Again

I'm back. Again.

This blogging thing weighs on me at times - I know, all 11 posts I've made so far. I really do want to keep up with it. Almost daily I think "I could blog about this!". Yet another part of me thinks....well, why would anyone care what I have to say? But as I read back over the very few posts I've made, I smiled at some of the things I wrote. Much like reading over an old journals (which I don't keep either). I love the art of writing, even if I don't do it well. So here we go again.

I sit here today, right now, fully coiffed and made up. Generally this is not the case. I work from home and consider it a victory to be showered and in fresh clothing before the rest of the family arrives home in the afternoon. Those fresh clothes might be sweats or even the jammies I plan to wear to bed that night. I see no point in getting all made up and doing my hair. I know some of you might make the argument that I should try a little harder for the Postman. He might like to see me all gussied up when he gets home at the end of the day. I say that the Postman has seen me at my very worst. The Postman also loves me for reasons that are way more important than blush, eyeliner and hairspray. I sit here today made up for my daughter.

Yesterday I was in the middle of cleaning when the phone rang. It was the Diva asking me to bring her some Advil. She had a headache - and her school does not allow them to carry medications, much less self medicate. I was a mess. I told her I would finish up as fast as I could, hop in the shower and be there before her lunch period ended. I did exactly that. I walked in to the lunchroom with 5 minutes to spare and wet hair. She was mortified. I was hurt that she was mortified. How could she not realize the choice I made to skip drying my hair so that I could get the Advil to her quicker? But I know the answer. She's 11. It matters what her friends think. I remember. Do I agree?....well of course not. I'm 38 now. I have learned what is really important. But I still remember what it was like to be 11.

She is bringing a friend home with her on the bus today. So my hair is dried and sprayed, my cheeks are rosy and my lashes are fuller and thicker. There are also brownies in the oven. June Cleaver lives.

Setting a good example for children takes all the fun out of middle age. ~ William Feather