Days 4-7: Catching up

The past few days have been so busy that I've completely forgotten about my little blog.  At first, I tried really hard to think of something that I have four of so I could just count that as four things - one for each day that I've missed - and call myself caught up.  But alas, it seems that I mostly have either one, two, or ten of everything.

Day 4:  Day 4 was Thursday, and since that was the day I took part in one of my most beloved rituals - getting my hair cut and colored - Day 4 seems like a good day to be thankful for my hair.  It's frizzy, has waves in all the wrong places, and has thinned considerably with every baby I've brought into the world.  BUT ... with a little gel, a blow dryer, and some time with a round brush and flat iron, I can usually turn it into a head of hair that would make my hairdresser proud to claim me as a client.  I'm thankful for her, too, by the way.

Day 5:  Monkey toes.  Yep, I have monkey toes.  Don't know what monkey toes are?  Well, according to my parents, who lovingly gave mine that label early in my childhood, if you have a giant gap between your big toe and second toe, you have monkey toes.   Yes, you could drive a mack truck between my monkey toes and yes I have a hard time getting my flip flops to stay on, but I've seen some seriously funky looking prehensile toes out there that make my monkey feet look like super model feet.  I'll keep my primate digits, thank you very much.

               

Day 6:  Teeth.  Six or seven years ago, you would NEVER have heard me say anything positive about my teeth.  My top front teeth were crowded and crooked and, for lack of a kinder term, SERIOUSLY jacked up.  No, I have no pictures.  I didn't allow it.  I was SO very self conscious about showing them to the world.  Every time I talked to someone, or got up and spoke in front of a group, I just knew they were focusing on my dental problems.  If they weren't, *I* was.  

Enter Dr. Angel.  No, that wasn't just a nickname I gave him because he saved me.  Dr. Angel is the actual name of the actual orthodontist who fixed my teeth, sans surgery, when every other dentist had told me it couldn't be done.  It was an uncomfortable, annoying, sometimes painful, and always expensive 22 months, but the day those braces came off and I walked over to the ortho office mirror to see my teeth for the first time, I cried.  I still find myself admiring them in my mirror from time to time because I can't believe they're so pretty and they're MINE!  I love my snappers.

Day 7:  This weekend is what we Mormons call conference weekend.  It happens twice per year.  All 14 million+ of us get to skip church and listen to our leaders speak to us via TV or the internet.  As I'm reminded of where I came from, why I'm here, and where I'm eventually going (hopefully), I am very grateful for the knowledge that my body is a vessel - a temple - that houses my eternal spirit.  I'm grateful that a loving Father in heaven created my body for a purpose, to give my spirit a place to dwell while on this earth and to have all of the amazing human experiences that only a physical body, imperfect as mine is, could give me.  Now, it's time to get ready for more conference weekend ...

Day 3: Scars are only scary in Disney movies

Sometimes we need subtle reminders of the times we've fallen, scraped our knees, put a gash in our foreheads, or even been cut open by a surgeon for the sake of saving our lives.

Scars are good like that.

I have a few.

See what I did there?

Of course there are the stretch marks and the big fat c-section scar that remind me that my body was strong and healthy enough to bring children into the world.

There's the big quarter-sized scar on the inside of my thigh from that time I had a showdown with an angry dog ... and lost.  That nasty little beast took a big juicy chunk right out of my leg.  Not my favorite way to lose fat.

There is the lovely scar that starts behind my hair line and runs down the middle of my forehead, along with the various large and small scars along my left arm and shoulder from the time in my 20's when my little Hyundai was struck by a guy running a stop sign.   Rumor has it I got to ride on a helicopter, but I don't remember any of that.

I have a few freckles and moles from too many sunburns.

I have a toenail that will never NOT be ugly because of some weird tumor that tried to grow underneath it back in the 8th grade.

I could go on forever, baby, but let's just say that I'm oddly appreciative of and intrigued by my scars.

Some of mine remind me that I did something stupid and never want to repeat it if I don't have to (read:  taking on a ferocious watch dog).  Some remind me that I got pretty banged up through no fault of my own, but came out alive on the other side.  Some remind me that sometimes the body just gets sick and needs the healing abilities of someone smarter and better equipped to fix the problem than myself.

Physical scars are proof that the body has an incredible capacity to heal its wounds and get on with life.

Emotional scars are like that, too.  We get beat up, do dumb things, or just get sick sometimes, but whatever doesn't kill us makes us tougher and hopefully wiser.



photo credit:  http://fanpop.com

Day Two: Functional Fingernails

I've always really liked my fingernails.

I can remember receiving lots of compliments on them as far back as elementary school, probably because they were always long and painted.  I liked to keep them filed and polished, even in my pre-teen days.   I managed to keep that up all the way into my late twenties when, as many women can probably attest, my days of manicures and sparkles and high gloss came to a screeching halt with the birth of my first child.  It turns out that stuff like poo and pee and dish water and bath water and other various fluids that come with out of kids aren't so conducive to having pretty nails.

Nowadays I like my fingernails for different reasons.  Now that I don't worry so much about how perfectly polished they look, I'm finding they're quite functional and practical.  They're great for removing steak from between my teeth or chiseling some unknown, hardened substance off of my kitchen counter, tightening those dang pot handle screws that always come loose, or for getting keys onto key rings.   Ugly and snagged for sure.  But totally functional.  

Stop judging me on that steak thing.  It works when nothing else does.

photo credit:  photo credit: http://www.lovethispic.com/image/37343/mickey-mouse-manicure-art