Scarlett Pannebaker

Even though it can be annoying to read three installments of our vacation experience, I didn't want to subject you to viewing 45 pictures in one little post. And thus, I split our trip up for you, my dear readers.

Let me start with this: San Diego is usually quite temperate, with the highs in the mid-70s and lows at 60 for this time of year. It never gets to my ideal point of "sweating as soon as you step out of the door" hot, but none the less, it's supposed to be warm in California, right? This basic assumption is one of the reasons we chose San Diego in the first place.

Well, apparently we brought the crappy weather with us on our trip. San Diego didn't know what hit them, because this was the coolest and cloudiest Memorial Day weekend they endured in years. Each day it never rose past 65 and most days hovered around 60 degrees. Not to mention the clouds, the rain, and the wind. People were seriously wearing ski hats, gloves, scarves, and heavy coats because it was 'freezing' according to the locals. When we informed them that we were haggard northerners from Wisconsin, they looked at us with pity and said, "Oh, well I guess this isn't so bad for you guys then." Actually, no----60 degrees isn't 'cold' by our standards, but it was certainly not expected. A girl can only pack so many fleeces and long sleeved shirts before she goes crazy on a 'warm weather trip.'

So lets begin with the visual evidence, shall we?

Here is the classic "OMG we are so excited to go on vacation, here we are on the plane" shot:
And then we landed, waited in line for what seemed like hours while Hertz found us a car [where I nearly fainted due to low blood sugar. No seriously, I had to break out the trail mix to fend off a scene involving me and the floor]. Off to the beach we went!
Ah yes, so beautiful. San Diego is hilly and boasts tons of rocky cliffs which bodes well for a tourist with a camera. When we first saw all the winding roads leading up to the top of giant cliffs we thought, "It must really suck to drive your car up there when it's snowing and icing during the winter." And then it hit us: these fools NEVER drive in the snow or ice. Their little hilly roads are easily maneuverable at all times of the year. Bastards!
Sometimes I like to pretend I'm a photographer and pink flowers give me the urge every time. I don't know what type of plant this is, but I'm obsessed. St. Lucia had these too, so it must like warm climates. I want one!

And speaking of yearnings....we found a few 'starter homes' in La Jolla. Can't you just picture us here? We could until we found out that the median price for a home in La Jolla is 1.8 million. GULP. The median, folks. And that is why we'll never leave the midwest.
But we can still visit and snap pictures of our cute selves like nobody's business. The bag I'm holding shows that I loosened my purse strings and went shopping at a store called "Pink Zone". If ever there were a more perfect name....
We were told that sea lions like to lay out on the La Jolla beaches and it didn't take us long to find the little buggers. Rough lives, huh?
Quotes! On a walkway near the beach! I'm in heaven, I tell you!
That night we ventured out to Prospect street in downtown La Jolla and ate sushi. Yummy, yummy sushi. The ice cream fanatic in my husband could not resist the nearby gelataria and I could not resist taking more pictures:
I think this should be my profile pic on Facebook, don't you?


The next day we explored further north in a little area called Del Mar.We ate brunch at an adorable little cafe [you realize that a vacation is all about food, right? And we ate well, my friends]. Then we were off to hike the Torrey Pines state park.
Hiking up a mountain next to the ocean doesn't suck. We are total badasses:)
I like this picture because my hair is attacking Nate with spiky daggers. Pay attention to the ocean and not my daggers, people.
Yep, pretty much paradise.
The next picture tells a great story: Torrey Pines also hosts a high-class golf course that is going to host the US Open in few weeks. The course was shut down to prep for the prestigious tournament but my husband would not stop talking about it. "What if Tiger is there right now, practicing for the Open? Or maybe Phil is just hanging out waiting to meet me." You have to let a boy dream, right? When we came around the corner of our hike we saw this site:
It was like a ray of sunshine broke from the clouds to shine down on the golf course. Nate is pointing to the greens while salivating at the mere thought of being so close to greatness. Can you see the neon grass? That is the source of my husband's excitement. I was a nice wife and agreed to visit the pro shop, which was open to the public. Few things in life make Nate as happy as shopping and golf and thus, the pro shop visit was probably his biggest highlight:)

I would like to point out that the skies were quite cloudy on this day. I managed to get a wee bit roasted during our hike but nothing shocking. I should have taken this as an omen for what was to come because who gets burnt in 60 degree weather with overcast skies? Apparently we do. Stay tuned for more San Diego fun:)

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I was so careful.

I thought we had inoculated our children well enough.

I thought that modeling a certain way of thinking could somehow defeat an entire culture hell-bent on destroying my girls' body image.

I was wrong.


This week my heart broke into a thousand million pieces in a matter of seconds, right around bedtime. I climbed up the stairs in order to ascertain whether or not my children were doing what I had asked them to do. Expecting to find all three of them brushing their teeth, I only found two. Heading out in search of my oldest daughter, I found her in her room running in place (something she has been doing fairly often of late).

"What are you doing? You are supposed to be in the bathroom brushing your teeth with your brother and sister."

