Skip to main content

I'm a Dirty Little Girl



I'll save Elton the trouble of telling the world and just do it myself. I'm filthy. I'm can almost see my parents hanging their heads in shame. After years of Saturday morning chores that my friends considered child abuse, I'm here to admit that I have grimy fingerprints on my bathroom mirror that I haven't - and won't - wipe away.

As I'm sure you've guessed, the fingerprints are Pumpkin's. All her loyal fans know what a diva she is and how much she adores her own reflection in the mirror, so at least once daily we spend some time in front of it (and, yes, I'm aware that I'm surely encouraging some deep-seated narcissistic tendencies). As you can see from the photo, Pumpkin just adores her mirror time. My mirror, as a result, ends up filthy.

As I type this there are two perfectly greasy little handprints right at my eye level on the mirror where I do my makeup every morning. I've thought about grabbing the Windex that is approximately two steps away from this mirror and with one fell swoop erasing those little hands from my mirror, but I just can't bring myself to do it.

Part of my resistance to cleaning the mirror is that everytime I look at those little tiny hands, I can envision her standing there squealing with glee and looking back at me for approval. I can hear that laugh in the depths of my heart and it makes me smile no matter where she is or how rushed I am to get ready and out the door.

And speaking of that little laugh, every day my heart is just full listening to her hysterical laughter over the simplest of things. She will spend the better part of an hour on the floor playing with a bowl and spoon from her play kitchen, cracking up the entire time. The bowl doubles as a mixing surface and a drum periodically throughout that time, but it never loses its wonder. It makes me curious as to when in our lives we lose that joy. I hope she never does (although if she is twenty-five on the floor laughing with a plastic bowl I'll probably have to call in help).

The more I think about those little handprints on my mirror, I realize they are about more than just the fleeting memory of her little giggle. They are about something much deeper. Those little handprints on my mirror reflect back to me the fact that I cannot just see myself anymore. First and obviously, I mean that literally, since when I put on my mascara now I have to twist my neck at a weird angle and refocus my eyesight to avoid seeing those perfect little paws.

But moreso than just having to be creative with my makeup application, I love those little hands in a much more existential way. The world reflected in my mirror is not about me anymore. Everything I see is clouded by Pumpkin. I see the universe through her - anew and glimmering with hope, love, and that undescribably simple joy. I never want to forget the utter bliss that Pumpkin experiences with something as simple as a mirror, but I also appreciate the physical reminder of the spiritual bond that was created when Pumpkin came into this world. She gave me a chance to live again through her life.

So my cleaning lady will likely judge me harshly when she arrives to wipe away Pum's fingerprints. I've considered leaving her a note telling her to leave them, but she's been known to right some pretty judge-y notes herself (just ask her about my vaccuum cleaner) and I'm sure she'd love to help Sir Elton grab me by the ears and rub me down.

So rather than let her in on my now-not-so-secret love of those dirty little prints, I'll let her wipe them away. I'll probably even enjoy the first few moments of cleanliness. But you can bet your bottom dollar I'll have those yogurt and dirt covered paws back on that mirror in no time flat.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Her profession's her religion; Her sin is her lifelessness

Mother's Day 2019 was perfectly boring. It was an overcast, eat too much after church, take a nap, and go to the library kind of afternoon and I could not have asked for anything more. Mother's Day always brings with it bittersweet memories of the two little loves that allow me to celebrate this occasion. As kids do, they are getting big. I did not get one Mother's Day gift that had a hand print on it. It was a tinge sad. Like Mother's Day, the nearing end of school also makes me wax nostalgic. How could they be so old? Am I doing all the things to make them healthy, successful and most of all happy? I have been reading and thinking a lot about Grace lately. In the context of mothering, I need a lot of it; yet, until lately I'm not sure I had a real understanding of it (or as much of an understanding as one can have of something like Grace). Anyone who really knows me knows that I am a doer, a pleaser, an achiever, and a ball of anxious worry hidden behind...
Post a Comment
Read more

Hello! The Phone is Ringing So I Say Hello!

I’m not sure what I expected, really. I guess I thought that when Pumpkin officially crossed the one year threshold into toddler-hood that things miraculously got easier. I had a little parenting-confidence and puffed my chest out just a little as I slowly toddled with her, grasping onto my index finger, to the doctor’s office for her one year appointment (see video for an idea of how slow slow is). I sat proudly in the “well baby” room (a place we haven’t spent much time) remembering the days I sat in that same room crying, looking frantically around for a spare diaper and praying they wouldn’t call her name before I could unhook her from her carseat (which took a long time back then) and changed her diaper. One year later here I was. We had come so far. I was proud of us and I looked at those new mothers with a little knowing pity. In all my one year of wisdom, I sat there glowing with the realization that the hard times were behind us. I didn’t have a “baby” anymore, I had a toddle...
3 comments
Read more

Her Name's the Teacher

Well, the ABs survived their trip to Florida and except for a violent stomach bug that spread to half the family and a killer diaper rash, they are no worse for the wear. I like to think Hubby has a newfound appreciation for me (or at least the second pair of hands I provide) after maneuvering luggage and stroller through the airport solo and changing a stinky diaper in the tiny airplane lavatory. Although they were only gone for a total of 48 hours, I swear Pumpkin grew and changed into even more of a little toddler-person than she already was. As I was watching her last night (my nightly entertainment) I started to think about all the amazing things she is learning. It’s little things like answering the telephone when it rings, or helping to put the dogs back in their kennels. Things we do every day – often begrudgingly – and never think twice about (unless the second thought is to begrudge, of course). So we all know (and God knows I’ve written about it), that Pumpkin is learni...
Post a Comment
Read more