Last fall, “The Growth Chart” featured a series on True Beauty. If you missed it, I hope you’ll read it now. It’s a topic near and dear to my heart. But my concern is not just for girls. It’s for all of us: how we view ourselvesversus how we are "purposed" to be. As the New Year unfolds, I find myself embarking on the journey of a new series, but first, Dear Patch Reader, I must make a confession. I am a Sexpert. Some people have called me that anyway. (You know, an expert on sex? Yes, this is much to my children’s dismay. “Don’t say that, Mom,” my son said one day. “It reminds me of ‘pervert…

I winced stepping out of the shower. Every muscle hurt. I’d battled the flu earlier that week, but this was something bigger, more consuming. The third day must be the worst, I reasoned. I dressed then sat down to reflect. I was home alone, except for the cat who lounged on my desk, one paw on my arm, tail curled against my keyboard. Everyone was at church without me — a rare occurrence, but today, for the best. A social butterfly can’t hold her tongue. “Rest your voice,” my husband had said. I’d rolled over, grateful for shut-eye. Moments after the family left, the cat pounced on me. So much…

As a child, I loved sledding at my grandparents’ farm. We’d don layers — long johns covered by pants covered by coveralls, adding hats, gloves and scarves until we could barely move. Dad drove the station wagon to “the farm” where we’d have hours of outdoor fun.  Piling onto runner sleds, two-or-three-kids-high, we coasted across the frozen swamp at record speeds, seeing whose sled could go farthest. We never tired of flying downhill, but eventually climbing up got the best of us. We’d give in to our weary limbs’ complaints and turn wind-chilled faces toward the farm house.  Before we could …

My mother began a Christmas tradition many years ago: “The Best Gift.” After all the shiny packages have been opened, one gift remains: a plain brown box tied neatly with twine. Mom sits down near the tree, gathers her grandchildren close around her and reaches for the simple box, announcing that inside is the best gift of all — the very reason we celebrate Christmas. The children listen with respect, knowing Grandma will choose one of them to open the present. They sense the urgency of her message. Even the older children, who remember the tradition from years past, appreciate what their …

It could be a new outfit or a new tube of lip gloss. A meal in the car, through the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru or a run-of-the mill supper cooked at home. Ironing my teenage son’s shirt or spending time at his game. My kids have even been known to thank me for doing their laundry. When they say “thank you” for little things, sometimes I think: "Really? You’re thanking me for that?"   I consider their gratitude, with amazement, then I realize that all of this did not happen by chance. It started in early childhood. When I thanked them for “helping” me, even at times when their efforts didn’t …

One day, your delightful child is present: mind, body and spirit; the next, she is the mere shell of the girl you once knew. Curious, hopeful eyes have been replaced by accusing looks, reflecting the edge of rebellion in this new life form. Something has invaded. The only explanation: Your real child has been abducted. By aliens. I gauge much of what’s coming down the parenting-pike by what my older sisters have experienced. I saw The Invasion years before it happened to my own child.  When Cathy first explained her Alien Invasion Theory, I was skeptical, but in time, it gave me comfort. As …

The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio is the true story of a woman who “raised 10 kids on 25 words or less.” In the 1950s, companies wouldn’t hire women as advertising executives, but they routinely relied on women to write their slogans. Clever women, with a gifting for words, learned to (defiantly!) work the jingle-writing-contest system to provide actual income for their families.    Today, girls are told they can be anything. I am thankful that they have the very real opportunity to do so. We owe thanks first to our great-grandmothers, the suffragettes who stood up for a woman’s right to …

I’m satisfied with my overall appearance, yet I often feel conflicted about certain aspects of my body.   If I do feel beautiful, it’s because:   1) I had parents who affirmed my beauty and built my confidence. 2) Research has led me to believe in True Beauty.    3) I learned to spew the disgusting food the media insists on shoving down women’s throats and internalize positive messages instead. The average American sees 3,000 advertising messages a day. That seems high, but when you consider that the barrage starts on our cereal boxes and includes magazines, television, billboards, computer …

“Feminine allure.” I love that phrase. It sings of beauty, mystery, power. Sometimes just saying the words feels … almost dangerous. But is our femininity dangerous?  As women, something tells us that our beauty is dangerous. We know it, deep inside. That it can bring (or cause) harm if we flaunt it. That it’s not right to desire it too much or we ourselves will be found to be both “too much” and “less than.” Every woman feels the tug. We all want to feel beautiful. Yet surveys show that less than 2 percent of women dare to describe themselves as "beautiful."   Our daughters are no different…

Recently, the Girl Scouts of the USA changed “Fashion, Fitness, and Make-up” to “The Science of Style” badge. Girls (who are distinctly feminine in their thinking and actions, from birth!) shouldn’t want to pursue a badge about things that make them look and feel good. They ought to be encouraged to understand fashion scientifically. Otherwise, we might be nurturing Barbie-Syndrome. Right?    I’ve read stacks of books on beauty. (I’ve also written one for a class I teach for teen girls — www.standingontheheights.com). I hardly ever pick up a fashion magazine, but I don’t feel guilty when I do…

I’ve got something in my pocket that belongs across my face … it’s a great big Girl Scout … Science of Happiness Badge?   No longer content to be happy for happiness’ sake, Girl Scouts now pursue “The Science of Happiness.”     A “Positive Psychology Researcher” from the University of Pennsylvania helped create the badge. According to a National Public Radio interview with Alisha Niehaus of the Girl Scouts of the USA, girls have the opportunity to become “a test subject” in the “laboratory” of their own lives, systematically determining if practices like forgiveness, for example, make them …

I was accustomed to saving scribbled creations in scrapbooks, but then the dilemma came: My kids’ art teachers helped them create such beautiful work, I couldn’t bear to throw it away. It was too big for scrapbooks. I archived pictures electronically, but somehow, these creations seemed worthy of a more visible home. But my home? I was selfish with my limited wall space — even for my own kids. Then came My Big Idea. I looked around at the white, blank walls in a most unlikely room, and I saw it — Our Gallery. Those walls were begging to come to life. It was the perfect space. My husband keeps…

You want to be the good parent and nurture the artist in your child. After all, that’s what your favorite Patch columnist says you should do, and you trust her ... But what do you do with that rapidly growing collection? My friend Billie, a self-professed “horrible mother,” says she “sneaks artwork into the trash” when her son’s not looking. I won’t say I’m a horrible mother (neither is Billie) but I will admit that I’ve thrown a few “treasures” into the can. On the other hand, I’ve kept a lot of art, and it greets me every time Icome home.  The idea I had years ago has proved itself as a …

I’m not much of a TV person. I rarely turn it on. When thekids were little, I limited their viewing time. The radio, on the other hand, is often on in our home, and that morning was no exception. The voices of NPR filled the kitchen as I unloaded the dishwasher.  That’s what I remember. It was a Tuesday, and Iwas home with my little ones, who were 3 and nearly 5.    I heard the report of a plane crashing into a building, but with sketchy details, my limited imagination conjured a single-engine Cessna with an inexperienced pilot clipping a skyscraper. I wondered briefly about such a freak …