Warning: the content of this post may not be appropriate for young children and is definitely not comprehendable by grown men.
So, Friday is my birthday. Am I excited? No, not particularly. Am I depressed? Nope, not entirely. I feel actually...um...apathetic. But I am taking the time to notice some particulars that occur in a woman's late thirties that a mother really should have prepared a girl for. These particulars mostly have to do with the growing amount of "stuff" and "products" required for a girl to look good. I remember in my early twenties, I didn't even own a makeup case. Why? Because on a very special occasion I might put on a little mascara. You hardly need a case for that. Clear, creamy, non-wrinkled skin required very little maintenance and the occasional "glow" of pregnancy (which I experienced all too often) was enough to make an attentive husband comment on how young and beautiful he thought I was. Ahhh, those were the days. Now, it seems, really all of the sudden, my makeup case has become obese. Full of foundations and eye creams, any product that claims to reduce wrinkles, cover age spots and brighten those dark eye circles, believe me I own it. Makeup has become my standby, there is never a day without it. In fact, on the rare occasion that I am running late for work, and dare step into the operating room wearing only my own complection, I am immediately met with, "Are you okay? You don't look like you feel good."
How about hair? Remember those early twenties again with me girls...dark, natural locks, curled and styled with ease, certainly no need for color, foil, dryers and touch ups. Now, I have them scheduled on my calender like clock work, without them...lots of gray, and a mom who says, "can we talk about your hair?"
Next, lets talk about the "boobage"...you girls know exactly what I'm talking about. Gone are the days when nothing more was needed than a simple brasierre. Now, many years later, and five breastfed children, the girls are in need of a huge amount of help. Recently, I ventured out to my local "we can lift them and make them look good again" bra shop. I walked in and said to the sales clerk (she was about 18), "could you measure me? I seem to be having some, you know (wink) girl trouble." She was glad to help and hopefully the experience did not traumatize her so much that she will decide childbirth is not for her...but anyway, I digress...So, she measures me and then recommends I try the latest, very greatest, miraculous push-up bra. She brings it to me and the site of it was truly amazing. I think it actually has breasts in it before you even put yours in it! So, I try it on and am instantly sold. Like singing from the mountain top with my hands extended, spinning, sold. So of course I buy 2, drop a small car payment at the register and head home.
The next day, I get up and head of to work, with my girls at full attention. I must admit, it was somewhat anti-climactic, no turning heads, no wind machine blowing my hair as I walked down the hall with people staring and saying, "wow, who's that girl?" Nope, just pretty much the same old, same old, with the exception that by noon I had a whopping headache from having my girls jacked up so high. At lunchtime I had to take 2 excedrin and put on my sports bra...
We took a trip for Thanksgiving, and I got to spend the day shopping with one of my closest friends. When she got in the car, we laughed and visited, drank coffee and headed to the mall. "I want to get some jeans for my birthday", I told her. She was glad to go along. I went into my favorite store and started trying on some jeans. Each time I would emerge from the dressing room I would ask her for her honest opinion. "Those are too tight", she said. "Really?" I argued. "Definitely" she said, "they give you fold over booty". Ewwww....nobody wants fold over booty. But really, this thirty something booty is already folded over. It's not the jeans. A few more pairs and she chimes, "Those are it, they make your booty look gooood." "Really?" I asked, "are you sure?" "Yea" she said, "and where the heck did you get those boobs?" I then informed her about my new bra. "You need to buy a lot more of those", she added.
See? I told you it was miraculous...
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Today we said goodbye to my Uncle David...it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. My Uncle David is my dad's oldest brother. The firstborn of seven, he is also the first of the seven to leave us. He was 65 years old.
Norman David Sinclair was born to Helen and Harry Sinclair, December 4, 1944. A couple years later, Richard was born, then my dad, Glenn. Helen and Harry had very little money and soon they had lots of kids. Like many families during that time, they lived in a very small house and the older kids played a big part in raising the younger ones. When David was 14, he took a job as a delivery boy and used the money he made to help with the families expenses. When he joined the Navy at 17, he boarded a ship and sailed all over the world, serving his country and sending money home to his family. He married my Aunt Binky, and they had two sons. Brian and Larry were the joy of David's life. They lived in a small home but it was always bursting with people.
When I was a little girl, we often got together with my dad's siblings. At any given gathering we would have 10-15 of us grandkids running around together, lots of times these gatherings were at Uncle David's house. His laughter made you feel welcomed and comfortable. He always took time to talk to me, hug me and let me know he knew I would do great things. He really knew how to make you feel special. He just loved people. He also loved Jesus.
About six years ago, Uncle David started forgetting things. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, and he progressed rapidly into an unbearable state of illness in which he didn't seem to remember anyone, even his wife. The sadness of losing the one you love to this disease is like no other, and watching the strength of David's wife and sons is more than just inspiring. I have watched those boys gently and consistently care for their mom, and I watched Aunt Binky care for her failing husband with dignity and unconditional love.
Today, as we layed him to rest, I was once again amazed by the love of our God. I watched through tearful eyes as six remaining siblings gathered to say goodbye to a brother. Laying aside differences to join in celebrating David's life. They remembered his generosity, his love of family and his love for his Savior. As the back of the car carrying David's body was opened at the graveside, I was moved to tears. David's brothers joined on either side of his sons to carry his body to it's resting place. As a bagpiper played, I thanked God for David's life and that through his death, these siblings were reunited and some very old wounds can begin to heal. David would have loved that...