playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren

I drank two cups of coffee this morning and I don’t even drink coffee and I feel a leeeeetle bit like I might have just intravenously injected the caffeine because I feel a little bit loooooopy.  This must be what it feels like to be high, high, high!

I needed the two cups because I got up VERY EARLY to go running.

I got up VERY EARLY to go running because I have big, beefy thighs and I’m tired of carrying around the jelly donut that’s strapped to my waist.

Not only am I motivated! to exercise!, I’m motivated! to improve ALL of myself!  Why not start now!

Writing:  I’m doing this whole NaBloPoMo thing to try and reset my love of writing and blogging.

My marriage:  I don’t like Tate about 75% of the time and I’m trying to cut that number down to about only 10% so I’m reminding myself to stop being a dick to him.  I’ve also been listening to Focus on the Family marriage related podcasts (while I’m running) (which are kinda weird to listen to, but also kinda good.)

Health:  Did I mention I’ve been running?  Well I have been!  And I’ve been drinking more water, which is almost harder than running because I can’t ever remember to actually drink it.

Parenting:  I’ve given up yelling for Lent.  Who cares that Lent doesn’t start until February?  I can give it up now.  It’ll be good practice because it’s going to take that long for the not yelling to actually stick.  Also I’ve been reading some parenting books on topics such as “how to keep your head from exploding when your child throws a tantrum in a busy restaurant” and “exorcising demons from toddlers.”

I know “experts” say that people are “supposed” to make small changes when trying to achieve their goals, but if I do that, I’ll be 350 lbs, divorced, dehydrated, hoarse, AND my blog will suck even harder by the time I get around to fixing all that needs fixing.

I’m going to participate in NaBloPoMo.

My hair is driving me crazy.  Just a few weeks ago, I got some of the sweetest compliments about my hair color from some people who hadn’t seen me since I made the change from mouse to brunette.

At the time, I replied sweetly and agreeingly, “I do too!  I can’t believe I ever liked my hair when it was lighter.  I really think I look better with darker hair.”  I nodded my head with such fervor!  I truly believed in my darkened tresses.

I don’t know.  I’ve been looking in the mirror and thinking how washed out and BLAAAH I look.  Everything is just wrong.  My skin is wrinkly and pore-y and my hair is BLAAAAH and limp and BLAAAH and I just look like an aging mom.  Actually I look nothing at all like the two pictures above right now, right now my hair is BLAAAAH.

I’m not really sure how I went from fervent agreement about my hair to BLAAAH.  (And did I mention BLAAAH?)

Let’s just pretend for a moment that your name is Jennifer and that you had previously lighter hair ranging in shades from practically bleached blonde to deep chocolate.   Imagine, for a moment, won’t you?, that you were contemplating going lighter again, with lots of highlights.  What would you be considering?  A deep golden brownish-blonde?  Keeping the dark color previously held in such esteem?  Returning to your blonde beginnings?

My hair is obviously in need of a trim, but I don’t know what to do with it anymore.  I’m so sick of the style I have now.  It’s at an in between length, I’d really like it to be longer, but waiting for it to grow is a killer.

It’s possible that my hair color just needs a refresher course in HOTNESS 101 and I need a little trim and head massage to perk me up.  It’s also possible that I’ve completely lost it, especially since I’m going to participate in NaBloPoMo.  (Which has nothing to do with hair directly, but both admissions hold sufficient evidence of my insanity.)

(I had to search my blog for “hair” to find all the places where I’ve talked about my hair.  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!  I need some new material.  I talk about my hair waaaay too often.)

About 5 years ago, I looked in the mirror at my fat thighs and the rolls under my bra and decided I’d had enough.  With Tate’s help, we went on a low-carb diet (think more South Beach than Atkins) and I started going to the gym 3-4 times per week.

I went from a size 12 to a size 2.

Two kids,  three moves, and a blog later, I’m almost back to being a size 12.  My thighs are fat again, my stomach is a landscape of rolling hills, and my arms look like big, meaty burritos.  I look in the mirror and feel disgusted, overwhelmed, tired, and hopeless.   I’ve been trying really hard to make better food choices, but I know that I desperately need to start exercising.

Since having Carson almost four years ago, I’ve attempted to start regularly exercising probably 47, 638 times.

When we lived in Alabama, I started the Couch to 5K program, but it was too hot.  And there were bears in my neighborhood.

When we lived in Indiana, I was going to walk regularly (and BRISKLY!) with my neighbor, but it got cold and I hate doing physical activity when it’s cold.  Then it got hot and apparently I can’t possibly do any sort of physical activity that might cause me to get flushed!  Lawsy mercy, Miss Jennifer, you are so delicate!  Just like a flower! I had  considered joining a gym with some of my MOMS club friends, but I was nervous about leaving my kids in the nursery.

In the past few months I’ve worked out to DVD’s doing pilates and the 30 Day Shred, but I f*cking hate doing them.  So there’s that.

Excuses, I say!  Lame, lame, lame excuses.  (Except for the bears in my neighborhood in Alabama.  I wanted to lose weight yes, but losing weight because a bear gnawed off my leg seemed a bit excessive.)

I really want to start exercising again, I’m ready to feel better about how I look. It’s just that I’m not really sure how to go about exercising.  The only time in the past that I’ve been successful with sticking to exercising was when I went to a gym on my way home from work everyday.   Being a self-proclaimed genius, it occurred to me that I should try and replicate what was successful.

I should join a gym!  But… (these aren’t excuses per se, they are REASONS why I’m not sure that I can actually join a gym.)

Not an excuse, but a reason  (Nae, bar) #1:  Getting a family membership at a gym would be expensive and there are so many things I’d rather buy, like camera lenses and Fritos.

