I heard the closet door open. Then the sloshing sound. Considering that the closet serves primarily as a home to our linens, I knew the sloshing could come from the only liquid taking up residence there. The jewelery cleaner.
I heard the clinking of my jewelery into the liquid followed by my youngest yelling (his version of asking permission),
“MOM, I’m cleaning some of your stuff!”
Given that My Stuff consists primarily of junk jewels, I smiled and hoped that he didn’t grab (and was now drowning) anything of sentimental value. Ya’know how some of those junk jewels are right? They melt and flake and downright disintegrate upon contact with liquid or soap.
He came out glowing partly from the blinding light reflection off of my now clean, overly large (we’re talking massive carat weight), CZ earrings that he held in his dirty little hands. After convincing me to put them on he gasped,
“Oh Mom, you look sooo BEAutiful…just beautiful!!!”
I love this age when beauty is so easy to achieve. To them, right now, everything is just beautiful. My stretched out ear lobes (not reaching the African tribal stretch yet) thanks to the huge CZs currently hanging on them are beautiful. My morning bed-head is beautiful. My eye bags are beautiful. My face is beautiful. My PJ’s are beautiful. My voice is beautiful. My aged skin is beautiful. To my 6yr old, I am beautiful.
This Beautiful Mamma, of three has been a good sport like all Beautiful Mammas before her. I’ve worn awful proudly because one of my darlings thought it was divine.
I’ve had my neck turn green, my fingers nearly fall off and I have sustained raging cellulitis of the ear lobes thanks to cheap costume jewelery purchased by my beloveds at their school Santa’s Workshop.
I’ve worn hand strung dyed noodles and buttons around my neck. Tacky pins on my chest. Tye-dyed T-shirts that looked like baby diaper blow-out. Bows in my hair, charms on my shoes.
And there was the time that one (only time) when I went out in public after being “made-up” by my, at the time, young 2 1/2-year-old daughter. I looked like a cross between The Mad Hatter and The Joker. I was sleep deprived (and sucked dry dehydrated from my pro breast-feeding infant) and clearly functioning at the rote level. And we needed milk (not the kind that my highly effective mammary glands were springing forth). Incase you didn’t know, milk is what drives all house wives, in various states of decay, from the shelter of their homes. It wasn’t until I saw a reflection of myself in the frozen section aisle that I understood why elderly ladies were flocking to me. One even informed me she liked my
bright red lipstick.
So, you see, for this Beautiful Mamma wearing a pair of gaudy bling in my ears was NAA-THING. I pranced around the house as he ooh’ed and aww’ed and then I went to the grocery store with my now 14yr old daughter, the same daughter who morphed my face into some hideous many years ago.
I was talking to myself (to the products actually) as I usually do. My mouth and I moved up and down the isles to our well-practiced beat. The grocery store is therapeutic. I find that I have some of my best conversations with the store items. And when I get odd looks from the other store patrons, I either pretend that I have a blue tooth attached to my ear (if I am feeling people opinion conscious) or ramp up the conversation with my spinach (if I’m going for leave me alone crazy). Works every time.
My daughter looked at me as I was talking to my produce. I know THAT look. The long, long stare…the pause…then the verbal spewage. I expected her to comment on my mental stability or ask why I felt the need to inquire of the carrots quantity amounts. Instead she said,
“Those earrings make you look ghetto. Never wear them again.”
I cleared my throat and itched my now burning, flaming red lobes as I informed her (and my carrots – not the carats flashing on my ears) that one day she will also be sporting cheap, fake bling in the name of love. She silently understood. I got the eye roll.
I may not have the sexy babushka towel wrap on my head or the non-itchy, real pearl earrings but for now, to a 6yr old, I am the most beautiful creature on the planet.
I am the Mom…his Mom with the (fake) diamond earrings and that’s just beautiful.