The last few weeks have been a TOTAL WHIRLWIND. Remember how I told you I was, uh, doing some (very poor) ACTING? It was in a production at my church and we did it for five nights in a row, not to mention the numerous rehearsals and practices and basically Dave and I spent the entire week before Easter juggling who had the kids and when and whether the other person already fed them and where was the other OTHER person supposed to pick them up and at what time and then he did six or seven bedtime routines all by himself while I was performing every night. “Performing,” I realize, makes it sound like it was grueling work (or that perhaps I have some kind of talent, which I do NOT), but it was mostly fun, and I met some really awesome people that I got to hang out with for five hours a night, all while Dave wrangled the kids alone so that I could be a part of it. (Dave is awesome.) Of course, as soon as it was over and we'd spent three days joyfully recuperating and seeing each other for what felt like the first time in a month is when I casually announced that, uh, oh! I kind of... joined a softball team?
YOU GUYS, HIS HEAD DID NOT EVEN EXPLODE. He just said, oh, that sounds fun, are your games on weekends or weeknights?
THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED. I married the most awesome guy ever. If you are in the market for a husband, might I suggest you get the kind who would rather sit in the house when he comes home from work than go out and do anything? Because he doesn't care if YOU go out and do something, as long as HE gets to stay home and do NOTHING and that is working out JUST PERFECTLY for me, the person who has spent the last five years pretty much only interacting with people who cry if yogurt gets on their placemats and I am kind of... how do you say this?... STARVED FOR ADULT INTERACTION. Once I got a taste of it, I was all, LET'S DO MORE OF THIS, AND SOON.
In other news, I posted about my Terrible Hair Dye Experience on Style Lush last week. (I'll give you a moment to catch up.) I went back to my stylist on Monday in hopes of getting a haircut and having her do something to even out the patchy sections of my hair (there were just a few darker sections and they weren't noticeable, but they EXISTED, which was annoying) and WHAT DO YOU KNOW, I walked back out with hair EVEN BLACKER THAN IT HAD BEEN THE WEEK BEFORE. And as I walked out I was thinking that it was black again, but was also trying desperately to convince myself that maybe it was just the lighting in the salon and that it would look better in the car/at home/after I'd washed it 34,000 times but it did not, it absolutely DID NOT, and there I was, stuck in the same situation as I'd been exactly one week early and then I got diarrhea because IT IS STRESSFUL, having black hair when you don't WANT BLACK HAIR. This was black hair that was bordering on BLUE HAIR, you guys. Try to ignore the hideous, stressy, baggy-eyed look on my face and focus on the hair. THE HAIR.
Supposed to look like (hi pseudostoops!):
And Dave was all, just go back to the salon and have them fix it (because I PAID for black hair) and while I know that's the RIGHT thing to do and that they would have tried to fix it, I kept thinking that not only did I not want to go back to a salon and sit in a chair for 2.5 more hours, I also did not exactly trust anyone to re-fix a fix. You know? I asked you to FIX something that I myself broke, and instead you BROKE IT ALL OVER AGAIN, so no thanks to sitting back in your chair and becoming an experiment to fix a refix of a FIX, OMG. So I had to take the dye out again, at home, with a drugstore product, WHILE HAVING NERVOUS TUMMY DIARRHEA, because THIS KIND OF THING IS STRESSFUL. And I'm lucky, I know how very lucky I am, to have really healthy hair that tolerated two terrible dye jobs and two chemical removals in a week. My hair is not... well, it's not PERFECT or anything, but it is way closer to my natural color again, which is all I wanted the first time I tried to dye it and failed. (This is me, looking on the bright side.)
And in the wake of this terrible tumultuous time in my Personal Vanity, I cannot even think about the next time I need to get my hair cut, as it results in me feeling like I might vomit.
Let's make up for my own Personal Vanity Issues with photos of my Easter-clad children, who really outdid themselves this year.