Reflections

Once upon a time, in a land far far away...ok maybe just 8 hours from here, I used to want to be a beautiful princess adorned with a diamond-studded tiara, matching earings, necklace and bracelet, and wear fine silk gowns everywhere I went. It's true. I was a shallow teenager with only two things on my mind...beauty and boys. My two sole purposes for anything I ever did as a teenager were to make myself beautiful and make myself more attractive to the boys. (ugh)
What changed? When did I stop caring about whether or not I was the most beautiful girl in the room? Was it marriage that changed it? Parenthood? Or just plain maturity?
I no longer have this sneaking urge to go primp and preen myself in front of the mirror. I'm appalled at myself for ever having that urge!
Do you know what I want now? I want to be honest, humble, gentle, kind, and patient. None of those things have anything to do with beauty. Sure, I still care about my appearance. That's just part of being raised in the South. It's just not my biggest priorty these days.
Hmmm...maybe that's my new year's resolution. :)

This is why I haven't blogged in a while...

My friend posted this as a note on her Facebook page. I've never heard or read this poem before but it dawned on me when I read it...I may not be a great house-keeper, but it matters not as long as I'm a great mother. :)

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo).
The shopping is not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there is a hullabaloo.
But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo."
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958