No Sex Till Tubes Tied

Imagine saying that with the song “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” theme……….. I should Weird Al Yankovic that shit.

Anyway, that is where I am at. I have done a shit load of research. Tubes tied VS vasectomies. Yes, having the man get snipped is quicker, easier and cheaper. But since my husband has super sperm that has surpassed numerous amounts of birth control, I don’t trust a snip. I want that shit tied up. I actually want my entire inside lady parts removed, but that apparently is not an option.

So Matt and I have had extensive conversations on this matter and he has offered to get a vasectomy, but I have heard of too many vasectomy babies (well, 3) and I just can’t. So I began my research on getting my tubes tied. I did a ton. I figured out the exact route I wanted to go and called my doctor to get the ball rolling.

Sadly, because we live in a world where instant gratification is only plausible with men, I was not able to just call and schedule an appointment. This is what I have to do per my insurance…..schedule a counseling appointment. Then after having an in depth conversation and “convincing” my doctor I am ready I must wait 30 days. Then I can go ahead and get my tubes tied. WHAT THE FUCK? Look, this bitch has three toddlers already. I am 37, kinda addicted to having sex with my husband….SHUT HER DOWN!!!! Like, I am ready! I do not want to take anymore pills, buy anymore condoms or god forbid have to pee on any other stick. This ship has sailed. I am ready. Why all the hoops to jump through when this is my body and this is what I want??? Fuck you rules against women! It’s my body and this is what I want to do, why the hell the wait???

So in my rage against the rules, I told Matt that we are not having sex until this process is over. Because I know my luck…during this 30 day waiting period, some shit will happen. Sucks, I know, but I also know he does have super sperm and I do have desperate eggs.

So lots of hj’s, dry humps and other goodies in our future I guess. We aren’t that freaky, but we do enjoy our adult time. I will most likely have more of an issue with this then he will. He does not believe I will make it, but I will. I guarantee it. I will just have to keep extra batteries on hand! But seriously, these rules they have for women and what we can and can’t do with our bodies are ridiculous. Not at all reasonable if you ask me. Especially when a man can get a walk in vasectomy appointment. In all seriousness, that is true but why? We all know we handle stress, pain and recovery much better. Ever see a man with a cold…. functioning??? Lord knows I haven’t.

I will be so glad when this chapter is closed and my fallopian tubes are as well. Wish me and my horniness luck. I will need it.

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The Survivor. The Rapist. The Parents.

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Do we as parents raise rapist? Of course we don’t. Never intentionally. Ever. We do our best to raise strong, kind, open minded, hardworking, caring men. But what happens when we do that and they rape someone?

 

The Brock Turner case is horrendous. And the more that unfolds the worse it becomes. It is a complete injustice. The survivor deserves accolades beyond any we can give her, because the one thing she truly deserves is a do over of that night in which this never happened. And sadly, it is the one thing we as a society can not give her. We can never give her that moment back when Brock helps her instead of rapes her. And as a woman, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend and a mom I feel like I have disappointed her. I should have somehow not allowed this to happen to her. He should have been punished and he was not. And somehow it is my fault. Our fault. We should not get off the hook for our inexcusable actions because we are young, white, rich and male. And now, this female sits, forever changed and there is simply nothing we can do about it.

 

Or is there?

 

The survivors parents……can you imagine? The sadness. The worry. The anger. I know her father wants to violently punish Brock and the Judge. And he deserves to feel that way. And her mom. Oh god….she probably never wants her daughter to leave her sight again. She wants to hold her, cuddle her, tell her it will all be alright, although she knows, as a mom, it won’t. As a mother with a daughter I would look at my daughter, god forbid she was in this nightmare, and my heart would break and ache for the rest of her life. Knowing how much was ahead of her and how much work needed to be done. Knowing that when she closes her eyes she envisions waking up in a hospital having a nurse pull out a rape kit. Knowing that she will have to tell her future partner “I’ve been raped. Intimacy will not be easy.” The worse thing for her mom is knowing she can’t take any of this away from her daughter. This survivor, her daughter, has to live this and there is nothing she can do to change that.

