I remember when I used to have a bar. My bar. I went there almost every night. If I missed a night or even two I felt like it had been ages since I had been there. If I missed three days, forget it. I started to convince myself that there would be new regulars by the time I got there, a new bartender, even worse – a new doorman.
You guys are “my bar.” And this is my way of apologizing. Here. It’s my ID. I will show it to the doorman in an effort to say “Hey, I don’t expect you to know who I am anymore, I know it seems like I haven’t been here in weeks, but it has only been six days.”
What have I been doing? Umm. Nothing extraordinary. I have fallen in to a good routine. I have been to the gym every day. Even days that I did not want to go. At all.
I have read board books until my eyes have crossed. I have passed these rhyming nonsensical books off to my seven year old and asked her to read them. We all read and read and read some more. I love that my sweet girls like books. I do. But so help me, a day without “Goodnight, Moon” would not be a day without sunshine.
I made the most incredibly perfect sunny side up eggs. The yolks were golden and they required not even a pinch of salt. It has been well over a year since I have purchased an egg in a store.
I get my eggs from a friend. This week I met that friend for lunch. I left with two dozen eggs from Heritage Acres Farm and some knowledge. After lunch we took a quick stroll around downtown and she clued me in to the fact that there is an unbelievable little vintage shop near the post office. Uniquitiques. I am a sucker for vintage aprons and linens. A rack of cute dresses that probably won’t fit a girl like me with a nursing rack. But there was a book case of vintage boots. Vintage. Cowgirl Boots. Oh, hello. A sweet lady said “Oh, you like the boots, follow me.” We followed her through her maze of a shop.
And then my eyes fell out of my head and I dropped to my knees.
Row upon row upon row of boots, y’all. Rooms full of boots. ROOMS. They’re not cheap. But they don’t have to be. For the gal that wants an unbelievable pair of boots and wants to shrug and say “these old things?” when someone says “Good gawd, those are Gorgeous!” this is the promised land.
I took Lucy in for her 12 month well visit. Two months late. She is a-ok. She is long and lean with a freakishly large noggin.
I took myself in to the doc for my annual reminder that I have allergies. Some years my seasonal allergies rest in my sinus cavities and give me headaches that feel like dirty, dirty Mad Dog hangovers. This year I am feeling lucky to have an ear infection. I skipped a swim workout and opted for extra cardio instead. Lucy skipped a morning nap and we made up for late in the afternoon. A couple of hours of shut eye and we are feeling pretty super.
I have Easter lights up in my kitchen. The Easter Bunny will be stuffing plastic eggs with jelly beans and chucking them around the yard this weekend. No chocolate in the eggs this year, the weather is too outrageous. It was in the 30s this week but it could be 70 by Sunday.
So, that’s what you missed. A whole lotta nothing. I have fallen in to a good routine. Just in time to hit the road for Spring Break and mess it all up, but that’s how it always works, right? Get your kids and your house and your head in to a groove and then turn it on its head.
Speaking of heads. There was a day this week, maybe even two, that I did not hate my hair. I still long for my sock bun and I am sick and tired of sporting the “I am growing out my bangs, what’s YOUR problem?” face and accompanying barrettes. But just one day that I look in the mirror and think “Ok. So, that kind of looks like it isn’t a wig or someone else’s head.” Yeah. That’s not too bad.
How about you? What’s shakin’? I haven’t seen you in forever.