Kate Middleton and Me

Last week, new mommy, Kate Middleton, and her precious bundle of royal joy were on the cover of every magazine on the planet. Oh, that lucky little George—he won life’s gene-pool lottery (thank you Grammy Diana), along with the “Brangelina” spawn and a few other fortunate folks.

Now, as handsome as my own “folks’ are (love you Mom and Dad), I’ve never been one who could look in the mirror and say, “Shazaaayam—I look good!” Like so many other females, in my reflection I tend to find a whole lot’a room for improvement. If I only had thicker hair, fuller lips, and thinner…everything! Is that too much to ask?

This isn’t exactly the healthiest thought process, but it’s what we do. It’s what I do. And it’s no bueno. Even my rational forty-something mind knows this, and yet I’ll still look at a model in a magazine, then glance down at my bottom half and think, for the love of fudge-covered Oreos, why wasn’t I born with legs extending to my armpits? Where is the justice?

I have more thoughts on gene-pool injustice, but for now, let’s shift our focus back to Mommy Kate…

So the other day, as I stood in the grocery store checkout line gazing at Kate’s radiant countenance on every magazine cover, something struck me as…well, pretty awesome! I happened to notice a part of me in Mommy Kate (and, no, I’m not referring to the fact that I’ve walked out of the hospital with babe in arms more than your average woman).

You see, Kate and I actually have one other thing in common—we have the same nose.

We do!

I swear!

I know what you’re thinking—so what.

Well, I’ll tell you what. You see, I’ve never actually looked at my nose as a particularly attractive asset. It starts out okay near the face. And the nostrils are proportionate, etc. But the dang thing ends in a ball. Yup—I have a little round ball at the end of my nose…and so does Kate…and my dad, and his mom, and just about every other sibling and Keller cousin I have, thankyougrandma! (Coincidentally, Grandma Keller was born in England. Can you say Cousin Kate? I can (not Middleton) but Keller, and she just had a baby with Kate Middleton’s nose as well)!

Now, the inner critic in me initially wanted to say, Why Kate’s nose? Why couldn’t I have Kate’s long glossy hair, or perfect white teeth, or at least her postpartum figure for crying-out-loud? But the nose it is, so the nose, I will take…and be happy about.

And isn’t that the key anyway—to be happy with our unique God-given characteristics? Some things we have some control over (our weight, for example, and I mention this only because four years ago I was able to lose 50 pounds and have kept it off for the most part—but that’s another blog for another day). Other things, however, are left up to life’s little game of gene-pool roulette. And if Grandma has a “distinct” nose, chances are, you will too.

And that’s okay—be happy with it! Because some day you’ll find it staring back at you and you’ll realize you’re looking at royalty! And no—I’m not talking about the future Queen of England.

I’m referring to you—a daughter of God.

The Daughter of a King.

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas Novel, The Lost Son with her son, Preston Norton. In college she was told more than once that she resembled Glenda the Good Witch...who is kinda-like royalty. If you enjoyed this post, purdy-please won't you share it? :)

Anatomy of a Stepparent

I have nine kids—for reals. And the first question I hear when anyone learns this not-so-little tidbit of information is, “Are they all yours?”

I try not to wince when I hear this. Of course they’re all mine! my defensive heart screams. Do you think I’ve borrowed one for the day? I do realize, however, that people are simply curious as to the origin of our family when two of my daughters don’t look a whole lot like me (and I suppose the true giveaway is when they hear the older one speak with an accent).

But there is so much more binding this mother-daughter duo than the way we speak or common genes.
 
Her eyes are like her dad’s, a deep, dark chocolate—irresistible on all accounts, especially to the strings of my heart.
 
My eyes are true blue. You get what you see—an imperfect me. And these blue eyes see a child who needs me, imperfections and all. I’m fiercely loyal to those I love. On occasion, I might fight with them (that inevitable battle of the wills), but I will always fight for them. All of my children are a part of me—not a place they’re born into. The only entrance is through the heart.

Her skin is smooth and unblemished—easily bronzed by the sun’s rays yet sensitive to the world’s sometimes harsh realities.

My skin is freckled and fair and not so smooth anymore. Over the years, it’s been exposed to many of those harsh realities of life as well. It’s thicker now—the survivor of stings and scrapes. I don’t want her to experience these stings and scrapes—not yet. So my boundaries might feel overbearing to her. She might think I’m over-protective and it may be a long time before she understands. But remember—I’m fiercely loyal to those I love…and I love her. At the end of the day, this is one thing I know she knows.

Her hair is thick and dark and she complains that there’s nothing she can do with it. She has the most amazing curls that can wind around your finger like the grip of a newborn baby. Oh, how I wish she’d been a part of my life at that time. But that’s not our reality. Our memories are happening here and now…like when she gripped onto my hand during the scary part of that movie, or when she was nervous getting her blood work drawn.
 
My hair is blond, and thin, and getting thinner every day. If I could change anything about the physical me, this would be it—and she knows this. I always complain that there’s nothing I can do with my hair, and she always tells me that she loves my hair. I just think that she really loves me.

So many of our physical characteristics are different—our eye color, our skin tone, our hair… But these aren’t the ties that bind a family. I suppose you could boil it all down to the wise words of The Beatles—All You Need is Love. Our life might be far from perfect, but our hearts are one.


Tamra Torero is wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and Author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her oldest son, Preston Norton. She is perfect at the imperfections of stepparenting. Feel free to share this post if you've enjoyed it.