 

What about Brock’s parents? Well, we have heard from his dad and it was utterly disgusting. But what about his mom? I imagine she has locked herself in her room, laying in her bed, crying her eyes out. How could her son do this? How could her son rape someone? How is her son a MONSTER? She probably can’t believe it. She probably doesn’t want to believe it. She is now seeing his future in a completely different view. He is no longer a handsome, smart, Stanford swimmer. He is a RAPIST. Her baby boy whom she devoted her life too. Who she raised the best she could showing him all the love and comfort a mama could give. Her child, whom she has loved unconditionally since the moment he was a heartbeat inside of her body. This baby is a rapist. She wakes up everyday now and for the rest of her life blaming HERSELF (because that is what moms do.) The man she raised got intoxicated, and raped a young girl behind a dumpster and left her there. HER SON. How, as a parent do you process that? How do you support? How do you still love? How do you know envision his future now? Probably not turning into a successful, married, family man. That vision is gone. Everything as Brock’s mom sees it is gone. Her son is a rapist. Forever and always.

 

I have sons. I can not even complete the sentence “What if they….” They won’t. They will not. But I am sure Brock’s mom thought the same thing.

 

And Brock probably never saw himself as a rapist. This particular evening he was probably getting his pre game on for this party. Trying to look good and thinking about hooking up with someone. A situation every single one of us has been through. We have all gone to a party and had too much to drink. We have all had too much to drink that when we wake up we don’t remember. But Brock had something inside of him this night that wasn’t normal “drunk behavior.” He wanted to have a sexual encounter and nothing was going to stop him. He did not control himself. He felt entitled. He felt like he would get away with it (which he has) and he raped someone who was unconscious. I am sure Brock did not wake up that morning and think “tonight’s the night I will rape.” I am sure he did not plan this out. But when the time came he did not stop. He raped, got caught and blamed it on booze. No Brock it wasn’t intoxication, it was entitlement. You had it that night and you also had some booze as your backup.

 

As parents, one of our jobs is to teach our children the word no. They need to hear it. Often. And they need to understand it, fully. We are living in a world, as parents, where saying no to you kid is a BAD thing. But it isn’t. If we as parents create for them a world full of yes’ then we are creating entitlement. We are creating rapist. WE ARE CREATING BROCK. I did not grow up in Brock’s house, but I am sure he was not told no a lot. He got things he wanted, whenever he wanted them. I see this every single day as a mom. Kids wanting something, once they are told no, they tantrum and parents give in. They are quickly told yes. I see this ALL THE TIME. Telling your child NO does not make you a bad parent. It makes you an excellent parent who is teaching your child boundaries. Kids like Brock have no boundaries, therefore, when this situation arose, he took it. It is our job to say no. It is our job to tell them to be done at no. It is our job to make sure our children are not entitled.

 

And besides entitlement, we must teach them about ownership. You make a decision, good or bad, you own it and face the consequences. Don’t sugarcoat their punishment. Don’t reward for falsifying. They need to learn this early. My kids lie and they get in trouble. They own up or they get in trouble. Man up, always. These kids must know that.

 

We also need to teach them about sex and sexual abuse. They need to know words like penis and vagina and not give them nicknames. My 4, 3 and 15 month old know zero other names for their body parts besides their actual names. Empower them with these words, do not shame them for having a penis or vagina. We need to talk to them about who is allowed to touch them and how powerful sex is. We need to have open communication as they grow and teach them about birth control and condoms. It is our responsibility to take this generation and change them for the better. My kids hear the word no every day all day.  They also know about their bodies and what is appropriate and what isn’t. Yes, they are toddlers, but they also are growing up in this fucked up world. We have chosen to have children and we have chosen to give them skills to make them good people. Not entitled ones who shoot up schools, cause harm or rape just because they are told no and they feel like they should have power.

 

I am not blaming Brock’s actions on his parents. I actually feel just as bad for the Brock’s mom as do the survivors mom. Her daughter was raped. Her son is a rapist. There is no greener grass for this situation. Brock is old enough to know right from wrong. He is fully capable of understanding a good situation from a bad situation. And he also is man enough to know that his penis carries power and he used that power against an innocent, undeserving, beautiful soul that night. That power is now gone. He will always be known as a rapist. He will always know the truth of that horrible moment. He will always see the pain he has caused behind his mom’s eyes. And hopefully now he will know what the word no means.
The survivor has a different life to adjust too. A life of fear, doubt and questioning….why me? And who knows why her. I am sure Brock doesn’t even know. But she is a survivor and he is a rapist. Moving forward we all know whose future is brighter. And she has us. The women, the wives, the daughters, the sisters, the girlfriends and moms who have her back. We are here for her fully. And so many men who are not like Brock. We are all here for her and as a society, she deserves at least that from us.

