The Lame, The Lazy and the Lovely

Alright, I'll start with the lame:

Two love letters this week. One from Skirt! rejecting an essay I wrote for their F-Word issue (Feminist/Fashionista/etc.) about facial hair, and another from Brevity, rejecting "Write in the Attic," a short nonfiction piece I hoped they'd love.

For the record, my work has been rejected by both of these publications on more than one occasion. I'll keep submitting to them, though -- maybe someday I'll get it right. I'll also keep submitting those pieces to other publications, because I think they're really good, and maybe someone else might think I got it right.

On to the lazy:

This one's mortifying: I submitted a flash fiction piece to SmokeLong Quarterly this morning - and I forgot I'd taken out a word to replace it with something amazing later! So yes, I didn't proofread well enough - until after I sent it - to put the amazing word in! Yeah, I'm mortified. I'll be expecting an immediate rejection from SmokeLong - and won't be submitting to that mag for a while. (They limit one submission per quarter, I think.)

Time for the lovely:

I finally got the hard copy of (and payment for!) my essay in Underwired's April issue - and it's gorgeous. The layout, the ads, the font -- it's all spectacular and I'm so happy about that publication. I'm going to frame the cover for my home.

And a final note:

I read recently that I should have at least a dozen, if not two dozen, items "out there," submitted at any given time. I'm sitting at seven out there right now, so my goal today is to submit to another four (woops, five, bad math) publications by afternoon.

Then I have to squeeze in house cleaning, grocery shopping, and caring for a little guy at home (for the third day in a row!) who in all likelihood has Fifth Disease, which has been running rampant through our school. (This sounds scarier than it is. Look up Fifth Disease here.)

To Cop A Feel - as published in Underwired Magazine

In the checkout line, Aubrey creeps under my skirt and stands up to run her fingers across my bare buns. She’s three and I’m used to her innocent caresses; however, I’m not prepared for her cold fingers goosing me as I pay for groceries, or the echoes of her voice bouncing off linoleum floors, glass doors and an open cash register with the holler of “Hey Mommy! Why aren’t you wearing any panties?”

I wince and blush at the checker suppressing her laugh and the guy in line behind me with bearded stubble and a 12-pack. I guide Aubrey down – and out – of there, and then ask her to please stand beside me and hold off on further observations. Please.

I’m not about to explain the subtle nuances of underwear at Safeway to a three-year-old: I’m not about to tell her and our neighbors in line that I am indeed wearing underwear, but I’m wearing what we call a thong, which would give her more to figure out and a more elaborate image for our neighbor than makes me comfortable.

I save that conversation for the van ride home, where I explain differences in underwear choices and panty lines to a little girl who will later that week hike her panties up to her armpits, creating a sort of toddler thong, and run through the house yelling, “I’m Mommy! I’m Mommy!”

Recently, her attention has turned to my breasts, and has advanced to petting. Heavy petting if I don’t stop her.

She cops a feel when we read books, when I finish a shower, when I wear a pretty blouse. She starts with the outer curves, working circles around them, and moves her way inward, skimming the nipples. She pokes, she strokes, she kisses.

I feel like a teenager in the back seat after Sadie Hawkins. I try to fend her off with a smile and the option to, say, just hold hands. “But, hey!” she seems to plea. “You invited me! And, after all, I love you!”

As unnerving, and even annoying, as these experiences can be, I know it’s healthy that my daughter is curious about the female body – mine, in particular – and that she is expressing herself this way. In fact, I’m grateful she admires what she sees and feels. It’s taken me years to get to that point. It’s taken me years of unassuming one-piece swimsuits, control top pantyhose, and bad posture to make my breasts seem smaller, all because I didn’t think the fullness, the billows, and the curviness of my body deserved much more.

My own mother had full breasts, thick thighs and a stomach that wasn’t flat. She was active – skiing, hiking, wearing short shorts and two-pieces without worrying about looking perfect – and she otherwise dressed in a classic style she thought served her figure well. I didn’t necessarily admire her body, and I never caressed it with Aubrey’s zeal, but I intently watched how she handled it, which seemed confident if somewhat careful.

