A little bit of Summertime in the bleak midwinter

She cheers me up. Does she you?

I need someone to make me a cameo thing from this picture. Love a good profile shot.

 And Jen, per your request:

A motherhood milestone

A couple weeks ago, Anna got in the car after preschool and informed me that she was in love with a fellow preschooler. (We'll call him Blake.) Now, she has "liked" boys in the past, which amounted to nothing more than one or two sentences about how she liked them and had thought about marrying them, but this only happened once or twice last year.

This time, the love was effusive. She went on and on for several sentences about how much she loved Blake. She was so in love with him, she said, and definitely wanted to marry him. This was so out of the blue and uncharacteristic, and it carried on for several days.

So I decided to dig a little deeper. I asked her why she liked him. She couldn't really answer except by saying, again and again, that she was SO in love with him. I asked her if Blake liked her. She wasn't sure. Then I asked if he was nice. She said she didn't really know. The outlook did not look good.

Anyway, the love affair lasted for about a week. One day, Anna told me that she didn't like Blake anymore because he punched her. Internal freak out. WHAT?! That's not what any mother wants to hear. I asked her more about it and found that Blake apparently liked to prove how strong he was by punching people and having them punch him. I almost freaked out again. "You punched him?" Luckily Anna said that she tried but she didn't actually touch him.

So that was that. I was pretty proud of her for not liking the kid who punches. That shows excellent beginning discernment skills, in my book.

But then. (We all knew there would be a "but then.") Today she announced that she was in love again. She and Blake were back in business. When I asked her why she liked him again, she said, "Because of his coloring." I loved this so much. She went into great detail about how well he colors and that the blue lion he drew today was amazing.

After all the gushing, she said, "Is he starting to sound like someone good to marry?"

"Uh, no..." I said. But I loved that she was asking me. How do I put this? "Being good at coloring is nice, but I think it's more important to be kind and thoughtful and fun and smart."

"And do nice things for me?" she asked.

"Yeah." And not punch you.

Then she said in the cutest voice ever, "Ah! Now I understand."

I did not know that lessons in dating would begin so young. But I'm glad we've made at least some progress. And I wish people liked me for MY coloring. I'm really pretty good.

Four Eyes Forever

The two of us, my eyes and I, have a long and complicated history. From glasses to contacts to infections to viruses to so much money spent. Frankly, I am grateful for the fact that I can see at all and so I love them for that, but wow, we've been through a lot. But despite our challenges, we came to a sort of reckoning recently. I'll give you some background before I delve into the reckoning.

age 5 

I remember, though a little vaguely, the fateful pre-kindergarten eye exam where I was first told that my eyes were not up to snuff and I needed glasses. Dun dun dun...

Got the glasses. Hated the glasses. Liked that they had a little picture of Smurfette on each side, but would still come up with any excuse to not wear the glasses.

And can you blame me?

Not only do they look like old lady glasses, they look like they are on UPSIDE DOWN. Thanks, whoever thought THAT was a good idea...to make such glasses AND to buy such glasses, for that matter. (For all I know, I was probably blinded by Smurfette and picked them out myself.)

(But to really add fresh salt to my wound, while I was uploading this very photo, Anna walked in and said all dramatically, "Oh! How cuuuute! ... But I don't like the glasses SO much." (Later she told me that the bow, my blond hair, and my skin color were what made it cute. Rightly so, Anna. Rightly so. But let this be a lesson to us all: Throwing a bow in your hair no matter how pink or how stiff will never cover up a terrible half-curled, half-straight hairdo. Part of my bangs are horizontal, for heaven's sake.))

age 6

Purposefully didn't wear said glasses to kindergarten one day. When my teacher asked me where my glasses were, I lied and told her they were in my backpack. When she asked me to go get them, I said a prayer on the way there, hoping they would miraculously appear. They didn't. Got into a spot of trouble.

Another fateful day, I hid my old lady glasses in the field next to my house and told my mom I lost them. Point 2 for the "Ashley's Going to Hell Via Telling Lies" team.

Got a new pair of glasses. This pair looked like they were on right-side up (hallelujah) and had a little picture of Minnie Mouse on each side. Still didn't like wearing glasses. I don't really know why I hated it so much, but I did. Vehemently.

