My Beard

MADELEINE: (gazing at me) You kind of have a beard.
ME: A beard?  (sweeping a lock of hair away from my chin) Why, because my hair was against my chin?
MADELEINE: No.  (brushing her finger above her lip) Right HERE.
ME: You mean a mustache?
MADELEINE: Yeah.  You have a mustache.
ME: I do??
MADELEINE: Why?  Do you want a mustache?
ME: No.  Why would I want a mustache?
MADELEINE: Are you sad that I said you have a mustache?
ME: Well, kind of.
MADELEINE: Why?
ME: Well, think of how you say it hurts your feelings when Julia or I say your loud burps are gross.
MADELEINE: Oh, yeah. You're right. And Mommy?  I remember I also hurt your feelings when I told you that you smell like a sweaty bra.


Oh, yeah.  There was that kind remark, too.  My children are always so great about doling out the comments that make me feel GREAT about myself.  Just wait until Madeleine realizes that the Greek blood that gives me my kind-of mustache is also the culprit behind her hairy back.  Until then, I'll carry my head high despite my mustache, sweaty bra smell, my butt that jiggles all around, my pimples, and all the other imperfections that my children have lovingly pointed out to me!