Mount Vesuvius

Though Age 40 is flirting with my reality, breathing its hot, sultry air on my neck, I still have Mount Vesuvius erupting on my chin. I haven't paid attention to a Clearsil ad in decades. Luckily, I have been pretty blessed with good skin. No sun worhshipping in my teens, daily moisturizer with UV protection (dedicated fan of Oil of Olay!), and my mother's good genes all contribute to my pretty healthy, blemish-free skin. By the way, Mom, we're so on to you smoking, despite your youthful skin. Suddenly I have a zit. A humdinger one at that. I'm talking the zit that you see in the sidebar of Webster's when you look up zit in the dictionary. I make a perfect "before" picture for any dermatologist developing her own line of adult acne medication.

Last night as I was lamenting (some might say whining) about this aberration on my chin. My husband stroked my hand and assured me that it wasn't so bad. "Not even the worst I've ever seen on you," he said (or lied). I took comfort in that and thought maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Fast forward to 7:30 this morning. Bird wakes up with that adorable half awake/half asleep crumpled look as he scampers into our room. He climbs into bed, snuggles in and gets comfortable. I give him a kiss, and he stares at me aghast and starts cracking up. "What's THAT on your chin?!" he manages to get out amid laughter and horror. I told him it's called a zit. A mere boo-boo on my face. He's too young to understand that zits are one of many of life's little cruelties. Right up there with ear hair and fat thighs (grade A chicken thighs as I like to call them) despite hours of cardio and five million squats, not that I have firsthand knowledge of either. But I digress...

Five minutes later, Deal comes in and clambers into bed. He takes one look at me and is clearly startled. He pokes his chubby little finger right into Mount Vesuvius (OUCH) and asks "What's that red thing on your face, Mommy?" "A zit," I say, now getting weary of this game. I shot an accusing glance toward my husband, while he pretended to fiddle with the sheets and not notice me...or Mount Vesuvius on the verge of eruption.

Lesson learned: A loving husband boosts his wife's ego (let's face it, because no woman who feels unattractive wants to participate in hot action later on). Children tell it like it is.

Hip Afterall

While I was zipping up my tall red boots this morning, Bird remarked:

"You're groovy, Mommy."

Feeling Blue

A friend just gave me a bumper sticker that says 1.20.09. My 4-year old, who can recognize letters and numbers now, asked me the meaning of the sticker. Now I make up enough stuff, like what it's like in heaven and where all the suddenly misplaced toys from the bottom of the toy basket really went. I felt like this was a moment to really explain our values and tell the truth. So I said that the numbers mean the date that George Bush won't be our president anymore. I should have known from the cartoonish ticker-tape-in-the-brain look on Bird's face that he wasn't satisfied with the answer.

He went on to ask why that is so important that I have a sticker with the date on it. Now, I haven't been shy about bashing Bush and his cronies in front of my children. I at least do it with a happy lilt in my voice. Both boys know that Mommy and Daddy don't agree with Bush, and we generally leave it at that. Nevermind why the boys stomp on the Texas puzzle piece and handle it like it's been coated in elephant dung when they work on their US map puzzle. Nevermind that Bird sees Hummers on the road and says, "Mommy, that guy doesn't love the earth and he thinks he's so cool." Nevermind that both boys now point to any house over 2000 square feet and say it's obnoxious. I can't imagine where they learned all that crazy liberal chatter.

Anyway, Bird was really on the verge of pestering me for details about Bush so I had to come up with something. I started it after all. It went something like this:

"Mommy and Daddy don't agree with George Bush."

"Why not, Mommy?"

"Well, we care more about the earth and other people than George Bush does."

"What does he like if he doesn't like the earth and people?"

"He likes to make money. Plus, he made us go to war."

"What's a war, Mommy?"

Oh shit. Now Pandora's box is wide open and consuming me in total Lewis Carroll fashion.

"Well, a war is when soldiers fight each other for what they believe. The president makes the decision to start a war."

"Why did George Bush make the soldiers fight? Do they use guns? Can we visit a war? Have you ever seen a war? Why are we warring?"

"Nevermind about the war. Bush just doesn't make decisions to help the people in our country. That's why Mommy and Daddy are going to vote for a new president. Now how about watching some Cyberchase on TV now?"

Yes, I resorted to TV to end the conversation. I started something I couldn't finish. Clearly I'm not equipped to espouse the virtues of the blue view to a 4-year old. Am I creating political rebels...will my kids become Alex P. Keaton despite my liberal rants?

And lastly, when our nanny came over today, the very first thing my 2-year old said was "We don't like George Bush."

At least she said, "I don't either. That man's gotta go."