Okay, I'm just kidding with this photo. These glasses weren't mine. I couldn't find a picture of me in the Minnie Mouse ones, but I just loved the absurdity of these glasses. And I think we can safely say that I rocked that baby blue shirt.

age 7

Left the house for school every day wearing my glasses, only to put them in my backpack once I got to the bus stop.

ages 8-14

Stopped wearing my glasses altogether and just squinted or moved closer to the board if the need arose. I got by. To be honest, my eyesight isn't THAT bad. My vision is probably something like 20/40 or 20/60. So with some of my siblings' eyesight hitting somewhere in the 20/200s or something outrageous, I consider myself lucky.

age 15

Got contacts. Oh, heavenly day. Why didn't I do this sooner?

Also got a backup pair of glasses, just in case, that are almost as hideous to me now as the upside down old lady ones from yesteryear. Fortunately, I do not have photographic representation of these.

ages 16-21

Experienced the odd infection from my contacts once in a while, but basically had a problem free . . . philosophy . . .

Did eventually get a passable pair of backup glasses.

Not the best picture ever, but you get the idea. At least this pair is on right side up.

age 22

Contracted an evil, evil virus in my left eye that prohibited me from wearing a contact in that eye and being able to open my eye all the way for a few months. (It was super light sensitive.) Perma-squint, watery, and red all the time = awesome. After seeing an ophthalmologist, I was told that the virus was "herpetical." Yep, that's right. I had herpes in my eye. NOT the kind of herpes you're thinking of, though. The tendency for this eye-related kind, which is similar to the cold sore one, is purely genetic. I had to take these huge anti-viral pills every day for months that were $9 a pill. Yakes.

age 23

Kept wearing one contact for a while and then abandoned both because it was messing with my brain.

Infection cleared up completely after a year, but the doctor still said contacts were a no-no.

age 24

Continued to visit the ophthalmologist every few months for a check-up and was treated as a scientific anomaly each time for how well my eye recovered after the virus. I still had some scar tissue, but he was amazed at how it looked. He would seriously pull in his assistants and other doctors so they could take a look at my eye in the big eye viewing machine thing. For being a herpes outcast, this made me feel a little special and somewhat of a medical marvel. And way to go, Left Eye (my eye, not the late Lisa Lopes of TLC), for healing so miraculously. You may not see perfectly, but you healed yourself all the way back to mediocre.

But as for contacts? In the words of the ophthalmologist: "If they were my eyes, I wouldn't." Enough said.

age 25-28 

Continued to "just get by" without wearing any corrective eye wear. Not a huge deal. I was used to it.


age 29
Finally got a pair of decent glasses that I like to wear. I may not wear them all the time, because it takes some adjusting to something being stuck to your face all day when you're used to going eyewear commando and I just plain don't want to, but I'll wear them a lot of the time. And that's saying a lot (see ages 8-14 and 25-28, the years when I had no problem going corrective-eyewear free).

_  _  _  _  _  _  _  _  _  _ 

Now for the reconciling bit. At my last appointment, my eye doctor told me that since my last check-up 6 years ago, my distance vision had actually improved a little (hooray, eyes!), but my up-close vision had actually gotten a little worse. Here's what went through my head: "What?! I'm only 29 and I'm going to need bifocals? Dang eyes! Might as well try to find my old lady glasses again. Old lady glasses for Old Blind Lady Ash."

Turns out I don't need bifocals, so that freak out was all for nothing, but it was still weird news to hear. After I calmed down, a thought struck me: I really don't have control over any of this. My eyesight was pretty much genetically predetermined, and I did nothing to affect this outcome. I didn't do anything stupid that I should be embarrassed about. It is what it is and I just have to deal with it. I am reconciled to having this pair of eyes.

And like I said earlier in this already-too-long post, I'm glad that I can see at all. Though not 20/20, I have pretty good vision. And I'm currently herpes free. I know how to count my blessings . . . most of the time.

But all this time ever since I was a kid, I have been somewhat embarrassed, I guess, about my inferior eyesight and the fact that I needed help to see clearly. But now I don't really care. I have eyes that work, despite the odds. And lots of people need glasses and wear them, and now I do too. When I want.