The research for this one freaked me out a little bit. I try to trudge through life looking pretty much right in front of me. When I start to look too far ahead, when I start postulating about the future, I have a tendency to become very slightly unhinged. I can not, for example, deal with the fact that there are going to be another two or three billion people on the planet before I leave it. I don’t like people very much, one of the reasons that I was happy to move to one of the most sparsely populated nations on the planet. Anymore than I can deal with thinking about my boys as teenagers. There is no more repulsive animal on the planet than teenage boys. I just can’t fathom that these two gorgeous boys of mine will be making the transition to oily, pimply, testosterone addled thugs in just over a decade.
It isn’t just the big things either, I get pre-emptively depressed if I think ahead to Saturday night.
So, I try to keep it in the day. Put one foot in front of the other. Keep an eye on what is under my nose. And speak in clichés.
What is under my nose today is a hell of a lot of marking. And my boys.
It’s becoming clear that Boy Z is going to share his mother’s complexion. If you look closely at the photo above you’ll see the tell tale signs of freckles beginning to dot the bridge of his nose. I’m thrilled. I always wanted freckles as a kid – could totally relate with Judy Blume’s “Freckle Juice”. Dr. O’C tells me that it wasn’t that great, that she was constantly scorned as a “Freckle Face”. Though, as a goofy looking bespectacled kid with a big nose and a bad haircut I would have taken ‘freckle face’ over a lot of the verbal spears that were chucked my way.
I feel like Boy Z gets most of the face time around here. So, in the interest of equal time, here’s Not Max – freckle free for now.