The Beauty of Polka Dots

“Mommy, I like your polka dots.”

Aeralind is reclining on my chest.  She had just asked for and received a “big fat hug.”

(You know, where you lay on your back and your child lays on your tummy and both of you put your feet in the air and then you squeeze the mess out of them?  Oh… you don’t know… I’m sorry.  Go try it.)

She’s poking my face while she says this.  Specifically, she’s poking my ever present zits.

You heard her right: she just told me she likes my pimples.

Aerie moves to the second cheek.  “I like this polka dot, too,” she exclaims as she stabs a particularly painful zit.  I really don’t know what to say.  Usually I’m an educator… but in that quiet silly moment, I don’t want to tell her that zits are ugly, socially unacceptable, gross, and painful.  So I stay hushed.

A week ago (or so), I had edited all of my polka dots out of an image of Aerie and I (and some stray peanut butter from Aerie’s hair).

polka dots

Editing them out wasn’t wrong.  I’m pretty sure Aerie will remember me with clear skin, because I don’t remember my mom having skin issues or hair issues or anything else.

Yet, my sweet Aeralind Grace, with her child-heart is telling me the very message that I preach here daily in this space (mostly to myself!).

My most beautiful moments (yours too) are the messy everyday vulnerable stories.  Zits and all.

And more importantly, these messy moments are the intersections of grace.

I am loved by Aeralind and, more importantly, by the very God of the universe, zits and all.