First of all: we are over the hump! With the exception of Mr W (who is always the ahem, exception), it looks like we should have complete recovery in another day or so. Believe me when I say that the only thing left hissing and spitting in my house better have a tail and whiskers, lol, or it's out the door.
We ventured on over to my Mom's house today. I haven't been there in about 3 weeks, which is a looong time for me, considering that we usually go over there at least once on the weekends. The kids were very happy to go see their Nana and even more excited to see her home improvements. I don't know what's gotten into my Dad, impending retirement thoughts, senility, who knows, but suddenly he's embarked on this mission to take care of all the things he's put off in regards to his house. So they will be getting new furniture later this month (their current stuff is at least 14 years old, and could win the "ugliest couch" competition with ease--sorry Mom), and they had the flooring replaced in the entryway and kitchen, and had some carpet repaired/installed. Whew! While the new stuff looks good so far, the stuff they had to move around was still all over the place. My Mom has been busy trying to move it all back, but as she has her hands full taking care of my Nana, she needed some help.
Gradually, we managed to move her things out of the living room, and I successfully bit my tongue about what a packrat my Dad has become. Best not to rile my Mom; she's got enough going on already without my smarty-pants attitude pushing her over the edge. She was so relieved that we were able to help her out, that she mentioned, oh so casually, "You know what, mija? That box over there is full of old pictures, and there's one of Nolan and your Tata that's so cute! Here, let me find it."
Uh-oh. What other pictures are in that box? What other potentially horrifying things am I about to see?
AACK! There's an out of focus (oy, she'll be grateful to know that) picture of my friend Jenny, with big, big hair, thin as a rail. I can tell it's her by the shape of her hair. There are pictures of my dog, our house, my various family members on one of our Easter picnics, my Tata, my brother, school field trips (Geez, Mom, ever heard of an album?), and what's this?
No, no, no-o-oh, not the school pictures. Me at 7 with bangs and fat curls in a little pink dress with a rose on the bodice. Me at 8 in big curly hair (how she got that to happen, on my straight hair-- well, let's just remember for a moment pink spongy rollers and a headache from sleeping in them). Me at 5 in a parade, twirling a baton. Me at 3 in a cowboy hat. (OMG. Audrey looks just like...me.) Eww, me at 12. What on earth am I wearing? Me and my brother and our bad big glasses. The only thing that I'm finding amusing at this point is that my brother's glasses are even more frightening than mine. Oh, and that none of the ensembles I'm sporting in these photos are saved somewhere in a big box. (At least I hope not, but with my Mom, you never know.)
The real fun begins when she starts holding up pictures of me and Mr W. Back when he had hair and a mustache. ROFL. "Look, honey," I say as I hand a photo over to him, "is that a mullet?" "I do not have a mullet in this." "Do so. It's a baby mullet, look, all short on the sides and longer in the back." "No, it's not. But check out the sideburns/chops." "Redneck." There's one of us at homecoming, and one where Mr W says "I look like I'm on something in this one." He wasn't--it's just that baaaaddd. "It wasn't drugs, honey, you were just dazed from the glare off my glasses."
Longer hair, bad skin, it's all recorded in my Mom's big box of shame.
I was afraid to look at first, because I thought that the sight of a younger me would make me wish that I still looked like that more youthful self. A bit shiny and rough around the edges, but still cute, big lenses, bad skin, and all. I was worried that the sight of a somewhat thinner me would push me into a funk.
I went into the bathroom, and happened to catch myself in the mirror. I stood there for a second and took a look, mentally comparing myself, the younger girl from the photos and the woman reflected back at me now.
And you know what? It wasn't all that painful. Sure, things have changed some, but I think it's for the better. Better hair. Definately better glasses. Still cursed with temperamental skin, but it's better too.
As I walked down the hall, Mr W came up behind me and I said to him, "I think I like us better now."
And he laughed as he said, "Me too."
Thank God, because if he tried to grow a mullet now, well...he'd need to buy a wig.
And let me just add, for the record, there will be no posting of any photos. Some things are better off staying in the box. But the picture of Nolan and my Tata, I'm framing and putting up somewhere, cuz it really is cute. :)