Boys Don’t Make Passes at Girls Who Wear Glasses

My Dad used to say the rhyme above, probably hoping that his oldest daughter would not become a trollop, and that I’d always wear big coke-bottle glasses.

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Sorry, Daddy, I got contacts at 16.

Earlier this week, I took Belly to the eye doctor. She had been complaining that the letters in books were hard to see. Turns out, she does have a slight farsightedness issue and could use reading glasses. So, I took her down to the neighborhood store to pick out some frames.

Before we left, I talked to her about her friends who wore glasses. I even showed her the girl I think of when I think “coolest little glasses wearer”.

That was it. She wanted glasses, and she wanted them now.

The frames she picked were way cooler than anything I ever wore as a child. And, they are pink, natch. Silly things cost as much as my glasses, and I have a sinking feeling she will misplace them in a month. I almost wish she needed them all the time because at least they’d be more likely to be on her face than “oh, where did I leave them”?

But, now maybe, just maybe, reading won’t be such a chore for her. Even if the effect is minimal and the letters’ clarity is more in her imagination, I’m hopeful this will be the trick.

But, Daddy, she quite possibly may look even cuter in glasses, so we could have trouble.

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When a Nutter Butter is Public Enemy Number 1

Back in the mid 1970’s, I was in elementary school in Western Massachusetts. Every day at lunch, they had an interesting way of insuring children ate the slop that was set in front of them. They offered us crack on white bread for dessert.

Of course it wasn’t really crack, but it was the most silky, gooey, creamy peanut butter I have ever had, stored in huge white drums. If you finished your lunch, you were allowed to go back into the lunch line and get a piece of soft, nutritionally void white bread with a huge dollop of peanut butter slapped across it. We would cradle this bread lovingly in our little hands and eat the open-faced sandwich in tiny bites, savoring every bit of it.

I am very doubtful that this scene takes place in any public schools today.

It’s strange how a food as ubiquitous as peanut butter has become Enemy #1 in the Food Allergy Wars. Every preschool my daughter has attended has been “peanut free”. Elementary schools have “peanut free tables” where allergic kids can sit and be safe from the humble nut. I feel guilty when, out of desperation, I make a PB&J and bring it into a public space. We eat it huddled together and then afterward I scrub their hands before they touch anything.

And, yet, I understand all too well why this is necessary. Because although peanut butter (Skippy only) is a staple in our home, my oldest daughter, Belly, is allergic to milk. Well, not really milk, but casein which is a protein found in milk.

This means that she cannot have ice cream, yogurt, butter, cheese, Cheetos, pizza, milk chocolate, donuts, Cool Whip or even certain types of cereal, bread, soup, crackers and TV dinners. In some cases, especially when it comes to TV dinners or Cool Whip, this is a good thing. But, when she attends a birthday party, she can’t eat the cake. When she goes to the movies, the popcorn is verboten. When the Ice Cream Truck rolls around, I have to quiz the guy on a Push Up Pop’s ingredients until the rest of the neighborhood is ready to throw me under the tires.

What about you? Is this topic near and dear to your heart? Or, are you sick of all the rules surrounding what you can or can’t pack in your child’s lunch box? Please join me as I talk more about this subject with Kristen Chase of Motherhood Uncensored. I’ll be the guest on her weekly online radio show this Wednesday night, July 9th, at 9pm. If you’d like to call in, I’d love to talk with you and hear your thoughts on this subject.

Just don’t feel sorry for Belly. As far as allergies go, hers isn’t so bad. As the guy at Whole Foods said as we searched the freezers for dairy-free pizza: “At least she isn’t allergic to gluten. Now THAT sucks.”

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow, Part V (The Finale)

A long, long time ago (February), I got the bright idea that I’d post photos of my “Life in Hair”. Little did I know that it would take me six months to do so. To refresh your memory, Part I (let the humiliation begin) is here, Part II (shorter and shorter) is here, Part III (short and blond) is here, and, finally, Part IV (red isn’t dead, yet) is here.

I’m finally up to my days as a married lady. You’d think that marriage would’ve calmed me down, but, alas, I still don’t know what I want (when it comes to my tresses at least).

Here I am on my wedding day. Reddish hair, fresh face and hot. Oh, so very hot.


Eighteen months later, I was a momma. For whatever reason, this meant no hair coloring or hair cuts. Did I think that a hair cut would interfere with breastfeeding? Either that or I was just too tired to remember that I had hair.

Oh, and that cute kid in my lap? That is Belly.

A couple of years later, I was back to coloring and cutting my hair, but as this next photo shows, I had forgotten about sunscreen.

That chubby bug in my arms? Jilly.


My third, D, came some quickly after Jilly that there was really no time to think about switching hair styles. . .it was all I could do to keep track of the kids.

A few years later, I started to play around with color and shorter cuts again, which you can see in this really flattering photo. Glamour shot, isn’t it?


So,this is where I remain to this day. Sure, the color has gotten a bit redder from time to time, and the length goes up and down a few inches, but now the only thing that really is starting to look different is my “maturing” face.

Thanks for sticking with me through this. Jess at Oh, the Joys! once suggested I turn this into a meme, but I don’t think she thought it’d take me half a year to complete it! So, if anyone else wants to take a walk down memory lane and post their Life in Hair, please do so and let me know.

Finally, if you want to weigh in on your favorite photo in the series, let me know! I have a hair appointment coming up in a week or two, and I’m willing to take suggestions. . .

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