Get a load of that cake (courtesy of Clara’s Fancy Cakes in Gaithersburg, MD). Reminds you of your first 45, doesn’t it? For me, that would be the record “Beach Baby” that my very first boyfriend, Donald, bought me for my 11th birthday. He also gave me two dollar bills. I’m guessing he didn’t think the record was quite enough, but I clearly didn’t rate an album yet.

The review of Morningfields, a gourmet market in Chicago, mentions its old-fashioned bakery and butter cookies, and that took me right back to the neighborhood bakery where we used to stop on the way to visit relatives, and the way the folks behind the counter would put our selected goodies (which we couldn’t touch until they were served after dinner thousands of hours later, or so it seemed) in a nice, square white box and stick it on that string machine that entwined the box with red and white striped string. I loved that string. Does any bakery use that string anymore? Does Morningfields use that string?

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Every Monday morning, I tell myself I’m going to get my office in shape this week. Yet . . . Friday inevitably rolls around and I feel defeated all over again. Well, I have to tell you, this photo makes me feel a tad bit better (courtesy of Let’s Talk Organization in Brooklyn, who, by the way, will help you deal with this kind of disaster).

It hits every year, an epidemic that sweeps through my kids’ schools, leaving its effect clearly visible afterwards. I’m not talking flu. I’m not talking pink eye. I’m not even talking desire for some hot new electronic device. I’m talking Locks of Love, which I didn’t know is located in West Palm Beach, Florida until I found it on Kudzu.

One day, the little girl you see every day at the bus stop has long, cascading curls. The next day, she has hair that stops just below her ears. And everyone knows. She donated it to Locks of Love, a non-profit organization that uses donated hair to make wigs for young people who have lost their hair permanently for medical reasons.

From what I’ve seen, this peer-influenced decision seems to hit girls between 2nd and 5th grade hardest. If they’re lucky, the local newspaper runs a photo of them holding up their ponytails just seconds after being cut, while they are still sitting in the salon chair.

Years pass. Hair grows back. And some of the girls go on to do it again, but most consider their one-time-donation enough. And you know what? I love this. Because 8-year-olds are learning that they are not defined by their hair. That they can do something distinctly personal to help another child. And that, with patience, their hair will grow back.

Now if they’d just be patient about growing up…