Mid-Life Crisis Hair

Exhibit A: The Extensions of Which I Speak

So, I've got 3 girls, right? And 2 of them are in full, raging pre-teen status (I know the new word is tween, but I don't really like it. It sounds like something a hillbilly might say."I done walked outside with no shoes on and plumb got some mud 'tween my toes." So I'm just going to stick with pre-teen.)

I don't know if you have any pre-teen girls, but I can almost guarantee that if you do you are quite familiar with a little British band who goes by the name of One Direction. If you have never heard of them, well, just consider yourself lucky. I have heard almost nothing BUT them for the last year or so. Which makes me very familiar with their songs. Very. Very. Familiar. 

So naturally when I turned 40 this year and had a bit of a mid-life crisis and went and got hair extensions (Exhibit A), every single time I hear Midnight Memories (off of the album of the same name for those of you who can't wait to go out and buy it) all I can think about is my mid-life crisis hair. Because that's what I call it. Because, let's be honest, that's pretty much what it is. So here's a little ditty I made up to amuse myself. Because you have to do something  to amuse yourself when you lose complete control of the music you get to listen to. And I'm sharing it with you, well, because I'm a giver. And also to let you know that for the most part I try not to take myself too seriously.

Mid-Life Crisis Hair

40 this year, how can that be??

Never thought this would happen to me.

Trying to stay young, that's my intention

Oh I know! I'll add some extensions.

Tell me that I'm crazy that I'm crossing a line

Most days I really love it, yeah I think it's divine

Just cuz I didn't grow it doesn't mean it's not mine, oh, whoa 

Mid-Life Crisis Hair, oh, oh, oh, oh

Baby say what?

Hair down to your butt?

Flinging, flinging, flinging, flinging.

Mid-Life Crisis Hair, oh, oh, oh, oh

Everywhere I go, people say whoa!

Did she really do it, do it, do it, do it??

Can't really pull off the skinny jeans

Wish they'd go out of style if you know what I mean

Not in my twenties anymore, which just doesn't seem fair

To console myself, I'll just add some hair

Tell me that I'm crazy that I'm crossing a line

Most days I really love it, yeah I think it's divine

Just cuz I didn't grow it doesn't mean it's not mine, oh, whoa 

Mid-Life Crisis Hair, oh, oh, oh, oh

Baby say what?

Hair down to your butt?

Flinging, flinging, flinging, flinging.

Mid-Life Crisis Hair, oh, oh, oh, oh

Everywhere I go, people say whoa!

Did she really do it, do it, do it, do it??

Googling celebs that are older than me

(Naomi Campbell is 43)

This is what the internet's for, oh, oh, oh

Getting older's not making sense

So for now, I'll just pretend

(and Botox would cost me so much more) oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Mid-Life Crisis Hair, oh, oh, oh, oh

Baby say what?

Hair down to your butt?

Flinging, flinging, flinging, flinging.

Mid-Life Crisis Hair, oh, oh, oh, oh

Everywhere I go, people say whoa!

Did she really do it, do it, do it, do it??

Hope you enjoyed it. Stay tuned for Story of My Life, a tale of never-ending dishes and laundry.

All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my breakdown.

No really. I'm pretty sure I'm overdue. I know it's (literally) been years since I posted to my blog. (That's actually kind of why I think it's no big deal for me to have my online breakdown...I'm fairly certain I don't have any readers left.) 

I just need a short 10 minutes or so to feel sorry for myself and then I will suck it up and move on. Cuz that's what I do. Honestly, what I really need is to just have an outlet for my tumultuous emotions. If only for a minute. 

Somehow I have become the person that isn't really allowed to have negative feelings. I mean, I can have them. I'm just not allowed to express them. I think maybe it is just part of being a mom? I'm not sure. I just know that especially to my family I am that person that cannot fall apart. No matter what. Because if I fall apart, the whole world falls apart, (it'll be anarchy.) I am not sure how this happened. If I could go back and start over, I would definitely stand in the "people-who-want-to-claim-the-right-to-have-regular-and-consistent-nervous-breakdowns." But I guess that will have to wait for next time. 

This is not to say that I am always 100% in charge of my emotions. I rant. And yell. And scream. And occasionally dump laundry baskets full of clean clothes on my kids (only once though, and she really kinda deserved it.) 
But when it comes to, say, my husband losing his job for the second time in two years and possibly not being able to work ever again, but also not quite having enough vision loss to qualify for disability, well that's when I have to be the rock. I have to be the calm one. Who reassures everyone that everything will be just fine. While trying to come up with a plan to support my family. And looking at my third (THIRD) failed attempt just since living in Cedar that I have tried to finish my degree. (I just submitted my transcripts and application to SUU last week for Fall 2014 Semester. I've previously been accepted there twice.) The one who figures out what to do next, and how to finish paying for Fan's braces without insurance, and how we are going to eat, and pay our mortgage, and send Fan to college. I have to be that one. 

And I don't want to. I want to curl up in the corner and cry until I pass out. And then wake up and cry some more. I want to scream. And yell. And lose complete control. And mostly, I want someone to fix it for me. Cuz I am bone tired of trying to fix everything myself. I don't want to be reliable. I don't want to be dependable. I want to be the crazy one who can't deal with one more thing. Because I am honestly not sure that I can. 

In the meantime, until this magic problem-solver comes along, I have to have my tiny breakdowns in private. I have to sit alone in the car and hyperventilate. I have to turn up the music really loud while I'm in the shower so no one can hear me cry. But mostly I just have to be okay. So that everyone else will be okay.

