I found this cute stoy from this book "Humor for a mom's heart" and I thought all you mommys out there would enjoy it. "As I huried to complete the Saturday morning chores, I waited with anticipation for our date! My husband had invited me to go out that evening-a special treat for any mother of three preschoolers. On this particular day, I felt especially in need of some pampering. That's when I spied the new jar of "oatmeal mask" on my bathroom vanity, touted to stimulate the skin and make it glow like a young girl's. I turned the lid and sniffed at the mixture. Hey, why not get gorgeous and get the vacuuming done at the same time, I reasoned? I patted an extra thick layer of the oatmeal formula, thinking it would take more than the ordinary dollop to beautify my stressed out and neglected skin. Then, while the children played, I shoved the droning machine back and forth. My face tingled as the oatmeal began to set, and I couldn't help feeling proud of my cleverness. I was accoplishing two important goals at the same time. I had whirred my way into the last bedroom when, suddenly, I had the oddest feeling that someone was watching me. My back was to the bedroom door when I heard a man clear his throat. I clicked off the vacuum in time to hear his quick and desperate apology. "Ma'am, excuseme, Ma'am. I didn't want to scare you, but your son invited me in, and I wanted to show you our new line of carpet sweepers." By then my museum-like expression had set--frozen in time. I couldn't scream, smile, or even say a word. In slow motion, I turned around to face the man, my raccoon eyes peering out of the bumpy plastered mask. The poor guy grew more startled with each of his goose-steps backwards. "Oh, oh, no, no," his eyes widened as he stuttered, "I-I, think I've made a mistake!" Then he whirled around and headed for the door, dragging his sweeper behind him. Safely outside, he broke into a run and is probalby still running today, wondering, Who was that masked woman? As I removed the mask, I noticed that my face was warm and glowing, but I wasn't sure if that was the result of anger, embarrassment, or the wonder-working oatmeal. Then I walked down the hall to have a heart-to-heart talk with ou five-year-old. The little guy seemed genuinely oblivious to any wrongdoing. "Steve," I asked, struggling to control my voice. "How did that man get into our house?" "He rang the bell and you were busy," Steve replied innocently. "I was helping you, Mommy." "Son I realize you were trying to help," I squeaked out in the kindest voice I could muster. "but we don't want strangers walking into our house. Never invite anyone in unless Mommy or Daddy give their permission." As a mother, I often struggled to maintain my sanity. Our youngsters were active and bright for which I was thankful, but I often felt inadequate for the task. How could I encourage their innocent trust and still teach my kids to be cautious? "Lord," I prayed, "help me to teach my little chicks to be wise to any foxes that sneak into their lives. But keep them innocent as lambs in Your presence." It wasn't long before a "fox" of a different sort entered our home leaving me unabashedly bewildered. On the occasion of our ten-year-old daughter's birthday, she received a voluptuous teen-aged doll decked out like a Las Vegas showgirl. I didn't want to hurt the feelings of the child who gave the gift, so I kept quiet while the little girls "ooohed and aahed." After the party, my daughter Angie turned to me asked sincerely, "Mother, you don't like the doll, do you?" At that point, I didn't know to do or say, so I flashed a quick silent prayer. Dear Lord, please give me the wisdom. Help me be imaginaive rather than destructive. This is one of those delicate situations, and I don't want to blow it. "Angie," said brightly, "bring your doll into the bedroom and let's talk about it." Like two teenagers at a slumber party, we flopped on her bed and propped the doll up on a pillow. Then I asked casually, "Honey, does anything bother you about this doll?" She thought for a minute and said, "Well, her outfit is kind of, you know, it just doesn't seem like something I'd want to wear." "I know what you mean," I sighed. "Kind of skimpy, isn't it? Oh, Angie, there is nothing wrong with having pretty hair or a good figure, but I want you to know those aren't the most important things. A person's character is so much more important. And what we wear says something to others about what's inside of us--don't you think?" Angie nodded enthusiastically as I continued. "You've been wanting to learn how to use the sewing machine, and I think this is the perfect time. Let's go to the store, pick out some patterns a material, and whip up some beautiful new clothes for this little Miss Priss. What do you say? In the days ad weeks followed, my daughter and I spent hours working on the tiny garments. I had to get bifocals, and at times, I wanted to pull my hair out, but Angie was so proud of our designing efforts. While vacationing in historic Williamsburg, we even found a perfectly charming Southern Belle dress to add to the doll's now lavish wardrobe. Some years later, I was surprised when Angie decided to put her beloved doll in a garage sell. Together, we went through a drawer full of carefully folded doll clothes th we had sewn together. It touched my heart to discover that she had so carefully preserved this symbol of our mother-daughter bonding and the happy hours of informal creativity we shared. "Oh, Father," I whispered, "thank You for those sweet memories." Today my children are grown, and I look back with gratitude. During all my years of mothering, I learned one thing for sure. Our God has creative answers for all our mothering dilemmas. Funny. As I think back on those early days, I realize it was often the awkward situations that provided the best oportunities for teaching my children. From the vacuum salesman incident, my son learned to check wih me before letting strangers into our home (especially when Mommy is wearing breakfast cereal on her face.) And from a barely clad plastic doll, my daughter learned that part of being a beautiful girl means dressing creatively, fashionably,and modestly. When we mothers ask Him, God is extraordinarily faithful to help us handle all life's little foxes--be they man or molded plastic--that creep into the henhouse.