Spontaneity reigns.

Around 6pm on the Saturday before Easter, I begged the husband for the chance to run to Target to maybe find something new to wear to church on Sunday. The girls all had new dresses (courtesy of my awesome Mother-In-Law) and I wanted to be cute too!

Unfortunately, Target was a fail. Seriously. I'm sure there are a lot of people who appreciate dresses that hang like frumpy sacks. I am not one of them.

The husband headed off to a movie with some friends and I sat down at the computer. But I was still motivated. At 9pm I grabbed this fabric (from a failed attempt at a maxi dress - hint: hideous frumpy sack), and cut it up into this fabulous skirt. The colors are perfect for me. Especially since I had these new red flats!

By the time Matt arrived home from his movie, I was hemming the skirt. Yay me! Sometimes you need to do a little "I am so awesome" dance!

Talking bout the...

YMCA. Back in November-ish, we joined the Y. We're done having kids which means I finally have my body back. For good (In theory).

I'd been going pretty consistently: three times a week or so. Until the last month. I'm there pretty much every day. And guess what? I do not set foot on a treadmill. I really hate running. I find it to be unbelievably boring. Even with good music. It is an absolute last resort.

I've taken pretty much every one of their classes. And I can honestly say that they're all great! I love Zumba, Cardio Interval, Hip Hop, Yoga and my most recent find: Spin.

I will admit that even though I'm at the gym every day, I haven't actually lost any weight (not that I need to) nor can I see a difference in my toning. But I feel great. There's just something about sweating your butt off that makes you feel like a million bucks. Plus, cute gym clothes can't hurt.

The Plain Truth

 I would, just once, like to get a really nice picture of the husband and I.

 I'm not complaining. 

This isn't terrible. 

But you know, I like him. 

I'd like to capture that essence of love that exudes from us. 

That "je ne sais quoi" that is "us."

Oh, who am I kidding? This picture does the job. 

He tolerates me at best, I think.

The One Where I Make An Appearance

Oh hi. 

Yes, yes. This is me. No makeup. Not that I wear it any day other than Sunday. So, basically, if you know me, this is how I always look. 

But did you notice??

My hair is in a ponytail! One. Yeah. It's about 2 inches long. But I'm thrilled.

Fantasy Vacation

 I have always maintained that roadtrips with my children do not qualify as vacations. The kids may refer to them as such, but the adults involved are never fully relaxed and therefore are not, in fact, on vacation. 

In case that wasn't clear: Any excursion where you bring your children along is not a vacation, it is a trip. With the possible exception of a Disney Cruise (where they take your kids away for the majority of the day). Don't even get me started on how badly I want that!

At any rate, we took a trip. For the Christmas holidays we traveled to Pennsylvania and stayed at my sister Jenny's house. My entire purpose for taking this trip was expressed to my husband several times: I just want to go knit with my sister. 

 And so it was. And it was good. 

Of course we did a lot of other things too. It literally took the entire of Christmas Day to open the presents for 9 children (Jenny has four, herself) and 6 adults (my Mom & Dad were there too!) We went shopping. We ate a lot of amazing food. We scolded each other's children...

We sat and talked endlessly. If I squinted really hard I could almost imagine that it would always be this way...

Take Two.

Just about a year and a half ago, I talked about taking self-portraits. I hope many of you took me up on that challenge.

And I realized that I hadn't really shown my face around this here blog in quite some time. And I thought I could make you all laugh. You deserve it.

So, I got myself all dolled up and fluffed my hair just so.... pulled out the camera and started snapping away.
Here's me.

 My hair. It's gone crazy.

 After each of my children, my hair has gotten weirder and weirder.

 Curlier and curlier.

 More and more coarse.

 So, I've given up and embraced the weird, curly and coarse. (And my dead tooth, courtesy of a root canal I had done over 10 years ago... lovely. If you want to send me the money to have veneers put on my front six teeth, shoot me an email. ahahahah).

 My husband loves the curly girl.

 And mostly, I think she's okay.

 Even if she is a bit crazy.

 At least I can take pictures that show off my best feature: my neck.

 What?? Your neck?

 Well, that's what someone told me once.

That someone married me.

What is UP with my hair??

Frankly, I'm not sure. 

I got it cut two days before Libby was born. And not just cut. Lopped right the heck off.

(Hi Melinda!)

I love my stylist, Nancy. I really do. In four years of having her cut my hair, she's never gone wrong. I'm blaming me. You see, I have this insanely thick hair.

