I grew up in the 80’s. We had a Beta recorder because my dad thought it was better than a VCR, and like most things, we were always caught a day late and a dollar short. Jelly shoes? Check. Michael Jackson’s Thriller memorized? Check. The only problem is that I had to wait for jelly shoes to come to our neighborhood Little General store before I could afford them with my car wash money. I was never cool enough for the mall. I wanted to fit in, to belong, to own stuff that wasn’t duct taped together, to get to Wally World before it closed for the season.

I’ve already likened my life to a TBS version of a Chevy Chase movie, so I’ll try to conjure a new reference. The problem with thinking up new stuff is that my brain is broken too, along with my very nine-month self. In case you missed it the one-teeny-time I mentioned it, I’m on my last leg.

If that wasn’t bad enough, my toddler broke my trendy –code for “expensive”– glasses this morning, so now I can’t see either. (I’m sure I probably don’t need to SEE for labor day, but it’s like a security blanket. I can’t do this without my glasses.) If that wasn’t bad enough, my seven-year-old tried to fix them before the dirty deed was exposed. The glasses were sitting on a Bible on the table, so you know, I figured they were in the safe zone. We need more candy and hazardous things to distract the little ones.

Now that I have enough money to be just a little bit cool, though, I don’t care. That feels good. I have an extra pair of glasses, but they are not cool. Like Rich Mullins wrote, “The stuff of earth competes for the allegiance I owe only to the Giver of all good things.” Moving on from the eighth grade lunchroom? That’s freedom.