Specs

Recently I had the unpleasant experience of having blood come out of my ears whilst watching the television. This occurred during an article about a woman who had set up a support group. Not such a bad thing, you might think. But this was a support group for mothers "traumatised" by the horror of having to drop their children off at nursery. Traumatised. It didn't help that she had the unkempt, crazy haired, boho-"chic" look of a women that knits her own tampons from coconut hair. Worse still, she went on to claim that after dropping her own daughter off at school (I forget the child's name, I suspect it was "Vulva") she was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This caused me to shout unrelentingly at a blankly uncomprehending television until my eyes went blurry and I had to have a lie down. I can't bear melodrama in other people.

Interestingly (well, maybe not) I'm also a hypocrite of epic scale. And prone to significant fits of melodrama. I once commando-crawled out of a bedroom at three in the morning because there was a spider on the ceiling. So when the Wife recently told me that the Boy had to start wearing glasses because he's shorted sighted I handled it in my own idiosyncratic style - denial, grumpy acceptance and then sadness.

As I took the Boy to have his glasses fitted I kept looking at his face conscious that it was the last time I would look at his face without thinking it looked naked without glasses. I felt quite glum about this. When we got home he asked me why I kept looking at him funny, and I didn't know how to answer him. The Boy, being five and subsequently far more emotionally mature than me, took this all in his stride. Assisted by the fact that he was getting Ben 10 glasses and this, in line with his new vocabularic* trend was "Awesome." I have to say, in this respect it is awesome. As I've mentioned before, I had National Health glasses as a child. In the eighties NHS glasses were largely bought by parents that were on the breadline or, in my case, bastards. Where his specs have Ben 10 written on them, mine had "Apply fist". 

My concerns that he'll get bullied have been somewhat alleviated by people pointing out that Harry Potter has made wearing glasses cool. This hadn't occurred to me because the Harry Potter thing has largely passed me by. I put this down to the fact that I've never read the books or seen the films BECAUSE I'M NOT TWELVE.That said, my misgivings were not soothed by

"Boy, you need to put your glasses on."

"But I've worn them once today."

"You have to wear them all the time."

"Whaaaat?"

And to compound matters the next morning (having had to be reminded to put his glasses on) the Boy said

*Sigh* "Oh yeah. I forgot I can't see. That's two things that are wrong with me."

"Two?"

"Yeah. I've got a verrucae."

Bullying aside it turns out I still have a whole new world of worry. The Girl is currently stuffing the Boy into a cardboard box yelling (quite viciously)

"Do you like it in there? DO YOU?"

Not that I'm worried about her state of of mind. I've long since been convinced she's destined to be an international assassin of some renown. I'm worried about the Boy's glasses.

Everyone else has been more than impressed with how cool he looks in his specs. Adults are particularly taken with them - Facebook has been replete with "Likes" since I posted a picture of him grinning away (with food in his teeth). I suppose it's partly because he looks like a Little Professor.

The Boy

Only without the moustache. Or off switch.

This weekend I met up my Brother's family at my Ma's house and my brother was kind enough to complement the Boy on how cool he looked. Sadly this didn't get noticed by the Boy as a moment later my four year old Nephew hit my Brother in the face with a large foam number 7.

"Ow. What number have you got there?

"Arse."

He doesn't talk much, the Nephew. But he's a cracking judge of character.

*Before the comments come rolling in, it is a word, you just haven't heard of it because I made it up.