Jungle Love

We're getting ready to head to sunny FL to visit big sister, her family, and their new baby boy. I've been preparing for this visit for a few weeks with a little bit of sewing and a whole lot of checklist-ing. These visits are monumental, and I don't want to miss a thing.

I don't see big sis many times throughout the year. In fact, I don't see little sis much either, and I try not to dwell on the travesty of it all. We should all live in the same town, where we could steal away after all the kids were asleep and have fun late-night adventures. You know, thrilling adventures like trips to Target where we could--dare I say it--peruse. We could go out for coffee and actually enjoy a cup without having to say, "Don't touch! Hot! Hot!" so many times that by the time we stop to drink it, it's nowhere near "Hot! Hot!" But back to the trip...

I've been going through our house getting together outgrown hand-me-downs, loaned baby gear, and a toy or two that my sister's kids have left on prior visits to our home. Yesterday I found my four-year-old nephew's monkey, tucked away in one of A.'s toy boxes. He's been camped out at our house since last summer, and I can't say that he's had too much fun. I had big plans to photograph him as he joined us on special family outings, trips to the grocery store, etc. I was going to mail my nephew postcards from our hometown, signed by the monkey. It would have been so exciting. Instead, he just hung around (pardon the pun) in A.'s room all year. For crying out loud, I didn't even include him in a Christmas photo. I was even going to fashion him some nice pajamas, but then I remembered that I don't make doll (or monkey) clothes. So, all in all, total project failure.

When I was pregnant with A., my sisters gave her a monkey just like my nephew's. When I picked his up the other day, hers was closeby and provided quite a contrast. My nephew's monkey looks like it has been attacked, repeatedly, by a rabid dog or a three-year-old boy (same difference). He's also missing his smile...now just a brown thread hanging from his chin. His head is misshapen from numerous washings, and there's a dark Band-Aid adhesive residue permanently imprinted on it. The monkey looks rough, really rough. Like "I'm going to attack you in an alley and give you the crazy mutated virus that caused me to look like this" rough. A.'s monkey, by contrast, looks like it's fresh off the shelf (see pic).

So at first I felt bad for that monkey, with all of his...how do I say....issues. But then I realized his wear and tear came out of love. Big love.

And then I remembered a girls' night with my ladies where we were looking at our wedding albums, and I remembered conversations about how our children have aged us. "I mean, look how fine I looked, and that was just 5 years ago! I look 15!" And the subject has come up in conversation many times since then. We talk about how the wrinkles have multiplied exponentially and how we look on most days like we're way beyond our years. But with pimples, all of a sudden. (?) Just much older, but none the wiser as to why it happened so quickly.

I thought to myself, "I bet it's a Mary Kay problem. I stopped using the Day Solution with SPF 15 and the Night Solution with Microbeadymiracles, and my skin gave up on me. It's rebelling against my drugstore facewash. But I'm still using the Mary Kay foundation, and that should count for something, right? I know I don't drink enough water, but I forget about water. Even though I feel like I spend all day in or around it, I don't drink it. And my eyebrows are out of control, so that makes my whole face look crazy..." And on and on.

But here's my new, monkey-inspired theory: I look like I do now, because since A.'s arrival I've been loved on in ways I never could have dreamed. My skin breaks out because she rubs her greasy Goldfish fingers all over my face as she points out my facial features and names every one. I have more wrinkles because I smile so much more, like when we sing our songs together ("Ooh, baby ba-by...") or do our dance routines. My hair is often matted together in places by the day's end, but I know it's because she's been rubbing her snotty nose with it while she gives me kisses.

There are plenty of days when, like that monkey, my smile is hanging by a thread, but I think I'm ok with that. And it's nothing a little needle, thread, and greasy Goldfish fingers can't fix.