A child of the ‘70s, my strongest notions of body size and proportion probably came from television. Wonder Woman, with her large breasts, small waist and cottage-cheese-free thighs set an early standard for me. As did posters of Farrah Fawcett at my dad’s house and any commercial with an attractive woman in it. I watched wholesome shows like Little House on the Prairie and Diff’rent Strokes, too, but my mind clung to images of women filling out their jeans and skirts, and even their prairie dresses, just so.

So when my daughter, who doesn’t watch commercial television, feels me up, telling me she loves me, that I’m beautiful, and that she wants to be just like me when she grows up, I start to understand that this size 12 body of mine is getting exactly the attention and admiration it deserves. Aubrey’s perspective is pure.

Some of that pure perspective rubbed off on me this summer, when I saw my mother and my aunt together. Both in their sixties now, their knees are dimpled, their waists are thickening, their arms are firm, and their breasts are still large, if slightly lower. They played croquet, they sat and talked, they ate from the snack tray. They laughed at the dog sniffing where nobody wanted him to sniff. They weren’t self-conscious. They were happy. They were comfortable.

I thought, Look at them. Look how they move with agility and strength, how they smile and laugh with confidence. Look how they accept themselves and enjoy others. And then I thought, That’s me. That’s me in 30 years. Look how lovely they are – and look who I’m going to be.

Perhaps Aubrey’s having that revelation now. Perhaps when she runs her fingers across my backside, gropes my chest, and asks when she’ll get her own set of breasts or if I’ll save my pink panties for her, she’s literally embracing who she is and who she’s going to be someday.

Who knows? Maybe I should have tested the limits of the cue I’d taken from Aubrey this summer. Maybe when I admired my mother and my aunt, I should have grabbed handfuls of their butts and their boobs like Aubrey would – if only to fully embrace my destiny, too.

Saddle Up
Well, that's a pretty cute cover for the "backside" issue!

FYI: Still waiting on my own copy...

SWEET TWEET!

While surfing the web to find an online copy of Underwired Magazine (haven't found one yet - might have to just wait until they mail me my hard copy from Kentucky and then scan it) I ran across this tweet on Underwired's Twitter account:

1. Essay submissions for next UW were hilarious. Our favorite? Hands down... To Cop A Feel. There was a lot to say about the "Backside" theme. 10:59 AM Mar 17th via TweetDeck

Now isn't that a sweet tweet?

Publishing Problem Solved

Underwired accepted my essay, "Cop A Feel!"

(That's their October 09 magazine cover to the left.)

It was accepted on the 13th, just two days before The Mom Egg needed a response from me regarding that essay - so I was able to decline with The Mom Egg, withdraw from Skirt, and give Underwired the go-ahead, all in good time and good conscience.

In an earlier post, I'd written that I liked The Mom Egg and its reputation (which is linked to Mamapalooza, an organization that empowers women and girls) and was excited my essay was accepted there - but The Mom Egg is not a paying market, like Skirt and Underwired. And not only do the other two pay, but they have snazzier presentation, for those of us who appreciate visual inspiration.

When The Mom Egg originally accepted, my friend Jennifer Margulis had suggested that if the other publications don't have a problem with multiple submissions (and they don't) then I could try emailing them and telling them my piece had been accepted elsewhere but I preferred their publication if they wanted my essay.

I did that with Underwired, which I felt strongest about, and got a sort of business-y response that said they just had their submission deadline a couple days earlier and wouldn't even read them all until the 18th, so I could withdraw my submission if I wanted.

I decided to let it lie.

I felt my essay was strong and didn't want to be annoying to them - so I made up my mind to just see what happened when they actually read it. I was going to wait until the last minute on the 15th and go with The Mom Egg if it came down to that. Needless to say, I was thrilled then when, on Saturday morning, the 13th!, Underwired emailed to let me know it had been accepted there.

Now I'm $100 richer, have another publication to check off my goal list for the year, have a little more publishing savvy, and am being published in a Kentucky market, which is exciting in light of my novel setting.

My essay will appear in the April issue of Underwired, which has the theme "Backside."

I'll post when it's out!