Hands Down, It's Cute

I think you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Not everything, and I certainly wouldn't suggest that is your only measure of a person, but often the hands say quite a bit. Dirt under the finger nails might mean someone was doing some dirty work, while painted nails likely suggests the opposite (or someone was trying to cover up the dirt! : ) Some hands are really smooth and some have calluses and veins from being used quite a bit.   Many first impressions start with handshakes, and many show choir performances end with them ("Jazz Hands!").  My index finger kind of twists away from my thumb, I think because of using a computer mouse a little too much.

I remember my grandfather's hands. They were so worn and had kind of a leathery skin to them from years of labor and work. Computers weren't in homes by the time he retired. letting 'em stay soft wasn't really an option. If they could talk, not counting sign language (hey ooh), I'm sure there would be many stories to tell. Some dangerous, like serving in the war or a weird scar from some chemical (no, my grandfather was not Tyler Durden), and some quiet times at home or plowing his garden. I know there were countless stories of family and provision, hugs and horsey rides. Just one look at the hands said a lot, and I still hope my hands would be used half as much.

A few weeks ago Hugh was able to grasp things with his hands. Not just a finger or toy placed in front of him, but a small item that he wanted to grab. There are these melt-in-your-mouth (literally) puffs for babies that have some sort of flavor and about no nutritional value. At seventy pieces per serving, they are basically just air, but Hugh loves to eat them. The concentrated look while his hands try to surround the puff, fingers fully spread apart, is so cute. He's so happy when he gets one - and then it goes right toward his mouth. His little hands are working hard, he's getting better each day, and it's the start of many more stories to come.