I am very freckly and I have moles. The freckles are a result of many years of baking in the sun without sunscreen. The moles? Could quite possibly be blamed on the sun too, or maybe its just genetics. I don’t think much about these physical blemishes very often. That is, until my children so innocently point them out. Brooklyn feels the need to pray for the mole on my eyelid (it’s inhabited that spot since I was a young child) every night at bedtime. Jackson thinks my freckles are “boo boo’s” and points that out to me on a daily basis, “Mama…’boo boo’. Mama…’boo boo’.” He has even tried to pull the mole - that sits slightly above my upper lip - off with his little fingers. Try as I may to convince these dear little ones that these are not, in fact, “boo boos”, they continue to insist that Mommy has been wounded in polka dots, and requires much prayer.
I have cowlicks that run all the way across my hairline in the front. If I allow my hair to dry naturally, it would literally dry in three different directions. Thus, my need to both blow dry the fringe in front and utilize a curling iron. On the rare occasion that I have failed to do so, my firstborn is quick to notice, and matter-of-factly informs me, that something is wrong with my hair. Mornings before showering are the worst. The looks I have received from all three children while wearing a mop of bed head upon my crown are priceless. I’ve even been known to scare my own son with my direction-challenged hair.
Then there are the physical side effects of birthing three children. My skin sags…everywhere. I’m a pretty thin person, so it’s not the extra baby pooch that I’m experiencing, but mostly it’s my skin that hangs and droops. I keep telling myself, “When the kids are all in school I’ll start working out and toning up.” I figure I have a couple more years until Jackson, two, heads off to kindergarten. I guess the saggy skin will have to wait.
I could fill quite of few pages with a long and tedious list of all my physical blemishes (for example, my girls emphatically ask me to PLEASE put make-up on – it’s a good thing I have a pretty solid sense of self otherwise I might fall to pieces), but I won’t. It isn’t necessary, and after a while becomes depressing. I neither want to depress you or myself, so I’m thinking I should stop right here with the self-deprecation.
Kids say the darndest things – yes, they sure do. But when they say something sweet and profound, we pride them with innocent and sincere honesty. For instance when Sydney says to me, “Mommy, God is shining on me right now,” as she awakens to streams of sunlight pouring on her face. Or when Jackson cups my chin in his two-year-old hand before we head out the door and says to me, “Mama, pretty. Mama, pretty.” And then at bedtime as I’m saying goodnight to Brooklyn and she looks me straight in the eyes and says, “Mama, I just lub you.” My heart wells up with pride and affection. Yes, children are honest, very honest. While taking their criticism can be somewhat daunting - because more often than not they are absolutely dead on – I, too, can take their affirmations. If they are honest in one thing, then I can trust they are honest about other things too (minus the, “Who’s responsible for this mess?” and of course, no one ever is).
So, the next time I’m cuddling with my three mini-stooges and one of them makes the insightful observation that Mommy’s legs are prickly, I’m just going to keep smiling. If I can learn to laugh at myself, and my many blemishes, then my kids will learn that imperfection is fine and normal. And when one of my “babies” tells me that I am the most “beautifulest” mommy in the world, again, I’ll pull that sweet face close to mine and kiss both chubby cheeks! The “joy” of motherhood that many of us speak about is not just watching our children coo and smile, but the “joy” comes from experiencing life through their eyes. The good. The bad. The ugly. They will most certainly have something to say about it. And most of the time their words will bring the biggest, warmest smile to a mother’s face, only if we’re willing to accept the truth of both blemishes and beauty from the perspective of a child.