I don’t care what other people say, looks matter. I know it’s what inside that counts most, but there is something to a pretty outside too. (I’ve told you before I am as shallow as I am deep.)
For example, when I was dog sitting Reggie (see Sister of the Year) I liked him when he looked like this:
But then one day he came back from the groomer and he had transformed from a fluffy, poofy, cute dog to a scrawny rat. He was somewhere between the cat on Austin Powers and the dog on Never Ending Story.
And I didn’t like him as much that day or the next or the next until his hair grew back.
The same thing is true with my kids. While I always love them, it is so much easier to like my children when their hair is combed, their noses are wiped and they are dressed cute.
I gotta admit I’m a little nervous for those awkward tween/teen years when their teeth get all crooked and they start to get zits and when they are either scrawny skinny or baby chubby because their body can’t keep up with the hormones.
I think God sends them to us all cute and little and snuggly for a reason. That way we can get the love established before the looks go.
And now as I look for a house I find myself drawn to the ones that look pretty rather than the ones that are “good deals” or the ones that are functional. Because looks matter.
(As I type this I realize a new parenting strategy I am going to try today. I am going to bathe Locke, douse him in Johnson’s baby lotion, and dress him up in his cutest outfit possible. Then maybe his sleepless nights, his fighting naps, his taking off his diaper, his pooping on the carpet, his tantrums, his need to get out every toy at the same time, and his speech delay won’t be quite as frustrating to me. It’s worth a try, right?)