(Hi JoAnn!)

It's also unbelievably wiry. Coarse. Every time I get my hair cut, Nancy tells me that I have more hair than any person whose hair she cuts. Which is saying something since she's wildly popular and I have very short hair. 

  (Hi Marilee! And Squee! It's Libby!)

So, when I got my hair whacked, I think I went just a bit too short. You see, the majority of my hair stands straight up regardless of the amount of gel I use. No amount of coaxing and smoothing will make my hair look "normal." 

 (Hi Michelle!)

Which is why if you've seen me lately, my hair almost always looks like I haven't bothered to do anything to it. And it's also why I'm embracing this fauxhawk. 

Sorry Mom (I know you hate it.)

Things you can't take back.

Back when my sweet husband and I had only been married a couple of months, he brought me home some flowers for Mother's Day (or some other holiday I can't readily remember). They were, bless his heart, from the grocery store and well, honestly, kind of ugly. I dutifully placed them in a vase and hoped for the best. They lasted perhaps 2 days before they were wilted and dead. Depressing, really.

I informed my dear spouse that I really didn't feel the need for him to EVER buy me flowers again. At least, not cut flowers. Of course, we've never lived anywhere long enough (till now) that we can enjoy actual flowers that you actually plant in the ground. And I'm not really a very girly person. I don't find flowers gorgeous, beautiful or amazing. To me, they're mostly just flowers, I'd be just as happy with a new slotted spoon or pair of shoes.

Occasionally, however, I'll see some flowers that just make my soul SO happy. Such was the story the other day when I was shopping at Sam's Club. And I did the unthinkable. I bought MYSELF flowers. And while I don't actually find them gorgeous, beautiful or amazing, I do find my heart lifted and my home happier because of them.

Have I changed my mind about letting my husband buy me flowers? Nah. I'll stick to getting what I know I like. Kinda like my bras.

Shame on me.

I think it's obvious that I've been in quite the blog funk lately. I apologize, but don't actually feel badly about it. It's not as though my blog is wildly popular with people chomping at the bit to read my entries, so the entries will continue to come as I feel like it. So there!

Anyway! I had a birthday. It's official. I've reached the dark ages middle ages. I'm 30. And while I'm okay with that in theory, I certainly don't feel 30. I don't even really feel 20. Alas, the calendar tells the truth.

I had Matt snap some pictures of me on my birthday. And I had delusions of grandeur about showing you pictures of me from 25 and 20 and maybe even 15. But again, lazy.


My skin doesn't actually look all mottled as it appears in this picture. At least, I don't THINK it does. I'm often wrong.

Matt told me to be sexy. If this is my sexy face, I'm scared for him.

This only happened 2 Million Years Ago.

My hair. It's a strange creature. Ever since I started having kids, it's gotten more and more coarse. And more and more wavy kinky. My husband lovingly refers to it as my "polar bear hair" and avoids cuddling with the head part of me.

Also, I'm sorta growing it out. Sorta. I don't want LONG hair. But I'm ready for the commitment of "longer than boy hair." I know. It's been 11 years. It was longish, once upon a time. Like, in high school. Then, right before Matt and I started dating, I chopped it all off in a "I need to be my own person" angst. I've never looked back. And I have loved it. Truly. And when it starts to get longish, it looks terrible.

But I have an amazing stylist, Nancy. And if I'd just go see her more often my hair wouldn't be such the bane of my existence. On my most recent trip, she took me from awful semi-mullet to this:

And yes, my hair has some fabulous purple in it. It's making me feel younger. And less "almost 30ish." And everyone needs more of that in their life, don't they?

I feel just about as sassy as I look.

Just one at a time.

Have a bunch of pictures to share. Obviously I'm behind. But I'm only going to share a couple at a time. Drag it out for ya.

Matt took Miles on his first Father/Son Campout. Love that. I have a son. Apparently, it was quite cold. Miles little toes and fingers were quite pink and cold when they got home. Good thing his mama stuck him in a warm bath for awhile. Matt tells me that Miles particularly enjoyed playing with some sticks.



So, then today when they got home, Matt set up the tent in our backyard so that it could dry out/be cleaned out. The girls played in it ALL DAY LONG. I broke out the camera because we were having some particularly nice lighting.



And one more for today. A picture of me. Courtesy of Abbie. I'm doing something weird with my mouth... try to ignore it.

Me.

Self Portrait Sunday!

Fabulous headband brought to you by Heather.