Now hiring BABES...all others need not apply

I saw this restaurant sign the other day while driving down the interstate. "Now hiring Babes, all others need not apply." Needless to say my jaw fell to the floor. The sign had irritated me. I knew that due to the fact that I was clutching the steering wheel a bit tighter and my nostrils started to flair. I was about to become unhinged - ready to fly over there on my broom and unleash the monkeys. That's when I heard laughter from the backseat. It was my son, smiling, waving, and giggling at my upturned eyes in the rear view mirror. For the moment, I am reminded by the small child in the back seat that my worth is more than skin deep.

I wonder, "what is a babe anyway"?

To me, a babe is defined by society. A babe changes her shape, looks, hair, clothes, etc. to fit what is currently beautiful to the eye. Much like a mirage to a thirsty man - she shimmers, shines, and appears to be the remedy for his present affliction. But isn't a mirage just empty trickery that leaves the observer with nothing but a mouthful of dry sand. A babe is the capstone of unrealistic beauty. Imperfections have to be nipped, tucked, pulled, sucked, lifted, sprayed, dyed, covered, and erased - they simply aren't allowed. Uniqueness isn't always prized in a babe, uniqueness just might have too many flaws. You could say that society says to women and men that if "one of these things is not like the other, then it doesn't belong".

I believe that each one of us has been gifted a God given beauty that is all our own. We aren't perfect, but we are uniquely beautiful. I look at my own face in the mirror and I know that there is no one on Earth that looks exactly like me. No one. I  have come to realize, and God teaches me daily, that I am beautifully flawed. Sounds strange right? My flaws make me who I am and they make me lovely. Just like a piece of pottery is unique from all of its sister pieces - so am I. Imperfect beauty. The type of beauty that endures and never makes an excuse for those little differences. It's the type of beauty that begins in the soul and radiates outward.

I want my son to understand this and dwell in it. I want him to break the mould and love a woman because of what makes her unique; not love because she is the carbon copy of societal whims. I want him to adore the imperfections because he isn't perfect either. I want him to know that the perfect woman doesn't exist, but a beautifully imperfect woman does. A real woman, a godly woman, a unique woman.

In order for my son to learn the value of imperfect beauty I have to set the example. I have to decide everyday to accept myself just as I am. I have to teach him how to love himself, by first loving the person God made me to be. Because, if I wait until I am "babely" perfect to accept and love myself, then I still won't be happy. What a babe is now, isn't what a babe will be 5, 10, 20 years down the road; but there will never be another like me. There will never be another boy like my son. We are unique. God knew what he was doing when he crafted us and He doesn't make mistakes.

 I am imperfectly perfect and that's what makes me beautiful.

Man Kryptonite

In life there are many ironies, but some men and their skiddishness about baby poop is one of my favorites. Men from an early age seek out and find humor in the grossest of things. Whether is be smelly gas, a loud burp, stinky feet, or any other strange odorous bodily function - you name it and its funny. If you have brothers or are married, you know that the male species derives tremendous pride in their ability to clear out a room with a single solitary fart. Yet, some of these very same men who were previously "fart dusting" the room, are left paralyzed by a small child's poopy diaper. Infant poop is man kryptonite. The sight and smell of it causes gags, groans, shivers, and the oddest of expressions from these conisseurs of nastiness.

This discovery amuses me to no end.

Women, on the other hand, have for years run away from the smelly and vile. We have often been the recipients of countless dutch ovens, smelly car rides, and anything else that might curl up our noses. Not that these pranks have been ill natured, mind you, often the "ewww gross" is met with a giggling apology. Ironically, you throw a small cooing infant in the mix and amny women become the Mike Rowe of diapers. I blame child birth, it messes with our sense. Suddenly, we pop a kid out and there is no job to gross to clean up. Diarrehea all over the crib, no problem. Poop slips out of the diaper into their shoe, hand me the wipes.

True irony.

I have laughed to tears watching men change a poopy diaper on AFV, haven't you? I have rolled my eyes and giggled numerous times watching my husband's face as he changes our son.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen...

I know I have to go easy on my hubs though, as we all should; they simply can't help it. Infant poop brings these Supermen to their knees. Although, this knowledge is powerful, because I know at anytime I can clear a room with one small solitary diaper. Paybacks a stinker....

Customer with Child Parking...

I have come to truly appreciate the genius that came up with the "customer with child parking". Not only did this person make the spaces slightly larger, they also located them close to the doors of the store. A true genius. In my opinion these spots are sacred - a gift from the grocery store gods to frazzeled parents everywhere. These places have been named and claimed my friend...for people with young children. I'm sorry but if all your children are above the age of 9, much like the height requirement for a roller coaster, you are not allowed. Also, if the kiddies are NOT with you, you aren't grandfathered in...sorry.

The audacity of people never ceases to amaze me, everyday I am floored by the sheer ignorance, stupidity, or rudeness of my fellow man. Several days ago I had the opportunity to park in my sacred spot at the local grocer. Ah, the sheer elation of being a skip away from the entrance, and knowing that I would have enough space to pull my cart next to my car, without dinging another vehicle, and put my son in his carseat. Such joy! Upon leaving the grocery store, my jubilance deflated, when I saw that someone had parked so close to my car that there was barely enough room for me to squeeze by. Grumbling I put my car keys in my mouth, lifted my son out of the basket, propped my foot on the cart, wrangled my sliding car door open, and managed to get my son unscathed into his carseat. The same could not be said for my pants, which were currently waxing the car parked next to me.

Suddenly I hear a loud, somewhat harsh, "EXCUSE ME!" I craned my head out to see what was wrong. There was a woman, who was attempting to squeeze past my conga line of items to her car door. To my amazement she makes it, rudely popping my in the rear with her car door as she opens it. I am stunned. My head slowly turns to the front of the parking space - that's when I notice it. The large sign in front of her car "Customer with Child parking". I peer into her window and notice there is not a child with her. Not a solitary one. She roars out of her spot, shaking her head at me. Rubbing my behind, I quietly envision myself dinging her car with my son's retractable sippy cup. BWAP, BWAP...it only soothed my feelings a bit.
This isn't the first time that I have witnessed people using these parking spots who are sans child. I have seen young and old trampling over the nice gesture of this spot to parents, with their self centeredness. Unfortunately, unlike the handicap spot, they cannot be issued a ticket for their crime. So, I think I will begin issuing my own tickets. I believe that a bright pink sticky note that reminds them of their rude crime should do the trick. Maybe 20 or so littering the windsheild would make them rethink parking in the customer with child parking.
 So remember to think the next time you park - and if you choose to be rude you may find yourself the recipient of a mommy ticket...that is if I am feeling more passive than aggressive that day. Happy parking.