I'm blonde again! I'd gone dark in early September thinking that as a busy, grown up mom of 1.5 it was time to go back to my (literal) roots and adopt a lower maintenance (read: cheaper, less time consuming) hair regime. Sounded good in theory, but ended up being a misguided notion. There are many girls who look sophisticated and sexy with dark locks, but I've concluded that I'm just not one of them. I've deleted 90% of photos taken of me during the past six weeks and had taken to looking in the mirror and having a mental "wah wah waaaaah" moment. Brunette just wasn't working for me. The decision making moment was when I casually asked J what he thought about me spending $150+ on my hair this week. He immediately balked, so then I added "to make it blonde again" and his attitude swung swiftly to "yes! Great! Let me get your shoes! Shall I drive you there right now [at 9pm on Sunday night]?" and J scrambling off to get his checkbook. Say no more, dear husband, I get it, you hate my dark hair. All this to say, I spent two hours at the salon today and left feeling younger and prettier and happier. And those, my friends, are all very good things to feel. They counteract the "huge like a hippo" feeling quite nicely.
91 degrees tomorrow. With high humidity. In mid October. *&^%$#@, Texas, did you not get the MEMO? The "IT'S FALL AND I WANT TO WEAR MY UGGS AND SCARVES!" memo? Why can't you just behave like a normal state and stop pretending you're the tropics?!
MOLARS! Dear Sweet Baby JESUS! Some kind mommy friends had warned me they'd be rough and drive me to drink (caffeine), but they didn't actually tell me they'd turn our sweet, patient, happy go lucky dude into a bipolar maniacal tyrant of a child. He's up, he's down, he's all around. One minute he's smiling and babbling and making me think we should go Duggar and have a whole busload of these things ... the next minute he's crying and clinging, he's throwing, he's climbing atop tables and shrieking baby obscenities. He's got boogers running down his sad little face that I hope and pray are teething related and NOT a symptom of a cold. Or that other big huge scary pig thing we won't even talk about. To add to the fun, there's the night wakings, a painfully raw looking diaper rash that causes back arching and crocodile tears during each and every diaper change, AND a goose egg on his forehead that neither J or A's visiting Papaw seem to want to clearly explain, other than to say that it involved a wooden block. Poor little A.