The Hard Way

There are times in our lives when we go about things the hard way.

There are those instances when we are simply not aware that there is an easier way...

...so we keep on doing what we're doing, such as holding the phone to our forehead when we're chatting with a beloved and missed Auntie in North Dakota. Because we do not realize her voice could be so much nearer and dearer if we held the telephonic instrument to our ear lobe, we settle for the muffled sounds wafting through our skulls and we are grateful for what we've got.

Or in donning our big brother's super cool helmet while he's away, 

...We assume that wearing such aforementioned headgear is only for the stalwart souls that are able to maneuver in complete darkness and limited oxygen intake. We are pleased to discover the inner fortitude that is not really required to wear it (unbeknownst to us).

As happenstance would often have it, some dear soul takes pity on us and pulls us aside to reveal, or we discover it ourselves, that there is a better way. Even then, we come to realize not everything done the right way makes it necessarily the easy way.

Yet we persevere...even if we look like a mongoose.

 

 There is yet an entirely different reason for going about things the hard way.

It falls easily, and rightfully, under the category known as "pride".

Take for instance, a thirty-something year old woman whose current career keeps her on the home front a large majority of waking and sleeping hours. She oft feels frumpy-dump, even though she has not 'given up' entirely. She still has an active makeup bag, shaves her legs and splashes on perfume before her husband gets home. But still. Her old Jones New York suits, the ones she still holds on to for some unknown reason, have dust an inch thick on their padded shoulders in their cavernous hiding place at the back of her closet. When she does go out, she like to feel her best, tap into the woman who had decent taste and dressed well even to drive to the gym.

When she goes to get ready for a dear friend's "twenty ninth" (you're welcome, Dionne) birthday party, she is faced with a dilemma. As she has treated her eyes like she does her hair, it has been a while she's called her eye doctors to renew her contact lens prescription (and order more). Because of this, she stands before her medicine cabinet, down to one "good" contact and one shriveled contact she found digging through old contact lens holders. After soaking it and rinsing and re-rinsing, she applies the aged contact and the 'good' one to her eyeballs and hopes for the best. She does own a pair of glasses, but they've been mildly disfigured by a twin son, and besides that, she never loved the 'economy priced' pair she purchased some time ago. She only wears them occasionally at home. When she feels 'frumpy'. 

"The best" turns out to be that she looks like she's one wrong word away from a total meltdown while talking to the other guests, constantly wiping the tears away that are freely falling from her "impaired" left eye (thus triggering the onslaught of an additional nasal passage waterfall). She finally excused herself, went to the bathroom and took out the offending contact lens from 2001 (that was only meant to be worn for two weeks then. She's cheap. She tends to stretch out the contact lens wear-ability time frame).

 Ridiculous, isn't it? Please, feel free to agree. 

 Here is a situation where a person whose only roadblock to doing things the 'easier' way, was her pride. And I'm not sure what she was thinking either..."Without the glasses, I look like Cindy Crawford...so I HAVE to wear contacts, if it kills me!!".

Uh.yea. As it turns out, she more resembled a red-eyed Lady Elaine Fairchild (The Land of Make Believe) that evening and really should consider investing in a stylist that will lead her out of that Land, contacts or no.

Gratefully for me and a few of my children, my one good eye and the grace of God got us home that stormy night.

It is wise to observe children and appreciate the lack of pretense, false impressions 

and innocent understanding. This little gal thought she looked like a million bucks. 

She did, however, point out to her little sister that these "gobles" did NOT look good on her, as they did not go with her 'yellow hair'.

 

Yes, darling, they look MUCH more becoming on you. You should wear them to prom in a few years.

One more.

This is a case where a mother who has been living in the land of small childhood for some time now, and should have the wherewithall to know that it is impossible to get a good pose out of pint-sized people...

...UNLESS she forsakes the hard way of merely using persuasive words to get them to cooperate, and speaks to them in "Marshmelloweese" instead.

We all have to learn the hard way, in one way or another. This process, even in it's most grueling moments (not addressed in this light and fluffy post), is best handled when one has a teachable heart...and the propensity to learn from the darkness and move into the light!

PS. The 400th Blog Post giveaway is only 5 posts away! I am rather tickled pink about the participants and the prizes they will offer.