Lessons from the eye doctor.

Today was Goob’s annual eye exam.  And here’s a quickie post on some reflections I had in the span of time his eyes were being examined:

1. You know how people will urge you to be grateful for the little things.  A well-meaning thought that, I believe, often goes unpracticed.  At least in my case.

I could have been grateful that we have insurance that pays for such visits.  I could have marveled at the technology that allows the ins and outs of our eyes to be studied in a way that still blows my mind.  I could have been thankful for good health, even a well-behaved child that’s okay with a light being beamed directly toward his eyes and he doesn’t flinch.

Yes, I am thankful for those things.  Those are, to me, obvious things to appreciate.  But you know what I sat there thinking about while Goob’s eyes were checked?

That he could read the letters off the mirror.

I thought about so many families I know that only dream of their children one day being able to speak to them.  There’s a multitude of different reasons why, but it doesn’t matter.  There are parents who long to hear wordsphrasesanything to come out.

My child can read the letters the technician asked him to.  And, for some reason, it made me want to cry.

Little things, people.  Be grateful for the beauty that often goes unnoticed.

2. Both hubby and I needed glasses by age 8, so we held our breaths last year at Goob’s check up.  And now another year has gone by where we somehow pro-created a child with beyond 20/20 vision.  I think he could read letters printed 8 doors down.

3. And for your benefit, because it’s clearly not for my own, I tried hard to find a picture with the most awful pair of glasses known to man from when I was 8.  Thankfully, I managed to avoid direct contact with cameras from that time period and while the focus isn’t so much on the glasses…let’s all take a moment to reflect on what the [insert whatever word you choose here] my mother was thinking when she put this outfit on me.

It was my birthday.

It’s like “Happy Birthday, honey!  Here’s a lump of knitted wool with a face on it–and LOOK, he’s playing pee-a-boo with you!–and some money to cover the first six months of your therapy bills when you turn 30.”

Also, total photobomb by the blond kid about 25 years before the word would be a “thing”.  Nice.

IMG_1143(2){Y’all are just going to have to click to enlarge this.  For the benefit of the interwebz, I just couldn’t put it at full-size on the main page.  Hide yo’ wife.  Hide yo’ kids.}

Grateful for vision, Goob’s awesome eyesight, and knitted sweaters and skirts,

Lis. ❤


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