A Roxanne Retrospective

Several people have commented about the lack of pictures of ME on my blog. I suppose that it COULD appear that my husband has no wife and my child has no mother. That's not good.

So, in response to the doubters, I have pulled together some photos to prove, once and for all, that I exist. Are you prepared?

And now, for your entertainment (I hear you laughing--quit peeking ahead!), I present:

I Have Photos, Therefore I Am (Forgive me Descartes.)

Way back when I was born there was only black and white film. In the "dark" ages. Get it? Never mind.

Somehow they developed color by the time I got to second grade. I think that "clenched lip" smile was due to hiding some missing teeth.

With a HUGE jump we get to high school. Aunt T is on the left, my mom in the middle, and I'm on the right. (All the pictures of me in between second grade and tenth grade are at my sister's house. Consider yourself spared. You're welcome.)

I played the flute in the marching band. For some reason they thought it was a good idea for the band members to wear wool uniforms. In Florida. In the Fall. My hair shows the results of such interesting decision making. (BTW, that "bucket' that I'm carrying is my HAT. It's called a shako and was a tall plastic thingy with fake fur on the outside.)

Next is college. It was 1983. 'Nuff said.

Now it's 1985 and we're about to get married. I decided to grow out my nails for the wedding. I also tried out some Press-On Nails. Can you tell which is which? It's really tricky...

The Wedding Day. I'm finally Mrs. L after dating for five years. We were almost 22 years old.

This next picture was taken about two years before J came along. I was unaware of the photographer and I think I was in the buffet line at a wedding. My expression is either one of reflection about my own wedding--or I'm just eyeing up the entree. That's my sister in front of me (Aunt T). I think she spotted the dessert table gauging by the smile on her face...

This is one of my favorite pictures of J and me. He was six months old and would always reach up to pat my face when I held him like this. Let's pause for a moment of baby bliss.

Since that time the camera seems always to be pointed at the baby/toddler/preschooler/ kindergartner/first grader. I really don't have any current pictures that I'm willing to unleash on the public. Again, you're welcome.

There. To all those who lamented about the poor motherless child depicted on this blog, I have given as much proof as I can that he's well cared for in proper maternal fashion.

Next time I'm going to post about J's father. He exists, too.