An Artist's Hands

I paint.

I sand.

I glue.

I generally DO NOT have pretty nails.

I mean . . .really - why bother.

OK - truth be told -

I used to go and have my nails done every two weeks no matter what.

It was a vanity thing.

Don't judge me too harshly.

I have short stubby fingers and short stubby toes.

Seriously - I know this to be true.

Nothing you can say will change my mind.

A boyfriend in high school told me my toes reminded him of Fred Flinstone.

Cartoon toes.

For that reason - I used to spend money every two weeks to have acrylic nails on my hands.

I didn't wear them very long - I mean I needed to be practical.

But having a little length on my nails helped me feel like my hands weren't quite so stubby.

Then one day - I realized I was wasting my money.

I would get them all pretty and then go home and get them all covered in paint.

Not special.

So I stopped wearing them.

And I haven't had polish on them in a couple of years.

Until the other night.

My daughter is in cosmetology school.

She regularly needs models to perform her skills on.

She asked if I wanted to come in for a mani-pedi.

Yup!

You bet!

After all of the craziness going on - the idea of going downtown and being pampered for two hours was quite enticing.

I walked in with paint in my cuticles and under my nails and uneven, messy toes.

I was tortured for 2 hours with foot and hand massages, warm towels, relaxing aromatherapy oils, silky lotions and red polish.

Not just red - shiny, candied apple red.

I didn't get to choose the color - it was required for her "test".

Red is pretty unforgiving and the instructor can easily see the flaws.

And you know . . .

someone needed to be the model.

And after all - a mother makes these kinds of sacrifices for her daughter.

Poor me.

Matching toes and fingers.

And me - relaxed and pampered.

And this girl . . .

got 100% on her final grade.

And we got to talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company.

And she made this momma very proud.

And maybe I can keep them looking good for a few days.

But I'm not making any promises.

Milestones

Collin Davis Miller.

My son.

My second born.

He came into this world on his own terms.

He loves puzzles - has ever since he was 3.

He loves to play games.

He hates television.

He loves to garden.

It took him 4 years before he began talking in a language that we could all understand.

His older sister understood his language and acted as his translator for almost a year.

He often took himself to bed when he was a toddler.

His favorite "toys" were blocks, legos, and anything he could "build" with.

He would spend hours building entire village scenes with these.

If there is a fire - whether camping, in a woodstove or in the backyard fire pit -

he can't resist the urge to poke it.

He loved to read and be read to.

We read all sorts of books together when he was young. . .

He loved to play with rockets.

He loved to help me in the kitchen.

He gave us a unending source of pride . . .and headache!

He was the child that made my heart stop on multiple occasions.

Like when he got knocked over by a neighborhood dog and was unconcious for a short time when he was 4.

Or when I got a call from the school that he broke his finger while wrestling with a friend at recess.

Or when he split his forehead open innertubing on the river with friends and needed to get 14 stitches.

He has always been willing to take on a challenge - especially if money and pride is on the line.

Like shaving his head for $100 when he let his hair grow long and was a giant fluff ball of frizz. (By the way - I didn't pay him the money - but a respected youth leader did.)

Or when he ate a fat earth worm while we were gardening one spring for $5.

He has eaten bugs, and raw fish and all sorts of disgusting things on a dare from friends.

And this last weekend . . .

he graduated from College.

And he got his first job in the "real" world which he will begin in a matter of days.

I don't think he could have been any happier on this day . . .

With the love of his life . . .

With 2 of his 3 sisters . . .because us Miller's don't believe in stuffy photos.

And now Collin . . .it's time to move on to the next adventure.

I think it is going to be a good one!