Frumpy Little Housewife Blues

It's 9pm on Thurdsay night.

I have not looked, but I am almost certain there are a few wiry white hairs that have poked through on this head of mine within the last few weeks. This baby business is not for wimps. I am absolutely in total love with these children I have been given and, at times, simultaneously so exasperated that I feel my eyes starting to cross and the words "I AM ONLY ONE PERSON!!!" spewing forth from my mouth, as there are moments when they are all crying for various and sundry non-life-threatening reasons or when they are simply into EVERYTHING (that they shouldn't be. Like Quick Oats. Or Cinnamon Sugar. Or the can of Spray Starch that was accidentally left out).

I have repeatedly intended to get up before the children, get myself ready, spend a little time in quiet reflection/prayer/reading/etc and then cheerily welcome the children into my arms as they arise.

And yet....

After 29 trips down the hallway to my littlest pumpkin throughout the night this last week, it has not happened.

Yesterday I was stuffing my wash machine with colored laundry, and this mild stench assailed my nostrils. I wanted to look around and see if it had suddenly turned summer and an Amish man who had toiled all day in the fields had come through the back door into my laundry room.

But I only had to look as far as my own being.

There I stood, with a tarnished silver headband holding back my thinning hair (this happens about 4 months post baby), my old Crabtree & Evelyn robe barely keeping itself together (and I refuse to buy a zippered robe. ) and smelling like anything but my Sweet Pea & Violet Suave shower gel sitting upside down in my shower (hey, it's good to the last drop).

I had, in my mind, officially become the frumpy 'ole housewife I had always snobbily frowned upon. Before I married, I would have said that I would arise in the wee hours of the dawn while my husband slumbereth, put on my makeup, do my hair and brush my teeth...and splash a little light perfume behind my delicate ears for the pleasure of his nostrils.

"What man would want to wake up to a stringly haired, blotchy faced, bad breathed woman? I will not be one of those!" I would self-righteously think to myself.

Well...I am hoping the one I married does. :)

Oh, he is so wonderful. He tells me how beautiful he thinks I am. I have to wonder at times if he's legally blind. (He does have a cataract come to think of it). Yet I do not question. I am a Sanguine. We take compliments in any form or fashion. We do not question. They are our lifeline.

(To save a little face, I do try to at least look presentable by noon...and if not by then, certainly by the time he comes home. This may or may not have included a shower, but an attempt is usually made.)

*****
Thankfully, true beauty is not found on the surface of the skin, the sweat glands or the number of folicles found my head.

True beauty is only found when the heart is at rest with and knows that she is loved by her Maker and there is nothing she needs to 'do' to be loved any more than she already is.

Well..that's about as inspirational as I can get at this hour. It's getting late for this lady...gotta get the little bit of 'beauty sleep' I can. Every bit helps!

Good night, friend! Thanks for dropping by....