Hands

2 things that I take for granted on a daily basis.  My hands.  But more often than not I find myself looking down and shocked that they look like my Grandmothers hands.  My nails, my skin and now the wrinkles on that skin.  I dated a boy once upon a time, long loooong ago who loved to hold my hand simply because he thought my hands were beautiful and soft to the touch.  I was vain about those hands.  I made sure that I learned to manicure my own cuticles and nails at a young age.  And I have always loved polish.  Although I have to put it in writing that my Father was a firm believer that red nail polish was of the Devil. Really. Part of the Mormon Revivalist in him I suppose.  And he passed it on to me, I have hated red polish on my girls.  But let me get back to why I am grateful for these hands of mine.

Once I learned how to put them to good use they knew no limits.  I have used them to work and play.  Love and fight.  Give and receive.  Comfort and care.  I have loved my babies with these hands, and spanked their butts also.  These hands have earned an income for my family and learned to use resources so I can stay home with my family.  They can plant a garden and build up fences.  They can prune roses and pull weeds.  I can cook and do dishes (but the dish part is for my daughters hands).  These are talented hands and they are mine.