I know that there are many people in the world that have bigger and more difficult problems than me. I know that I do not have a corner on the market of trials. Goodness knows I wouldn't trade my problems for lots of other ones that people have to endure. I know this. But I still want my breakdown. I think I've earned it. 

That's all. Pity party over. I can go on now. And as one of my favorite songwriters said (and his funny-haired friend harmonized), a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries. (Nope, Paul Simon, not Fergie...although she did say that big girls don't cry which is close.)

I. Miss. Blogging.

There.  I said it.  I miss blogging.  It's true.  But no more promises.  No more goals.  No more writing checks my butt can't cash...(is that how that goes?)  Funnily enough (if $185 and eye popping unbelievablity can be funny) right after my last blog post about ... posting more frequently, my kids cracked my laptop screen.  My beautiful new laptop.  My beautiful new expensive laptop. A month later I got it back as good as new, but by then my resolve was cracked.  Yet, here I am, months later, inexorably drawn back to my (sad) (pathetic) (almost couldn't remember the password) (mostly pictures of 15 lbs and 1 Lincoln ago) blog.  I miss it.  Plain and simple.  It is the closest thing to thinking that I do anymore.  So I'm giving it another try.  I've heard it said that if you can acknowledge the things that keep you from your goal, you're that much closer to defeating them (I think it was in Season 3 of Gidget ... something about accidentally having two dates on the same night) So here is a rundown of a few things that have transpired in the interim since I used to blog more often:

* Lincoln.  I love him.  He's a blonde, curly headed, fun-loving bundle of insanity and irresistablity.  However, let's face it.  I'm no summer hen, or spring chicken for that matter.  I think I actually forgot the amount of time and energy that a 2-year old expects from a mother.  If you've forgotten, let me remind you: a lot.  Take all the time & energy you have.  Add a quijillion.  It's somewhere around there.

* Watch Me Drown. So, remember that time I lost my job at, the-company-who-cannot-be-named-cuz-they-read-my-blogposts-and-then-hold-corporate-management-meetings-to-see-if-I-violated-the-negativity-clause-in-my-termination-contract?  Well, back then I was a little daunted, but I also thought about all the wonderful opportunities that may await me.  Like being a business owner.  Then I actually bought a business.  Because I'm insane.  You know that phrase about biting off more than you can chew?  Try, shoving an entire watermelon in your mouth rind, seeds, and all.  And then putting a cupcake in there too, just because it looked good.  And then attempting to wash it down with a Big Gulp.  You get the picture.  That's not to say that I am not still faithfully chewing away...just that it can be a bit much at (almost all) times.

* Netflix. T.M.TV.  A million series I've never even heard of and can't live a moment longer without completing.  Add one bedroom TV, one Roku device, and multiply by insomnia and indefatigable desire for great TV drama. You get the picture.  And let me know if you need any recommendations for something to watch...

Well, actually, that probably about sums it up.  Just three little reasons really.  How could I let such minor things get in the way of my thinking time?  I don't know.  I just know that I need to blog.  It makes me feel connected in ways that nothing else can replace.  It makes me feel like a person.  Not just a wife, maid, mother, friend, boss, maid, cook, did I mention maid? But an actual real-live person.  I don't know if that makes sense.  I don't know if anyone still remembers a girl named Cyndie who used to blog, but I need it.  I'm giving it another try.

Wish me luck.

A Time to Blog

Fantasia had a school project to do tonight for her Foods II class which was making dinner for our family. Somehow this meant that, despite her need for my constant instruction and presence in the kitchen, not only did we have a delicious meal complete with appetizer & dessert (as specified by the assignment) but also we ate earlier than normal. "Normal" for us is usually late. Sometimes ridiculously so. Which meant that I, in turn, had time to catch up on some seriously belated blog-reading. Specifically, my kick-trash sister, Katie, and my dear friend/idol/inspiration/blog-maestro, Lara.

Reading through several fabulous blog entries has inspired me to set a few blog and non- blog related goals: I want to blog more. Take more pictures. Find more humor in things that drive me out of my mind. Read more. Enjoy my kids more. Buy more cereal. Be home more. Be thin. Be inspiring.

Okay, so not all of those goals are realistic. But surely I can attempt to find a few quiet moments a month to catch up and to blog about the things that make me happy. And sad. And grateful to be alive.

(Watch for ... Lincoln's entire first 20 months of life, just as soon as I ask Karyn for the pictures...)

People named Jody.

So, I went through the McDonalds drive-thru the other day (in hopes of getting a Yoda toy in my Happy Meal.) Normally, they are pretty quick, but when I got to the window to pick up my food (sadly, sans Yoda) they asked me to wait for a couple minutes. No biggie; I wasn't in a huge hurry. PLUS, it gave me time to read the various employee notices and, in particular, the sign posted on the side of the McCafe coffee-drink machine contraption thingie.

It went a little something like this:

ATTENTION EMPLOYEES!

We have received SEVERAL customer complaints about the quality of our McCafe Lattes.

PLEASE be sure to use the following measurements when making the lattes:

Medium Size

2 shots of caramel

1 whipped cream

Large Size

3 shots of caramel

2 whipped cream

By following these McDonalds recipes, we can ensure the satisfaction of our customers.

*Specifically a woman in a champagne colored Acura named Jody.

I have two questions to ask of all the Jodys out there. Just two.

Number One: Is it really not already sucky enough to be working at McDonalds without having to deal with managerial notes about latte recipes?

Number Two: Really?? You're going to complain about the quality of something you are ordering at McDonalds? You're a jerk. Go to Starbucks. They're used to people like you.