|"I have nothing under control, so I put corn on this hat instead."|
You know how sometimes you wash your hair before you go to bed, braid it, sleep on it, and wake up thinking you'll look like Gisele Bundchen, but the result is more like Ron Perlman from the old 80's TV show Beauty and the Beast?
And you look in the mirror and think, "Really, hair? I would've settled for looking like a bad version of Linda Hamilton from 1980's Beauty and the Beast."
Yeah, me either.
Control. We have none. This is especially true when one has small children to tend to and a wedding to get ready for, all in one week. Are my Spanx clean? I don't know. Does Butch have socks to wear under his shoes? Beats me. Will Sundance show up wearing her new dress as a skirt and a purse as a shirt? No doubt.
The only one who's half-way sure of what he's wearing is Doc. And that's only because he'll be in a diaper because he's a heathen and needs to stay home, cut teeth, and try to bite the dog's leg.
The Split-level has reached the point in the summer where everything is pretty much out of my hands, and I spend the day just trying to keep up with plans the children have made without me. Questions such as,
"Why are there pen hieroglyphics on the table?"
"Why are you running around the backyard in only tights?"
and.. "How long has the sink been running?"
are met with general laughter, running away, or tripping over a man who rowed his way out of the bathroom in a canoe. Camp Crystal Lake had more order than we do.
The dishes are dirty, the laundry's tripped me twice this week, and I've started paying the bills depending on the color of paper they show up on. Summer does this to people. I blame the heat and water chestnuts. No one likes water chestnuts.
Earlier this week, as I was trying send a cucumber to the hospital billing people (mainly because I didn't know where the checkbook was, but knew we had a cucumber in the refrigerator), the baby sauntered by, looking highly please with himself.
"Did you learn how to walk?"
"When'd you learn how to do that?"
"Did I teach you?"
"Well, he could've, but he didn't mention it. He also didn't mention he was out of clean socks, so anything's a possibility."
The baby then proceeded to crawl up the stairs and left me wondering how legs that short could propel anyone anywhere, but also when the summer chaos will settle down.
Then I had the terrifying thought that this just might be my life, so I ate some cucumber, drank some coffee, and went to wash my hair.
Because, if anything's clear in all this chaos, it's that I deserve to look like a Linda Hamilton.
Until Next Time, Readers!