Life as a Tattooed Soccer Mom

Much to my mother's dismay I have not grown out of tattoos I have grown into them. At 23 I got
my first tattoo. My second came at 30, number 3 at 35 and then all hell broke loose. Thirty five
was a cathartic time my life and my skin reflects this catharsis. Having found a talented artist
whom I love to work with I have begun to cover my body. In the 16 years I have been getting
tattooed my tastes have matured. Flash has been replaced by thoughtful custom pieces.
Standing appointments with my tattoo artist are pre-booked six months in advance.

My story may seem like so many other men and women. Those of you reading this may say "so
what"! Tattoos have become main stream. It seems that every 16 year old is getting one (with parental permission) of course! At least one night of any given week a reality show highlights a tattoo shop. I will admit to watching these shows, I like some and dislike others. What I don't like about these show is that they don't reflect my reality. I don't think they reflect the reality of any tattooed person I know.

So What happens after you walk out of the shop with your new bright tattoo? I am proud of my work and love to show it off to the world. I am a women who has her feet, lower legs, wrists, arm, chest, and back tattooed. I have beautiful portrait style work that was carefully thought out. So what's the problem? I am an upper middle class, stay at home mom, living in an affluent town. Women play tennis and lunch they don't get tattoos! To use a very cliche saying "if I had a nickel for every stare I got I would be a very rich women". Oh by the way I forgot
to mention that my husband is also heavily tattooed and a "white collar" professional so I am
guessing we are always the talk of the home owner's association.

For me, everyday is a new adventure. Who can I make gasp today? Yesterday it was a teenage boy and girl stocking groceries at a local store. Some days it is not quite so fun. Last week it was a man and his wife at "Costco". I could not break their malicious stare. It was unnerving and upsetting. To them, I seemed nothing more than a freak!

Where is the fun spirit we see on TV? I don't see this kind on behavior on cable TV shows. I guess these bits landed on the cutting room floor. Don't get me wrong I have many, many fun stories to share. The elderly woman who called me her angel and wanted a tattoo, my church congregation who does not judge, children who look at me with wonder in their eyes. My reflection in the mirror, because the only person I have to please is me.

Choosing to be tattooed is not a decision to be made lightly. My family does not approve and is often critical. I often encounter strange people coming up and touching me without asking or worse their unwelcome, hurtful words. I would not change what I have done, but remember tattoos are not something that can be taken off at the end of a rough day. My life's philosophy is don't judge me by the colors of my skin. My skin has a story to tell and if one takes the time to ask he or she might learn something. The other day my daughter told me that she thought it was cool that her Dad and I were tattooed. I think she's a very smart kid! Watch this space for more adventures of the tattooed mom.