Humor

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That’s it. I’ve had enough of writing about pain and suffering and loss. I’m moving on. At least for today. Today I have decided to write about a great dichotomy. Dichotomy? Yes, I know it’s an amazing word. Just sort of rolls off the tongue. I love using it but don’t often get the chance. But today? Well, today I get to use it.

‘Dichotomy’ is a ‘division into two mutually exclusive, opposed, or contradictory groups‘. Today I want to describe the dichotomy between my inner child and the outer grownup. Or to be more specific, the little girl and the middle aged woman.

And I’ll start with my nails. That’s right. My fingernails. Every since I was old enough to have fingernails, I’ve lamented the fact that they are weak. They’ll grow to a certain length and invariably split and break. I’ve tried almost every product Sally Hansen makes in her ‘Hard as Nails’ product line. These products promise to make your nails tough as cement. Virtually indestructible. Chip-resistant and split-resistant with a hard, smooth surface. I’ve spent a fortune on those little bottles. I’ve even bought various types of nail files and made sure I was careful to file in just the right direction (swipe, lift, swipe, lift) Heaven forbid you go back and forth against the surface. You’re doomed to having that one split for sure.

I’ve tried drinking Knox gelatin, faithfully mixing it into water or juice and gulping it down before it hardened into gel. There was many a time I barely got it down. That stuff thickens pretty darn quick. Ironically, my maiden name is Knox and it was quite a disappointment to discover that my nails were just as weak ‘post’ gelatin as ‘pre’. Neither Sally nor Knox worked for me.

So, I’ve gone all my adult life with the nails of a little girl. Short and stubby. I got brave once and picked up a package of those do it yourself glue on’s. (I was an adult at the time) I thought they looked absolutely lovely. They looked so professional! I wondered why I hadn’t thought of them before. Then I took a nap. When I woke up I glanced down at my lovely nails and was horror struck. Every one of them was sideways! Good grief! I couldn’t get them off fast enough. I decided I was destined to go to my grave with short nails. Now, I understand this is a ridiculous dilemma. But one thing I decided to do when I started writing was to be transparent. So there you have it.

Anyway, I was feeling pretty depressed about all the circumstances I’ve been blogging about in the past few months and decided I was going to take the bull by the horns and do something to make me feel better about myself. So off I went to one of those nail places where you’d better be very good at sign language or who knows what you’ll end up with. I wasn’t sure what to ask for so I brought my oldest daughter, Aspen, who’s fearless. I was nervous but figured it was time to join the ranks of my sisters out there who confidently strut through life sporting rock hard, oval-tipped nails painted every color of the rainbow. When the gentleman was finished (and by the way, we had a delightful one-sided conversation. He talked and I smiled), I had the most glorious white-tipped nails I’d ever had in my life! I walked through the mall with my hands in front of my face admiring how attractive my hands looked now and wondering why it took me so long to do this! Aspen steered me to my car.

And so began a month of nail obsessing. I loved looking at them at work and hearing the tapping sound they made on my keyboard. I loved using the fax machine and using the tip of my nail to make selections. I eyed them from every angle. Yesterday I had them redone. Afterwards, I called Aspen with some questions about the whole process. She’d had enough. I’d been talking about them for a month. She held back as long as she could as I asked one question after another and then my plain talking daughter, who can shoot straight from the hip, declared in exasperation…

"I’ll be really glad when you get used to this whole ‘nail’ thing, Mom. They’re really stressing you out. ‘Are these too short? Don’t you think the tips are showing too much white? How long should I wait before I fill them in? These are starting to pull from the nail bed, but like, not from the outer edge, it’s in the middle… what is this spot on the tip of my nail? Can they re-fill this nail or will they have to replace the whole nail? How much will that cost? Should I get them square? Square-round? Round? I don’t want them to look old-lady-ish. Don’t they look too square? Oh I’m so glad I got my nails done… but they hurt. The top of my nail hurts. Is that normal???????’"

Sheesh….

Now on to the hot flashes. I started getting them a few months ago. I’ve heard about them all my life. Mostly women joked about them but some looked seriously uncomfortable as their faces turned lobster color and they furiously waved anything they could grab at their hot cheeks. Mine came on gradually and when I figured out what was going on I tried to handle them surreptitiously (another great word…means ‘sneaky’). Heaven’s knows I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was having hot flashes! Why, that means you’re dangerously close to being old! So I’d suffer silently. Prideful, yes, I know. Until the other night. I was riding home after an outing with Aspen, her husband Ryan, and my two grandchildren. I was sitting up front with Ryan at the wheel. We were all chatting away and enjoying the night breeze coming in the windows when all of a sudden one of those flashes hit and I was engulfed in heat. Before I knew what I was saying, I gasped, “Is anyone else hot? I think I’m having a hot flash!” Without a word, Ryan reached over and twisted the knob that controlled the air conditioning all the way on. With a whoosh, a full blast of cold air hit me square in the face. Not a question or a hesitation. Just immediate response. Aspen piped up from the back seat, “Oh, I’m going have it good when I get to be your age Mom!” I began to laugh hysterically. I laughed till my stomach hurt. Ryan was clueless. I don’t think he understood that most men just don’t normally respond that way to women with their, shall we say, age-related idiosyncrasies?

So what is the dichotomy between fake nails and hot flashes? Simply this. There’s a little girl inside this middle-aged woman who wants to be pretty and play dress up. And when she’s tapping away on the keyboard or admiring the perfectly matched oval tips gleaming back at her, she’s delighting in that sense of playing princess. Then there’s the reality that her body is aging and hot flashes is one of nature’s more sadistic reminders that things are a ’changin inside with the promise of further unpleasant changes to come.

I think we all live with that dichotomy. We are young adventurers inside with a whole future ahead of us to do and to be something grand. And yet we find we are wrapped in a body that is unable to stop the onslaught of time. Our Heavenly Father knows this. Just as we delight in our children’s innocence and enthusiasm over simple things, I believe Abba delights in us. Jesus put such an emphasis on the qualities in children (trust, innocence, humility, and pleasure in simple things), that He made it clear we must become like them in order to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Well, I may not be able to continue to buy these lovely fake nails and eventually the hot flashes will fade away (thank goodness!), but I sure want to preserve the childlike qualities in me that thrill the heart of my Abba so much. Regardless of my age, I’ll always be His little girl.

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