God of the Zeros

A few days ago, I was traveling somewhere with a new friend.  We had just been in the home of someone with various religious artifacts, and I asked:  "Are you Catholic?"

"No," she replied, nonchalantly.  "I'm more of a zero."

When I lived in Atlanta, I more or less expected the "zero" attitude, though few people admitted it quite so readily.  In small town Georgia, it caught me a little (okay - a lot) by surprise.

I wasn't sure exactly what to say, so I prattled on quickly. In hindsight, I wish I had said something. 

Specifically, I wish I had said, "Yes, I've been there too."

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For All Moms Who Miss "Feeling Pretty"

Oh, my sweet, tired friend . . .

I saw you just the other day in the mall, averting your eyes when you walked past the mirror.

I liked your photo on Facebook . . . the one where you used your precious newborn baby as a prop to cover all but a sliver of your face.

I heard you laugh but felt you wince in the elevator when your toddler poked your belly and giggled:  "Squishy!"

I saw your sad eyes in the supermarket checkout line when you saw that it was a 22-year-old who claimed the title of Best Actress and you suddenly realized that you may have passed your cultural prime.

I heard your sleepless heart late at night when it whispered . . . 

Have I already spent the best part of me?

And I cried a little, because I’ve been there too.

Oh, my dear friend . . . can we be in this together for a minute?

I’m tempted to write something cliché, but I know you:  you are smart and savvy and much too tired to tolerate the platitudes.  So hang tight with me, because I’m going deep:

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