750th post, babies not sleeping, and red hair.

Monday, March 21, 2011

While I want to write chapters and chapters about the babies getting to spend the past weekend with some of their never before seen family, I have yet to upload pictures and get them into tip top shape.

Its 9:00 at night. The house should be quiet, but rather than silence, I hear the older two upstairs, alternating between fighting and giggling, taking advantage of the freedom that they have in their newly shared bedroom. The baby is just now snuggling up with her Giraffey (in my lap, rather than her crib), after half an hour of solid red faced screaming (tummy troubles for the both of us tonight).

So instead of the long adventure filled loaded-with-pictures post that I was planning on putting together this evening, I'm going to just share with you a picture of my freshly colored red hair.

Because my roots were Eminem miles long and the hue had faded into an awful shade of dark rust.


Lovin' Kitty Bomber.

I always wait way too long between cut and colors. Going to the hair salon isn't exactly top priority when you spend most of your time rockin' the bermuda sweat shorts and bangs under bandana look.

The first couple of days afterwards though, I always feel like a new woman. Like "hmm, maybe I could wear makeup everyday. Maybe I could get dressed in real clothes on a Tuesday morning just for the heck of it".

...aaand then the baby yanks on my bobby pin hair flower, someone gets poop (or spitup, or both) on my white shirt, and then I end up crying for one reason or another, and have mascara running all the way from my neatly lined lower lashes down to my perfectly powdered chin.

Its worth it though. To go through my tri-monthly efforts, in order to feel pretty for a week or two, before the color starts to fade and the hair straightener gets put back into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. If nothing else, my husband gets a brand new wife for awhile, some saucy redhead in a cute floral print dress, and I get out of the house for a few hours, long enough for my hair stylist to massage my neglected scalp under warm running water with her awesome glitter tipped fingernails. Also, we discuss bad movies that trap songs in my head (Adventureland- Rock Me Amadeus), and declare Nick Jr. shows the most annoying ever.

Its 9:35. Eleanore and Charlie are finally asleep upstairs, probably half hanging out of their beds, and with the toys that they thought they were hiding scattered all over their floor or maybe still in their hands. I've tried to get up twice to put Evelyn in her bed, but she won't be set down, so instead shes lying in my arms while I type, sucking on her bink and pulling at the Hello Kitty silly band on my wrist. At least shes not crying anymore.



Thats what I really look like, by the way. All dolled up, and hanging out in my sweat pants. Even after my hair has been blow dried and I've put on mint eyeshadow... I really have no desire to put on uncomfortable clothes, or go anywhere to be seen. Instead I throw on my favorite pair of lazy pants that have somehow survived 3 pregnancies, and make ridiculous faces at myself in the mirror.

Oh life.

9:48. The baby is asleep in my arms. The bink fell out of her mouth and hit the ground. Do I dare try to move her into her crib?

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