I would post of photo of me, but you’d run screaming from the room. I know this for a fact because I do it every morning when I squint at myself after a shower. And that’s with my glasses off, when my reflection is blurry.
Think of it as me reducing your requirement for eye bleach.
Instead, perhaps, I will do what I did today on Facebook and post hideously close up photos of my eye balls and those of people I love. I find genetics both fascinating and confusing. Why couldn’t one of my children inherit my green eyes?
You are reading the musings of a mom (boys are 17 and 13), coffee addict (faracafe.com), dark chocolate worshipper (Harbor Candy), marketing maven, and velvety red wine lover, whose comfort food is buffalo mozzarella dipped in salt, who has lived in 10 states, loves to write, laugh, and listen to public conversations that should be private.
I hope my blog makes you think, snort with laughter, or weep. Just not all at the same time.
“There aren’t any rules to running away from your problems. No checklist of things to cross off. No instructions. Eeny, meeny, pick a path and go. That’s how my dad does it anyway because apparently there’s no age limit to running away, either. He wakes up one day, packs the car with everything we own, and we hit the road. Watch all the pretty colors go by until he finds a town harmless enough to hide in. But his problems always find us. Sometimes quicker than others. Sometimes one month and sometimes six. There’s no rule when it comes to that, either. Not about how long it takes for the problems to catch up with us. Just that they will—that much is a given. And then it’s time to run again to a new town, a new home, and a new school for me.
But if there aren’t any rules, I wonder why it feels the same every time. Feels like I leave behind a little bit of who I was in each house we’ve left empty. Scattering pieces of me in towns all over the place. A trail of crumbs dotting the map from everywhere we’ve left to everywhere we go. And they don’t make any pictures when I connect dots. They are random like the stars littering the sky at night.”
― Brian James, Zombie Blondes