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Orchestra of Women

Recently there has been speculation and criticism over Ashley Judd’s appearance.  Rank speculation and discussion prompted Ms. Judd to write this essay as a response.  I encourage you to read it.

Recently, an entire issue of Marie Claire was dedicated to the continuing unequal treatment of women.  I’ve come across this phenomenon in the arts as well.  As a female actor and photographer, I often come face to face with the attitude that for some reason my male compatriots time is more valuable than mine.  This is done in small and subtle, but powerful ways.  Often times the undermining of the female consciousness comes in the very art form that I work in daily.  I remember an acting teacher saying, “For women, it’s important that you look good while listening because most scripts are men talking at women and women listening.”  Said years ago, this has stayed with me as I progress through this medium, mostly because time and time again I’m faced with a script in which this is true. While there are directors and writers challenging that norm, and I applaud them, they are far too few. 

Some of you may challenge me saying that I, as a fashion blogger, may be falling victim to this exact system.   I say that my fashion, my love of the creative play of dressing, is an expression of me and for myself.  It’s my canvas since I can’t draw, it’s my instrument since I can’t play.  And it’s my voice, not the nodding of my head while a man talks at me.

I add my voice to the orchestra of women shouting for equal treatment and dissolution of the patriachical gaze.

Like Kate Moss Has Plus Size Ad Campaigns

Tie – Sears
Vest – AE
Top – Smart Set
Jeans – Gap
Shoes – Payless

I’ve been doing the sock bun for a long time now, and it used to be that you were embarrassed to admit that you had footwear in your hair.  It was like showing your knickers or your slip – a lady never does that.  Now it’s become a source of blogging pride to show exact details of this, frankly, lazy ass hairdo.  It’s actually really amusing to me. *p.s. if you want a tutorial just google it, there are literally dozens of them and I’m not adding to that pile*  What’s next?  Do I show you how I use a hair elastic to keep my pants up? 

Digressing just a touch…can we just take a moment to appreciate how the right pants, combined with the right pose make it look like I have a smokin’ hot J.Lo booty in that first shot?  Usually, I’ve got curves like Kate Moss has plus size ad campaigns, but in this shot I’ve got the booty goin’ on!

I wonder if I can get a life size cardboard cutout of this picture and wear it everywhere like those guys at the side of the road advertizing car washes.  It’s like, “No, this here in the picture with the J.Lo butt is the real me.”

True Story:
Speaking of things you don’t admit too…
Baby put on my bra and rubbed my perfume on herself and pranced around my bedroom.  
How does a 22 month old prance?  
Very awkwardly and unsteadily, but prance she did.

Good Ol’ Scotch

Sunglasses & Tee – F21
White shirt – Smart Set
Cargos – Esprit Shoes – Sketchers

I was recently cuddling with my baby and had this crazy thought:  She’s part of my body.  Well, not actually, we’re not Siamese mother-daughter of anything, but she was grown and created out of my body material.  She grew inside me – we shared a blood supply.  That’s a freaky thought, that you share a blood supply with another person.  I was a little freaked out.  Then Andrew said, ” Yeah, you did good. High five!” and she grinned her toothy grin right on cue.  I did do good.

On the same note though…

I quit!  She’s in bed, Andrew away for the night at work and I quit!  I quit being a mama.  I’m going to go watch Stargate SG1, play Civilization on my computer, and have a stiff drink of good ol’ scotch. 
This Mama’s off the clock!

p.s. Happy Birthday to my Husband!  I might even let you sleep in today….maybe.

Quote of Today:
“She laughed so hard she farted in my hand.”

Dino-Saur!

Earrings – c/o Scarlet Samples
Sweater – Joe Fresh
Necklace – F21
Jeans – Gap
Boots – Feet First

How do you know you’re a nerd?  Your husband comes home and tells you he has a big surprise for you.  Then he pulls out a dinosaur board game.  And you light up and squeal just a little because you’ve been lusting after it for a while now.  That’s how you know. 

Don’t feel sorry for him.  He knows who he married.

 p.s. Like these earrings?  Win your own pair here!

True Story:
My bed is no longer my own. It was bound to happen. 

Alien Zombie Baby

Cardi – Nick&Mo from Trixie in Toronto
Top – Gap
Scarf – Le Chateau
Necklace and Skirt – Ruche
Tights & Earrings – F21
Boots – Feet First

Do you watch The Walking Dead?  Have you
seen the season finale?  It kicked butt!  I saw it late because I’ve
been busy, but here’s a thought.  In the show they’ve discovered that
they are all infected and that when they die – no matter how they die –
they all come back as zombies.  You don’t have to be bitten to turn into
a zombie.  Also, one of the main characters is pregnant.  

