Hands

As we seem - or at least we did - to be on a body parts theme, I have been contemplating all the hands in my house. If you study the photos very carefully, you will observe that all the male hands are doing something leisurely. And what are the mum's hands doing? Hmm? It's all about food. Beware, you mothers of young sons - they may seem sweet at first, but really, they just want to eat. It's like a scary science fiction movie, but real!
But I digress.
As I age, I am noticing my hands. They seem to be on the front lines and are bearing much of the brunt of my advancing years. Due to my ill-advised love of the sun, my hands have brown spots on them and always seem to be dry. I used to be proud of my hands, and now I feel slightly embarrassed by them. I keep moisturizer in my desk at school, in my purse, on my bedside table, and even in my car. I imagine my poor hands gasping for moisture as they stagger through life like a dying man in the desert.
On the other 'hand', they do quite a bit of good stuff. They take photos, still remember how to write, cook - their sole purpose, in some boys' opinions - grip the steering wheel quite well, create some decent scrapbooks, turn lots of pages, and many other things. They also feel quite well. My favorite is the curve of a child's cheek. I still have to do that to my big boys. And if I think about it hard, I can feel the remembrance of a little hand holding mine. That's better than all the laser skin treatments in the world.