I'm sitting here with a giant cup of rabbit poop ice, whilst sitting almost inside of my fireplace to keep from uncontrolled shiver and shake. It's called "trying to serve two masters" which we're told no man can do. But they've said nothing of women, and we all know how very...determined beautiful chicks can be. Are you saying I'm beautiful? Stop it. No, stop. I'm blushing. Gosh. (grin)
Anyway, speaking of determined, once again Jules is in the news. She declared recently that she's through with foofy. As in foofy dresses. And I won't lie...I'm a little bit ticked. But that's beside the point. This is about her, not me.
So I bought her a dress~sans foof. Almost killed me...in fact, I'm wheezing and trembling a little bit still~but she loved it and was tickled to wear it for church the next day. (See, I told you it was all about her.) However, the night before, she had showered and washed her hair and then lazied up on me. Couldn't bring herself to brush through her sopping tresses before going to bed, causing grief and pain the following morning when it was time to put her hair in curls. Think Medusa.
So I was forced to yank and wrench through her snarls, as only a mother can do, inducing weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth~mostly mine.
So she sits there silently sobbing, barely able to swallow past the choking lump in her throat and finally hoarsely whispers, "Are you mad at me for loving the dress?"
I stopped tugging for a moment to concentrate on rolling my eyes.
Can you say...melodramatic? Sha.
How about...overly emotional? Totally.
And here's another one...more perceptive than I give her credit for? Huh.
Maybe it is more about me than I realize.
I hate to admit it, but she may have seen my Freudian slip, as it peeked out from under my tweed gray dress.
I am a loud spirit trying to subdue itself in this body. Sometimes successful, other times, not so much. I am a happy, thriving, religious homemaker, wife and mother. And none of these things are contrary, no matter what the world tells you. :)