He's No Fabio. Just Sayin'.

Hubs came in the house beaming.  I could tell that he had just had his haircut, and he was carrying a brown paper bag under his arm.

He smiled and said, "Well?"

Knowing exactly what he meant, I answered, "Looks good.  Short.  Like you like it.  Which place did you go to?"

He grinned, pleased with my assessment, "Oh.  Up the street.  You know, the sports one," he explained as he shrugged out of his winter coat.

I giggled, knowingly.  "What?  What are you implying with that giggle?"  he asked.

"Oh nothing,"  I breezed.  "Except, isn't that the place where the hairdressers give you a massage while you are in the chair? "  I interrogated.

He blushed.  "Yeah . . ." he replied, his voice trailing off.

"Yeah . . . what  . . .?"  I pushed.

"Well, I did go to that hair place, and I did get my hair cut, but I also got something else. . ." Clearly, hubs was being evasive, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.

I waited.

He eyed me.

I stared intently.

He dropped my gaze.

I won.

He began, "Well,  the shampoo that they use just feels so good.  So, I bought some, you know, for here."

Not understanding why that was such a big deal, I answered slowly, "OK.  So you bought some shampoo.  So what?"

And, as he pulled the small green bottle from the brown paper bag, he whisper rushed through his explanation. 

"Itwaselevendollars."

"I'm sorry, " I said.  "What?"

He looked me right in the eye, slowed down his speech and owned it saying, "It. was. eleven. dollars."

Then he held my gaze and waited for my reaction.

Finally, I could contain myself no more.  I dropped my steely gaze and burst out laughing.

Hubs was confused.  "What?"  he asked.  "What's so funny?"

And when I caught my breath I explained, "You just spent eleven dollars on shampoo for your hair.  Your hair that may be approximately 1/4 inch long  . . .on a good day!" 

Then, I continued laughing, and seeing my point, he had to laugh too.


Moral of the story . . .  Men are vain too.

 . . . and, I can not wait to switch his shampoo with the 99cent variety to see if he notices the difference.

The way I see it, the story and the pranks with this situation alone are definitely worth the eleven dollars.

I Want To . . .

I want to read blogs about real, grown up people all day long, and I want to comment without abandon.

Instead, I read about cows that type and cows that go on strike, and I realize that it is pretty sad that I am actually jealous of the cows, their typing, and especially of their strike.



Picture compliments of Amazon.com



I want to escape to a warm, tropical place where I can drink a fruity drink poolside without hearing the  Dora the Explorer soundtrack.

Instead, I have an indoor picnic due to the mass amounts of snow and ice outside.  I sit at my coffee table and sip watery lemonade poured sloppily from a princess tea set . . . with the Dora the Explorer sountrack playing in the background.

I want to get gussied up for my hubs (and for me), go out to a fancy restaurant, drink adult beverages, and come home with enough energy to play (wink, wink!) for a few hours.

Instead, I don my best jeans and old navy tee, go out to a wing joint for wings and beer,  bring the kiddies along because there is a playroom and the kids eat free, and come home to collapse in bed with my clothes still on.

potterybarn.com

I want to have a living room that rivals a living room from a Pottery Barn catalogue.  I want an area rug that beckons bare feet,  artwork that inspires creativity, and a giant defining piece that anchors my furniture grouping.

Instead, I have a lived-in room that rivals the aftemath of a tornado.  There are goldfish swimming on my carpet, there is a 3 year old's permanent marker artwork on my wall, and there is a  broken, giant clock anchoring the wall that forever reads 5:51.


I want to play Wii Dance Party with my kids.  I want to listen to their laughs as I attempt my best 'running man' dance move.  I want to ignore the mountain of laundry that threatens to stage an avalache if I do not thin it out.

Instead, I play Wii Dance Party, I relish my kiddie's laughs, and I ignore Mt. Laundry for the time being.


I want to listen to my kiddie's adventures at school. I want to hear about hubs' day at work.  I want to hang on their each and every word and experience the day through their eyes.  I want to ignore the fact that it is 6:15, tummies are gurgling, and there is no dinner in sight.

Instead, I call Dominoes.  I let a homecooked dinner go. We have pizza and play Monoply.  All is right in my world.


My insteads . . .

My life. . .

My balance. . .



I love it, and I wouldn't change a thing.

******I am linking up with Mama Kat's writer's workshop this week.  The prompt was finding balance.*******

It Was Me

Today, bloggy friends, I am going WAAAAAY out of my comfort zone.

I wrote this prompt for the Red Dress Club.  The prompt was a memoir.  The topic was after you have died, your daughter/son will be given the gift of seeing a single five-minute period of your life through your eyes, feeling and experiencing those moments as you did when they occurred. What five minutes would you have him/her see?





The following is what poured out . . .

************************************************************************************

"Just come home, Annie,"  my mom pleaded over the phone.   Then she dropped her tone, and restated the offer simply, "Come home."

The words hung there as I cradled the phone against my shoulder. 

Come home.

"I'll think about it mom."  I answered half-heartedly.

Then I repeated it.   "I promise, mom.  I will think about it."

But thinking about it was exactly what I did not want to do.  Thinking about it made it real, and for the moment, my morning's activities were still stuck in the un-real.

If I didn't think about it, I could pretend that it wasn't me that had stood in front of a courtroom that very morning.  It certainly wasn't me nervously wringing my hands as the judge spoke sternly to first me and then to my husband.  It couldn't have been me that barely noticed my attorney's steadying hand on my shoulder when the judge gave his verdict.  And clearly, it wasn't me that had to momentarily sit down when the judge declared that the marriage, my marriage, was dissolved.

Divorce.

It couldn't have happened to me.

But it did.

It happened to me.

