The Boys Helped Me Pick Out My New Glasses

The title get you?

Yah, it's true.

I have worn contacts since a senior in high school.  That means that my glasses are prehistoric.  Sure, I could get new lens for my new prescription in them but they are ancient old and I just don't want to be caught in those glasses for anything.

Because I have a trip coming up (check back to find out where on the 7th), I figured I really should have a "back up" plan in case my contacts malfunctioned or my eyes were too tired and dry to handle wearing them for a second longer.

Sam's Club happens to have an optometrist on hand.  I have visited my eye doctor faithfully and think the world of them but I couldn't pass up inexpensive frames.  And I was in Grand Rapids for four boys dentist appointment (Dentist side note...there is one hygienist there that the boys and I fear.  She would be much nicer if she drank coffee and ate donuts, I am sure, but she doesn't.  And she chastises us for doing that and damaging our teeth.  We try to avoid her.  She was suppose to clean S2 and S3's teeth.  S4 said, as she walked out of the waiting room with S2), "That's the mean doctor. Glad I don't have her!") so a stop in at Sam's Club was easy.

I went to see if I could get an appointment while I let the four boys eat as much food and drink as much soda from the cafe.  Hey, they had just come from the dentist.  That soda shouldn't effect them one bit.

I fully expected a quick "Your prescription is this, pay here" type of exam.  But the optometrist was thorough and I was impressed with all that he did to make sure I had the best prescription.  He had me try on some contacts.  He took pictures of the inside of my eyes (kinda freaky) and was nice and chatty in a not bad way.

The boys?  They gobbled down food and stood outside the door watching the huge flat screen t.v.'s that happened to have a cartoon on it.  Could it get better?

Then I had to find a pair of glasses.

I had four boys trying to help me.

I had ten pairs of glasses they liked.

I had three boys trying on glasses begging me to buy them for them.

I took approximately 500 hundred pictures and sent 1,000 texts asking for help.  Okay, not really, but I did take a bunch of pics and I did send a bunch of text and I did send my pic on twitter and instagram to see what they said.

S1 picked my glasses almost immediately.  The pair I liked the color of the most just didn't fit right.  The glasses S1 picked I liked everything about.  The woman who ran the desk told me they were the best look on me.  But I still hemmed and hawed because it's a touch choice.

I finally picked them out.

I paid. Because you all will want to know, for me to get frames, lens, eye glass exam, contact prescription, photo of the back of my eye to make sure they were well (they are) it costs $277.  The glasses should be ready on the 9th.

I turned to let S1, who had come to check on me and see if I was finally ready to go, and told him we just needed a few groceries as I put my checkbook back in my purse.  But I looked up to not see S1 but a VERY surprised older man.

Oops.  Don't need groceries with him!  I laughed and explained and he was too shocked to reply so I just gathered up the boys and headed as far away from there as possible.  To the clear other side of the store.  Where girls with long beautiful hair descended up on me.

"Sit here! Oh, let us style your hair!" and so they got out these flat iron curler thingy's and curled my hair.  "What do you do to your hair?" they asked.

"Nothing."  It's true.  It is washed and combed and that's all.  Sometimes I blow dry the very top of my head to speed along the drying process but it's too thick to blow dry.

"Oh, I am so jealous! It's soooooo pretty!"  Another stylist started working on the other side of my head to show of the flat iron to a woman with too short hair.

"They sell for upward of 300 dollars but we sell them here twice a year for 40 dollars," the girls explained to me.

The boys, suckers for all infomercials, begged me to get one.

My amazing stylist assured me it was a great deal when I sent her a text.

So I purchased one.

The boys cheered.  Literally, three of them hugged me and jumped for joy.

I would wonder if they think I look hideous and this is my turning point to look pretty but I'll just go with they were glad I bought the cheetah print one.

So soon I should be posting a picture of me with curly hair - or super soft super straight hair - and glasses.

All thanks to my boys. 

