I write a lot of silly stuff on this here on this blog. And I write a lot of heart wrenching stuff. It’s the safe place I’ve carved out for myself to help define my identity after losing it so suddenly when my son passed away.

Slowly, one post at a time, I’ve found my footing in life again, and I’m ever so grateful for the community that has helped propped me up and helped me grow when I floundered in the darkest sea a parent can swim in.

So when I was asked earlier this year, to give back a little and help other people and a charity with a few blog posts and a picture I thought why not.

All the organizers needed was one little photo. And I’ve got photos. I mean, I’ve posted hundreds of them over the life of this little blog.

There are pictures I’ve tweeted of myself.

There are pictures of me giving birth. Well, not the actual birth because even I don’t want to see that. And if anyone had pointed a camera at my stretched out girly parts I’d have likely jumped off the birthing bed to beat them to death with their camera.

Heck, I’ve posted pictures of my cat giving birth and her placenta. (You are all very welcome.)

I’ve posted pictures of my armpit hair and proved to my husband (and the world) that I have no shame about being an untamed wildebeest.

I’ve even posted pictures of me, fresh out of bed, riddled with zits and nary an ounce of pride in sight.

There have been nicer pictures.

And some really bad pictures.

I’ve even celebrated the holiday season with a portrait or two.

Clearly, I could send along a picture of myself to help a community in need and raise money for charity.

I committed to the project without reading the fine print.  Because I’m bit of an arse that way.  Then I realized, I’d have to get naked on the internet.

Shit got real, real fast.

It’s one thing to post pictures of my pit fuzz but it’s another to let it all hang out. Literally.

It may not be obvious what with all the pictures I post on this blog, but I am very self conscious about my appearance. Years of growing up the knobby kneed, stringy haired teen who was flat as a board did nothing to boost my self esteem. And just when I was starting to really grow into myself and feel comfortable with my appearance, my son died, and I lost my mind but found about 50 pounds.

I weigh now more than I did when I was nine months pregnant with Fric or Frac.

I discovered the door to my self esteem does not lie in my looking glass.

A culmination of medication, inactivity and injuries have all forced me into taking a good hard look at myself and what I consider beauty to be. It’s also forced me to use a wire hanger on more than one occasion to try and force a zipper up on pants that I had to hop up and down to try and  wriggle into.

Participating in a calendar showcasing a woman’s natural curves was a leap for me. Mostly because I’m still growing used to this skin I’m in and I’m not really comfortable sharing all this skin with anyone but my husband, my kids, my dad who keeps walking in on me while I’m naked, my waterman who may have seen more of me than he ought to have when he delivers water in the summer, my father-in-law who drove up the drive while I had fallen asleep topless sunbathing, random neighbours driving slowly by as I skinny dip and perhaps a bus full of small children as I flashed them my goods when my robe fell open one morning.

Still. It’s not like everyone in the free world has seen my goods. Only a small percentage.

I look at my daughter and my nieces and even my sons and I see the beauty they all shine with and I know that one day someone will try and tarnish that shine with a thoughtless comment or a disparaging remark and it breaks my heart. It happened to me. It happens to us all.

I can’t protect the children I love from having their ego bruised or their spirits crushed. Time will bring both, unfortunately. But I can set the example that beauty is reflected from the inside out and no matter how they look, what size they are, or what scars their demons have brought them, they are beautiful. I can teach them that beauty is everywhere, even in an aging mother with cracks in her heart and dimples on her arse.

I choose to see beauty. In my son whose face was frozen and unanimated. In my other son’s slack jaw, drooling smiles. In my daughter’s budding figure and dimpled cheeks and in my eldest son’s broadening shoulders and beautiful smile.

I choose to see beauty, wherever it is, because it is everywhere and it takes all forms, all shapes, all sizes. And I refuse to not feel beautiful. Because how can I teach the children in my life to embrace their beauty when I can’t see mine?

So I did it. Amidst protests from some of my in-laws and the disbelieving chuckles of my parents, I got naked.

I posed bare-arsed in front of two total strangers and let them see my beauty. Along with my sagging boobs, my charming belly roll and my jiggling butt cheeks. I may not look like the definition of beauty to some, but I don’t mind. Because I feel beautiful.

And it’s been a long time coming.

Posing naked in a calendar for charity may not be the path to empowerment for most people. But for me, I overcame my fears about my body image and there is a real beauty in that small act of bravery. One I’m proud of.

