My 5-year-old is exquisite in a way that only a kid with a mouth full of baby teeth can be.

And she knows it. In fact, she flaunts it. She's fun and flamboyant and somehow manages to draw compliments even when my fingers are itching for a hairbrush and a cloth to wipe the smudges from her face.

You know what I mean. Chances are I'm describing your daughter, your nephew or some other small child you happen to know. If you're reading this column, I'm betting you've commented on some kid's stunning good looks without even wondering if he's smart or musical or athletic or anything but adorable.

We do it ... some of us just about every time we see a child. And if the children hear it often enough, how can they help but believe it?

Self-confidence is a good thing. There's a reason we have bad hair days or fret about zits. We know that appearance matters.

But my message to my daughter is that other things are more important. I compliment her often, but my gushing comes when she reveals what's beneath the surface and shares what she's learned in school, labors away at a hard task or does something especially kind.

But then I turn around and tell my son something that might seem contradictory. A month shy of being a real teenager and weighed down by so much insecurity that he can barely hold himself upright, I tell him that appearances count.

Or, to turn it around, I want him to realize that, yes, beauty comes from inside and, yes, he should let the things he likes about himself shine through, but at a glance, no one can tell what his strengths and weaknesses are. I keep telling him that there's no neon sign hovering over his head flashing all his self-perceived faults so that everyone can see.

Lately I've started to see evidence that he's taking that to heart, not necessarily because his mom told him to, but because he's coming to realize that when he puts himself out there, people often respond positively. Maybe he can't quite be the person he wants to be, but it's dawned on him that he has some control over how people see him.

In time I hope he'll realize he's been hiding behind a wall of his own making when really all he needs is a friendly facade.

While they're coming from opposite ends of the spectrum, somehow I find myself trying to pass both my children the same message: No matter how they feel when they look in the mirror, they'd be better off concentrating on how they face the world.