I was twenty four years old, hundreds of miles away from my family, and I was divorced.

Alone.

My shame threatened to choke me, and as I glanced at my reflection in mirror, it was hard for me to look myself in the eye.

"How could you have let this happen?"  I accused the mirror me.

I studied myself and waited for an answer, but there was none.  There was just my reflection.  Limp unwashed hair, mascara stained cheeks, and pointy collar bones stared back at me daring me to answer. 

Disgusted, I turned away from me, but when I did, I caught a flash from my gold hoop earring.  And that's when I realized it.

I had on one gold hoop earring, and I had on one diamond stud.

I had gone to court, stood in front of the judge, and participated in my own divorce proceedings wearing two different earrings.

It was just too much.  I started to giggle.  Then, my shoulders began to quiver and I gave in to the laughs. Soon enough, the laughs gave way to tears. 

And through the snot and mascara and tears, I noticed something that I hadn't seen in a long, long time.
My smile.

It was me.

It happened to me.

But, I was smiling. 

I was still smiling.

I picked up the phone, dialed my mom, and when she answered I stated clearly with no explanation, "Mom?  . . . I am home."

The Words That Every Man Wants to Hear . . .

Dear Hubs,

For Valentine's Day I thought that I would say the words that you have always wanted to hear.

No.  Not those words.

These:

YOU ARE RIGHT.

I have no depth perception.

So, Happy Valentine's Day dear. 

I scraped the car along the side of the garage door.

Smooches!

Annie

My Funny Valentine . . .

xkcd.com/google images

Dear Valentine

I love you dear

That's why I am sayin'

GET ME OUTTA HERE!

The wind is cold

The snow is deep

The ice rains down

And I can't sleep.

My fingers are numb,

My toes are blue,

But I know exactly

What to do!

Put me in the car

Or on a plane

But just make sure

I'm in the fast lane!

Send me to the sun.

Send me to the beach.

I know you can.

It's within your reach.

So Valentine . . .

Tell me true.

Do you know

What you are going to do?



google images



I'll give you a hint.

I'll give you a sign.

Send me to Florida.

If you want to be mine.

Otherwise honey,

Your day won't be sweet,

I can be a big bitch.

As in no body heat.

You get the picture.

You know what I need.

So do your duty, my love.

Commit the deed.

With much love and dreams of warmth, your forever Valentine . . . Annie

This was taken on December 4th and we have had snow on the ground since then. Sigh.

Happy Valentine's Day Hubs. . .

Please read between the lines and either get me the hell out of this frozen ice box or

take a hit out on Jack Frost.

I'd be happy with either. 

I'm a simple girl.

Love,

Annie


Linking to Mama's . . .

Basking in the "After" Glow

After patiently explaining the birds and the bees to Abbie . . .

After countless questions . . .

After numerous embarrassed eye rolls . . .

After many blushing cheeks . . .

I left her with the following statement: "Just know, Ab, that if you have any questions about sex, you can ask me or dad.  We have never lied to you, and we will tell it to you straight."

I planted a kiss on her forehead and was silently patting myself on the back for a tough job well done. In  fact, I was almost out the door when she asked, "So, does this mean that you and dad have sex?!"

Shit!

Instantly, I felt my face flush as I willed myself to turn around and look her squarely in the eye.

"Well, of course we do.  We had 3 babies, right?" I smiled.

A look of relief passed over her face, and she nodded her understanding, "Right mom."

And, as I turned to leave for the second time, it took me just a second to realize that she probably thought that I meant that Hubs and I had ONLY had sex 3 times, because we only have 3 children.

However, it only took me a heartbeat to realize that I am OK with that.

The birds and the bees are enough for one day . . .

 without adding mom and dad to the mix.

I am a Sun Goddess No More

Dear 16 year Annie,

It's me, Annie.  Thirty-seven year old , Annie, that is.

I am here from the future to beg you, plead with you,  and bargain with you.

Please.

Wear sunscreen.

No.  Do not roll your eyes.  I am not kidding.


You see, dear 16 year old self, I just got back from the dermatologist's office.  And, let me tell you girl, it was not fun.  In fact, it was damn sobering.

First,  we have been diagnosed with adult acne, and that itself is hard to swallow.  Because in its simplest form it means that a) we are old and b) we have pimples.  My skin is no longer the golden hued smooth skin that you have now.  It has bumps and creases and when my hormones are raging, my skin downright hurts. 

But that is not the worst, my dear.

Nope.

That's not it.

The worst was when the dermatologist used her blindingly white light to inspect our face.  And, when she happened upon our age spot on our cheek, she said, "This," and she stopped to touch the spot.  "This HAS to come off."

At first, I was tickled.  Remove my age spot, make me look younger?  Great!

But then the doc calmly explained, "Annie.  It could turn into melanoma.  It has gotten bigger and it needs to come off, as a precaution."

I was no longer smiling (or breathing for that matter) . . . and you shouldn't be either.

So that good doctor took off that age spot with her -400 degree concentrated air thingy, and I tried to remember to breathe as I felt every millimeter of my stinging flesh.

And for the next few weeks, I have a big mole-like, charred flesh, Scarlet letter-like reminder that I (like you are now) was once a sun goddess.

And despite my joking, and my self comparison to the mole lady from Uncle Buck, this is not funny, my girl.



nickypapers.com and google images



It is scary . . . and not worth it.

And, if it meant that I would never have to have melanoma or any other skin cancer, if it meant that I could tell you and all those young girls out there that baking in the sun could equal cancer,  I would  and will wear this ugly skin badge loudly and proudly.

But, it doesn't.  There are no guarantees. 

There is, however, prevention.

So, wear that sunscreen, Annie.  Take it from your older, more wrinkly self.

You are worth it.

Love,
Annie