Through the eyes of a child ...

I can be shallow sometimes. I admit it.

I can worry way too much about my appearance and stress out completely if I'm having an "off" day in the hair or wardrobe department (which these days happens more often than not ... I'm basically a walking ball of stress and worry ... all because of my deep, deep shallowness).

Truth? I miss the frivolity of my younger days.

I miss trips to the spa for manicures and pedicures. I used to love sitting back like some overindulged princess while someone worked away on my hands and feet until they were perfectly groomed.

I miss facials. That glorious feeling of lying on a table while someone extracted all the nasty imperfections on my face and then smothered me in wonderful smelling moisturizer until my skin was as soft as butter.

I miss massages. (I thought that marriage was supposed to guarantee you a massage at least once a week. Not the case ...)

I miss not feeling guilty about the cost of getting my hair done. I've already admitted my shallowness ... I cannot give up on my hair. I refuse. But I do cringe every time I have to pay after a few hours of coiffing at the salon.

My point is, I have too much responsibility to be able to spend time and money simply pampering myself. The family, the bills, the house, the car ... all have to take priority. I know that. I'm OK with that. I just miss the other stuff. And I feel that I have to maintain a level of appearance and upkeep without external help ... which is really difficult.

So the other night I'm lying down with Bruce Lee ... we're reading stories together and it's all wonderful and cuddly and utopic. He's looking at me with his big bluish eyes and smiling and he lifts his hand to my face and is stroking my cheek ... and then he stops ...

He looks deeper at my face with unbroken concentration and then looks into my eyes and lifts his tiny little finger to my forehead and points and says, "Ewwww, gross" and touches the mole on my forehead.

Then he smiles.

Like he's discovered something that I would certainly want to know of and remove because surely it was only there because it had gone on undiscovered until now ...

And says, "Mommy, ewwww gross, Mommy ... ewwww" as he nods his little head waiting for me to nod back in agreement.

Which I do ... because how can I not?

And I say, "yeah, that's just Mommy's mole."

Which for some reason makes him laugh.

Which makes me laugh.

And then he sighs and puts his little arm over me and closes his eyes.

I realize that he doesn't care if I have a gross mole on my forehead (that really should be removed at some point), or that my nails aren't done, or my face has broken out in a bunch of little bumps I have NO IDEA what to do about, or that my "comfy around the house clothes" have toothpaste and bacon grease on them .... he just loves me for me. Plain and simple.

And I know that Jackie Chan and Curtis do too. And pretty much most of the people in my life.

So why do I get so caught up in my appearance?

So as I lay there will my little cherub I vow to care less about how I look and stress less about the superficial stuff.

I leave his room proud and happy and excited about my new outlook on life.

And then I look at myself in mirror .... and make a mental note to pick up a whitening kit for my teeth.