So here’s where my train of thought goes:
If
she miscarries in her third trimester, does her baby turn into a
zombie?  Does it claw it’s way out like that thing in Alien?  ‘Cause
though it would be really sad, it would also be kind of really cool.

Yeah, I know. 
If you think that’s bad, imagine how I feel.  I have to be around myself all the time!

Quote of Today:
“My dinosaurs are having lots of babies!”

Nothing Sexier

…than a man who loves his daughter shamelessly.

Wrapped Up In A Rock

I don’t usually link up with challenges and things like that, but when the idea of photos based around faceless portraits was mentioned I instantly thought of this photo I snapped yesterday.  It captures my baby girl perfectly.  She’s inquisitive, loves nature walks, and always finds joy in the simplest things…in this case, a rock.  And finally, she’s fiercely independent.  She walks where she wants to, how she wants to and stops whenever she wants to.  Like here.

Is Your Chocolate Supporting Child Slavery?

You love your babe, so consider giving them chocolate that’s not made through the use of child slave labor. 

Here’s an article for you to read as you eat your Easter Bunny.  The average American eats 11 pounds of chocolate a year, that’s a lot of child slavery if you’re not careful.  Make sure you know where your chocolate is coming from and how it was made, or your little ones will be delighting at another little one’s expense.

Here’s the Coles Notes version:
1. Organic is nearly foolproof for no child labor.
2. Consider the orgin.  Africa?  Almost gauranteed child labor. South America and Asia – much less chance it is from child labor.
3. Look at the Label for Fair Trade or Rainforest Alliance – two agencies that ensure no child labor and equitable conditions.
4. If possible, get local chocolate from someone who buys direct from the growers.
5. Develop a taste for the good stuff – not the cheap crap that’s almost always made to cut corners.

Be aware. Be conscious.

This Easter and every day, show a little love for all the children in the world by making sure your pleasure isn’t because of their pain.  Children should play, not toil.

How The Dream Ends

Dress – Ruche
Sweater – Threadsence or Ruche
Tights – F21
Boots – Feet First
Necklace – gift from my Aunt.
This long weekend, though I’m working, I’m hoping to enjoy some bbq and sunshine with my family.  I’m excited about a shoot I’ve got coming up on Monday – should be fun to shoot a couple of friends I’ve known for over a decade! Oh, and do you know how much I love getting fan feedback?  So much!  Read about that and more here on my acting site.
But in all this I am in some real fear.  I had a nightmare that I left home on the bus and it wasn’t until I got down to the subway (15 minutes away) that I realized that I had left Baby home alone.  In my dream I panicked and jumped into a cab right away.  Then I woke up so I have no idea how the dream ends, but I’ll tell you this, it really scared me.  It scared me because I’m so exhausted right now, that I can feasible imagine myself leaving the house and forgetting that she’s home alone with no one to watch her.  It’s ridiculous because I know I never would, but it’s a fear, a phobia, which means that it’s irrational by nature.   It’s fun being a mama, eh?

p.s. Some outfits suck.  This was one of them.  

Quote of Today:
“Artillery zombie babies!”

Mamahood Exposed: Hello Crazy

Mamahood Exposed continues with an open and honest post from Lindsay about her experience with PPD. 

When I found out I was pregnant with Oliver, I was thrilled.  Ecstatic. Over the moon.

All I ever wanted was to be a mother. When I was young and the teacher would ask what we wanted to be when we grew up, my answer was always, “A Momma“. I mean why couldn’t I be?
So when the opportunity came to actually become a Momma, I dove in head first.  I read books.
Some serious ones like “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”which scared the crap out of me by the way.  Some may disagree but I think that book does more harm than good.  And some silly books like, “The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy” and “Belly Laughs”. Those were more my speed.  They were true, honest and got down to the nitty gritty.  If it wasn’t for those books I wouldn’t of been prepared for the ugly.
I had an amazing pregnancy with Oliver.  I was never sick, I felt wonderful.  I was growing a human being.  I was grateful.  Sure I had my moments of irritability.  And moments of shear crazy.  Just ask Ryan about the ice cream incident.  But for the most part, it was good.  I was good.
Fast forward to February 16, 2010. 4:48pm to be exact.  I was a mom.  He was here, and he was perfect.  And I loved him. I loved him right?  I thought I did, but I wasn’t sure.  It wasn’t an immediate feeling.  If anything, I felt like I was in shock.  Shock from my not so pleasant delivery.  Shock from just having a baby. And shock for becoming a mother.
A Momma. His Momma.

