Next Monday is Memorial Day. Compared to my home country Colombia –which has holidays for each Catholic saint, and beauty pageants for every grain, vegetable, and fruit– in America, we hold those few holidays dear to our hearts.
This weekend, in particular, represents the gateway to Summer 2015 and the display of undesired views such as unpedicured toe nails that look like hawk claws.
As fun as it is, Summer to me represents the bloating that makes my clothes tight all the time, and a little voice in my head saying “shut your pipe hole so you don’t look like a killer whale in a bikini“.
To my husband, Summer means 18 holes of golf and getting the greatest “farmers tan” –perfectly bronzed face, forearms, and legs; and mozzarella thorax and butt. And last but not least, to our little son, Summer means freedom from everything, specially me.
I think these thoughts of independence festered a week ago at the swimming pool in our community. My little tadpole borrowed a pair of flippers from a friend and all of a sudden, let go of my hands, kicked his legs and moved his arms like oars, and reached the opposite end of the pool. I was in shock. In a split second he accomplished by himself what I tried to teach him for weeks. Now that he discovered the freedom of floating without my help, he started saying to me, “I can do it by myself Mommy” every time I tried to help him do something this week, such as pouring water in a cup or setting the iPad on the table.
Summer frees him from a dress code as well–he gets to walk around the house without shoes or socks, and run around in his boxers. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather die before seeing my son dressed like the models for Wal-Mart’s “Red Neck Collection”, but the hot weather surely loosens up my tight grip. Since I am the one that has to chase him to get him dressed, I face two options: either I run like a horse at the Kentucky Derby and end up sweaty and messy, or I pick my battles and stay with my hair and makeup intact. I choose the latter.
Summer also makes me think about my birthday. In almost two weeks I will blowout another candle on my cake, and I can tell time has passed. My body has changed so much and a lot of things don’t “hang” as they used to. I even tried a pair of reading glasses at Walgreens –at least they were the chic ones Brooke Shields promotes– because I almost went blind trying to finish my French manicure the other day.
Even my husband makes fun of me and says, “Are you really 35? I want to see the original birth certificate“. Nevertheless, he still looks at me like a chocolate chip cookie after going to a Weight Watchers meeting.
Before the heat melts the icing on the cake, I only have one wish: to see life through my son’s eyes more often. I want to free myself from the daily life grind –hair dryer and styling mousse– and enjoy the Summer like he does. I hear people say life is too short. No way! I say life is just as it should be, but it can turn long if we choose to live in bitterness. Now, before having fun in the sun, let’s get a pedicure, please!
Thanks for reading and sharing.
Xiomara Spadafora
Good crazy woman 