At the ripe old age of 4, E.B. finally managed to get his first real skinned up knee. Apparently he was running around at my parent’s house this afternoon and fell down in their driveway. When they brought him home he immediately ran to me and the waterworks started all over again. He had scrapes on his knees and his elbows. My mom had tried to wash them off with a washcloth but he loudly protested that the water hurt and therefore, he would not be taking his bath tonight, thankyouverymuch.

He cried all through bathtime….he balked and fussed while I dressed him afterward. Luckily, just an hour earlier Cracked Daddy had rented him an awesome DVD about trains he had never seen and this seemed to help when I kept reminding him that the sooner we got finished with bathing and dressing, the sooner he could watch. Finally, he settled in on the couch to watch the DVD with his blanket and lots of hugs from me.

Then he had one small request. Chocolate. And NOT just any chocolate, mind you. He has discriminating taste (just like his mama) when it comes to chocolate and only a Dove chocolate bar will do. With a couple of squares of Dove milk chocolate, all his boo-boos were soon forgotten. And if this is all it takes to make everything better, I’m thinking we had better stock up for all of those hard knocks between here and 18 that everyone keeps warning me about.

As I was hanging up my jeans after doing laundry tonight I was flooded with memories of my butt and the way we were.

I don’t think I ever cared about name brands or what I was wearing until I hit 6th grade and then suddenly for some odd reason it mattered. Nevermind the fact that my classmates and I had already been through 6 years of elementary school together. That year something just clicked (or maybe is it “cliqued”?) and it mattered.

The most coveted article of clothing through my junior high years was jeans. And no, not just any pair of jeans. They had to be Guess jeans, bonus points if they had a button fly and zipped at the ankle. That little upside down triangle in red, black, and white sporting the Guess logo was the epitome of coolness. And if you completed that outfit with a pair of Reebok hi-tops (in a rainbow of colors) and some gaudy geometric patterned top or sweater? You ruled.

I suckered my parents into buying me a few pairs of Guess jeans at a whopping $60-75 a pop, which was big money back then. Heck, it’s still big money to me. I don’t know if they really thought they were worth it or just didn’t want their daughter to be the only one without them, but they graced my butt with the style that was so desperately required of me during those angst-ridden pre-teen years.

(Insert eyeroll here)

I had to laugh at myself tonight as I hung up my Old Navy jeans that most certainly didn’t cost over $20 nor do they flatter my butt. What happened to that 13 year old girl who was a slave to fashion? Did she ever think she’d be caught dead in mom jeans? My God, doesn’t she care anymore?

I’ve noticed that today’s “it jeans” are a bargain (*choke*) at $200. I see them on high school aged children. You know, the ones carrying the $400 purses, talking on their iPhones and looking way older than their age.

I’m thinking it’s a good thing I’m not a teenager now. My parents would have never been able to afford me.

And Georges Marciano, I just want you to know you made a pretty penny off the teenaged girls in my small town way back when. I’m glad we could help you retire so well.

Work, work, work all weekend.

Tired, tired, tired.