Giving myself a scalp massage with coconut oil and tea tree oil. My hair has been so incredibly coarse and rough lately, and I found THIS RECIPE from Pinterest for Cora who I am beginning to think has psoriasis. I can't get her in to see a dermatologist until January, so we tried this. I had some left over and zowie, my hair is soft as a baby's bum now. I definitely recommend it if your hair is coarse, overly processed, or like me: coarse AND overly processed. Just make sure you shampoo twice after; otherwise you'll look like you went swimming in a vat of butter.
Bought Anna's Halloween costume (that sound you hear is the vacating of very conservative homeschoolers who heard I had a good blog, but just left in disappointment) at Goodwill; a wedding dress to be the Corpse Bride. It's a size 18. In women's. Umm, yes, let's just say that my sewing machine will be getting a work out. But it was only $10 including the great veil, so I'm pretty sure I can make it work. I think. Maybe. Ahem.
Considered giving up my two cups of coffee with cream and glass of wine. Cutting back to putting milk in my coffee and only having some vino on the weekends. You know, so I could maybe drop ten pounds...in a year...without exercising LIKE I PROMISED I WOULD HERE. But then I thought... nah. I'd rather be fluffy and who will take care of Gloria if I don't? A year of deprivation does not a happy mommy make.
Had coffee and a scone with my Alaskan friend, Camille, who I MET HERE...that was going to be a clickable link, too, but I can't find the original post. I must have deleted it due to it being written during an interesting time in our lives, you know the one. I probably said something like, we dared to crack a smile at our group home kids, and subsequently felt I must delete since that of course, was a no-no.
Mike has been cast in The Nutcracker this year, as Clara's father. He is now leaping through the house, practicing his jazz hands and making Anna very nervous. He warned the ballet studio's owners,
You know how every performer wants to be the Triple Threat? * I'm just a Double.
* a Triple Threat is a singer who can dance and act, or an actor who can dance and singer, or a dancer who can sing and act. You pick the two Mike is adept at.
Yesterday, at 4:32 or thereabouts, the following happened simultaneously:
- I boiled over some poaching chicken, resulting in that icky smell and tough mess and frantic bubbling sound as the broth hits the stove top,
- the phone rang,
- Gianni threw a ball and knocked over this interesting bubble thermometer that Cora got from my grandmother. It's like a sealed vase and has these odd colored glass balls inside that have temperatures on them: when they float you can see how hot it is in the house. Anyway, we'd had this family heirloom for a grand total of three weeks before Pooky Head demolished it. It crashed to the hardwood in a spectacular fashion, sending shards of glass everywhere within a 500 foot radius, and the water - though I cleaned it up as quickly as a bare footed girl could - warped the floor. Sorry, landlords.
- I forgot that I had a breakfast casserole in the oven (make ahead breakfast for Mike, who is working an earlier shift). In spite of forgetting, I got it out in time. Yay, me.
- The dog's paw started bleeding again. His toenails are gone, from some mysterious episode last week, and the bandages came off a few days ago. Maybe he stepped on the glass. Who knows. He's a close mouthed doggy. Very
strong, silent, unemotionaltype.
Anyway, that all happened at the exact same time. Just another evening at the Williams' house.
I haven't been sleeping well for some reason, and my dreams these past three nights have consisted of (but not limited to):
- my dad wrangling a posse with Andy Kohler and shooting some guy, avenging angel type, while the rest of us covered it up, but debated turning them in,
- Cora and I being stuck in a house with a crazy killer chasing us (this was the night we watched The Grey and there was a yucky preview of some Elizabeth Olsen horror movie with this premise, so I'm blaming Elizabeth Olsen. She should have done dumb sitcoms like her sisters and not scared me half to death in my sleep).
- my friend, Heather, bringing like five weenie dogs in my house (I have no theories for this one)
- my kindle was found floating in the bathtub
- other scariness that I no longer recall, but made me cuddle up with Mr. Double Threat in fear.
The Grey was kinda dumb.