I've been telling my husband lately that my life is a lot like Groundhog's Day.
Monotonous. Yes. But I'm actually the one choosing to shape it that way, since it keeps everything flowing smoothly and sanely here.
My personal Groundhog's Day is complete with:
* Anticipating hunger by pre-preparing snacks.
* Thinking of meals in as far advance as I can stand, so I don't end up in a hot kitchen, myself hungry, tired and surrounded by three gaping mouths.
* Doing my daily sheepdog impersonation, moving all of our lovely stuff back into its place time after time after time.
* Trying to remember to add that daily spice (a seasonal book that's been tucked away, a new recipe the kids can help with, painting toe nails just for the heck of it) to keep things fun and lively.
* And of course, my favorites. A constant stream. No, make that flood, of laundry and dishes.
And with all of this, there's the monotony of just living day-to-day in the same house. Every. Single. Day. Picking up the same toys, books, clothes. Hoping the washer will not kick the bucket on me as it decides not to spin on every other load now. And putting away the dishes or just re-setting the table with the same ones to avoid yet another chore.
And my Groundhog's Day proclamation?
My weekends must somehow look different from my regular work days.
If you work outside the home, this is natural. Your weekend may start with not waking to an alarm. The morning probably moves at a slower pace. You may pick a place to go. Or just opt to stay home, soaking up all the homely to-do's that overrun us all.
But when you're at home all day (and I'm certainly not complaining here), it's a lot harder to mix it up--to make the weekends look different. I mean, if anything we eat bigger and messier meals. There are even more dishes to be done. And the laundry still spins away and barely makes it back onto the couch, nonetheless back into everyone's closets.
Sometimes I dream of a cafe' nearby. Yes, for as much as I love the forest, the meadow, the great outdoors. A place I can easily escape to that's in walking distance, a $2 dream-mocha (how much do those things even cost?), and the serenity of a scene change-up sounds pretty awesome at the moment.
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And now with the weather heating up, I've been once again thinking about change every day.
What to get rid of in this house?!
What to savor, mix, freeze, make, or NOT bake in the kitchen, that'd be heavenly on a hot afternoon.
Where to go that won't be more work than it's worth with three little people.
How to remember that stepping outside almost always helps everything.
And my hair! I've been thinking about hacking it all off. Going pixie. Shaving it. And of course, leaving it as is. The same old hair. The same safe look. Easy to pony tail up and pull back at a moment's notice.
So yesterday morning when I was putting on my contacts I couldn't help but grab the scissors. Because just maybe a few inches off the back would satisfy these fiery urges to hack. And as I began to cut...Gasp. Already shorter than I'd meant. And crooked. And a mess. Thankfully my husband is the best husband in the world and is flexible, patient and able to straighten out trouble in a moment's notice. So he happily snuck into the bathroom to "fix" my hair. (Truth be told, ever since he cut my hair in Suriname he reminds me that he can cut my hair every time I mention haircuts. I think he loves it. It's all about trust, right? Hair is a huge trust issue.) And well, at this point in time I just can't justify spending our actual money on the mere cutting of my hair. So, he very nicely cleaned up my damage and I enjoyed shorter hair all day. Still pony-tail-able, but less weight. Good.
But then at 1 am last night, waiting for our weekend to finally start, for husband to finally get home, I got brave. (Don't we all get a little more bold and brazen after midnight?) And I asked myself, Change? Why not?
I'd just finished peeking through an old photo album in search of a few photos for my anniversary post later this week, and damn it, I've been wearing this same hairstyle (that would be no hairstyle in particular) for over a decade now. That is if you don't count the brief interlude of short hair that I had two years ago when my husband went off to ranger academy. But of course true short hair requires upkeep. And adding self-maintenance to my list of to-do's isn't going to realistically happen right now. So, although I loved my short hair, I just couldn't keep up with going somewhere for a haircut. And saving the money spent on it is always a perk.
So, here's me a decade ago canoing. Same 'do. Same me. Just ten years younger. And boy did these old pictures make me feel old. Same hairstyle, ten years older. Ugh.
So at 1 am I got brave. Husband wasn't home yet. Kids all safely sleeping in bed. And I got the scissors out. And I combed my long bangs down. And I cut them.
Bangs. I, who have declared bangs the epitome of what I didn't love about my own childhood, have cut bangs again. And I think I like them. I mean, I woke this morning and immediately remembered the dreadful part of bangs. Misshapen. Bedraggled. In need of a little love and care, for sure.
But I'm digging the new architecture of these bangs now.
Anyone else cut their own hair? Or have their spouses cut their hair? And anybody else itching to hack off all their hair with thie season change?
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