The real beauty of woman

When I was a child, I loved playing with paper dolls what sponge and play dress up in clothes of my mother. Table I sat for hours under the dining table playing with dolls, paper I cut my phone from catalogs grandmother kept in a box below.

Requirements to make the cut were accurate. They must be complete, which means nothing and no one could block a part of his body was to be her dresselegant and, above all, should be enough.

Mature at the age of six I had set my standards and defines beauty. I would spend hours, turning page after page view, the paper doll, to define the potential, if it meets the criteria I had. Looking back on this I ask myself these questions, as I have to decide who was good and who is not? What influenced this decision? Well, you could, I was looking through catalogs and magazines have been my mother's coffeeCoffee?

For years, print and broadcast media have defined beauty. There was a time in the not too distant past, where wealthy women like Marilyn Monroe, Mae West and Jayne Mansfield were the "hot" goods. They were the pin-up girls, women wanted to be like men and drooled over. They were a size 14 or above. By today's standards would be overweight women on the cover of the tabloids with some terrible label. So when is the standard of beauty changes from healthy and sinuousof unhealthy and even? When a woman has to be a body boy with breasts the "hot" goods? Who defines beauty as a society we are buying and why? It 's time to think this way and honor our bodies at any age and size.

Maiden's body begin to form and develop the creative juices, and you begin to paint from life with fluid on the blank canvas. juicy and ripe mother's full body, ready for the birth of life in all forms, andCrone, whose body with confidence, wisdom and grace of a life lived. In honor of the wisdom and the curves of the body is evidence of true beauty. Hugging each curve, stretch marks and wrinkles is a witness of a life bursting with life.

In the last days of life my grandmother, I sit next to her bed, holding her hand. He had beautiful hands. I looked at my hands and thought the number of tortillas made these hands, how many quiltsthose hands that are now warming her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I thought about how these hands worked on a farm and taking her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I looked at her face and touched her cheek and smiles to those who thought they were on that face, how many tears rolling down her cheeks. I watched my grandmother and I saw the beauty of life. The beauty of a woman who lives, fed many people touched many, many wept tears. At thisTimes the size of their clothes do not matter, it was the size of his heart that defines true beauty.

At the end is not the size of the clothes that count, its the size of your heart. Live by the beauty of the heart. Do not define a number on a tag you, let the number of people whose hearts you touch the count of true beauty.