The Order of Beauty: Aunt Glou-Glou's Soliloquy

"I love you cold unfeeling robot arm!"

I am an admitted viewer of Dr. Phil. I just love to watch him lambast the hides off all these rotten parents. Not to say, if I went on there for some parenting advice, he would not dress me down severely for some of my practices (like, letting my children watch "Chicago," purely for the artform, and reading to them the works of Edward Gorey, and allowing them to watch such garbage as "The Fairly Oddparents.")

I digress.

This mother--and as I explained to me beloved Pollyanna loopies should be "not only bitch-slapped, she needed BOTH those kids taken away from her and for those kids to learn: You don't treat people like that!!!!!!!!"

Here's the link to the show: http://www.drphil.com/shows/show/568/

This makes me angry beyond belief. How can a parent treat her own flesh and blood like that. So what if Victoria (the snubbed daughter) isn't as attractive as Hunner (the cute one.) WTF kind of name is 'Hunner' anyway. V cannot help if she has a skin condition, looks to me like vitiligo, as my best friend has the same thing. V is probably overweight because she fills the void with love that obviously doesn't come from her mother. This woman is a poster child for mandatory sterilisation. BLEEEEECH!

Now, from another mother's perspective.

I am the mother of two attractive children.

My son, Dylan, age 10, has his father's blond-and-freckled boyness about him and flawless skin that turns golden in the sun. He is sinewy, though has the potential to add bulk when he hits his teens. Intelligent, though would forsake school any day--typical boy. Budding artist, loves to draw his own brand of hero, though he tries to root for the bad guy. Has a knack for the guitar, loves ballads. His aqua-blue eyes are framed by lashes too long for any boy, and is he ever a girl-charmer. Hair, in summer, turns silvery-white as if it deliberately bottles sunlight. His smile makes me feel so good inside, like nothing bad can ever happen again. Sometimes, on my worst days, all he has to do is smile at me and I feel better instantly. If he could bottle that smile, there would be no more sadness in the world. He is quiet, reflecive to the point where he just tunes out the world, whether out of habit or self-preservation I know not. He does have small seizure activity and I am constantly ragging on him to Focus! Pay attention! Forgetful, yes, but when he does his chores he does so with a plodding consistency that insures an almost obsessive neatness. There have been times when I fear he had almost been killed because he chose that particular moment to turn off, something that scares me and many other adults alike, always thinking of his father.

Tara, my beautiful daughter. Twelve years old but looks older because she is very tall. Honey-blonde curls that only I know how to tame, as a mother would. A naturally slender, thin even, frame any number of girls would kill for, including me. Legs that go on for miles. A face like a fresh peach, snub nose. Her eyes--are the most incredible eyes I've seen on a human face. Blue, heck yes, my eyes and her dad's were blue, but in Tara her blue is the startling blue-and white of a star sapphire. The white radiates from the center exactly as such. When she looks at you, it's startling and slightly unnerving because she has caught your gaze like a shutter in a camera and you know she will not forget who you are. Tara's been enrolled in modeling academy and next month will go on to a big competition in DC, her first one. Despite her physical beauty, she retains a gawkiness, geeky if you please, mien that defines her age and station. Incredibly bright and has a hunger for learning, far more intelligent than I could ever be. Loves being the 'different' one, and the funny thing is she doesn't have to 'make up' an odd persona, she is one, but in a way that she can pull off without becoming the butt of jokes. Tara and I can't see eye-to-eye much of the time. She's belligerent, stubborn, arrogant and deliberately mean to her brother, defies me, and knows she can get away with murder around her grandmother. A total slob; surprised she doesn't attract roaches.

The point to all this is not to brag or disparage, though I see more in my children worthy of praise--the point is I love both my smeets equally and differently. I love them equally because they are mine; I love them differently because they are unique.

I was not a pretty child. I was very plain, picked on a lot. I developed acne at the age of 8. I tend towards fat, and my face is very ruddy, with a chin that may rival Leno's. I have blue eyes but they have an unmistakable tilt to them that exceeds attractibility. The fact that I could produce such pretty children is a miracle to me, and I feel--I guess--forgiven.