On Sunday mornings my husband is up at a really ungodly hour (5am counts as ungodly, don’t you think?) in order to get to church before anyone else. He enjoys the quiet and between you and me, he also may do it to avoid the chaos of what is to come at our house when everyone is awake. I get up slightly later with our kids to make it to the start of the 9:15 service. By the way, the current kid count in our house is 3. We currently house and feed #1 our son, 12, #2 our daughter, 8 and #3 our 3 month old foster-love.
What this really means is that the one day of the week I might actually care about what I look like, my only consultants who can give me advice and compliments are those in my house who, #1: still has to be told he “absolutely cannot leave the house wearing that striped shirt with those plaid shorts”, #2: who thinks the ultimate in fashion is if is tie-dyed, sparkle-y and was purchased at Justice with bonus points awarded if her initial is on it somewhere and #3: who will just spit up on or blow out his diaper on whatever I choose to wear on any given day regardless of the effort I make into putting myself together.
For the love of all that is right and true in this world, why then did I even bother to ask on our way to church this past Sunday how they thought mommy looked?
Well, I’ll tell you why I asked…because on the whole my kids love me and affirm me and still think I am pretty.
Was I fishing for a compliment on a day I didn’t feel like I looked very nice before I was about to stand up on stage in front of our large congregation?
Yep. I sure was. And after birthing these children and keeping them alive up until now, is it really too much to ask?
But, alas, my children are truth-tellers and so #1 told me that my hair was fuzzy and that if I was going for a real put together look, I hadn’t really succeeded. #2, bless her, said I looked “ok”. I believe that to be a direct quote. #3 was silent while most likely plotting how he would further ruin my outfit with his bodily fluids later.
How did I handle this level of honesty and blows to my ego, you ask?
In the only way I know how… I stood up and greeted my church in both morning services and told them all about my car ride that morning.
Pain is best shared.