When you think of your family members, is there one feature that really stands out? Maybe it's their smile. I think it's amazing to look at pictures of my family and see how our smiles are so alike.
Maybe you think about their eyes. When I was growing up, I was always so jealous of my mom and sister Paula's eyes. They both have beautiful blue eyes. My eyes aren't blue. They aren't green either. They are somewhere in between. There really seemed to be nothing special about them. However, now that I'm older, I notice they are similar in color to my Grandma Irene. Her eyes have small flecks of brown in them, just like mine.
Or, perhaps you think about their hair. My mom has curly hair. I have curly hair. My brother David, niece Molly, and nephew Aiden all have curly hair. But, somehow the curly hair gene missed everyone else. My own children included. They both have straight as straw hair.
I would say I have the build of my Grandmama Dolly. She has really arms and legs for a person of her height. I'm 5'7 and I have a 34 inch inseam. I have a really hard time finding shirts with sleeves long enough that isn't too big everywhere else.
I have my mom's nose. Of course, mine hasn't been broken, but you can still see the similarity in our noses.
Apparently, I have my Grandma Irene's in facial features. Honestly, I don't see this one at all. The only reason I think I must look like her is when I was a senior in high school my grandma was having a class reunion. A little old lady came up to me and said "Are you any relation to Irene such and such?"
I said, "No." I didn't know anyone by that name.
She said, "Well, that's amazing, because I would have sworn you had to be her granddaughter. I'm here for my class reunion. You look just like she did when we were in school together."
Well, obviously I had another duh moment. Of course my grandma was married, and her maiden name was such and such! This little old lady that I had never seen before in my life pegged me as my Grandma Irene's grandchild! So, I guess I favor her somewhat.
My sister Dawn and I are like twins separated in utero for 12 years. We look very much alike. We got glasses at the same age, braces at the same age....I wonder if we both met Aunt Flo at the same age? Paula actually looks just like us too...Only in a blond model....And of course she never wore braces. She has perfectly straight beautiful white teeth. We all share certain traits, but we are all very different. Just look at our professions: librarian, college professor/student advisor, and nurse. Dawn enjoys garage sales and crafting. Paula loves good wine and entertaining friends. I like.....Heck, I can't think of 2 likes that characterize myself....Talking and reading I guess!
When I think about my Dad, I always imagine his hands. Is that strange? Whenever I have a farmer at the hospital, I can always spot them. Actually, it always gives me a little wave of homesickness, and I often tear up. They always seem surprised when I guess they're farmers while looking for a sight for an IV. You see, they all have farmer hands. Farmer hands are rough and calloused. They are dry. They are often banged up on the backs from using a wrench on something and getting their hand banged when whatever stubborn piece of equipment finally broke loose. They have short cropped nails. And, they frequently have black nails from smashing them with a hammer, or just getting caught in something working.
My niece Sarah recently had a post on her blog that shows photos of my dad's hands. Since I respect her right to her pictures, please click here and scroll through the shots. It will be worth your time, I promise.
Are you done?
Well, of all the family traits I think I have, my dad's hands are not one I ever imagined having. But, I guess that just goes to show what I know....
What this picture doesn't show so well is my dry skin. And callouses from gardening. Oh, and I sliced open my ring finger just below the cuticle cleaning out my girls tub. I was scrubbing (in a hurry, of course) and accidentally rammed my finger along the drain. It hurt, but I just kept scrubbing. Until I realized blood was coming from somewhere. It was my hand! Well, I finished what I was doing, then cleaned and bandaged it. I smashed my thumb in a drawer at work. I was admitting a patient, so I just had to go on like nothing happened. Even though I wanted to either: A) wet my pants, or B) start swearing. I refrained from either one, you will be happy to know!
Have you ever tried to take a picture with your left hand when you are so right dominant you can barely scratch your bottom with your left? I tried several pictures, and this was the only half focused one!
Oh! A little topic change here. We were eating at Chik-Fil-A the other day. I said a prayer, and when I was done, Popcorn said in a very earnest voice, "Mommy, I wish you would pray for your thumb. It's just not getting any better." I laughed and explained that I will probably have a black thumb nail for a few months at least because the bruise has to grow out. She is very bothered by this. It's good to know my black thumb is being bathed in prayer by my little one.