any longer, and moved in for the kill.

Mmmm….

Why on earth would ANYONE want to skip over the chase, the dance, and the cat-and-mouse? That’s the best part! That’s the part that leaves us tingly and wanting more. Then it’s only more gratifying when the couple actually comes together.

Go watch The Sound of Music and you’ll see what I’m talking about. It’s pure romance. The shortness of breath, the heat, the intensity, and there were no clothes falling off, and bodies entangled.

And it’s perfect. Utterly perfect.