I just got a facebook message from a childhood friend, Cathy K, that said, “I’m looking for a Robyn Openshaw who grew up in Bellevue, Nebraska in the 70’s–you look too young to be her though, right?”
Nope, I’m her!
In case I was feeling elated for being told I am too young to be “that” Robyn, this was Cathy’s next message:
“Remember that you drew a picture of me on the chalkboard with clumps of mascara on my eyelashes? And I threw a chalked-up eraser at your back when I tried to erase it and you tried to stop me?”
Wow! Would I do something so mean? Thank goodness we get to grow up. I was grateful for the opportunities to right 30-year old wrongs! And thankful, too, for the perspective that if my own 6th grader acts like . . . well, a 6th grader . . . she’ll eventually develop some wisdom and maturity. Anyway, I wrote Cathy back and asked her forgiveness. And recounted my main memory of being jealous of her for being beautiful. (I was the ugly duckling pretty much the entire decade.)
Then she said,
“You look like a 22 year old. I look like a stay-home Mom who nursed four children and ate Pop Tarts. That’s going to change–my goal is to look like you! I’m getting on my exercise bike right after I pick up my kindergartner!”
As I’m going to blog about soon, it’s never too late to give up the Pop Tarts. (p.s. And it’s WORTH IT to nurse those babies!)