"I am exercising"

"Exercising? It is 8:30 at night, you are supposed to be settling down and getting ready for bed."

"I have to exercise because I'm fat"

At this point the air was sucked out of my lungs and I felt like I was falling backwards into the abyss of time and space. A dreaded sense of horror filled me to my very core and I could feel the hot pricks of tears behind my eyes.

I took a deep breath and attempted to steady my voice.

"I am sorry, what?"

"Mom, I realized I am too wide. I am much wider than most of my friends. That means I am fat, so I need to exercise so I can be skinny. Look at how round my face is, my friends have skinnier faces."

At this point in the story I feel it is important to point out that as an adopted child who is undeniably and irrevocably built like a square, I am extremely sensitive to this topic. My adopted parents are both tall and slender (read: built like bean-poles) and I spent most of my childhood wondering why it was that I looked like I could eat both of my parents and have room to spare no matter how much weight I lost. It wasn't until I was older that I realized, I am just built "wider," a genetic fact that all the dieting in the world wasn't going to change. It didn't help my self-esteem being immersed in the dance world either. I was always a good enough performer but constantly missing out on opportunities because my "look wasn't quite what they were looking for." Many times I heard at auditions that I was a "great dancer," but my build would "distract from the overall look of the line." Translation: we have all these skinny girls and while you rock as a dancer, you should focus on a solo career where you won't stand out as much.

As a result of my experiences I have spent the last 9 years talking about how much I love my body (true or not), how food is something that fuels your body and should be treated accordingly. In other words, food should be analyzed by how it makes your feel, not how skinny or fat it makes you. I have never controlled food nor have I made kids clean their plates. I have read, studied and emulated every study I could get my hands on promoting positive body image. I thought with enough research, enough dedication, I could protect my girls, or at least insulate them from the cultural obsession with appearances.

I have banned all glossy magazines with unrealistically skinny (read: airbrushed to the point of total fantasy) models and any doll where there proportions are such that they couldn't stand on their own two feet if they were actual real girls. I have never said one negative thing about myself outside of, "I shouldn't have eaten that, it didn't make me feel very good." And, I even forced myself to smile as genuinely as possible and tell my daughter, "thank you" and "Yep, that's how God made me" when she told me that she loved me so much because I was "fatter than Santa," and my "big tummy" made me so snugly and soft (seriously kid? Santa?). Earlier this year she asked me why I was so much "rounder" than most of my friends, and I will admit to dying a little inside, but instead of yelling at her for being disrespectful, I smiled and said, "Well, honey. God just makes all his people different, but we are all beautiful if we act beautiful."

So, WHAT HAPPENED!?!

How foolish I was to think I could fight the flood of images and messages thrown at our young girls with just one voice. How stupid I was to think that since she was built like me (unlike me and my adoptive Mom) that she would feel more connected and at home in her own body because I modeled that for her.

How could she feel this way? She is stocky and athletic with wide shoulders and a round face. She is not fat, or even overweight, just built like me, a natural born square. How can I tell her how beautiful she is? Why would she believe me anyway? I am just her mother. I am just someone who "has" to love her, not the rest of society who is giving her a completely different message.



I went downstairs and cried. I cried not just for my own daughter, but all the daughters of America. I tried so hard to keep her from it, and here she is at 9 years old asking me if we can go to the gym more so that she can lose weight. What the hell!?!

After I pulled it together and talked with my husband I had a flash of insight. I walked upstairs and told her why I reacted so strongly to her feelings of being "wider" than most of the kids in her class. I told her that it hurt me because I think she is gorgeous just the way God made her. I told her that advertisers make millions of dollars every year by trying to convince her and everyone else that they are not pretty enough. I told her that if every girl saw herself for the beauty she truly is, entire industries would go out of business.

I then tucked both girls into their bunk beds and asked my oldest, "Do you have straight hair?"

"Yes"

"And do you (addressing my middle child) have curly hair?"

"Yes"

"And freckles too, right?"

"Yes. I have freckles."

(back to my oldest) "And do you have freckles?"

"No."

"Do you think your sister is pretty with her curly hair and freckles?"

"Yes. Of course."

(turning back to my middle) "And do you think your big sister is pretty with her straight hair and no freckles"

"Yes, I think she is so beautiful."

"So you both think the other one is pretty, but you look nothing alike. You know mommy's friend Miss Julie? She is very, very tall. I think she is pretty. I think I am pretty too, but I am very, very short. So, you can see. We don't all have to look alike to be beautiful. We can look very different. It doesn't help to compare ourselves to other people, just be happy with you. I love you both so much, and I just want you to see what I see when I look at you."

And then I kissed them both goodnight and closed the door, all the while saying a little prayer that some of what I said sunk in. I prayed that somewhere in our country-wide obsession with looks, that my girls can find it within themselves to accept themselves just as they are.

In the meantime, we as a culture need to start being more aware of what messages we are sending. I now know I can't fight this on my own. I need help. We are seeing more and more things in the media like the Dove Self-Esteem project but it still feels like a tiny drop in a raging ocean.