Making peace with my freckles
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The other day, I was driving somewhere with all three kids in the car. I listened quietly from the front seat to their happy banter,relishing the back-and-forth between them.
That is, until I heard these words said by Hannah:
"I hate my freckles. I have so many of them and they make me look so ugly."
McKay responded with this:
"I hate mine, too. They make me look like such a little kid. I wish I didn't have any freckles."
Horrified, I realized they were repeating VERBATIM things that have come from my own mouth.
I glanced in the rear view mirror, frowning slightly at my face full of them, and took a deep breath. I jumped in and told them how much I love their freckles and my freckles, and how cute they look on all of us. I told them their freckles were angel kisses from heaven, and that it meant we were special.
That brilliant plan worked well until the one child WITHOUT freckles piped up and asked if that meant he wasn't special.
Crap.
Can't win here, can I?
Anyhoo, I have decided from here on out to publicly embrace my freckles, lest my children develop a complex and feel slightly unattractive all their lives thanks to me. I will stop complaining out loud about them. I will stop whining about them while flipping through People magazine. And I will try to stop comparing my skin to all the non-freckly skin out there.
We are what we are, and that's good, too. (Any one know which old musical that fabulous line comes from? It's a classic.)
It does not mean, however, that I will stop photoshopping them away every chance I get. Like this picture from last summer (when my hair was so gloriously long).
Before:
And after:
(Admit it, the after is so much better. Just don't admit it in front of my kids)
That is, until I heard these words said by Hannah:
"I hate my freckles. I have so many of them and they make me look so ugly."
McKay responded with this:
"I hate mine, too. They make me look like such a little kid. I wish I didn't have any freckles."
Horrified, I realized they were repeating VERBATIM things that have come from my own mouth.
I glanced in the rear view mirror, frowning slightly at my face full of them, and took a deep breath. I jumped in and told them how much I love their freckles and my freckles, and how cute they look on all of us. I told them their freckles were angel kisses from heaven, and that it meant we were special.
That brilliant plan worked well until the one child WITHOUT freckles piped up and asked if that meant he wasn't special.
Crap.
Can't win here, can I?
Anyhoo, I have decided from here on out to publicly embrace my freckles, lest my children develop a complex and feel slightly unattractive all their lives thanks to me. I will stop complaining out loud about them. I will stop whining about them while flipping through People magazine. And I will try to stop comparing my skin to all the non-freckly skin out there.
We are what we are, and that's good, too. (Any one know which old musical that fabulous line comes from? It's a classic.)
It does not mean, however, that I will stop photoshopping them away every chance I get. Like this picture from last summer (when my hair was so gloriously long).
Before:
