Manicures

The boys' fingernails had become a source of shame and embarrassment for me and Dan.  They are usually long and dirty and the cuticles ragged.  We do trim their nails, but they just get so dirty and they grow so fast.  A few nights ago while Dan was reading them a chapter in The Great Brain, I had an idea.  I brought a bowl full of warm soapy water, a nail brush, hand towels, cuticle butter, and my favorite lotion out to the living room and announced that I would be doing manicures while Dan read.  One at a time, I had the boys soak both hands in the warm water and then I went to work gently scrubbing and cleaning and moisturizing.  It was really fun!  The boys enjoyed it as well, until I started pushing back their cuticles and nipping the dead skin.  I nicked Adam once and Eli twice and they bled like crazy.  That sort of ruined the mood.  After that I promised no more cuticle nipping.  These nightly manicures are already making a huge difference in the way their hands look.  Now I feel happy when I look at their hands, knowing that I am helping to take care of them.  Adam loves the Burt's Bees lemon cuticle cream.  And I can't help but think of the Savior washing the feet of his disciples as I rub the lotion into their hands at the end.

P.S. If you are a Veggie Tales fan and know the song "Barbara Manatee", you might be amused to know that the boys are now calling me "Barbara Manicure."

Two prayers with one slice

A few nights ago my friend brought me a delicious 5 point dinner (we are doing Weight Watchers together)--grilled chicken in a pita with hummus and veggies.  I ate it and then sent Dan to buy pizza for everyone else for dinner.  I was doing yard work (pulling dandelions in a somewhat obsessive manner) so Dan and the children ate pizza together and I came in later.  After the children were all in bed, I started to feel hungry again and discovered that there was a box full of leftover pizza on the stove--a lot more than usual.  I helped myself to several slices of the deep dish pepperoni, figuring it was my portion that I hadn't eaten earlier in the evening.

The next morning when Adam came to our bed to snuggle, he started talking about how excited he was to eat his remaining three pieces of pizza that he was too full to finish the night before.  Doh.  I told him that I was pretty sure I had eaten those pieces and he went ballistic.  He was crying and screaming about how I always steal his food, and Dan told me later how he was picturing Adam in therapy the rest of his life working through this issue.  When I realized what I had done, and then saw how Adam was reacting, I started praying that by some miracle I had left one piece of the deep dish pepperoni in the box, although I was pretty sure I hadn't.  After a few minutes I told Adam that there were a few pieces of the regular cheese pizza left, so he went out to the kitchen, still wailing, to have one of those.  When he opened the pizza box, there to our astonishment, was one last piece of deep dish pepperoni.   Dan said, "See Adam, God does love you."  But I was pretty sure He had conjured that miraculous piece of pizza, perhaps fashioning it out of a leftover crust, because He loves me.