Root Rescue.

Posted on by

2

Today I am going to share with you the latest thing that has CHANGED MY LIFE.
According to my hairstylist (whom I love, and I’m afraid she will read this and think we’ve broken up for good, which we have not. Because I am not going to attempt to cut my hair myself), blonde women’s hair gets darker with each child that they have. After TWO was born, I came to terms with the fact that my hair is growing in brown. It’s not “medium blonde” or even “dark blonde.” It’s straight up brown. Which would be fine … if I wanted to be a brunette.
In my previous life, I used to stretch my coloring appointments 12 weeks or more in between. But with my new hair growing in, I was starting to look skank. It always looked dirty. So I bought this product for $6 called Root Rescue.

It took me almost a week to get up the courage to use the product. I’ve had terrible luck with stuff like this. One time, I allowed my mother to highlight my hair and I ended up looking like a skunk. It was really, really bad. I ended up going to the cheap salon in the mall and asking them to just cut it all off. 
Another time, after my hair had finally grown back and I was recovering from my fourth really bad breakup in a row (what was WRONG with me?!), I tried to color my hair myself and it turned orangeish-pinkish. So on top of being a mess emotionally, I was ugly as well. It was a dark, dark time. 
After that, I swore I would NEVER attempt to color my own hair again. And now a decade later, I found myself with really pronounced roots and a minimal budget. 
I decided to rescue my roots.

If I had it more together, I would have taken a “before” and “after” shot, but let me just say … it took 10 minutes and my hair looks really fantastic. It looks like I went to the salon and had it done for $100. Seriously. Even Husband was impressed, and he is rarely impressed with anything.

So now, I guess I’m going to be one of those women who dye their own hair in the bathroom, wearing an old robe and lunch lady gloves. Slowly but surely, my life is becoming less and less glamorous. 

Psst. I have a secret. I don’t care. Because any time I start to wish I had more or could do more, things like this happen. And it brings me alllllllll the way back down to Earth again.
TWO sleeping in his bed.


Shake It.

Posted on by

3

I just did Zumba two days in a row and now I’d like to lie down and rest for about a week, thank you.

Today I went with my friend Lesley to a different YMCA that was big and super fancy with a regimented feeling to it. We Zumba’d in a huge room that was packed full of a lot of women and one lone man. This happens to be the older gentleman who popped me with a towel that one time, and today was my lucky day because I got to shake it rightnexttohim.

It never fails that some kind of drama is going to go down if you are around a bunch of women. People who attend regularly have their certain “spot” where they like to shake it. They like to shake it near their friends (that would be me). They get annoyed if you shake it too close to them. 

I get it. I mean, I’m a little particular about certain things. But if you’re in a room packed with people and Fergalicious is blasting, there is only so much that can be done. So if you’re going to ask me to shake it a little farther away from you, strange lady in the back, at least say it with a smile. That’s what we do here in the South. 

A Mother’s Shopping List.

Posted on by

2

I have been exhausted beyond my normal level this week. Maybe I am still recovering from last weekend’s festivities (my parents were in town), or that late viewing of The Hunger Games which put me in bed at midnight on Sunday. Either way, I’m very tired. I’m not thinking clearly. My children are getting on my nerves. 

While making preparations to go grocery store shopping, I took a good look at my list … which judging from my handwriting, I must have written while half-asleep:

If an item is listed THREE times, it must be important.
 

Lunch Date.

Posted on by

0

Yesterday I met a dear friend for lunch. I wore a $15 dress from Old Navy and ate sushi and came out of the whole experience feeling NORMAL. Like my normal, old self. I can’t remember the last time I lunched with a girlfriend. It did my heart good.

I think I would shrivel up and die without my friends. They remind me who I am, at the core. With them, I am myself. They don’t scream at me “I HATE ONIONS! Make me a sandwich!” They don’t ask me where their gray pants are. Not that I mind taking care of my family — I love it. But sometimes, I just need a break from service.
 

Mother Of The Year.

Posted on by

2

The baby is almost 7 months old, and today I finally got around to framing and displaying pictures of him. I think it’s probably obvious that I’m not the kind of mother who scrapbooks or writes down the things I should write down, like first words and first steps.

No … instead I write this blog and I talk about the completely weird and redundant things my children (and I) do. Not milestones. Just things for my own entertainment.

So one day, if one of them asks me “Mom, what was my first word?” I will say to him, “Honey, I don’t know. But one time when I was pulling weeds in the backyard, you stripped down naked and peed directly on your sand pile and monster trucks before I could stop you … so I decided to continue pulling weeds and pretend that it didn’t happen. Also, later that day I discovered that a cat had been pooping in your sand pile. But don’t worry … I dug it out with one of my wooden spoons and flung it over the fence.”

At this point in the conversation, my son, whichever one of them it happens to be, will probably walk away. 

I also fully intend to be one of those moms who talks openly to them about everything. Husband has instructed me to steer clear of attempts to have any sort of sex talk with either of our sons, but I am afraid that he will muff it up and they won’t leave the conversation with THE FEAR (of me and Husband, of God, of venereal disease) in them. I wish for them to have THE FEAR. At least until they are of age. It is because of this that I intend to have a very in-depth conversation with them about women and I hope to make us sound absolutely terrifying.

For these reasons and more, I hereby nominate myself to be Mother of the Year, 2012. Thank you.