A Little Botox, Please! (Part 2)

I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't have written a more compelling ending to this story if I were a fiction writer, and honestly, if I were a fiction writer and had created this story, I would have rejected this ending. Too sappy. Too scripted. But the following is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth:

Like I stated in "A Little Botox, Please! (Part 1)", we got very few complaints as the days turned to weeks which turned to months. Then one day...

Child P sat next to me at the dining room table working on a craft project. I was yapping with my son's girl friend seated across the table. Child P took advantage of a pause in our conversation interjecting with this random statement, "It sure is good to have my life back again [That got my attention. It's not often one hears an eleven year old child speaking about getting her life back.] now that I'm not watching so much TV."

If you could have seen my face, you would have whispered to your nearest friend, "Yep, she made that appointment for Botox. Poor thing! How long are her eyes going to be stuck in that upright position?" I was shocked--out of the mouth of babes once again.

I sent my son, Luke, a victory text. I needed to share the moment with the one who had sounded the battle cry. He won. We won. And an eleven year old child got her life back.

And Botox? I've got a face that moves with life. It tells a story only my face can tell. So Doc, you can keep your Botox. This momma's got all she needs.

A Little Botox, Please! (Part 1)

He sat across the booth from us in Applebees with twenty-two years of wisdom under his belt. Not much when you compare it to my forty-five years of wisdom and my husband's forty-nine years. Put our years together and you get a grand total of ninety-four years of collective wisdom. Impressive. Intimidating. But not to him.

"Mom and Dad, I need to talk to you about something." Always good with eye contact, his gaze didn't waver. "I've been noticing the girls are watching too much TV."

I took a deep breath and forced my eyes to remain steady, locked in a smiling position. No Botox needed.

"You never let me watch that much TV. Do you know all the things I did when I was a kid because of that?"

He didn't give us a chance to reply.

His eyes still engaged, "I played with Lego's for hours. I read books. Made up games. Played..."

Twenty-two years of life. Most of them childhood. With his youthful memory, he had quite an exhaustive list.

Gotta admit, I was glad he remembered his childhood that way. Felt like a hefty paycheck to this underpaid servant to family and society. I wasn't so sure I'd kept the TV off enough. Even without cable, the temptation to use the entertainment box as a babysitter had gotten the best of me more than I care to admit (not that I counted or could remember if I had). And now with well over a hundred channels and beyond, this tired old momma and papa were loosing the battle, and my son noticed.

He continued. "They should be doing...and playing..."

At this point I really could have used some Botox. I'm sure my eyes lowered. I did my best to move them back into the smiling position. Giving my husband no room to interject, I said, "Luke, do you know who has to do all of that stuff with them at their ages? Me!" I wanted to plead my case with a little more passion, tell him that after nearly raising four children to adulthood and now having little ones underfoot again, I had a right to be selfish with MY time, and..., but I realized self-pity wasn't very attractive, and I was sure it was exposing itself in my eyes. Giving the muscles around my tired eyes another workout, I pushed my lids up again and smiled.

He nodded. His eyes compassionate.

I took a mental step backwards and listened to wisdom. Isn't this the kind of son you wanted? He's bringing a concern to the table, unafraid, with respect, with concern for others.

Again, not giving my husband time to speak (I struggle with that sometimes), my face softened, and I forgot about my eyes. "Thanks, Luke. You're right."

Then together, husband included, we became problem solvers. Our solution: No TV on school nights...even if their homework is done.

We told the girls that afternoon. I braced myself for the worst. We got very few complaints as the days turned to weeks which turned to months. Then one day...

Stop by next week to see if I made an appointment for Botox.