sneaky mcsneakerson

I wasn't allowed to wear makeup until I was a freshman in high school. Lipstick? Nope. Mascara? Nope. Concealer? Nope. I have no doubt that my tantrums at the injustice were monumental, especially since most of the other girls in my class had been experimenting with makeup since we were in 6th grade. Yet there I was, one of the few fresh faced 8th graders left. In retrospect, I'm grateful to have missed out on the trend of wearing eyeliner so thick it brings to mind a raccoon who got into a bar fight, but at the time I felt like like my makeup-less face was horribly naked.

The worst part of not being able to wear makeup was that any blemishes I had couldn't be hidden with concealer. Nope, my acne was a big, flashing, neon sign right smack on my face that read, "PUBERTY!" To be fair, my face was actually pretty clear - most likely a nice side effect of not wearing pore clogging makeup. But oh, the inhumanity when I did get a blemish.

One day in 6th or 7th grade, I decided that I'd had enough. I knew there was no way I could sneak wearing makeup past my Mom, but something had to be done about the breakout on my face. After babysitting one Saturday afternoon, I took my pay and rode my bike into town (I grew up in a small town in rural Indiana). I brazenly walked into the one pharmacy in town and with a quick look over my shoulder, made a beeline for the face care aisle. Glancing over the products, I grabbed a product from Clearasil titled "Advanced Acne Zapper," or something equally ridiculous. I do remember clearly that it was Clearasil because I remember seeing the commercials of perfectly complected youth and deciding that particular product would obviously solve all of my problems.

I bought the breakout cream, stuffed it into my bag, and rode home. That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I carefully read the label and instructions, and applied the miracle cream. I went to bed, but couldn't get one phrase out of my head. Somewhere on the bottle, I'd read the words, "highly flammable." Over the next two days my mind churned that phrase over and over, until I just couldn't take it a single moment longer. Tears welling up in my eyes, I confessed it all to my Mom. I couldn't take having this weighty secret over my head and had no choice but to confess. I told her every sordid detail - from the saving of my babysitting money, to the biking into town, to the application after hours. And then I said, "And the worst part of it all is that I read that it's highly flammable. I'm so afraid that I'll put this on my face, and go to pull something out of the oven, and my face will catch on fire!"

That's right. I was legitimately afraid that my face was going to catch on fire the next time I baked cookies.

I'm a little amazed that my Mom didn't bust out laughing. No, Mom sweetly explained that my face was most likely free from spontaneous combustion, and let me know that she appreciated my honesty. I'm fairly certain that she gave me permission to continue using the product, but with a mind wracked with guilt every time I looked at that Clearasil bottle, I tossed it.

Even though he's not quite two, Jude has already displayed this tendency to tell on himself. As he's playing in another room, I'll often know that he requires discipline when I hear him telling himself, "No, no no!" (which sounds more like Nyo nyo nyo!). Bare in mind of course, that him saying "no" doesn't actually stop him from doing whatever he knows he's not supposed to do, but he proceeds to tell on himself nonetheless.

Jude also has a look that is a dead giveaway that he's getting ready to misbehave. In fact, there have been many times that I haven't noticed that he's doing something I've asked him not to until he gives me that look. I barely have a chance to think "why is he looking at me funny?" before I realize that he's waiting for me to notice his misdeeds. The sweet boy tilts his chin down to his chest, his face gets dead serious, and his eyes shift to looking at me from one corner. It's really kind of a ridiculous face, and alerts me quickly that he's working on being mischieveous.

I love that Jude has a hard time being willfully disobedient without telling me about it. I know right now his disobedience pertains to things like slamming his trains down and playing with the vacuum cleaner, but I also know that it'll soon be things like trying alcohol with friends and cheating on a test. I pray that he remains forthcoming with us, and I pray that our reactions are always rooted in love and patience. And if he ever tells me he's afraid his face will catch on fire while baking cookies, well...I can only pray that I won't laugh out loud.