Take Three...

This is the third time I have experienced first birthday eve and it gets no easier with practice.  With every child the night before their first birthday is so bittersweet for me.  For me, it marks the end of "babydom."  In the morning sweet little Sunshine will be an official toddler and I am broken.  Especially since she may very possibly be my last infant.  It didn't help at all that coming home from the store that song "My Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride came on.  Stupid Delilah.  (Don't judge me...I don't like her dribble, I'm just looking for tunes.)  And it doesn't help that I am weaning and my hormones are in hyperdrive.  

Anyway, I'm sure I'll pick SS up at some point in the evening and hold her and delve into indulgent overdrama and then tomorrow I'll start enjoying one of the best stages in a kid's life.   So if you need me you'll find me in the nursery. 

Quick! Before it's time to meet the bus!

I am hopped up on a small cup of regular coffee and a large Dt. Dr. Pepper, so if I ramble more than usual, I'm sorry.

I can't think of any clever way to start or flow with this post so I'm just gonna jump in.  My heart is ever so grateful to some people today for helping me get past my ugly (both inside and out).  I haven't had a haircut since possibly before Sunshine was born which puts it at about two years.  And yes, it was just as bad as you are imagining.  I was channeling my inner pioneer woman and wondering which calico dress to wear for the barn raising!  It began with wanting longer hair and ended with finding about 100 more "sensible" uses for haircut $ every month.  But Sunday night I caught a side glimpse of myself in the mirror and got a resolute "Yes, it is." from Mr. Wonderful when I said it was time for me to suck it up and go get a haircut.  That was all it took.  (So first thanks to my husband for the "affirmation.")

Monday was long because, as you ladies know, hair stylists--for the most part--don't work on Mondays.  I supposed it is a union thing.  So I call this AM to get an appointment with a stylist I used years ago, and they asked if I could be in at 10:30 today.  Seriously?!!  Yes!  Hallalujah! Then I realized I had to find someone to keep Little Prince and Sunshine while I went.  It's not that I can't go places with my kids, it's just that after two years of neglect I needed uninterrupted time with my stylist to undo the bad do that I had done to myself.  All I could picture was LP toppling the candle display and SS wriggling and inconsolable in my lap.  So ashamedly, I called my precious friend Angel (she is truly an angel), who was trying to get work done while her own kids were gone and asked for the monumental favor.  Because acts of unparalleled  service are her love language, she offered to keep the kids for however long it took for this stylist to work some sort of magic.  God bless Angel.  Seriously.  (Second thanks to Angel.)

So I went and got it cut and was chatted with and complimented in a way only stylists can do and have stepped back into not only this decade but this century for the time being.  But I have also realized that no matter how much I long to believe that I have cast off the things that entangle in this world and have fixed my eyes on what lies ahead, I haven't really.  For a while now I have felt the need to wear the disclaimer t-shirt that states "I know this is what not to wear."  I have watched enough episodes that I hear Clinton and whats-her-name with the on-again/off-again Bonnie Rait grey steak in her hair yelling in my brain..."You should wear a dark wash jean that fits at the fullest part of the leg and flows down straight." or "Seriously?  Another black faded cotton-knit shirt?"  I know these things.  And I want to post a sign in the front yard that says, "I know I should spend more time here."  I know that the yard desperately needs my attention and that I should fix about half a dozen things yesterday!  I feel the need to be a walking disclaimer.  I know my kids shouldn't be allowed to eat refined sugars and I should have a date night at least once a week.  I know all these things.  I want these things.  Desperately.  But for now, it's not going to happen.  I also know that I should finish this post better, but LP is no longer napping and is creating a stir in his room.  I know.  I've got to go. 

It irks me

Boneless chicken wings.  If they are boneless, they aren't wings.  They are tenders.  If they are between 1"-2" they are nuggets.  Anything less is a bite.

RTR.  I just don't like it.  I'm sorry.  If this means you can no longer respect me, I'm sorry.

Skinny jeans.  a.k.a. the denim equivalent of "mean girls."

Cookies and Caches and Babies oh my!

I have no idea what the conflict is between my computer and blogspot.com, but the rift has been part of my delay in posting.  I am unable to log onto my page because of something to do with a cache (my understanding of that word goes no further than the fact that it might be one of the stores my mom likes to shop) and cookies (which are my personal nemesis anyway).  But now I am on my sister & brother-in-law's computer so I have faked it out for the moment.

I am thrilled to have a few days to bond with my new niece and hang with her super cool big sis.  It is great to see their family grow, and I am so looking forward to many years of great times ahead.  I also got slammed really fast into the end of "baby fever."  I have been really thinking that another baby soon would be such a cool thing (I don't know why since Mr. Wonderful has made abundantly clear his stance on the matter).  However, upon my arrival and quick acquisition of this precious, adorable, tiny, cuddly, "floppy", peaceful little namesake of mine (shameless plug...I am really psyched about that!), I became very tired at the thought of adding a baby to our mix.  It all came back to me and I realized that I've got all I can say grace over. So for the moment, I am very content snuggling with my darling little niece and then letting SonSon stay up with her at night.  Sunshine will soon be on her own at night and I think I might be a cool person on a full 8 hours sleep.  So maybe later stork, but if not, I really like our little family just like this.  

Comfort Food

Finally.  Mr. Wonderful encouraged me to take a much needed mental health leave from the casa and mi familia, so I thought I would be cliche and head to Starbucks.  He has some change left on a gift card and so off I went listening to the cassettes (wow!) in his car and felling my pressure level drop with every spin of the tires. 

I walked (no skipped) in and ordered my very un-chic decaf hazelnut latte (venti=big) and then remembered to ask about internet.  "Only if you have a registered Starbucks card," replied the very nice barista, "was your card registered?"  "And you must have a $5 balance on it."  Seriously?  Isn't that why people come to Starbucks?  Oh, yeah, it's to be ripped off for things that you can get for free or less at home!  

So I've taken my venti decaf hazelnut latte to panera, where I informed the nice employee when I entered that I promised to buy something after I finished my liquid gold (you would think).   To which she replied, "Oh, you don't have to.  I used to come in here all the time and I didn't buy anything."  Ahhhhhhh!   Panera=bread=comfort.  I knew it!

FYI

I have absolutely no idea why I think I can pull this off.  My life around here is nuts like everyone else's.  Someone is always snotty or in need of something or going somewhere or having an emotional breakdown, so putting a thought together takes some real effort.  But I'll begin...

It has only taken 35 years for me to begin to be comfortable with me.  Although I'm not completely sure who I am (I believe it changes, so I suppose I never will be), I am becoming more sure of who I am not.  And for once I'm ok with that. 

 For example, I am not a size 4.  Those days are gone.  They were good, but oh well.  

 I'm also not one of those super-trendy moms that can co-ordinate colors and always knows what looks good.  I'd like to be, but I'm not.  That is why the majority of my wardrobe is black and most of the walls in my house are still the same "apartment cream" they were when we moved in seven years ago.  

I'm not someone who always has their points and reasons together the first time I say something.  This is my disclaimer for all following posts.  Sometimes I get a thought, spit it out and then spend the rest of the day wondering what I meant by that or did that come out right?  And since I had kids, I can't come up with a 3-syllable word to save my life.

There are lots of other things I am not, but I am sure you will figure those out if you read anything else I post, as we say in the South, "Bless your heart!"