I guess my worry in having them help me choose them was as unfounded as my husband said it would be.  He assured me that they would be great at picking out glasses for me.  Well, I should have never doubted him.  They picked out glasses AND a flat iron.

He may never let me have them pick things out for me again.

The Post My Husband Wants Me to Write

Here is the post my husband wants me to write.

I, for the record, do not want to.

You will then know how hillbilly we are.

It all started with a phone conversation.

I texted my husband to let him know I would be taking the boys into the huge cement city (that's what we call it) to load up on groceries.  We have reached that point where we are out of everything.  My boys are growing by leaps and bounds and leaps some more, this means they never stop eating.

I wasn't sure if we could get into Costco and shop for a trial run (sounds like we can't) and so I am headed to Sam's Club, where we do have a membership because they sell bags for our farm stand and that's when my husband says, "Make sure S1 looks for containers for his worms."

Worms.  Our entrepreneurial S1 has been collecting night crawlers at, well, night.  He has them stored in an old camper tub behind his shop.  He did this last year and did quite well.  He started with the warm weather we had last month and has quite a few hundred.  He collects them in coffee cans and then shows them to me as I am lying in bed.  I then scream and he then laughs and takes them to the tub he keeps them in.

So THEN my husband says, "Yah, then we will move the fridge onto the porch."

"Wait, what?" I asked, nearly choking on my coffee.

"Yah", he says, "Didn't I tell you? We are going to move that fridge from the shed to the front porch so you can just sell the worms from the house."

My dear blog readers...that means a fridge, on my porch, along with my bunnies living there.  And while I have worked hard to keep the view from the window I look out of most often flowery and cute, I see that ending quickly.  Cuteness will be replaced with hillbilly.

The fridge will have a bright orange extension cord going from porch and into the window to keep it running.

"Great," I say, "that means I will go from night crawler season to asparagus season to strawberry season with a fridge on my porch."

"You'll clean it, of course but, I know, it's going to work great."

I just drank more coffee and we moved onto the subject that DirecTv has dropped my beloved Fox 17 from its line up so we can't watch anything on Fox now.  

"You can in the bathroom," my husband suggested.

Forever ago, my husband lamented the fact that we did not have a tv in the bathroom and how cool it would be.  Yes, bathROOM.  We have one bathroom.  He lamented so much that I put a tv in the bathroom, we hooked up the box so it could get just local channels and my husband rejoiced.

I won wife of the day for that one.

It is rather handy to have the news on in the morning as you get ready to head out, I will admit.

But it's not like I super broadcast the fact that it's there, you know?  It just seems wrong somehow to have a tv in your bathroom.

My husband wants me to call DirecTv and get some awesome deal hammered out for us since they dropped our station.  I am more the "I'll be super sweet and blog about it" person and my husband is the "you WILL work out a deal with us RIGHT NOW" sort of guy.

"You know what you should do?' (I inwardly braced myself as he continued.) "You should set up a bunch of chairs in the bathroom and get a picture of you all watching Fox 17 in the bathroom.  That would be a great blog post!"

"Uh, no," I said.

"Oh come on!" he laughed, but was very serious, "It'd be great!"

"Because, husband," I explained, "It's bad enough that soon I will be the hillbilly house with a fridge on my porch.  A fridge with worms! And then we'll have a picture of us all in the bathroom...."

"One of them could use the toilet as a chair!" he interrupted.

"Yah, might as well put up the picture of all the boys shooting their guns off the porch too," I added.

"We could be the town's welcoming committee then!" he laughed.

Oh. We so could.

This is why people think we should have our own reality show, I swear.

Anyhow, here is the post that my husband wanted me to write (minus any bathroom pictures) because no doubt this will all happen.  Heck, the boys target practicing off the porch on a rainy day already has.

I am just holding my shaking head in my hands as I finish this.  Can NOT believe I will push publish.

Good grief.

What hillbillies we really are.

Well, we are off to Sam's Club to drop a small fortune to keep the boys fed so they can continue to hunt worms that I'll sell from the front porch.

More spring break stories later.....