If you are looking for a real post, please come back again tomorrow. And I'm sorry in advance.
It was totally one of those nights- implied eye roll and annoyed head shake. And I know those nights is so cliched, but universally understood by all... and the only thing that comes to mind right now.
Was there even such thing as those (nights/mornings/days/times) before children? I certainly don't remember saying it until I became a Mom. Sometimes I don't remember too much about anything before I became a Mom though.
The following story is not for: the weak of stomach, someone who is not a Parent or animal owner. Everyone else? Please read at your own risk.
This evening, Greyson puked hot dog guts all over himself, our bedroom floor, and the bathroom floor. I attempted to soothe and console my crying, hot dog coated boy, while yelling for MICHAEL in an incredibly unsoothing, deep, scary, angry trucker voice.. I look up and Belle the dog is eating the hot dog remnants with gusto. I cringe and turn away- not yelling at her because I didn't want to scare Grey again...or maybe I was just a teeny bit relieved that there would now be less to clean up.
And just Ughh... All of it. Ughh... I will never look at hot dogs or Belle the way same again.
But ironically- the hot dog clean up, and now the clean and jammied boys by by my side help to pull me out of the funk I was in. I think this happens to me at this time of the year, every year. But right now it feels like the first time. And it's horrible.
Today was day one of the ending of Daylight Saving Time- which began on March 10th of this year. Daylight saving time is the practice of advancing clocks during the lighter months so that evenings have more daylight and mornings have less. Clocks are adjusted forward one hour near the start of spring and are adjusted backward in autumn.
Articles promise an extra hour of sleep- which is a big fat LIE when you have a 2 year old and 4 year old that don't give a crap about telling time. I feel like daylight savings was specifically created to torture the parents of young children. I am solar powered. Driven by daylight. Add sunlight to that daylight and it's magic baby. Dark at 5 means less things to do during the bewitching hours (4-8), less daylight for photography, and more time to sit inside and stuff my face with carbs.
We can do this Friend. We do it every year.
Greyson was 6 weeks old and I was desperate for a change. I hadn't left his side once, and I was going absolutely CRAZY. It was practically impossible to detach myself and leave. I needed someone to force me out of the door. I remember slowly and painfully walking towards my car. Scared Grey wouldn't be okay. Scared he would feel abandoned by me. Scared Michael was going to freak out. And the closer I got to my car, the more my slow walk turned into a run. As much as I loved Mom'ing- it was all consuming for me. I felt like I was breaking out of prison. I suddenly wanted to go everywhere all at once. The Mall, Europe. Mani-pedi. Everything. On a whim I pulled my car into a Fantastic Sam's parking lot. I'm gonna cut my hair short, I decided. And I did. And when I got home I noticed what a crap job they had done. Asymmetrical and awful. Michael yelled at me- Why do you spend hundreds getting your hair highlighted and then ruin it with a $15 dollar hair cut!? He didn't understand. I needed a change to commemorate my new found status of MOTHER. I needed to look different because I was different. And I was afraid it was going to be another 6 weeks before I was ever able to leave the house again. But I learned my lesson. Never go to Fantastic Sam's for anything other than a quick trim ever again.
But this past Friday, I guess I forgot my lesson. Because my car drove me to Super Cuts to buy some conditioner. And I haven't gotten my hair cut in months. And the thought of making an appointment with my real hair dresser and waiting days was unbearable, so in the chair I went. Do you just want the back trimmed- or should I clean up these layers?, she asked. This is the point in the scary movie when I would start to yell at the screen. LEAVE!!! DON'T DO IT!!! RUN!!!!
I don't care, I told her. Might as well trim them a little.
When she was finished, she showed me the results in the mirror. My chair was flipped around and I was looking at the back of my head in the tiny little circle. It looks like there are some uneven spots. It looks like there are some big chunks missing. I was TOTALLY not getting that it looked that way because it WAS that way. Is that a layer? What is that going on there. Am I missing some hair? I asked. Oh - let me fix it, she said. And screwed it up some more.
Do you want to look at it again? She asked. No, I trust you. I SWEAR I said that. HILARIOUS and WRONG.
I still didn't know how terrible it was until I got home. And when I really saw it, I was crying. What's wrong? Michael asked. FINE! You were right!! I was wrong, I tell him- as if we had just had this hair conversation yesterday-not 4 years ago. I show him my hair. I promise it looks like Greyson just took big random chunks out of my hair with kid scissors. I put my hair back in its usual bun and forgot about it.
And Saturday I washed and dried my hair and attempted to fix it. Not happening. It's horrible.
I lost it. I couldn't stop crying. And suddenly it wasn't about hair. It was like everything from the past year built up and was leaking out. I started crying to Michael, I know you think I'm stupid for going to Super Cuts- but I NEVER have time to do ANYTHING. And sometimes making a hair appointment and getting a sitter- is impossible!! When I get a sitter it's for physical therapy or something stupid. And my hair dresser only works three days a week and I CAN NEVER FIND A SITTER ON TUESDAYS. And I was out of conditioner and I just thought it would be so easy to just get it cut. And my hair is RUINED. And I even paint my OWN nails lately!!! (WAIT! Why is this funny to me now? It's hilarious- me and my First World problems.) For the love of Pete- there are people losing their hair from Cancer Treatment- and I am BAWLING because I'm going to need to get inches cut off my hair to fix it.
The best part? Our family pictures are tomorrow. And we have some fancy black tie autism gala this Friday. And my real hair appointment isn't for almost two weeks. I'm too scared to go to anyone other than my gal now. I've learned my lesson- at least hopefully for at least another 4 years.
Hope your Monday isn't as stupid as my hair.