Sunday, March 17, 2013


It hit me tonight seeing myself in the mirror as I vacuumed that our children mark us.  The reflection looking at back at me had most of the hair pinned up but one long strand hanging down in a messy braid over my left shoulder, a craft made by my daughter as we read our nightly chapter of Prince Caspian.

What was most remarkable though was the perfectly round, purple hicky on my forehead, earned last night by my daughter as she smacked and pulled on my face over and over (in the same spot) a suction cup she'd found. 

The round purple bruise has lasted a full 24 hours.  I covered it up this morning with concealer that wore off by the afternoon, so I got to explain to others at a St. Patrick's Day party what I was doing with a forehead hicky.  It was a huge hit.

Our kids mark us.  They age us.  They bedraggle and stain us with their energetic selves.  My favorite brother-in-law looked me square in the eye as I flipped pancakes this morning to tell me not to cover it or explain my bruise.  As he laughingly said, "It's life!"


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