The other day as I excitedly opened my brand new $4 mascara, I wondered to myself what those supermodel women think when they see women like me. I wonder if they think that I don't care or that I don't try. But I do try, I really do, but it is inevitable that I'm going to have spit up stains on my shoulders and crumbs stuck to my pants. On Sundays when I put the most effort toward my appearance, it lasts maybe five minutes. By the time we get to church, my hair is flying in different directions, my make-up has been perspired off, and my clothes are disheveled. It is the price I pay for wrestling three little alligators into dress clothes, getting them strapped into a van, and then getting them into the church on time (or as close to on time as we can get).
And I do try to exercise and take care of myself. But I still don't understand why all the scrubbing and vacuuming, kid lifting and kid hauling, kid chasing and silly dancing don't counterbalance the chocolate I eat through out the day to get me through the day. You just can't achieve the level of mothering that I do on celery alone, believe you me.
However, I am grateful that my boys don't care what I look like. Someday they will, and I can use that to my advantage. Yes, I will be the mother that will sit in the back of my son's classroom with my hair in curlers and wearing my best sweat suit if I catch wind of any of my boys misbehaving in class. I'm also very grateful that my husband still finds me attractive. I think he's crazy or maybe losing his sight, but I appreciate it nonetheless. He's a good man, and he has the ability to help me feel beautiful even after a long night with a teething baby. Love him so much!
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