The Life and Death of my Sweet Dita

This coming Sunday will be the year anniversary of my dog dying. Even writing this sentence makes me tear up. And I am sure this post will take me days to get through because it is beyond difficult for me to talk about her death. If you are not a person who believes in the deep human/animal connection and relationship, I suggest you just stop reading now. You will think I am crazy, which if so…fuck off and be happy you have never lost a pet.  And if you are a believer, then please continue reading and know my heart is with you as you think about, grieve, remember and mourn your baby.

 

Dita was my very first dog on my own. Meaning not a family dog my parents gave me, but my dog. The day I picked her up was life changing. I had this little, adorable, living thing who was mine to take care of. Mine to teach. Mine to cuddle. Mine to grow with. Just mine. I lived with someone, a boyfriend, at the time I got her. He liked dogs, but didn’t understand my love for her. We split months later and then it was just her and I. I found us a cute little apartment, enrolled her in doggie daycare and made sure she was more taken care of than myself during this time. But that didn’t matter to me because while I was doing all of this for her, she was doing so much more for me. She was taking care of me in a million more ways than anyone ever had. While I was teaching her to poop and pee outside (something she never quite grasped) she was teaching me about independence. While I was teaching her to chew on her toys, not mommy’s (vibrators…….) she was teaching me that I was a strong women. While I was teaching her to sit/stay (that is about as far as we got) she was teaching me that I was not alone…I had her and I had myself and that was all we needed. I will truly treasure that short time we lived alone. Just us. We were an unstoppable pair and molded each other into some pretty awesome creatures.

 

Years passed and that time of just her and I became just a memory. Other dogs, kids, Matt all eventually came into the picture. And she LIKED all those other things, but she never fully accepted them. She loved her Mommy/Dita time and let everyone know it. I know most dogs are stoked when their owner walks through the door, but man, Dita was ecstatic.  Everyday, without fail she would run to me, pushing any other pug, pitbull or kid out of the way, making her crazy pug noises and rub herself all over me like it had been weeks. Even if it was a quick trip to the store. Whenever I sat down anywhere in the house, she found her way to my lap and would curl up and take her throne. She listened to every single I said, staring at me with those big pug eyes, hanging on to every word, waiting for me to talk about food.

 

Dita was only 9 when I found out she had cancer. That is pretty young for a pug. I had many tough decisions I had to make about the wellness and health of my best friend. What drugs, what tests, what plans to assist the comfort and longevity of her life. It was fucking brutal. Especially when I would see the medications quickly not work. It all happened so fast. Her last vet appointment she was skin and bones. Her teeth were falling out and she wasn’t eating. The vet was very apologetic as he told me that her cancer was too aggressive and at this point there was nothing to do but make her comfortable. At this point, she was not greeting me at the door. She was not pawing for my lap. She was hiding from us all waiting to pass.

 

Her last night with us changed. She suddenly would not leave my side. She followed me to every diaper change, every potty break, every step. I knew it was time. I put her in our bed and she began her journey to doggie heaven lying next to Matt and I. It was peaceful, beautiful and she was surrounded by a family full of love. But most importantly in the arms of me. Her mom, her care taker, her life companion, her best friend.

 

All the strength she had taught me over the past 9 years lead up to this moment. She was always there for me with careers, love, babies, heartaches, sickness, life changes and now I had to take her strength and hold on to it for her. Make her feel the way she always made me feel…..loved, safe, not alone.

 

Pets give us something no human can. And as sassy and stubborn and odd and quirky as Dita was, she was a dog. Full of unconditional love. A dog who doesn’t hold a grudge, who is always excited to see you and who appreciates human kindness more than actual humans do. Dita was my dog and she proved it day in and day out for 9 incredible years.

 

The loss of your pet is tough. In my case (and in most cases) it is the loss of a family member, the loss of your true spirit animal, the loss of your best friend.

 

This week marks a year and I still find myself crying over her. Matt and I always reminisce on funny Dita stories (she was quite the character.) Who knows how long I will cry over her, but I don’t ever mind. I know she is with me and when I do cry she is at my ankles making her funny yodeling noises telling me I am okay.

 

I miss you Sweet D. And I will love you forever. Thank you for being you, loving me and teaching me so very much.

