Several months ago, something weird happened. Very weird. I started to care about myself.
It wasn’t a sudden, overwhelming recognition that Meredith, outside of sippy cup provider and snotty nose wiper, existed, but it was more a dull thud of a reminder that some part of her was still hanging around somewhere. The thud grew louder and then all the messages my mother spent a lifetime imparting to me started to thunder.
You see, my mother loved beautiful things. She delighted in taking time to make her world pretty–both through loving on others and enjoying tangible loveliness. So stuff like jewelry and make-up mattered to her. Not because she was shallow, but because she appreciated the beauty God creates on this earth. I spent a lot of time thinking my mom was crazy. but when it comes down to it, I’m her daughter.
I’m also 34, really tired, and too often feel like I don’t exist in this selfless cloud of being a mom to two young kiddos. Throw all of this together with lots of heavy missing my mom, and it was time–time for me to dig out my make-up. Time for me to start washing my face. Time to stop living in fear of skinny jeans (not sure my ginormous thighs are on board with this one yet). Time to consider stashing my diaper bag and digging a regular purse out from under my bed.
I subscribed to People Stylewatch. I cashed in my LivingSocial credit to score a sweet at-home gel nail kit and fell in love with it. I learned what a hydrating mask is really supposed to do and couldn’t be prouder of the gorgeous Stella and Dot necklace I snagged from my online yardsale group. I gasped in horror over the discovery of my ladystache and schooled myself quickly in the intricacies of home waxing kits.
My sister is terrified. I tell her to table her fears and give it another five years–then we’ll be drooling over the Urban Decay website together. In the meantime I paint her nails, run her through the rigors of my new 10 minute skin-care routine, and ignore her eye rolls. Whatever, she’s still in her 20s and ergo, clueless.
My husband is a saint. He knows not to ask; when I ask him to help me convert a office drawer cabinet to an accessories case, he silently reaches for the drill (possible Pinterest-worthy post on this later if I am feeling brave enough to share). Past experiences have proven that whenever something possibly related to my mom is questioned, things can get a little tearfully messy, so it’s best to just roll with it. Poor man.
Don’t get me wrong; I have worn basically nothing except my sweats in this delightful February Winter Wonderland and can count on one hand the number of times I’ve broken out the make-up since the Snowpocalypse has started. I will always be the harried, unbrushed hair momma trying to hide from you at the grocery store, I promise.
But…but it’s nice to have options. To know that Meredith does exist and if I get my crap together, I could maybe even say hello to her once in a while?
The entire time I was working on this post, this song kept playing through my head. Because we know the breathtaking power of God to transform us into beautiful things extends far beyond the magic of nail polish. xo, friends.
And stay tuned; on Friday, I’m sharing a very cool blessing that has come my way in the form of the lovely Rebecca from Frugalista Blog. Frugie not only captures me with her beauty, but with her kind, patient and generous spirit in mentoring me through this new world of self-discovery. I can’t wait to tell you more about this beautiful gal and all of her beautiful things. Check back on Friday!
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