[Before I get into the actual post, a great big sloppy thank-you to everyone who responded so kindly to my last couple of posts (and the corresponding post over on Alpha Mom). I am emerging from the fog and hoping I never have to switch medications ever again. Thanks for being patient with me.]
Remember how last summer Monkey got glasses and there was much rejoicing? There was also some self-flagellation, because he’d been having trouble seeing for a while, and I hadn’t kept up with yearly exams, but all of you assured me that these things can happen and the important thing was that it had all been resolved and it could’ve happened to anyone. I like you, have I even mentioned that?
So a couple of weeks ago when Monkey started complaining (again!) that he was having trouble seeing, I was all, “Oh, we’re probably due for your yearly exam very soon,” and then I went and checked and, yeah, His last exam was in June. Whoops. I like how I totally learned my lesson from before, don’t you? I went ahead and made him an eye appointment. And then listened to a week of “Mom! HEY MOM! Can you read that from here? Because I can’t! I can BARELY SEE IT!”
The thing I hadn’t anticipated here is that—much like when I got new glasses earlier this year—the current selection of frames at the optical place was… dismaying.
Monkey’s original (current, I guess I should say) glasses are metal and semi-rimless. They suit him, and he insisted that he wanted the same frames again. However, despite the fact that my gangly manchild is, well, not exactly a child anymore, he is still oblivious when it comes to the care and handling of his specs. As a result, we’ve had to replace a couple of nosepads when they’ve been broken off or bent beyond recognition, plus it seems like that whole nosepad area needs frequent readjusting because it’s delicate and Monkey is… not.
Thus, I’ve been using my wily powers of All-Knowing Mom Persuasion this week to talk to him about how PLASTIC frames don’t have separate pieces by the nose there. PLASTIC frames like the ones I wear, like the ones his sister wears, why, they’re practically indestructible. And SO COMFORTABLE! Nosepads are for losers! (I only said that last part in my head. But you get the general idea.)
We checked in at the optical place and the optometrist whisked him into an exam room and returned him to me before I’d even had time to get through my email.
“Has he had a growth spurt lately?” He asked.
“Yes. I think he’s taller now than when you took him back,” I said.
The optometrist chuckled. “I thought so. He’s had a significant change in his prescription, and that tends to happen with growth spurts.”
“Oh, really? How much of a change?” Who knows what’s significant to an optometrist, right?
“We’re going to just about double his prescription,” he said, casting me the briefest of glances that could’ve meant “don’t freak out” or “you’re the worst mother I’ve ever met.” Either way.
(Hey, I think I figured out why he couldn’t see!)
That’s my Monkey. Taller, hairier, and blinder than ever before!
But really, this was all fine, and we commenced trying to find him a pair of frames. We quickly discovered that it turns out that only about 25% of the available frames are plastic, and about 105% of those frames scream HIPSTER DOUCHE.
Monkey loved every pair he put on more than the last. The bigger, clunkier, and dorkier the frame, the more awesome he thought he looked. I glanced over at the children’s frame section with longing; his current frames had come from there just over a year ago, but now they all looked TINY compared to my fast-growing boy.
“I really like these ones,” he declared, about three pairs in. “They’re comfortable.” They were a thick-rimmed black plastic, twin rectangles encasing either side of his face. He looked like he might whip a bunsen burner and a beaker of bubbling fluid out of his pocket at any moment.
“Uhhhh… I’m not sure how I feel about all that black,” I said, while he preened in front of the mirror.
I found him a pair in tortoiseshell, and the color was less harsh, but those frames were a little larger and not as good of a fit. Dangit. I asked a nearby optician if the heavy black ones came in any other color, but she said they didn’t. Of course.
It seemed like we’d been through every plastic pair in the men’s section (and a couple of unisex-looking ones I snagged from women’s, shhhhh) and I was just about resigned to the heavy pair he loved, when I spotted a similar pair in a lighter-weight plastic, with some gray on the sides to break up the black a little. “Did you try these ones?” I asked him. He rolled his eyes but put them on.
“These are pretty comfortable,” he said. “I like ’em.”
“SOLD!” I said. And we bought them.
He’s still gonna look like a three-quarter-size hipster, but it’s more like hipster-lite. Like, he’s allowed to have a few gears on his bike, still, and he’s excused from growing ironic facial hair for now. Mostly because if he sprouts any more facial hair than he already has, he is SO GROUNDED.