Nae, bar #2:  I don’t know how I feel about letting my kids hang out at a gym daycare with all the flu going around.  Something tells me that gym daycares aren’t exactly the poster child for Germ-Free is Way to Be!

Nae, bar#3:  I can’t go to the gym before Tate goes to work because he goes to work before humans should even be allowed to be awake.

Nae, bar #4:  I know myself, and I’d never use my expensive gym membership if I waited to go in the evenings after Tate got home from work.  (Especially since he regularly gets home after 7 PM.)

Nae, bar #5:  After 7PM, my couch is especially comfortable and I would really rather watch House Hunters or Top Chef reruns than workout.

Those are NOT excuses, I say, NOT EXCUSES.

What are your reasons?  Assuming, of course, that you don’t regularly exercise.  And if you do regularly exercise (oh ye who must have children in school or a husband who doesn’t work 90 hours/week), how do you do it!?

I just thought you all should know that the hole in the crotch of Spanx that I assume is for bathroom convenience, doesn’t work as intended.**  It’s not important how I know this, just that I know this.   Please don’t make me explain in detail, it’s just too humiliating.

What?  You don’t understand?  Fine.  Here’s one word to describe the calamity I experienced.  MOIST.  Happy now?

**Spanx hole intended use.  (I suppose there is another reason there could be a hole in the crotch of Spanx besides for tinkling, but no.  We are not discussing that here! My delicate eyes!  My delicate eyes!  Don’t you know this is a family blog?! ?) (Well, okay, we’ll talk about it quickly since we’re in the safety of parentheses.)  (Ooh, look!  Parentheses!  It’s almost like I’m talking to myself.  No one can really see what I’m writing!)  (Why on earth would you get it on while wearing Spanx?)  (I don’t really even want my husband to know that I own or have a reason to own Spanx.)  (As much as  I love that Spanx are completely unnoticeable when I’m clothed, they are QUITE OBVIOUS when I’m not clothed, therefore, NO.)  (I would not use the hole in Spanx for the loooove.)   (Carry on.  Let’s pretend this conversation never happened.)  (Ooh look!  Is that Johnny Depp over there?!)

The doorbell rang just as I walked passed my glass front door.  I thought to myself, “Damn, now I have to answer the door.  They can see me.”

Gingerly I answered the door, wary that they were going to throw religious pamphlets my way.  I never know how to politely decline the offer of salvation, so I was relieved when they were only two women from a local salon trying to drum up business.

They handed me a brochure of all their services and told me that they hoped they could have my business.

Ella peaked around from behind my legs and the ladies immediately remarked on her beauty.

“She’s the one who really needs a haircut, ” I said about Ella, trying to make polite conversation.

The two women looked at one another with confused and concerned looks.  One of the women smiled respectfully and said, “Well, I hope you’ll come in for a haircut soon.  Maybe you’d like to have make-up consultation, too?”

Gee. Thanks.

I am not the dress wearing type.  Ever since I sprouted hips and the accompanying saddlebags superglued to my legs, I just never thought I had the body for a dress.

Then I saw OHmommy in a dress, she who LOVES to dress up and has great fashion sense.  I was inspired by her gospel to get thy own self to the mall and shop.  Amen!  Praise OHmommy!

And to thy mall I went.  And shopped.  And bought not one, but two dresses!  Alleluia!

(Secretly I hoped that my legs would suddenly transform into OHmommy’s nice looking legs in my dresses inspired by her, but alas, my legs are the same knobby kneed legs as before.)

I think I still look good enough to take out in public, despite the sourpuss face in the second picture.  Maybe I could wear these to a cocktail party, or possibly even on a much needed date with my husband.

(Tate did mention something about leaving just the boots on [redacted].)

I adored my Aveda salon and hair stylist back in Indiana.  One of the hardest parts about moving is finding that special someone who doesn’t talk too much while cutting and coloring my hair, has readily available Saturday appointments, and doesn’t charge one MEELION dollars for the service.

I had a hair appointment this past Saturday at one of the local Aveda salons with a stylist I’ll call Felecia (because that’s her name.)

Let’s start with the positives about Felecia.

1.  She knew that I part my hair to the right without having to ask me.

Now let’s move on to the negatives about Felecia.

1.  When I first sat down in her chair to discuss what I needed done, she asked me if I was there to get the gray covered up.  THE GRAY COVERED UP.  (For the record, I have no gray hair.)

2.  She sneered and crinkled her nose and was exasperated by my answers to all of my questions about my hair.

“Well I just DON’T understand why they did this to your hair?? ”

“How long ago did they do this to your hair??”  (Heavy on the “THEY.”)

“I’m just trying to give you all of your options.”

“You’ll probably want to just go with a root touch-up, you probably want to save money.”  (She wasn’t giving me the money saving option out of the goodness of her heart, she thought I looked like I couldn’t afford to be in the salon.)

3.  She didn’t talk to me at all other than to ridicule my hair.  Sure I don’t want a stylist that never stops jabbering, but not to talk to me at all??  Instead she was badmouthing one of her coworkers to her assistant.

4.  While she was cutting my hair, she kept saying, “Oh my.  The back of your hair is so messed up and jagged.  I just DON’T UNDERSTAND what THEY did to you.”

5.  When she was done, she said, “It looks pretty good.  Well as good as it could look with what I had to work with.  At least the color looks good.”

Yeah.  I know!

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Congratulations to kj @ Where my boys at, winner of the Tom Bihn Laptop Messenger Bag and to Heather~Domestic Extraordinaire, winner of the Holiday/Mommy Cards from Fruition designs!!