I don’t know how it got to be April already. Nobody asked me, nobody consulted my feelings on it, it’s just like BAM. It happened without my opinion being aired. Rude.
I know a lot of you are curious about the hair. It is growing like gangbusters, which also means it is growing WEIRD. I can do a faux-hawk, but not in a cool way, in a “did you mean to do that with your head?” way. For a while there it was leaning into Brandon Walsh territory, but my fabu hairstylist, courtesy of this lovely lady, has gotten things under control. I’ve also got some crazy grey hairs that at least have the decency to be silver, but also stick straight up higher than all my other hair. When I only noticed one or two, I thought it was cute and named them. When Phyllis and Sir Lukely Frost was joined by about seventeen others, they rapidly ceased to be amusing. The only downside is I’ve outgrown pixie and am steadily headed into mullet territory. Pray for me.
Tater is lovely and adorable and occasionally turns into this demon child that makes me want to Google “black market child sales*.” We have entered the whiny phase of development that makes me look at “Reasons My Son is Crying” and nod in solidarity. (Although, I occasionally sympathize with the kids too. I know this feel, brah. I know this feel…) He is brilliant and knows his letter and colors already…but he also is easily fooled for the fake “go get the ball” game where I pretend to throw a ball and actually palm it. Even the dog is like, “Dude.”
We’re not gonna send in that Mensa paperwork just yet…
I’ve been back at grad school this semester, so most of my time is spent on homework and trying to do some for reals writing and instead just ending up on Buzzfeed again. (STOP TAKING THOSE QUIZZES, Y’ALL. You cannot find out your aura or which Sopranos character you should be via multiple choice.) But at least this afternoon I’ve got a special post going up up later today, in honor of Momastery’s Messy, Beautiful Warriors Project. I’m not usually in for the inspirational, I do snark much better, but something about this project seemed lovely and genuine. And if you don’t like it, that’s okay. Read it at least for a picture of Maggie.
Anyway, how are YOU?!? Your mom an’em okay? Tell me things. (Not that I’ve told you anything in a while, so I get it. It’s okay. I still love you deeply.)
*Please note that this is a damn joke and do not call CPS on me.