Musings about life in the Pigeon household


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I have issues with my children. More specifically, I have incredible issues with the boys and their glasses.

I only have two out of the three needing glasses, but both hubby and I predict that the oldest will end up repeating the history of his parents and need glasses before junior high is over.

Two in glasses is enough for now. Especially with what has been happening lately with their glasses. Or really not what has been happening in terms of some magical, coincidental crazy random event. More like what these children are doing to their glasses.

I remember laughing at stories my mom told about my brother, who got his glasses when he was two. One story in particular stands out among the many situations. One time, in the dead of winter in Calgary, my brother took his glasses off outside because of course they ended up with snow on them and he couldn’t see.

“Where did you put them?” my mom asked.

“I put them down,” was the answer.


“I think so…” would be the reply.

So there was my mom, middle of the day in -20 weather, sifting through snow in the yard and on the patio, the patio table, the BBQ, the sidewalk… only to finally find them sunken through a drift of snow on the family car. She always ended the story saying my brother was smart in that he put them somewhere safe; she just had to figure out where that was.

I relate.

And I’m not laughing anymore.

The middle and youngest ones are the ones with glasses. And they’re so adorable with them on. So cute.

Until the glasses go missing.

To their credit, the boys know enough (most of the time), to take their glasses off before they start wrestling or when they’re jumping on the trampoline.

Only problem is where they put these glasses.

Like my mom said, they’re smart. They put them somewhere safe. Which is anywhere in our house where there is a hard surface. And what we keep forgetting is that the area is usually about 3 feet high. Kid height.

Not adult height.

We were reminded of this one time after going almost a week without knowing where my middle boy had put his glasses.

“Somewhere safe” or “I dunno” were the usual answers.

My father in law had to tell us, after listening to our griping and complaining about these glasses, that we should look at our child’s level. Maybe then we’d find the frigging glasses.

He was right.

Second shelf from the floor in the linen closet.

Linen closet? You read it right.

Not sure of the thought process there, but I figure it’s along the lines of putting it someplace so safe, you forget where you put it. I’ve done that.

Now we try to hammer home the idea of putting the glasses in a specific spot.

Like in my hand, for example.

This doesn’t mean putting them on the deck when you’re jumping on the trampoline. Found those glasses the hard way.

My middle one is good with his glasses. Out of anyone, he’s the one who wears them without too much fuss. Until it was discovered that not only does he have a lazy eye, but the only way to fix it is to patch him. That means the strong eye wears a patch, so the ‘lazy eye’ has to work harder.

And he does this every day. For two loooooong hours.

And we’ve had success in that area – after a lot of yelling, negotiating and bribing with Lego, his eye has improved to almost 20/20.

Until last week.

The boys built a huge fort in our basement consisting of cushions, chairs, pillows, blankets and other odds and ends. It was pretty awesome – they ended up having lunch in there and could watch TV from there (which is apparently very key in fort-building-blue-prints)…

We had friends over that night for dinner.

So the adults are upstairs, enjoying a nice dinner made by me (recipe to follow one day) and talking, visiting and laughing over a glass (or three) of wine.

Then the middle one comes upstairs. With his glasses in his hand.

But there’s a problem. They’re missing the arms.

You know, the parts that go around the ears so you can actually wear glasses on your face?

The story (his version, anyway) was that he had put his glasses down.

On the floor.

In the fort.

Not sure if someone stepped on them, knocked them, or if they flew into a wall. But these glasses are so incredibly trashed.

Now we need to buy new glasses for this boy.

And as hubby has had to remind me over the last week and a bit every time I start to bitch about how our bank accounts are hemorrhaging money right now, the middle son is the one who has been fantastic with his glasses. I can’t complain.

Oh yes I can.

But I try not to.

If I really want to bitch about someone and their glasses, it would be my youngest.

He has a natural-born talent to trash really nice things.

Like glasses.

I think he’s on his fourth pair now. He just got them last Friday. Very nice. Very expensive due to the ‘flexible’ frame highly recommended by my optometrist and the ‘special lenses’ needed since his astigmatism is getting worse. Very colourful (blue). Very scratch-free.

We’ll see how long they last.

Now that he’s older, he doesn’t wreck things like he used to. I should be honest here as he really is improving in that department.

But the idea that now we  need to go buy more glasses… ugh.

By god, these had better last.

These glasses need to stay on their faces and remain scratch free or I might end up stapling these specs to their foreheads!


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