 

Battles

I am feeling uninspired. I am feeling like social media is bugging me. I am feeling like everything in this world is becoming a battle. A battle I am too tired to fight today. My goal is to get ahead in this blog. Have posts written weeks before they go up so I can edit, improve, make life a little less chaotic. But again, I find myself in a whirlwind of plans, schedules, work, blah, blah, blah. And here I sit, knowing tomorrow is my day to write and I have nothing.

I was in a good mood today. Was being the key word…….I worked and got treated pretty shitty by some people. People just not giving a shit about the person behind the counter. People who had off today since it is a national holiday, but yet they felt the need to be rude to the person working. Mean to someone who was helping them. But that’s me…the help. I do not mind my role. I am blue collar and proud. I often do NOT get treated badly but every once in awhile it happens. And that shit just pisses me off. We are all equal, we are all in this crazy adventure of life together, so let’s act like it.
So that kinda put me in a bad mood. Then I came home, and after I got settled, I looked on Facebook. The whole terribly sad story of the gorilla and the kid was all over my feed. And there was just so much hate. So much bashing. So much blaming. The story is atrocious any single way you look at it. Whatever side you are on, it is just fucking awful. And all the blame, bashing and hatred will not change the outcome. The gorilla is dead, the child hurt and the mom… I have no words. But whatever side you take, just stop. Please. I can assure you that no one at the zoo, neither of the parents or the police involved feel good about what happened. And as sad, distraught or angry you are… they feel worse. A million times worse.
It just bummed me out. We are so quick to blame, hate, disrespect, and why??? We read an article, we walk into a store, we see the help, we read our feed and we just judge. Judge situations, people, scenarios, families, choices. We have these expectations of others and why? Why be rude to people when they are performing a service for you? Why look down on someone who is helping you? Why blame someone for being negligent with their child when you were not there… you did not actually witness negligence. Why blame employees at the zoo when  were told what to do? Why just to meanness? WHY SO MANY DOWNERS?????
What happened to supporting one another? What happened to extending an olive branch? What happened to minding your own fucking business?
I don’t know. I am just feeling blah about life. Maybe I am PMSing. Maybe I am just tired and sometimes it would be nice to be asked “How are you?” and not “What can you do for me?” and “You need to do more.” Maybe next time a truly awful situation arises we can all look it with compassion and kindness and not blame and hate. Maybe I just need to snuggle up with my handsome husband and let him take all this blahness away… that’s his job now as my husband right?? Ugh, I promise to buck up. Just needed to vent. Thanks to everyone who actually read this and listened!

Top 5 Reasons You Are Officially A Boy Mom

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5. When you look at your kid you find yourself thinking… “Are you going to be a dick to date?”
We have all gotten our heartbroken by some jerkoff. When you are a boy-mom, you wonder if your boy will one day be “that guy.”

4. You know every superhero character…EVERY FUCKING ONE…
But you secretly don’t mind because Thor and Ironman are kinda hot.

3. Seeing your son tumble down and scrape up his knee does NOT faze you.
He is a boy… he likes it rough.

2. Snakes, worms, and bugs do not scare you anymore.
He loves that shit, so you had to say, “FUCK FEAR” a while ago.

1. The penis is no longer only about sex anymore.
Your man is no longer the only one with a penis. And your son’s “mini pecker” as we call it, is the topic of many conversations. Can’t wait till puberty ladies!!!

Boy Mom

My first son turns 3 in two days. 2 more sleeps as he says. Birthdays with youngsters are always so sweet and so heartbreaking. Even if you aren’t a sentimental, sappy mom…..seeing their age move ahead brings a little bit of sadness with it. But, yep, Kellen turns 3.

If you know me, you know I talk a lot of shit about Kell. He is my tough kid. Since the day he was born he has made life a roller coaster. His labor was HORRIBLE. He spent 8 days in the NICU before we could take him home. From then on, he has just been tough. A human I completely adore….but tough. He has made me question my parenting skills. He has made me question my beauty. He has made me question my strength. And he constantly makes me question my own sanity. He is strong willed, incredibly smart, very emotional and tough. On top of that he is the most gorgeous boy I have ever seen and his handsomeness just increases as his age does.

He will be a heartbreaker. He will be a heartthrob. He already is. When I am anywhere with my kids I am constantly stopped and told how cute they are. Then, every time, without fail, they pinpoint Kellen and tell me how attractive he is. Grown women flirt with him. Girls on the playground stop and stare. His looks are simply amazing…..and he doesn’t even notice.

