Becoming whole through family life. Desserts help.
I love the creamy, salty and fatty decadence of butter spread on toast. And my daughter brought a new butter into my life to love, Butter London nail polish.
Rarely have I painted my nails and I have loved only two nail polishes in my life. The first was candy apple red with purple iridescent sheen that I wore as a senior in high school. When I was sixteen, it took confidence to don such a loud color. Now I adore Hen Party Nail Lacquer with a similar opal iridescent sheen, without the candy apple red. It’s not a confidence thing, it’s a pretty thing.
For a variety of reasons I refrained from painting my nails over the years. My hands weren’t pretty like my grandmother’s but more like my grandfather’s. I wasn’t popular enough. I was lazy. I was poor and couldn’t afford the needed products or procedures. I was having too much fun with my friends. I was sloppy. I was busy studying and holding down lackluster jobs. I was keeping my nails clean, neat, and plain like my professional business suit. I deemed painted nails as silly and superficial. I had no nails to paint because I trimmed them tight as not to scratch my babies. I wanted to live in a natural way. I was busy.
Now I paint my nails because I’m grateful for these hands that have worked hard and touched tenderly. Popularity only matters if it tells me I’m kind. I have lazy and sloppy moments but I don’t live there. My husband provides for me and our family abundantly. My job is at home and I write the dress code. I value silly and superficial when it is actually being lighthearted. My babies are grown. There’s no virtue in my plain nails. I’m still busy! But looking at my painted nails makes me feel a little prettier. Which makes me happier. Which makes me kinder. All from a little bottle of butter.
Gray Stripe Earned: Never underestimate the power of pretty.