Here’s a fun fact: my Mom is a scrapbooker. She’s a serious scrapbooker. She’s got the paper cutters, the corner choppers, the fancy albums and colorful background paper… there are stickers…. so so many stickers. She’s for real. Scrapbooking is the new rubber stamping. Remember the rubber stamp craze!? Yea, we’ve moved on. Scrapbooking.
I went to my parents’ house a few days ago to find these envelopes gracing the brick fireplace. The envelope in front had my name on it. I was hoping for an early Christmas stocking. Boy oh boy did I get it. Among other darling and embarrassing photos of myself, I found a chronological history of my school days. From preschool to high school. Every cute, awkward and downright horrifying picture.
Now. Because I don’t know any better. Because I’m certifiably batty… allow me to share with you preschool through seventh grade. The later, more awkward years will follow, and we’ll all cry.
Though she will deny it, my Mom gave me this haircut herself. I remember very well. Even at four, I knew how ridiculous I looked.
First grade. Somehow I think I rise above this bowl haircut.
Second grade. That tiny headband is failing…. big time. Nice frock. I would totally rock that these days. Is that weird? That’s weird.
Nice corner fading third grade! I feel like there are some serious adult teeth hiding out in that mouth.
Oooh yes. Full of teeth. You have to grow into your teeth. It’s true. It’s like puppies with big paws. Should I tell you how much I loved this Cinco de Mayo dress with matching hair ribbon? Yes. A lot.
Mixed girl hair is a hard thing. It wants to be curly. It wants to be straight. It wants to ruin your life. What are you going to do? Button your shirt all the way up and hope for the best.
a) Why do the school photographers make you look in the ceiling corner. It’s awkward.
b) I thought this shirt was so clever. I was right.
Oooh Joy . Triangle hair. So short. So much volume. I wish I could have gone back in time to tell you everything would work out ok… but the truth is that you’ve got some seriously awkward years ahead of you. Yeesh.
Enjoy the kitchen intermission. Laugh at me. Please… go on… laugh. If your Mom is a scrapbooker, you might not want to laugh as hard. Your time for an embarrassing envelope will come.