Someone completely responsible for keeping another human being…a very tiny human being alive.  I began to feel very anxious.
What should of been a joyous time for me, wasn’t.   I laid there in the delivery room with so many people around me and I felt so….alone.  While everyone commented on how adorable, and healthy…oh so healthy Oliver was.  No one asked about me.  While I laid there quiet and still, I was screaming inside.
It hit that quickly, the PPD.  The depression that is still such a secret.  A dirty little secret.  I didn’t realize it the time. I just thought it was The Baby Blues.  Ya know, what those pregnancy books just graze over.  It wasn’t serious.  And it sure as Hell wasn’t happening to me.  But it was.
I loved my son. At least I thought I did.  I felt he deserved someone better than me.  Someone who could really love him.  Ya know like they show in TV and movies.  She has a baby and bam immediate love.  He deserved that.  Not this shell of a woman, going through the motions pretending to be a mom.
A mother. His Momma.
I never wanted to hurt my son.  If anything I wanted to protect him.  From everything and everyone.  The anxiety I felt for him, towards him was crippling.  If we left the house I had to drive.  If we had plans, I’d cancel at the last minute.  I couldn’t leave him.  With anyone. At all.  What if something happened to him?
I would sit and watch him sleep.  Fearful for him to stop breathing. Always listening.  I would jolt myself awake the minute I began to doze off.  I needed to stay awake.  I needed to constantly watch him.  Must. Not. Fall. Asleep.
The sleep deprivation does some crazy things to you.  No wonder its used to torture people.  I felt like I was being tortured, by my own self. 
I knew something was wrong.  This feeling wasn’t going away.  It was past 3 weeks wasn’t I suppose to start enjoying this time by now?  When would the horrible thoughts go away.  Thought of me falling down the stairs with Oliver in my arms.  Or someone breaking in.  Or the big tree in the front yard falling into our house.  Or Oliver falling off the counter. Why would he be on the counter?  Or me forgetting to put him back in his pack n play and rolling over him in my sleep.  Or something happening to my husband.  To Ryan, my lifeline.
Hello Crazy.
I knew it was time.  Time to make that call.  Time to admit this was bigger than I was and I needed help.  The doctor had me fill out this depression questioner.  “Circle one in each row” she said,  always, sometimes or never.  As she walked out of the room.  Leaving me with the questioner and my thoughts.  My crazy irrational thoughts.
Final verdict: PPD with mild anxiety.  Yup, I could of told her that.  She wrote me a prescription for Zoloft and sent me on my way.
The pharmacist told me it would take a week or two before I would feel the difference.  I felt it after that first day.  I felt better.  Not quite “me” but I felt closer to being me.  The next day a little better.  After a week, I was up. Getting dressed and leaving the house.
Months went by and the anxiety continued to lessen.  It was there, the thoughts were always there. still are.  But they didn’t stay very long.  And I didn’t dwell on them.  And I didn’t let them control me anymore.  It was working.  Thank God, it was working.
By the time Oliver was 3 months old. I felt like myself.  I felt happiness.  I enjoyed my son and my new life, as a momma.
His Momma.

I was accepting it and not fighting it anymore.
Having a baby changes you.  You start out as a woman, you give birth and you break down.  You bleed, and break and shed a lot of tears.  But its the only way to be rebuilt into a mother.
PPD can happen to anyone. You.  Me.  It doesn’t discriminate and it doesn’t let go.  But it doesn’t have to control you.  It doesn’t have to control me.  This was just my story on the “secret depression”.  Something one may not even understand unless they have been there.  It goes beyond hormones and being an emotional girl.  It goes beyond “sucking it up” and “tomorrow is another day”.  It’s real and it’s scary.  But it doesn’t have to last forever.
When I was pregnant with Landon I was worried it would happen again.  I spoke with my doctor about about my options but in the end opted out of the prescription he offered to write for me after I delivered Landon.  I felt different.  I felt that immediate love for my child.  And I didn’t for once feel alone.

Are you an honest Mama with a story to tell? 
Email you submission to joanna.haughton@hotmail.com

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