You Again

You Again

The size 5 jeans fit…Look out!

When I was working (before having the kids) I could literally spend 40 minutes curling my hair if I had an important meeting to attend that day.  My make up was applied neatly, my fingernails manicured.

I was a hard working and dedicated Senior Manager and was rewarded financially for my efforts.  When you have extra cash and no responsibilities beyond yourself it’s easy to look good.

 Enter children.

Spit up on your shoulder does not really finish out the polished look most people are going for.  My daughter was fond of yanking my hair while my son preferred dislodging earrings from my lobes.  I think my jewelry box has at least seven sets of earrings missing their match, but I keep the singles in hopes of one day finding the other buried somewhere behind a sofa cushion.

My nails are cut to the quick now (short nails work better with Play Doh) and polish?  Oh please!

Eighteen months ago my hair looked like it was styled by a polygamist wife from an episode of Big Love so I took drastic measures, and, well… my hair is slowly growing out from the really short bob that seemed like a good idea at the time.

But today…today I feel good.  Today I look pretty.

By a freak of nature both children are napping upstairs, my husband is talking on the phone in another room, and standing in my closet I have discovered that my size 5 jeans fit.  They are dark blue and have brown and tan flowers embroidered above the top left pocket and on the front right leg starting below the knee and flaring out at the boot cut bottom.

For the past four years my wardrobe rotation included five black v-necks and a turquoise t-shirt that said, “Jersey Girls Don’t Pump Gas.”  Today I am wearing a brown tank top with spaghetti straps.

I straighten my hair and curl the ends under, letting them fall loosely on my collar bone.  Opening my make up bag I put on a little mascara and some lipstick, just because.  I find some pink nail polish and shake it for a minute or two.  It’s been awhile since I painted them.

Henri finishes his conversation and walks into our bathroom where I am standing in front of the mirror.  “Wow,” he says simply.

I smile shyly.  I look at his hazel eyes in the mirror.  I look at him looking at me.  He stands behind me now and he is smiling too.  His lips lightly brush against my shoulder and he whispers softly in my ear, barely audible, those words I’ve been longing to hear for almost half a decade…

You’re you again. (c) 2012 Lisa Traugott.  All rights reserved.  No portion of this blog, including any text, photographs, and artwork, may be reproduced or copied without written permission.

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