Did I shave my legs for this?

There is a song that makes me laugh and sing really loud when I hear it.  It's by country artist Deana Carter and the title is “Did I Shave My Legs for This?”  Some days, I start to kind of feel like the woman in the song.  Today isn't one of them, but in the very recent past there were a few thrown in there for good measure I suppose.  Maybe I need to feel that way so that I can take a step back and realize how very blessed I am and to not take for granted all that is part of my life.

The days where the laundry pile seems taller than my five foot seven self.  When the kitchen and bathroom and foyer all need to be cleaned.  When I smash my shin on the corner of the coffee table and my youngest daughter spits a straw full of milk in my face (really happened).  As I stood there blinking through milk splattered eyelashes trying to deal with my son who had squeezed the toothpaste too hard and then sneezed all over the tube for a lovely combination of blue and green smear – the thought went through my mind.  Did I really shave my legs for this?

Never in my wildest dream could I have imagined some of the things I have done.  Catching vomit and or poop, sometimes both at the same time.  Trying to console crying children, who have no idea what's going on, as I puked my guts out over the toilet.  Calling poison control because someone decided to try and eat raw pork that was marinating on the counter, or diaper cream, or plum pits?  And the nose wiping – so special.  I also never thought I would ever sound like my mom.  You know – the “what were you thinking?” “because I said so.” and “don't make me come over there!”   I also never thought that certain sentences would ever be uttered - “please don't put poppy pieces up your nose.” “no, marbles do not belong in your ears.” “why is there toothpaste in the tub?” and “how did you manage to get gravy back there?”

It's really great (insert a bit of sarcasm here) when I have to redo a load of laundry because I either forgot to add the detergent or I didn't change it over to the dryer and it soured, or I changed it over and forgot to start the dryer.  Or I step in something of a sticky quality and have absolutely no idea what it is and can't identify it.  Oh, and putting my hand into the crisper to pull out fruit or veggies and realizing that maybe they've been in there just a little too long.

Back to the leg shaving though.  As a woman, it's something I (we) do as personal maintenance.  For me, it's one of several simple pleasures.  Getting a new haircut.  Putting on makeup.  Painting my nails.  I don't do it out of vanity, at least, I don't think I do.  It feels good.   In my crazy days that make up my life, feeling good is a good thing.  It means though, that I have to actually take time to do it.  Time that could be spent cleaning my house, or colouring with my kids, or just sitting and talking about my day with the husband.  That aside, once I've taken that time for me and am feeling downright great, reality smacks me in the face in the form of milk out of a straw and it starts to feel like “what was the point?”  Why did I even bother?  Nail painting usually ends up with one or more smashed fingers just before I head out the door.  Makeup ends up a colossal mess by the end of the day and it ain't a pretty sight.  For a few moments though, it felt really good.

The way I am seeing it now though, looking great and feeling great don't necessarily need to go together.  I can feel great laughing hysterically with my kids and have milk running down my face.  Or getting a sticky, slimy kiss and an “I love you.”  There are days where I feel like garbage, either because I'm sick or just out of sorts, and I spend more time trying to present a put together appearance.  So I might look good on the outside, but inside, not so much.

If I were to ask myself, “did I shave my legs for this?”  I would have to say, with complete certainty, YES!  Yes, I did.  All of it.  The expected and the unexpected.  The sticky, icky bits, and the lovey huggy bits.  All of it.  And I wouldn't change it for anything.

And so, here it is, I am grateful for those few minutes alone, uninterrupted, when I can shave my legs.   I am really grateful for my family and all the craziness that we are and for all that we are blessed with.  Razor blades included.