Was I not, just the other week, waxing sentimental about the sweet, honest things children say? Well, I take it all back.
See, I have this pore on my face that’s slightly smaller than the Grand Canyon. (I know this because I was just there a few weeks ago.) It’s right at the edge of my nose and when I apply foundation, well, let’s just say the word spackle comes to mind.
Apparently, I was distracted while doing my makeup the other day because my middle child, who happens to be my most—um—honest one, cocks his head at me in the middle of the restaurant and says (quite loudly, thank you very much), “Mom, did you know you have a hole in your face?”
Only someone with great insecurities would know he was not referring to my mouth or nose. I narrow my eyes at him, a look I generally save for Kevin, but this child is getting old enough for Angry Woman look and apparently he needs lessons on what not to say.
“It’s not a hole. It’s a pore,” I say, silently wondering if it can qualify as a pore if it can be seen from across a table.
“No, it’s not.” His eyes are wide and innocent, and I’m thinking about now that innocence is neither sweet nor cute. “Pores are too small to see. That’s a big hole.”
Kevin covers his mouth, and I’m pretty sure his cough disguises a laugh. I'm trying to decide whether to change the subject or make this a learning moment. The mom in me takes over and I launch into a lecture about manors boring enough to make all three boys fall asleep in their plates of spaghetti. Mission accomplished.
If anyone has any pore shrinking tips, I’m all ears. Until then, I’ll just keep a putty knife handy.