Aging gracefully, like a tugboat

Last night I was fiddling with a small mole on my stomach, because I had nothing else to do and I didn’t want to clean the kitchen, and I suddenly remembered that it’s not a mole. At my last appointment, my dermatologist informed me that it’s actually called a “barnacle.” You know, like the crusty crap that grows on the underside of a boat.

So that makes me feel pretty sexy. Between my barnacle, my bunion, and my wankles, I would say I am aging less like a fine wine, and more like an expired container of milk that you forgot you had in the back of the fridge until one day you smell something rank and you think, “What on earth is that stench?!?” and you dig through your fridge and throw out a ton of shriveled baby carrots and realize maybe you should stop buying so many baby carrots and you keep digging and find 14 half-eaten jars of pasta sauce and realize maybe you should stop opening new jars of pasta sauce and then finally you see it hiding in the back corner with crusty milk bits hanging off the lid and you say “Oh hi Amy – I didn’t see you there. You’re old and moldy and you’re starting to rot.”

Me. As a barnacle-infested tugboat.

Me. As a barnacle-infested tugboat. Please note my feet are not actually the same size as my head. Yet. And my wankles are not actually visible. Yet. 

For old time’s sake

I have eleventy billion photos of my kids. I wonder sometimes how the overwhelming photographic evidence of their childhood will affect them. Will they be self-obsessed? Will memories seem less special because they are overly documented?

So I was excited when I heard about the opportunity to get their silhouettes done Friday at a nearby mall. Like a step back in time! Let’s take it waay back to the good ole days before all this photography nonsense!

Maybe I’m romanticizing it too much, but a silhouette just seems like a timeless way to capture the memory of my kids and their sweet faces.

Here are the finished products.

Does it look like them? Yes. But it could also be a million other kids. And therein lies the real beauty of a silhouette. Once you know how to cut one kid, you can cut them all. Boy that sentence sounds terrible when I re-read it.

Seriously the guy who does them is a genius. It only takes him 5 minutes per kid. He charges $25/silhouette. Plus an additional $16 if you want a frame. That’s $300-$500/hour.

SOMEONE GET ME SOME CLIPPERS. Imabout to get all Edward Scissorhands up in this joint.

Despite blowing cash on cutouts that may or may not be my children, I’m happy with them and know they will be keepsakes I’ll treasure.

On the way out of the mall we stopped at Sbarro for lunch. Please don’t judge. As we were dining on crusty pasta, their landline phone rang. My daughter looked around with alarm and asked, “Mama, what’s that noise?!”

Sweet jeebus she’s never heard a traditional phone ring. Is that possible? We only have cell phones, so I guess it could be. I explained that it was a phone with a cord so you can’t carry it everywhere. To which she asked, “Mama, is this an ‘old-time’ restaurant?”

Yes, dear child, today has been your first history lesson, in which the Days of Yore were comprised of silhouettes, landline phones, and Sbarro. Holy hell I feel old.