Only Time Can Fix a Bad Haircut

The kids are still mad at me and I can't say that I blame them. My cheapness caused them shame and embarrassment. But. In my defense, I thought there were some regulations or something that would prevent this type of thing. I think I was mistaken.

I took the kids to a rather well known chain establishment for haircuts the other day. Yes, I did it because it's cheap. No, I did not do it to intentionally ruin their lives. Really.

I mean, let's be honest. The finer salons are clearly not beating down the doors of these particular stylists. Still, they're not just someone off the street right? I mean there had to be SOME schooling involved, didn't there? How hard can it be? It's not like a kids' haircut has all kinds of angles, layers and special maneuvers. Just follow the lines from before. Just a trim. Just "clean it up a bit".  O.M.G.

I actually felt bad when the kids returned to me from the chairs. Really bad. Max had some weird "rooster tail" piece of hair that bobbed around when he walked. His bangs were uneven and he had red scrapes on his neck.

Zoe looked like the stylist had used a weed whip. I still can't quite figure out what she did to make it so bad. I mean seriously, I just asked for a trim. Nothing fancy. No layers, just a straight trim. It looked like the stylist (and I now use that term loosely) may have used dull pinking shears. Zoe looked like she was going to cry.

Some of you may ask why I didn't ask the stylists to fix their mistakes. Well, I had a couple of thoughts about that. It could be that the stylist would be offended and, out of spite, make it worse (if that's even possible). Or, it could be that their skills are so awfully bad that trying to correct it would not only be impossible, it would be catastrophic. I decided that I would just pay for it and get the heck out of there. I swear to you that I clutched the children to me and backed towards the door.

So, you're probably wondering if I've learned my lesson. Have I learned that you get what you pay for? You'd like to think so. Not sure that I have. Budgets aren't for sissies.

Not the Same as a Shot in the Arm

Not the Same as a Shot in the Arm...

I hurt my arm a few months back while I was moving firewood. I kind of thought it would fix itself but it didn't so I decided to go see the doctor. Of course, before I got there I diagnosed myself on the internet and decided that I had “tennis elbow” (I did) so I kind of knew what I was in for. Rest, physical therapy, Motrin, blah, blah, blah. What I was NOT prepared for was the shot of Toradol to help with the inflammation. I get what it is and how it will help and all but I thought we could be civilized about it and put it in my arm. Apparently not. There is something so very embarrassing about getting a shot in the butt. I tried desperately to make conversation with the nurse just to feel better about it but she was all business. She left the room as I was struggling to get my clothes back in order. All I have to remember her by is a band-aid. 

Water Park's Aren't for Sissies

The kids and I spent 10 hours at an indoor water park on Saturday. TEN hours. Looking back it hardly seems possible to have been there that long but we were. Every minute of it.

To clarify...the photo above is NOT me. As a matter of fact, I didn't see ANYONE that looked that happy at the park. Certainly none of the adults anyway unless, of course, they were just leaving the swim up bar. 

The chlorine, the bodies, the tattoos, the piercings and thank the good Lord, the alcohol. I went with my "friend" (whom I refuse to call my boyfriend because it sounds so damn 7th grade), his daughter, my daughter, my son and my son's friend. My son and his friend are now 15 years old so, suffice it to say, I spent most of my time making sure they weren't doing bad things in one of the five hot tubs. I must have seen my son with no less than 4 different girls during the day. Talking to them, walking with them, sitting with his arm around them. Whatever it is, this kid's got it in spades. I think he just brought his friend along to be his "wing man". (Is that even a thing anymore or am I dating myself with that term?)

Fortunately, my daughter and her friend were more interested in the water slides and wave pools than the boys. Unfortunately, my daughter looks much older than she is so I spent a lot of time making sure that boys/men weren't ogling her. Mostly that looked like me walking behind and her pointedly staring at any boy/man that looked her way.

But oh the bodies. Just lots and lots of bodies. In various shapes, sizes, colors. It's a fascinating place to people watch. The amount and variation of tattoos was astonishing. There were some that were well done and others that clearly were not. Prison? Maybe. But wow, so many people just treated their body like a damn coloring book. It's not that I'm against tattoos, I'm not. Fun fact, I was voted "Most Likely to Get a Tattoo" by my sorority. So I'm no stranger. Still, I never took the plunge and I'm glad I didn't. Happier still that I didn't put a bunch of crap on my body that looks ridiculous.

But the kids loved the water park and isn't that what it's about, after all? So hopeful that the kids will remember these things fondly so their future therapy sessions aren't quite so dark.

I Believe In You Baby

Dating is not for the faint of heart. Especially, dating after divorce. I'm really not even sure how people manage to do it at all, let alone as frequently and recklessly as they do. It's all fun and games at the start until the new guy/gal does something that was "exactly what my ex used to do." BAM. Game on. It's like all this stored up crap comes bubbling up to the surface from your past and you become a different person. More accurately, you become the person you used to be. And not one that you liked so much during the last go around. It's such a knee-jerk reaction when it happens that it will completely catch you off guard, I guarantee it. You'll never see it coming. Suddenly, you step outside yourself and see this person (you) acting like a complete lunatic.

It's embarrassing and it's humbling and it's devastating, all at the same time.  And suddenly, you're right back where you were. You're right back to the start of all the hurt, the anger and the pain. It's like not a single day has elapsed since the day it all fell apart. And it crushes your heart.

But then. Then you look into the eyes of this person standing in front of you and you notice something. You notice that his eyes are gentle and kind. And you notice that he is continuing to look at you with love and understanding and he's not running away. He's not going anywhere. In fact, he's pulling you in for a hug that will bring you back from the edge. He's speaking gently to you and reassuring you because he KNOWS where you have gone just now. He knows what has happened to you in that moment and he's there to make sure that you return. To him. And all is well and right with your world once again.  

