Toddler Truths.

At what age does the bluntness of my almost-five year old go from adorable to just plain rude?

Laying in bed with her this morning, she lovingly pats my face, then stops, cocks her head, and says quite matter-of-factly, "Mommy. Your eyebrows are getting really hairy. I can see all those black hairs growing. You need to get that thing you use to pull them out."

Why, thank you, sweet child o'mine. I have a hair appointment schedule for Friday - which includes a brow wax - but here I now sit on the bedroom floor, painstakingly ripping hairs out of my eyebrow. I intentionally left the "s" off that because harsh as she may have been, Reagan was right - pretty sure I was close to just having ONE brow, instead of two.....

Stop the presses....

This is probably as close as I will ever get to a tutorial, but I felt like patting myself on the back for this Sunday afternoon project. My lil' redhead came down with a stomach bug and very politely asked that I make her a wreath for her room. I happened to have a heart site wreath form that I decided I hated as a base for a deco mesh wreath so I searched through the disaster that is our coat/craft closet and went to work with a couple of the fifty million spools of tulle I have. And voila! I give you Reagan's tutu heart wreath! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go finish folding all of her puked-on bedding I just took out of the dryer....

Yeah, yeah…. I suck.

 

Remember when I was so excited to blog again and created this with the bright-eyed eagerness of actually keeping up with it?

Looks like that flew out the window rather quickly. It’s been… what?…. two months again since the last post? Sigh. I guess I forgot that whole ‘free time’ thing that blogging requires – at least for me. True to my usual form, I have zero of that. Or at least very little. And I find that when I do get a sliver of it, I seek refuge in a bubble bath. Or bottom of a wine glass. Or both.

Maybe since the holidays are finally over, I can get on with my resolution to blog more. Raise your hand if you believe me …….

 

Yeah, thought so.

 

The last two months have been pretty hectic though. There was Thanksgiving:

Don’t they look like the postcard for sibling love?

 

Then there was my idiotic decision to tackle deco mesh wreaths – mostly because I kept seeing them at craft shows, coveted one with a fervor, but was too cheap to spend the $60 everyone was asking for:

 

In the midst of all the shopping and crafting, I continued my annual holiday tradition of raising my blood pressure by attempting to get a good Christmas card photo of the kids together. It went about as well as years past….

Her “fabulous” pose with the jutted hip.

Then there was this…

‘Tis the season to sucker punch your sister in the face, apparently.

Luckily they thought my irritation was just hilarious:

Finally, I waved the white flag and went with the thirty-seventh one I took -

But I’m pretty sure this last one I snapped summed it all up:

 

I’m with you, Reido…. done-zo with this crap.

 

Christmas cards were sent out at a shockingly early date for me – by the 11th!! – which was a good thing since I did my part to help reduce the overpopulation of deer in this fricking state on the 14th,

 

launching Deerzilla the Buck a good fifteen feet one evening. My Mom Mobile was deemed totaled (and why wouldn’t it be, I was more than halfway to paying it off and that’s how my luck goes) six days before Christmas so not only did I have to finish up my usual last minute shopping clusterfuck rush, I also had to look for a new car. To say I was stressed is probably an understatement. I was frazzled and overwhelmed, and quite frankly, a raging bitch. It all worked out though and on Christmas Eve, I picked up my first ever BRAND NEW CAR (I said that in my game show announcer voice, btw). It had 12 miles when I drove it off the lot and those were all from me test driving it.

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to myself… because oh yeah… this also happened a few days later:

Hold on… I need a minute….

 

Okay. I’m good. Sadly turning 30 also coincided with finding about forty-two fucking white hairs on my head, which is pretty horrible timing, if you ask me. Or my boyfriend since he sat and looked at me like I was crazy while I cried about being old.

 

And now here we are in January. It’s our busiest time at work (health insurance company – new year – new benefits – ‘nuff said) so I feel like I want to bash my head against the wall most days. Or slit my wrist with a Post-It and slowly bleed out; it’s a toss up, really. As (my) luck would have it though, I caught the plague that was going around and spent Monday through Wednesday of this past week dying a slow death in my recliner. Double ear infection, strep, and sinus infection from hell, anyone? Yaaaay. When I dropped the kids off at school on Tuesday morning so that I could go to the doctor, I gave Reagan a hug and told her that I loved her. She hugged me back and said, “I love you too, Mommy… but you smell. Go home and take a shower.”

Ah. From the mouth of babes. She was probably right though, pretty sure I hadn’t washed my hair in like, three days at that point. That afternoon when they got home from school, I asked her if she wanted to snuggle with me but first had to assure her I’d showered before she would take me up on my offer. She even smelled me to make sure. Gotta love kids and their brutal honesty, right?

So. I think we’re caught up. Two months in twenty minutes. Pretty productive, if I do say so myself. And I do.

So there.