Tag Archives: glasses

Would certainly make for an interesting campaign…

19 Dec


When I was 28 years old I got glasses.

Some people in my life would say that this was my dream come true.

You see, I spent my childhood (and possibly some of my adolescence) wishing desperately to be bespectacled.

The Great Glasses crusade began when I was in first grade and my two-year-old sister got glasses for extreme farsightedness, that caused Accommodative Esotropia.

Basically, in order to try to see clearly, her eyes crossed as a form of compensation.

This is exactly the exact same issue that both of my kids have, and also that my mother was diagnosed with at the age of three.

One day, while I was at school, my mom got a call from the school nurse; she was calling to inform my mom that I had failed the eyechart test that they give as a standard;

you see, I was perfectly capable of reading all of the smallest letters, but miraculously unable to make out those in the large print.

Get it? Yeah, so did they. And you know what I did not get?


Last winter, when I went for an eye exam, the doctor told me that I was mildly farsighted and had an astigmatism. I would need to wear glasses all the time.

It was more exciting in theory and in first grade.

And if you’ve seen me around or in photos you will see that I am not so great at wearing them.

I now have to wear them to do all of the writing that I do on the computer, but my husband is constantly reminding me to put them on, as he watches me squint and struggle to see.

Case in point: Tonight I was doing my standard baby bedtime bottle routine, while flipping through my Instagram feed, and I came across photos of a new nail polish collection from Essie.

I was taken aback;

it was the middle photo that caught my attention first – – well, really the caption, which I read as “Double Breastfed” and then some word I could not quite make out.

I am as avid an advocate for breast-feeding as you can get so I was equal parts excited and curious.

I checked out the name on the first bottle.

“Oh my god,” I thought, as I read “Bump up the Pumps”.

Was this really happening? A whole collection of nail polish meant to encourage breast-feeding women?

I checked  out the third and last bottle in the photo.

A bold cranberry red with shimmer.

“Jump in my Jumpsuit”.

that one struck me as odd – – I couldn’t figure out what it meant. Baby wearing? Had Essie really gone this crunchy?

so I looked back at that first bottle, the photo in the middle, and squinted my eyes as hard as I could to focus.

“Double Breasted Jacket” it read.

And then I laughed at myself, realized that now, by some miracle, it is just that old elusive large print that I can read clearly, put my baby down and my glasses up.

I guess my days of faking the eyechart are over…

unless I want to start asking the ladies at the nail salon for polish named for breast pumps.

I would write more but my computer is not turning on so I have been forced to type on an iPad which has been quite a challenge… Because I can’t see the letters…

so I will just go on coming up with my own creative names for now polishes of the future;

starting with “Glasses for Asses”.


The little feather that could.

2 Dec

This morning was a morning like most others.

We watched an episode of My Little Pony, found the “Tuesday” underwear from my daughter’s drawer, hurried her off to school, as my son and I stayed in our pajamas.

My son and I snuggled up in bed for a good two hours and napped together, as I fell asleep to the rhythmic sounds of his breathing.

And then we went to the eye doctor. And we got some unexpected news. My son had to get glasses at 11 months to correct his farsightedness, just like his sister before him. He also had to have a minor surgical procedure to unblock a clogged tear duct, and I feel so fortunate to say that it went very well.

Today, we learned that my son’s eye crossing is not exactly like my daughters, and my sister’s before her, and my mother before her ; he not only is extremely farsighted, but he also has a weak eye muscle. This will require a surgery, and it is a much more extensive surgery than the little tear duct probing. And my heart stopped beating.

Let me stop right now.

I realize that my son is getting eye surgery.

In the scheme of life, this is a blip. It is a slightly large blip, but I recognize that parents, every hour, are given far worse news about far worse procedures and prognoses, so please do not think for one second that I do not have perspective. I do. I send all of the love I can muster to those parents and those children and those families.

But I also have the knowledge that my son will have to go under general anesthesia, be intubated, and face some pain afterwards. And, this surgery will not do anything to correct his vision.

The eye doctor said, “Boy, this one can’t catch a break, can he?” and I replied with, “None of us can this year!”

