Yesterday, I stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror expecting the usual groggy-eyed, heavy-metal-haired, mascara monster. Imagine my surprise when I saw Nora's toothbrush sticking out of my hair. "What is this doing in here?" I say in a gravelly, caffeine-starved voice. I try to pull it out and realize that it is anchored in there by a piece of gum. I'm not even kidding right now. This is a true story.
So, I had Nora's Snoopy toothbrush and a piece of Wrigley's spearmint in my hair, and we have preschool in less then 45 minutes. (Sidenote: Many of you might be thinking, "45 minutes? That's plenty of time to shower, eat breakfast, check email, update your resume." But in terms of Mom-time, 45 minutes is actually about 20 minutes, and that's if you located your little one's shoes the night before.)
So, back to the gum. Like you, I was wondering how in the world this could have happened. And I'm still not entirely sure how it happened. Somehow a late night "brush your teeth, drink this water, let me just put my gum here on your water cup before bed and your toothbrush, too, did you go potty, okay, did you pick out your stories" turned into me somehow managing to get my hair into the gum on her water cup that was also attached to her toothbrush while I was sleeping. I have no idea how the physics of this actually played out, but they did.
The funny thing is, I woke up that morning ready to be disappointed in myself. I mean, I was prepared to look in the mirror and have all my worst fears reinforced--the slow rise of my head until I make eye-contact with this person I call "me" and we decide how to approach the space of the day looking like one of the members of Guns 'n Roses. Instead, I found the impossible--it was even worse than I thought--like Slash after a run in with a dental hygienist. At first I was kind of angry, like when the guys in Biology threw their gum in my hair from the row behind me, and I had to chop it off (my hair, not the row). For me, gum in your hair is a sign of being made fun of, and I wasn't prepared to deal with that feeling at 7:45 AM at age 37 after I'd already worked through all that crap in journals I'd written when I was 20. But there it was. I am laughable.
I am laughable. I am completely ridiculous. And suddenly, I'm laughing. I mean, I'm really laughing. Not AT myself, but WITH myself. You know what I mean?
I love it when a moment goes from terribly serious crisis to the lighthearted, hilarious story. When that shift happens, suddenly it's easier to deal with and possibilities open up that weren't there before...especially stories that sound too funny to be true.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you ended up laughing because if not, I'd feel really bad for the smile on my face after reading this. :) Love it. I think sometimes God just needs to make us laugh at ourselves. What's that saying... we can either laugh or cry. :)
ReplyDeleteLove ya! Have a beautiful Good Friday.
Was that yesterday? Because your hair looked lovely by the time you got to chapel! :)
ReplyDeleteI, too, am glad that laughter was the end result. I don't know how I would have reacted in that situation, but I hope it would be with your cheerfulness. :)