Raising someone that will one day be man is scary as shit. As a parent, you know there are all these things you want them to accomplish. Education, career, success. But as a mom….HIS mom, all I want is happiness, health, kindness, honesty, loyalty and love. I know being a girl is hard. But becoming a man, a honest man, is just so rare these days, its got to be so tough, right??? I mean, I know some bad guys out there and I wonder what their mom must think. Is she questioning all of her moves in his childhood, like did I create that? How do you take this sweet, whiny, adorable little boy and help him mold himself into a hard working, respectful grown man? How do you teach him how to love unconditionally? How do you teach him to have loyalty to his family no matter what? How do you tell him that sports aren’t the end all be all if you don’t want them to be? How do you teach him not to be a dick to girls?? How do you let them go and brave this cruel, battlefield we call the real world alone?

I guess I have some time to figure it all out. I mean, he is only 3. Well almost. I still have 2 more sleeps with my 2 year old tucked into his Ninja Turtle bed. And I will cherish the next 48 hours with that little tough guy unconditionally.

 

 

 

Top 7 Reasons I May NOT Be The Shittiest Housewife EVER

 

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7. There is always beer in our fridge.
Mainly for myself, but still…makes me look like I am keeping it up for him.


6. I always ask him what he wants from the store.
I never remember to buy it, but I still ask. Counts for something right?!

5. I can follow a recipe.
Really well.


4. I put out.
Always.


3. I make him laugh.
I mean a clean house is great and all, but isn’t making someone laugh better????


2. I like his friends. A lot.
Matt’s buddies are my buddies. They are a package deal and I love all parts of his package.


AND THE #1 REASON I AM NOT THAT SHITTY OF A HOUSEWIFE….
I give head… still… after all these years.

Okay!

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Lately I have been seeing a lot of trying. People trying to make big moves. People trying to become famous. People trying to be the best. People trying to make themselves so much better that it is exhausting them. It is almost like we have become a society where being okay is NOT okay. Where trying is more like struggling and everyone is a part of the struggle. Where just doing your best, even though it is not THE best is not enough. My question is, when did mediocre become so horrible? When did being in the middle mean you were really the last? When did just getting by become not getting by at all.

 

I built this blog with the idea that being half ass was cool. But just in the housewife department. People may look at things I do and think it is half ass, but it isn’t. I try and I do my best. But I do not strive for perfection. I don’t want to achieve fame and I do not think it is unfulfilling to find myself in the middle. Not first, not last. Just that sweet spot in between. Being in the middle does not mean you are half ass. It just means you are in the fucking middle. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

 

I see things everyday, especially via social media where you can tell people are trying their hardest to make themselves look perfect. Their status updates are nothing but pure happiness and success. Their pictures are all sunshine and rainbows. And maybe their life is actually like that…..but maybe it isn’t. What is so wrong with showing a picture of your pissed off partner. Or of your kid screaming. Or why can’t a status update like “Started my period today…I feel like a sad, fat pig” be cool with everyone.  Again, why is this achievement of perfection so freaking important.

 

I’ve never had any of my blog posts published…..why, because, #1 I have never submitted and #2, because they aren’t that good. They are full of swear words and typos and people don’t want to see that. I have never been rewarded anything special for my scholastics….in fact, I just failed a class. I have never been publicly recognized for anything really….it doesn’t mean I do not put my best foot forward when I am executing something.

 

Here is the thing, I am totally okay with not being perfect. Perfection is tiring and life is exhausting enough. Everyday is filled with struggles and battles. Why not talk about them? Whether it is anxiety, depression, frustration, fuck…a bad lay…..why can’t these things be brought up. Why can’t these things be publicized. Why can’t us working, middle class, go to bed early, using frozen veggies, working out twice a week, network tv watching folks be approved. Why is it that that doing things over the top is what people consider “better.”

 

Why are we teaching this to the next generation. I don’t my my daughter to think she has to be this super skinny, designer wearing, top college going, contoured make-up, duck faced female. And I don’t want my boys thinking they need to play a sport so hard and so much just to get into some top school then work to the grind to make a shitload of money and that is what is considered successful. I want them all to live and experience and fail and pick themselves back up and try again. I want them to fall and bounce back. I want them to be okay with the idea that they are not the best at everything. I want them to know that they are just like me and their dad, shitty at somethings and great at others. I want them to be cool and confident in their middle place if that is where they land. I also want them to know that whether it is first place, second place or last place, we will be proud of them. We will be just stoked that they tried.