And I was thinking about my son’s first year;

He had a mother who went a little crazy and then was later hospitalized. He has been to the Emergency Room FIVE times now: once in utero, twice for RSV (which lead him to a most depressing Christmas week stay in the children’s ward of the local hospital), once for Carbon Monoxide poisoning and then, finally, for slicing his wrist on my mirrored coffee table, requiring seven stitches. He hasn’t had it so easy.

But just like the realization that I had a week ago, when it occurred to me that my sweet son is the best thing to have ever happened to me,

I had another epiphany today.

He is my strength symbol.

Right before we left for the Ophthalmologist, I found this tiny, stray feather stuck to the inside of the wrist of my sweater.

It gave me the feeling that I always get when I see feathers, which is that I can be strong and that there are people watching over us to guide and protect us, even through the darkest of days.

And then I got this crappy news from the eye doctor and I looked back down at my feather and tried to figure it out. What was it telling me?

And I got it:

My son is my strength symbol.

He has shown me bravery, fortitude and resilience like nothing I have ever seen.

He has had a tough year with some tough circumstances, and wakes up with a smile on his face every single day, showing seven little teeth, gapped and perfect.

So, my tiny feather, you are my inspiration. You show me what it means to be courageous. You have faced so much in such a short time and I am so, so, proud to be your mother.

You are my little hero.

And we will just keep chugging along.


I mean, why settle for four eyes

14 Oct

when you can have eight?

So, yeah,

this morning we found out that our baby boy, 10 days shy of his first birthday, will need glasses,

just like his big sister.

Evidently, though, he is an overachiever, because whereas she didn’t need them until she was 13 months old, he is getting them before 12. Atta boy!

And though he isn’t quite as farsighted as his sister, he will need to undergo a surgical procedure to scope a blocked tear duct in his right eye. So there’s that, too.

Part of me is brought right back to three and a half years ago, when I felt so discouraged by my daughter’s diagnosis. But this time it didn’t come as a surprise to me; I saw his eye turning in and I knew. I just knew.

And I am still seeing things through my own four eyes, except mine are metaphorical, as I only wear my recently prescribed glasses about 25% of the time,

but I am seeing them differently, because now I have perspective.

There’s still my scared eye. The eye that worries about the impact this will have on his self confidence, his athletic ease, the hindrances he might face and the insults he might endure. But now I know that they make goggles with prescriptions, and that my daughter was able to swim underwater this summer, farsightedness be damned. I know that her very best friend wears a pair of lense-less glasses to school every day, claiming to need them (he says that without them, she “looks like a necklace” to him…which is just about the cutest thing ever) when we really know he is just trying to be like his oldest and dearest girlfriend.

Then there is my shallow eye. This eye sees my son, strong and handsome, with an angelic face, and strong cleft chin, and worries about the glasses masking these features. He has beautiful crystal blue eyes. I don’t like the idea of having them hidden.

And yes, I still have my ashamed eye. The eye who really wants to say (and pardon my language here, but) “who gives a shit? They are glasses. Who cares if he is deemed different. We celebrate differences here in these parts.

But, finally there is, as there was, my grateful eye. As I wrote three years ago, “this is the eye that sees, so vividly, how lucky we are. We have a problem that has a solution. So what. They’re glasses.” We have a great doctor, and wonderful friends, and the resources to buy him whatever glasses we choose. He has a tiny problem. His problem has a cure. For that, I feel so very blessed.

So now all four of us have four eyes;

My husband’s for moderate nearsightedness,

mine for insight,

and my children, for strabismus associated with extreme farsightedness.

And remember that shallow eye up there? That eye thinks that it will be pretty darn cute to have two adorable little kids in matching glasses. I think the cuteness factor of kids with glasses increases exponentially with each additionally glasses-clad-child. I’m sure that I read that statistic somewhere.

So, just as I did with my daughter years ago,

I cuddled up with my son this afternoon, after lunch. He had completely dirtied his shirt after manhandling an avocado, so I held him, kissing his bare chest, and telling him that he would not be bespectacled,

but rather, to be spectacular.

And we slow danced in the living room, four ears listening to music,

two hearts beating together

and four eyes

taking in the changing world around us,

a world that is only going to get more beautiful.