And I, personally, think there is no better way to ring in the new year like hanging a calendar filled with beauty on your wall.

So please, head on over to Blogger Body Calendar’s site for a sneak peek as well as to purchase your own copy of my jiggling thighs.

Consider it my Christmas gift to you.

Wink.

***And because I’m feeling so darn beautiful these days, I want to help you all feel that way too. Which is why I’m pleased to give away one copy of Karen Walrond’s amazing book, The Beauty of Different. This book is a must read and I plan on giving it to everyone I love, who can read. I’d give a copy to Jumby too, but he’ll just chew on the pages and drool it to death. Just leave a comment and I’ll randomly select a winner on Friday, December 3. Open to anyone who lives on planet Earth. ***

And please, buy a calendar. The proceeds go to support the National Eating Disorders Association and the calendar is a thing of beauty. I promise.

My American friends tell me today is the day I’m to give thanks for all the blessings in my life. I don’t want to break it to them, but I did that last month when our Canadian thanksgiving rolled around. Our thanksgivings are similar in that we stuff ourselves silly with dry turkey and then further feast on homemade pies until our waistbands are threatening to cut off all circulation to our legs and we are surrounded by friends and family who alternately amuse and annoy us.

It’s family holidays at it’s finest.

There is a wee difference in the Canadian thanksgiving versus the American version. Ours is better. We don’t use real turkeys. We use unicorn meat. It’s a well kept secret. I’m risking my citizenship simply by telling you all this.

The things I do for you.

In keeping with the spirit and celebrating virtually with my American friends, I thought I’d share with you a few of the things I am thankful for in my life. Because one can never give enough thanks for the things in our lives. Or at least, that’s what my Grandma always used to tell me.

I’m grateful for the medical system we have here in Alberta and in Canada in general. I’m thankful for each and every person who had a hand in my child’s care and who continue to look after my remaining three children to ensure I have another day with my kids when I go to bed at night. Modern medicine gave me almost five years with my son and I cherish each of the days I had with him. And our health care system has saved Jumby’s health on more than one occasion. Our health care system may not be perfect but I can’t help but be grateful for how it has served my family.

I’m thankful for koolaid. And for having blonde children who were easily manipulated into sitting still while watching cartoons so their mother could colour their hair and freak out their father when he came home.

I’m thankful for each photograph I have of my son and for people who came into our lives and preserved the memories for me. I’m so thankful for people who read this blog and remember they knew my son and send me never before seen photographs of my boy. There are no words to describe the feeling of discovering a new unseen memory of your child when you can no longer make new ones. Thank you Melissa.

I’m thankful for the man who makes this all possible, first by graciously donating his sperm and then by busting his hump to support our family. Boo’s a good sport when it comes to my teasing him on this blog and I can only chalk that up to the fact I am a fabulous wife he’s got a great sense of humour.

I’m not so thankful for that hairstyle in that picture though.

I’m thankful for my dog. Yes. My dog. He kept me company for years after Bug died and he keeps me warm at night when Boo is away from home. Plus, he loves me best and tends to point his arse cheeks away from me when he farts so, what’s not to be thankful for?

I’m thankful for my all my nieces and nephews and the love they shower me with. I’m especially grateful for my nephew, the Worm, who storms into my house, steals my cookies, jumps on my couch and pelts me in the face with snowballs while his mother is at work. I’m even more thankful that he keeps coming back, even when I lick his eyeballs.

I’m thankful, ever so thankful Jumby found me. And that his genetics allow for me to grow out his hair to highlight his awesomeness and to annoy his father. I don’t know what we did to deserve this kid in our family, but I’m never giving him back.

And lastly, I’m grateful for Fric and Frac. I’m so thankful I have the two of you. I’m thankful for the people you are and I’m looking forward to meeting the people you will become.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not thankful for my kids, the ones still alive and the one who isn’t, and for the people who fill my life with love and laughter.

Also, I’m thankful for pie.

Homemade pie, not the store bought crap.

So enjoy your day of thanks America and thank YOU for being filled with so much awesome.

Here’s to everything we have to be thankful for, including little boys learning to talk.

I remember.

All the sacrifices.

All the lost souls.

All the sadness.

The tears.

The fears.

The sorrows.

Our freedom.

I remember.

Thank you.