Fade

I used to love that moment in between sleep and being awake, when my brain would stretch and my body would unfurl and for a minute or two I could enjoy the silence of the day. Lately, though, as soon as I am conscious, my thoughts explode in a whirlwind of what needs to get done, and who needs to go where, and how much time I have to do it all (spoiler alert: not enough time, not even close, hang on tight, things are about to get bumpy).

The mental load of motherhood is not a new concept, and is certainly not unique to my situation. I know I do not come even close to winning the Misery Olympics, and to be honest, I am not interested in competing. I love my life. I’ve got an attentive partner, an amazing support system, privilege oozing from every crevice of my duct-taped-together days, and yet here I am, exhausted and overwhelmed.

I’m trying to make life less chaotic. I’m writing lists and creating routines and constantly “prepping” (oh my vodka, so much prepping) to try to make my days run as smoothly as possible. I am one “10 Ways to Hack your Morning Routine!” listicle away from keeping a stash of protein bars beside the shower so I can fuel up and get my 28 essential micronutrients while I get ready for work at the same time.

But I am not more organized. Our days are not running smoothly. I am left feeling like I can’t take a full breath because my chest cavity is full of “what ifs” and “what nexts” trampolining on my heart.

Maybe I should get back into meditating, I think. Or yoga. I should dust off my juicer and fill my face with spinach juice instead of Skittles. I should up my protein intake. Cut carbs. Lift weights, go for a walk, get a massage, read a book, light a candle, start a bullet journal, clean out a closet. Maybe then I will feel like I’m in control, like I’m not careening headfirst toward disaster.

I don’t want my kids to remember me as the crazy lady who was constantly hissing at them to walkfasterthesecondbellisabouttoringdoyouwanttobemarkedlateagain?. I want to be serene. I want to go with the flow. I want the flow to not be so soul-crushingly unpredictable and tumultuous. I want to able to accept this season of life for what it is: messy, noisy, and fleeting.

Hair

Can we talk about something frivolous for a minute? I realize in the grand scheme of things my hair is not exactly a pressing matter but I need hair help. I need suggestions. I need advice. I need someone to tell me what to do.  

This is my hair: 

This is also my grumpy morning face.  

My hair is very fine and is also thinning thanks to kids and cancer and wonky hormones. I haven't had it cut in 8ish? months. The last time I had it coloured was April of 2016. 

I have a hair appointment scheduled for Saturday. Normally I would just show up and my amazing stylist would tell me what she was going to do, she'd do it, I'd love it, end of story. But my amazing stylist has left the hair world (SADNESS) and I'm going to someone new. Cue panic.  

I had virgin hair when I started seeing my old stylist so she was able to do my foils using "high lift" (I don't know anything about hair but this excited her). Do I continue highlighting my hair? Do I go darker? Do I chop it all off and start new? Tell me what to do. 

I wear my hair up in a messy bun pretty much every day. I have a lot of postpartum regrowth creating a fuzzy halo around my face and nape of my neck. The regrowth is about 50% grey because bodies are the worst. My hair is wavy and gets curlier the shorter it gets. The picture above is after I blow dried it without product. If I let my hair air dry it's a frizzy, wavy mess. 

I am not adverse to longer, sideswept bangs but my hair can't do blunt bangs. I cannot do a lot of layers or the frizz gets out of control. I am toying with attempting the Curly Girl Method to see what happens (but I'm also so very tired so probably I'll attempt it in 2019).

So! What should I do with this mop? Bonus points for links and pictures.  

Nine

Nine years ago we stood in a sunbeam on the roof of an Irish pub and agreed to love and support each other through the good stuff, the rough stuff, and the in-between stuff. Nine years ago we had no idea the highs could be so high, or the lows could be so low, or the in-betweenies could be so perfectly mundane. 

There's no one I would rather sip icy gin and tonics with. There is no one I'd rather have backing me as we tackle Mount Laundry and negotiate with Tiny Dictators and dream big dreams and figure out thyroid bullshit and finally, for the love of tacos, clean the clutter off the mothercussin' kitchen counters once and for all. 

I love you but I also really like you. Thank you for nine beautiful years. Here's to many more.

Six

Dear Grady,

Today you turned six. 

The last year has wiped out any remaining traces of your babyhood. Your chubby cheeks and sweet baby smell have been replaced by gangly limbs and a lisp-inducing gap where your front teeth used to be. Your wrist and thigh rolls have been replaced by eye rolls. You are a kid, not my baby. 

You are the coolest kid I know. You are creative and imaginative and I love seeing how your brain works. You want to be a musician (like daddy, or the Foo Fighters, but better than the Foo Fighters, in fact, last week you told us when you grow up your band will be called the Foo Fighters Red Dragon). You want to be a history teacher so you can talk about knights all day and help kids. You are happiest when you're sitting in front of your sketchbook, filling page after page with Ninja Turtles and knights in castles. 

You talk all the time. Like, all the time. You ask questions and you try to figure stuff out and you don't let me get away with explaining things away with "that's just the way it is!" ("But there has to be a reason," you insist.) You are consumed with fairness and I'm doing my best to protect your sweet conviction (while not beating my head against the wall when you ask for the fiftieth time why you have to go to bed hours before me).

You are the best big brother to Poppy. You are loving and kind, and the best part of my day is when she sees you after waking up. She goes from grumbly-half-asleep to pure sunshine when she sees her Guh-guh. You're the only one who can calm her down when she's feeling squirrelly. You sing "Poppy Doodle" and she goes from unmanageable honey badger to a slightly more manageable honey badger. You've taught her to laugh at burps and farts. You share your toys and your food and your Mama and Daddy. Witnessing the ferocity and depth with which you love your little sister is my greatest joy. 

Grady, life is not always shiny and bright. As you grow into your own person, we've had challenges. We are both stubborn and sassy and sometimes it feels like we are going in circles. I'm doing my best to stay patient and embrace the person you're becoming. Some days this is easier than others. 

Six years ago you were born and made me a mama. Every day since, I have felt like the luckiest person alive. Thank you. I love you. Happy sixth birthday, Grady Bug.