A mother's gotta do what a mother's gotta do

We've been steaming the past couple weeks, then WHAM a cold front hits us. We need the rain, and I certainly don't object to giving the air conditioner a break. However, this is the South, and I know that the temperatures will surely rise again.
So, in preparation for that, and the fact that it's been 7 months since my last visit to LaNae's chair, I was overdue for a haircut. My hair was getting tied into a ponytail, or clipped somehow back off my face or up off my neck every day. That's a sure sign of my hair screaming for attention. I tried to go a couple weeks ago, but that whole bladder debacle topped off a day of screwy happenings, including missing my appointment with LaNae.
So here's the before picture.
Apparently RW likes to take pictures in a way that annoys the crap out of me, resulting in a surly expression on my face. There was also the fact that I was once again running late for my appointment with LaNae, after having spent the morning thinking way more than my pregnant brain should have been attempting. I don't do logistics in the morning, coffee or not.

I got there, and she asked how much was getting cut off today and pointed to the usual spot I have her cut my hair. I told her to go shorter in anticipation of the heat and general UGH that comes with the combination of a Florida summer and pregnancy. As usual, I never fail to look better after leaving LaNae's chair.
It also serves as my weekly belly picture that I've been doing during this pregnancy. I didn't get to do that with the other 3 kids - or at least I didn't think to do it, plus I would still have 20 rolls of undeveloped film sitting in a basket with those belly pictures on them anyway.

Devildog saw it, didn't like it and said it was too short. Clone saw it and got ticked because I didn't take her to get her hair cut too. RW saw it and said "ACK! It's short!" Beast hasn't seen it yet. I was crashed in my bed when he got home, and he himself has been asleep since he got in the door. I guess he's in the middle of a growth spurt or something.

In any case, I love it so far. I have actually contemplated getting my hair this short for a LONG time, but always chickened out for some reason. I don't know why, it's just hair and it grows back. I DO know that between heat, pregnancy and the work involved in getting a baby to exit my body, I needed it short.

Diva Day

I love my new haircut. I was able to wash my hair this morning before church, and it dried before we left (late of course-fantasy league vortex got me). Friday, I scored some kick-butt boots at a consignment shop that was consolidating with another location. The price was good on the boots anyway, but 50% off was even better, and opened the way for another pair of diva shoes and a nicer t-shirt style top. The boots hadn't been worn either. In any case, I've already gotten my money's worth from those boots. I wore them Friday night to a party. Today I wore the boots with a lightweight denim jacket over a wrap dress that I feared would languish in the closet for lack of closed toe shoes in cooler temperatures. And no comments about Florida's "winter". There isn't much meat on my bones, so it doesn't take much to heat or cool me. In any case, I was looking quite the diva today and got lots of great feedback from those around me. It really does a person's ego and soul a bit of good to get unsolicited compliments. I do believe I had a "diva walk" about me today as well.
Then I got invited to go to the football game...wow. They had an extra ticket, and were happy to fill the seat. I said I had to definitely change clothes because I was not going to the game looking like a diva (not that I would have curtailed my cheering because of my attire). I admitted to making fun of women showing up at the football games, dressed in diva-wear, apparently in hopes of picking up a man. It's faulty logic, if that is the case.
If you really have no interest in football, you're in the wrong place to look for a guy. There's almost a 100% chance that he's there for the game. This guy is not for you. You're setting yourself up for misery. He's not going to change his stance on football just because you're sashaying your cash and prizes around him, in an attempt to distract him from the game. He's going to continue to enjoy football and leave you to your own vices. If you want his company, you're in for a sore disappointment. Instead of the stadium on gameday, you need to go elsewhere, like Home Depot while the game is on. THOSE guys in the big orange box store either have an emergency and don't have time to talk to you, or they don't care what's going on in terms of football. It stands to reason that the employees there probably are an exception to this logic of mine. So, rather than make it apparent that the air between your ears is swirling at a massive velocity, avail yourself to those who aren't going to make you a football widow. Your only other alternative is to educate yourself about the game and become a fan. Which, is way more interesting to guys than the diva deal you have going on there. Thankfully someone helped educate me about the game about 10 years ago. I've met many of the male species that find it refreshing that I "get it" and I love to watch the game. They also appreciate that I don't ask certain questions in the middle of a big play (or any play for that matter). A smart diva knows these things, and becomes hoarse from cheering at the game. Thankfully I have a keyboard to enable me to convey this to you, because I don't think my voice will hold up to the talking.

my husband really must love me

My parents were together 35 years, and I awaken much like my mother did. Just don't talk to me. You can give a grunt or single word greeting, but silence is preferred. Maybe I'll tell you the story of my father greeting me in the mornings during the Christmas visit to the in-laws in another blog. For now, I'll tell you about my whoville hair.
I don't quite have great hair. Any salon person will tell me that my hair is healthy, and I won't argue with that. I don't do much to my hair. I just brush it, wash it, condition it, and pull it back into ponytails or clips or buns of some kind. Several mornings of late, I have seen the blog fodder in the bathroom mirror. After 16 years of waking up to a woman that regularly looks like THIS:

or this:

he REALLY must love her.

Yes, this is the "whoville hair" of which I speak. Why do I have my hand over my face? It serves several purposes. First, these pictures really were taken right after I crawled out of bed (and yes the timestamps are most likely correct). It's summer and I have few deadlines or timeclocks to meet. I really am NOT a morning person regardless of what time I drag my blessed assurance out of the land of dreams and drool. Having just crawled away from my husband's sleep apnea laden snores, I am not pretty either. So for YOUR protection, I spare you the horror that is me in the morning - blotchy, puffy, and scowling. Plus I'm not awake enough to tolerate self induced camera flash. But being the professional that I am, I encounter the stuff to post in blogs at all hours just for you. The amazing thing is that I find this stuff without the first drop of coffee even. Now how's that for being on-the-job for you?