As today came to a close, my mind started replaying some of the craziness that took place under our roof today:
15 fall festival fish found belly up in several of my kitchen bowls that are on our back patio, serving as temporary housing for the poor, unlucky goldfish. I found myself scooping them out, throwing them into the bushes and consolidating the breathing fish while two suspicious children looked over my shoulder to make sure I didn't throw out any live ones.
3 rounds of the cooking competition "Chopped" were played out in my kitchen. I had three kids cooking pancakes, then egg-concoctions and finally the dessert round (which closely resembled the pancake round because all they had to work with was Bisquick. The result: frosted pancakes.).
And then there was the pigeon. Yes, the pigeon. My oldest son noticed a pigeon hanging around camp today and thought it was unusual. He thought the bird looked lost and disorientated and ended up catching it and bringing it inside the house. Turns out it was a banded racing homing pigeon that took a detour on his way to pigeon racing glory. I am not making this up. We looked up the number on our feathered friend's ankle band and found out that he belonged to a fancier named Oviedo who didn't speak English. So we were on our own with the pooping bird.
We won't mention the throw-up that landed next to a bed in the night due to too much spinning on rides at the fair yesterday.
Between the 75 dishes used in the season premiere of "Chopped", the mixing bowls designated as fish tanks and the bowls appointed for feeding the pigeon, I tackled more dishes than an elementary school cafeteria lady today. And we won't even talk about the vomit covered and bird-poop infused towels that I laundered today.
Meanwhile, my oldest daughter missed her flight to NYC and spent her afternoon waiting to get on a stand-by flight. Of course, I could do nothing but pray for her as I scrubbed my way out of my kitchen to start on baths.
This is for real. My For Real life. Never predictable, never sane, never dull. But always real. Really crazy, really messy, really exhausting and really worth it.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
"Which one do you like best Mama?" she asked about the young women in the workout video. I was on the floor doing leg lifts, trying to keep up with the 20-somethings on the screen.
"What do you mean? I don't know any of the girls in this video. I just do the exercises. I've never met them." I breathed out.
"I mean which one do you think is the prettiest?"
"It doesn't matter which one is the prettiest."
Ugh. I felt something in my stomach even though I was working out my legs.
"No. God says that what matters is on the inside. You know, how you treat other people, what you think about and how you love God. It doesn't matter to Him if you're the prettiest or dressed the nicest."
This idea seemed foreign to her.
After my answer, I realized that I was telling this to one of the prettiest little girls I've ever seen, bias aside. This little girl has had people stop in their tracks to compliment her eyes and tell us how stunning she is. Not a day goes by that we aren't commenting on her external beauty and I often find myself mesmerized by her smile and her eyes. Oh, her eyes.
She's a typical five-year-old girl in that she never ends the day in the same outfit that she donned in the morning. She twirls, she spins, she prances.
It took her mama nearly 40 years to finally break that stick over her knee and pick up a new unit of measurement. As a young girl, I studied Sport's Illustrated swimsuit edition and made subconscious mental notes of what made those models beautiful. I knew all the supermodels of the era and learned their features. I stood on stages in beauty pageants and was measured by my beauty and poise. I still step out of my bedroom when going out, waiting to hear a compliment on my appearance from my husband (fortunately for me, I married a man who dishes them out liberally.)
Something clicked in me in the last few years. I'm at an age where I can see beauty fading. I realize how temporary it is and how little return is made on an investment in it. I also realize that comparing is toxic. That doesn't mean I'm immune to its poison but I'm at least trying to take it in smaller doses. As women we compare looks: hair, eyes, skin, weight, nails, lashes, lips, hips and breasts. But we don't stop there... we compare men, houses, decor, clothes, purses, jewelry, success, holiness, relationships.... I'm getting exhausted just writing this list.
So now I intend to give my daughter something else. I want to give her a new ruler. I want to compliment her thoughtfulness, her cooperative nature, her initiative, her smarts, her creativity, and her gentleness. I will have to dig deep for some of these at her age and stage but I intend to find them and magnify them. Make miles out of these attributes and make inches out of her mesmerizing eyes and charming smile (not centimeters though because we will always want to be beautiful!).
And then, with the grace of God, when I look into those eyes, something deeper will have developed inside, something that will extend beyond the temporary and limited measurements of man and extend into something eternal.