An allergist told me this week that she’s unconvinced that I am actually allergic to both tree nuts and peanuts.
But while I dream of stocking up all the 50% leftover Halloween nut-filled candy (peanut m&ms and Reese’s peanut butter cups are just two of the candies I covet), Emily will tell you that this is not exactly how the conversation went down because kids are super awesome like that. There’s nothing more enjoyable for your ego than when you are sitting and having a conversation with friends and your 14-year-old is sitting beside you rolling her eyes and saying, “You just heard what you want to hear Mom.” Teenagers and so great, also when they raid your wardrobe and come downstairs for school wearing the fall jacket you got in Italy and the sweater you had planned to wear that day.
And she looks better in them than you ever will.
One morning this week I grabbed a random Green Bay Packers hat (we may own at least 11) and ran out the door to drive Isabella to school for 8am. And when I noticed yesterday’s makeup and unbrushed hair, I considered taking a selfie in it, just for the comparison giggles.
Sidebar: Why can’t I learn to take my makeup off at night? I really am disgusting. It’s time for be to be 37 and start using an actual face wash and stop rummaging through my daughters’ shower things when I get around to actually remembering and wash my day-old makeup off with their neutrogena acne wash.
But anyway, this allergist really did tell me that she doesn’t think I’m actually allergic to all nuts—”probably just almonds,” she says. “And it may only be an oral allergy at that.” This is a direct quote, no matter what Emily says. So, that’s a thing. I need to go and get a blood test. If I ever have time. Which I don’t. Emily’s skirt for Josh’s bar mitzvah is sitting at Honey because I just haven’t had the time to go and pick it up, so she’s likely to show up at the her brother’s party with no pants on.
Serves her right, really, for all the eye rolling and teenager-ness.
Truth be told, as far as teenagery things happening at Casa de Martell, Emily is the least of my worries. Not only have Josh and Isabella basically reached the same height as me — Isabella wore my dress to synagogue today, she’s 10 — but they both seem to have hit full TEENAGER, like, this week, complete with slamming doors, eye rolling, and large amounts of sass.
THE SASS. The all-caps sass.
14, 12, 10 is proving to be a difficult age, it seems.
But you know what would make it easier?