Aria is going through her first awkward phase--baby acne. Ellie had the same thing for a few weeks, i know a lot of babies do. But it really got me and joc thinking/talking about how hard it was for both of us to be teenagers with really bad acne.
It must be the cruelest joke in the world.
Take a young teenager who is in a crazy, difficult life phase. Who is struggling to form identity, who is longing to make friends, fit in, be grown up, be cool, be stylish, be popular... and add to this young person an awkward growth spurt, a changing voice (only half of our readership will identify :) ), hormonal imbalances, and ice the cake with a really bad complexion. IT STINKS.
We both look back on those days in horror. They were awful, if you were (are) in a similar boat maybe you can relate. I think that is where i learned bad posture (which i'm still trying to grow out of) because i certainly didn't want to walk around with my head held high.
And the most humiliating moment of all had to be the day, each school year, when you'd get back your school pictures. (by the way, why do school picture companies fake it like they are doing fine photography? I'm pretty sure that a drunk cave-man with a hammer, chisel, and a stone slate could create a more flattering image) They passed them out in school and all your "friends" (most like fellow members of the "complexion and orthodontically challenged" sect) would say, "Oooh! let me see!" and after feigning not to hear them the first 5 times, you'd eventually have to give in and flash them a looksie at that frankensteinian bust sitting in front of some middle-aged man's idea of a "really neat-o" blue background. And then you'd have to pretend not to notice them stifling a laugh so you could go on acting like you really didn't care anyway... but inwardly you were dying.
And the only thing that could make you feel worse was when your mom burst into your room as you were laying on your bed, listening to Kurt Cobain's suicidal chants wishing an airplane would fall on your house, and she'd notice the brightly decorated waxy-paper pack on your floor (again some tacky middle-aged man's brain child--do they really think high school guys are into confetti?) and say, "Oh, your school pictures!" At which time, she'd snatch them up take them out into the living room and in 10 seconds flat would have them put in the big 8x10 frame that hung on the wall all year, clamoring for the annual opportunity to renew your self-hatred. If your life really sucked, she'd give a copy to all your aunts and uncles and grandparents, to ensure that there'd be no sanctuary for you.
I guess all this is to say i hope my girls make it through adolescence a little easier than we, their parents, did. And should good fortune not be theirs in this matter, I'm giving them carte blanche to skip school every picture day.
At long last, Chipotle is here (pronounced CHEE-POTE-LAY)!!!!