Dating after Divorce

If you thought dating the first time around - before marriage - was tough you will be AMAZED and OVERWHELMED at how difficult it is after divorce. So I'm sort of seeing someone. Sort of. I'm actually not really sure what we're doing or how to classify it or even what I really want. Let alone knowing what he wants. My friends are relentlessly teasing me about this. They can't believe that this guy is even willing to be in the same room with me based on my confusing and indecisive behavior.

Here is my friends impression of me talking to this guy:
"So, I want you to want me but not really want me too much. I want you to love me, but don't tell me that you love me, just love me from a distance so I know that you love me even though I don't think I want you to love me. I want you to be close to me but not too close. I don't want you to suffocate me but I want you to feel like you can't survive a day without me."

Not entirely true but pretty damn close. The poor guy spends most of our dates just looking at me like this:



And I can't really blame him. It's not easy to know what you want or to even know if you should want it or if you deserve to want it. I admit that it's confusing but I guess that's just where things are right now.

Turn the Volume Down First. Trust Me.

If you've never gone to a "boy band" concert with a young girl who LOVES the band, you should. You really should. Take your daughter, your niece, your granddaughter or your friend's daughter. You won't regret it. I mean, you will regret it right then and there, when you're in the middle of it, but the memories will last a lifetime.

I recently took Zoe to the One Direction concert in Detroit. Joe and I got her tickets for Christmas last year and she's been waiting almost 8 months for the big day. A few months before, she starting talking about what we should wear to the concert. Really? All that came to mind for me was comfortable shoes and earplugs but she had something else in mind. She plotted out her entire outfit from the earrings to shoes. No kidding. Even decided, three weeks before, how to style her hair. Me? Not so much.

We went with Zoe's friend and her Mom and everyone (except me) decided that we should get there really early. So we arrived at 3:00 and the doors didn't open until 5:00. Concert to start at 7:00. First thing I needed to do was find a beer vendor, which I did. Seriously, screaming girls everywhere. Mobs of them. One Direction music pumping through the streets. Total counter culture.

The doors opened at 5:00 and again, I went searching for beer. The girls wanted to run right to our seats. And sit there for 2 HOURS. I vetoed and decided we should get something to eat. And more beer. The girls could barely stand it. Vibrating with the excitement of it all. We finally relented and went down to our seats (on the floor - thank you Amy!) to get situated. And we waited.

We were actually pretty close to the stage - the cat walk part of it - so the girls were already pretty fired up. After sitting there for an hour I decided to head up to the bathroom (you know, because of all the beer). No small task to hike all the way up there from the floor I might add. As I came out of the bathroom, a roar arose from the stadium. It was like a wall of sound that came up from the floor and rolled over the seats above. By the time it hit the bathroom exit I was frantically digging through my purse for my earplugs.

The shrieking of tween girls cannot be explained so much as experienced. It's a visceral reaction when you hear thousands of them at close range. As if an ice pick has been run in one ear and out the other. There is no escape. There is no turn of the head that will make it stop. You must just endure it.

And this roar? Was it because Harry, Liam, Niall, Louis and Zayne appeared on the stage? No. It was because they showed a COMMERCIAL featuring the boys. Dear God.

The video above is of when the boys hit the stage for their first song, Midnight Memories. To put it simply - Zoe. Lost. Her. Shit.   Mind BLOWN.

I will say this for the band. They were very polite and gracious. They thanked the fans repeatedly for their success and credited them for putting them where they are today. They took the time to smile, wave and wink at the girls. Niall (Zoe's favorite) actually pointed at her "I Love Niall" poster and smiled and waved RIGHT AT HER. She could have died right then and there a happy girl. Such a cool thing to have happen.

Now. Could the boys have put on some clean clothes and run a brush through their hair before the show? It certainly wouldn't hurt....

Stupid Fruit

Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be friendly.  And yet, it’s who I am and it’s how I roll. I want everyone around me to feel comfortable and I want them to like me and think I'm nice. But sometimes I go too far and don't pull back when I should. Sometimes I just lunge into the abyss and FORCE myself on people until they simply can't take it anymore.

Such was the case during my last pedicure. I was introduced to a new nail tech at my very small salon. I kind of knew her "back story" (She is the owner's sister in law and not from here) a little bit and wanted to be friendly and welcoming to her. Total backfire.

We were just getting into the groove - had my polish picked out, kicking back in the chair, ready to roll. So I started with, "How long have you been in the country?"

She stopped what she was doing, looked up and replied, "Six years."

Oh.

"Where are you from originally?"

"Indonesia"

"It must be beautiful there?"

Again. Dead stop. "No. It's hot, muggy and full of volcanoes."

Oh. 

"So you don't go back much?"

"Once a year. To see my family."

 "Well that must be nice. It's on the ocean right? Do you get to spend time by the water?"

First of all, my geography skills suck. No idea where Indonesia is or what it looks like at all. Might have seen an "International House Hunters" episode about it once but that might have been somewhere else. Should have shut my mouth.

"No. I grew up in the middle of the island in the city. We never go to the ocean."

I was in a total nose dive at this point and should have stopped but I didn't. Because I never really know when to stop. It's a thing with me. 

"I bet they have wonderful fruit there." Totally flailing at this point. I'm thinking tropical fruit, straight out of some movie I once saw - South Pacific? Has to be beautiful, right? RIGHT?

"My daughter only eats strawberries and blueberries and they're $9.00 a pint there."

Aaaaannnnnd done. 

I "googled" a picture of the fruit. Yeah, I wouldn't eat that either.