I was lying in bed, reading a few chapters of The Book Thief before bed recently.

Focusing on the words on the page seemed impossibly hard.  And not because of poor lighting or minuscule print or the late hour.

It was my eyes.

At some point this past year I purchased some reading glasses and then only used them a few times. I knew right where they were.  Maybe it was time to revisit the glasses again.

Okay.  Fine.

I left my cozy covers and brought the glasses back.  I put them on.  And.  Miracle of miracles.  Shocking.

They worked.

The words appeared larger.  Readable.  Helpful.  I could continue with my chapter without eye strain and it was great.

Except it wasn’t.  Of course no one was watching me, but I knew I was wearing reading glasses.  Good grief.  What is happening?  Why does that make me feel so old?

The next day I was checking my blasted phone and the print seemed like it had shrunk.  Which of course, it had not.

I asked the child nearest me to help me out, because isn’t that what parent do these days, pass off technology to their kids and ask for help?

As London began looking into the settings of my phone and altering the font size I said to her, “Hey, don’t mock me.”

She looked offended.  “I wasn’t going to mock you Mom,” she smiled.  

“I think you should just accept your age with grace.”

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