I feel pretty, oh so pretty

I got carded at Trader Joe's today. That's what you get for a how-bad-can-it-be purchase of $3.99 Savingnon Blanc. The checker made a point of saying,"It's not that I think you're under 21, it's that I don't think you're over 40 and we now card anyone who looks under 40." Grateful as I am not appear older than my 39 years, I now have a new bar against which I can measure my preservation attempts: once they stop carding me at Trader Joe's, I will officially look 40. No more grocery shopping in sweats and a ponytail. I am stepping it up, people.

Speaking of youth and loveliness... this morning, as I was trying to get the kids ready for school, they decided it was as good a time as any to play a little hide-and-seek. They still hide like ostriches: faces buried, bodies absurdly visible. Today, when I "found" them, kneeling like Muslims in the fireplace (it's non-working, don't worry), Maggie refused to give up the ghost, saying in a taunting voice, "But you can't see my beautiful face."

Which leads me to believe I may be telling her I love her beautiful face a little too often. Not the love part, the beautiful part. The part where I emphasize her looks in a way I probably don't with her brother (whose face I find equally beautiful, or, cute, actually, if I am to be honest).

It's a tricky thing, girls and their looks. I want her to feel beautiful, of course, but I don't want her to start believing it's her best quality (that's a toss up between her sense of humor and how lovely she is with younger kids). And I really don't want her to get what my old friend Tom called "pretty girl's disease," a sort of flat blandness that can result from being told how pretty you are all the time.

All of this is probably moot anyway. Aside from referring to her face as beautiful, Maggie isn't exactly a Gossip Girl (is this reference correct? I've never seen the show). She won't wear anything in her hair (ponytails are a struggle). She doesn't care what she wears, and has thus far shown a worrisome lack of sartorial sense (thanks, Mister). And her walk, kind of wide-legged and manly, is very dykes-on-bikes. In fact, except for her preference for glittery pink shoes, she's shaping up to be the greasy-haired girl in the stained hand-me-downs*. So, never mind. I think we're good.

* Barring a severe head trauma, I would never really let that happen. I'm thinking more tawny soccer player with rosy cheeks, the kind of girl I wished I was.

A thing I like

My kids and husband in this very funny anti-Kindle ad. Go books!