I Dove In and Survived!

I can't tell how you scary it is to put the first drop of dye on your hair.  Never before have I dyed my hair a shade darker than my natural color.  I figured it was time for a change.  It is Winter, right?  A time when brunette's shine and blonde's dull.  Don't be offended blondes, I am in fact, one of you at heart, which was precisely the problem.  An hour ago, my hair was all naturale, no dye, no highlights, no nada, and it was absolutely driving me crazy.  And even productless, I still had roots.  So I decided.  I was going to make a change, one way or the other.  Now, given my lack of confidence and self-esteem, I had to poll my audience.  They chose brown.  Of course, I was already leaning that way anyways.  I think I just wanted to make sure I wasn't about to ruin the next 8 weeks of my life, at least cosmetically.  The rest follows in typical Hillary suit, went to Target, picked out a color, bought it, brought it home, put whatever kids would take a nap down, and dove in.  For the entire the 25 minutes that I had to wait, I mouthed various obscenities under my breath.  "What was I thinking? No turning back now.  Holy Camoli!" (The PG version).

But as I was about to step into the shower to rinse it all out, I thought to myself, "this is what I do."  I get tired of the norm and I change it.  I'm not an idle person.  I thrive under stress.  I'm most productive when I'm busy.  If something's not being done, I do it myself.  In other areas of my life, I seem to dive in without fear, so why should I care about the color of my hair?  

Regardless, it's done.  I can't change it, at least not now.  And bottom line, I don't hate it.  If you hate it, just don't tell me. 

Lovable or Terrible? Or in my case, both?

Disclaimer:  I love all of my children deeply.

I have three children, two boys and a girl.  My middle child, Blake, is 2 1/2 going on 6 months.  If I wasn't losing all of my hair from postpartum hormones, I'd be pulling it out in chunks.  Scratch that, I'd already be bald.  It's almost as if he was born knowing he'd be the middle child. The incessant whining coupled with the bull headed resistance would be enough to drive any mother (and father, for that matter) insane, but with Blake, I get the added bonus of the absolute sweetest smile in the world.  No matter how mad I get, he flips the switch and I find myself falling for his charm every time (well, almost).  It's like an endless cycle.  Oh please, let it come to an end soon. 

As much as I want to cherish these moments, to hold onto their youth, by 5 pm every day, I'm at my wits end.  I catch myself often saying, "if only I could get him past this stage, I'd be good."  But is that really the truth?  Doesn't "if only" get us into more trouble in the end?  We build up expectations that are doomed to disappoint us.  You know, the grass is always greener on the other side.  The problem in the this situation is that Blake has an older brother, and I've seen the 3's...not too much better than the 2's.  Trust me.  Right now, he's learning to communicate better, or at least more, and certainly repetitively.  Next he'll be testing boundaries and asserting his independence.  By four, it will all be about defiance, or at least attempted defiance.  Of course, we all know he gets all of this from his dad.  They all do. :)!

Today, Blake started swim lessons.  Now this is a Mommy & me class.  He can't be on his own until he's at least 3.  Trust me, he would have done much better if I were not there.  What is that about?  Since when did I become a hindrance to my own child?  Regardless, I've learned several lessons, the first being to not tell him what we're doing until we do it.  From the second he woke up, all he could talk about was swimming (or should I say whine about.)  "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, I waaaant to go swimming.  Mommy, I waaaannaaa go swimming.  Mommy, MOMMY, I wannnnnaaaaaa go swimming.  I waaaaannntttt juice. Mommy, I waaaannnnaaaa go swimming." You get my point, right?  It didn't matter how many times I gave him the agenda for the morning, it literally felt like I was listening to a broken record of nails on a chalkboard.  It's just flat out incessant.

Then we walk into the pool area, equipped with swimsuits and towels.  The boy freaks out.  "MOMMY, I don't waaannnnaaaa swim.  I don't wannnaaannnaaannnaaannnaanann swim.  Mommy, MOMMY! No!"  Of course he's saying all of this as he's walking closer and closer to the pool. 

At this point, I figure it's best to just get it.  Sure, we're a little early, so we'll use the time to adjust.  So I don't sound like a broken record myself, keep in mind that he's continuing to tell me how much he doesn't want to swim.  He steps on the first step, freaks out, then steps on the second step.  Then he wants "up," to which I said, "If you take one more step, I'll pick you up."  Insert whining here.  He steps down onto the third step.  This pretty much went on for the entire 30 minutes.  He basically was a stellar student, kicking, jumping, going under, and even cracking a smile.  The only problem was that he never stopped whining.  When it was all over, we climbed out of the pool and wrapped ourselves in our towel.  Then he starts up again, "Mommy, I'mmmm cold.  Mommy, I'm cold.  MOMMY, I wannaa go swimming. Mommy, I wanna goooooo swimming."  And so on and so forth.  Hence is the story of my life, all day long, everyday. 

It's not like I give into him.  I don't.  He doesn't get what he wants unless he asks for it.  The whining doesn't work with me, and he knows it.  It's almost like he does it just because he knows I don't like it, almost as if he doesn't really want anything except to annoy me.  Of course, I understand that a 2 year old doesn't have the capability to scheme like that, or at least I hope not. 

Hopefully, he'll learn that it doesn't work and move on soon.  I honestly think I deal better with defiance then whining.  Although I will say that it's already starting to kick in.  Try asking Blake to go potty.  Oh man, that's a whole other can of worms, one that will most assuredly drive me to baldness. 

And the Winner Is...

Neil found $2.06 in the radio of the van.  That means CRT wins.  Congratulations.  Send me your info and I will send you your money.  You can do a lot with $2.06, like buy half of a Grande Caramel Machiatto at Starbucks, put an extra couple bucks towards your mortgage payment, or even buy a candy bar and a 20 oz soda at some quickie marts. 

Lesson learned: Don't leave loose change in your car when small children are not tied down (I mean, strapped into their car seats)

Tomorrow starts a brand new year.  I know, technically the year started on the first, but given the fact that my in-laws were here, my husband was off work, and Owen out of school...it doesn't count.  My year officially starts tomorrow.  Life will return to normalcy, if that even exists.  I can't wait to get back into the groove of things.  It's weird how I can beg for some kind of break from the madness, but when I get one, all I want to do is get back to it.  What can I say?  I'm a creature of habit.  I like my routine.  If there is nothing on my agenda, then I accomplish absolutely nothing, and I can't tell you how defeating that is. 

Alright, given the fact that I really have to pee and my husband is snoring beside me, I'm going to call it a night.  Welcome back to the real world, Hillary! It missed you!