I want to bring back trying. I want to bring back honesty. Yeah, I might not adjust my status update to period update, but I will post the good and the bad. Because that puts me right in the middle. Some place we all need to embrace more.

Top 9 Reasons You Should Have Sex With Your Partner Tonight

 

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9. It Counts As a Workout
Face it, you have not worked out much lately…this does count as cardio, and squats….if that’s your thing.

8. You have had a hard day
Take your mind of your hardness and work on his……..

7. Teach those cling on’s a lesson
Look, when you need to get laid, you have to lock those kids, dogs, cats, snakes… whatever the fuck you constantly tend to away. Sometimes it is nice to shut that playroom door and show them who is boss while you get your freak on.

6. Let your inner stripper show her hot face
You work, parent, school, yell, cry, fold laundry ALL THE FREAKING TIME. Forget that for a while and let out that whore you have inside. She needs to be set free sometimes.

5. You can’t sleep
It is bedtime and all is quiet…except your mind. But god forbid you go into the living room or kitchen and you wake up the kids. Stay in bed, wake up your partner and make them exhaust you.

4.Because it will feel good
Well, it should… And if it doesn’t, refer to a previous Ry Guy post on the subject.

3. In the morning you’ll be more relaxed
Statistics show that a romp before bed, chills you out the next day ( but don’t ask me about statistics.)

2.  Because you are bored
Days are long and lame. Life can be so routine and boring. Spice that shit up by doing the nasty. You will no longer be bored when you are trying to please some one!

AND THE #1 REASON YOU SHOULD HAVE SEX WITH YOUR PARTNER TONIGHT….
Because, who else ya gonna bone, right???!!!

Mom Hair

I have mom hair. I really do. It has gotten bad. I know I have a lot of other “mom” qualities, but this makes me kinda mad. I was a hairstylist, and a decent one for TEN years. I know some tricks, I know some tips…but do I do that shit? NOPE. I let the shit air dry, after a quick bang blow out, or even worse….. pile it on top of my head in a messy bun, which is really a pile of wispy grease.

I just don’t know what to do with this crap anymore. Look, I take the time to throw on some eye make-up. I have gotten much better with making sure I put on a decent outfit, (since I fit into some cute ones again, post babies.) But I just don’t take the time with my hair. And when I do I get so many compliments from my husband, it is borderline pathetic. Not for him, but for me. Like it looks so un-kept so much that when I do take some time, he is floored.

I don’t have a mom attitude. I am still fun, energetic and happy. I don’t have a mom jeans. Mine are still low rise, skinny or boot cut. I don’t have mom sex. We are still weird, experimental and frequent. I just have a serious case of mom hair.

I am at this weird point where I don’t even know what to do. I should not have some super trendy haircut that is going to cost me the equivalent of a car payment to keep up with. I should not have some extravagant color that has new growth in minutes, because I never have any Jan time to get that shit done that often. But I also should not walk around with this hot mess of a do on my head.

Why do we stop taking care of certain things we when start taking care of someone else? Time? Money? Effort? Caring? Maybe all of these things. I try and take of and do a million things every single day. I look at every day as a challenge to accomplish as much as possible, while still being present with my kids and husband. I try things to make our future brighter, even if it means losing out in other areas. The other area have been WAY more than just my hair, but that is what I am focusing on right now. It seems like a much simpler resolve than other things.

But how long can I pull this mop off? How long can this head full of split ends last? I don’t want to chop it….ugh the grow out stage. I can’t afford extensions, although I want them SO bad. I guess I just keep doing what I am doing. Having this mom hair for awhile, with very occasional Saturday night spruce. At least with all three kids in tow most people aren’t looking at my hair. They are looking at my face, like what the fuck is that crazy lady thinking having so many young kids.

Mom hair is not a big deal. But if you are any type of care giver and you have mom anything you catch my drift. Giving up something you used to nail because your time is focused on another creature can catch up to you and make you feel a little less than 100%. Hell, most days when I look in the mirror I feel less than 50%, but I guess when the kids are having a 100% day that is all that matters. That and the fact that messy buns are finally in style is a bonus too.