In torturous-eyebrow-wax heaven!

Today was a crazy blur of boxes (we're moving this weekend), barbecue (company picnic) and birthday dinner (Yamato Japanese Steakhouse). Oh, and somewhere in-between all of it, I met Jaime (a professional photographer, woo hoo!) for my headshots at Kanapaha Botanical Gardens (a Gainesville gem).

So, I was exhausted and pretty much running on empty when on the way home from the editorial picnic, I told hubby that I had just one lil' stop to make. In less than 30 minutes, I'd be getting my headshots for the book. And I. hate. pictures. And my eyebrows were looking crazy. And I didn't have "the" shirt to wear. And I didn't have any earrings that I liked for the shot.

And, somewhere in the middle of my "little" list, hubby threw in the towel. "Okay" is all he could muster. I couldn't help it. I was being a total girl.

But I was bordering on being a frantic girl. With 8-year-old daughter in hand, I bolted out of the mom van and hit Happy Nail. "Eyebrows, please."

The petite Asian woman, who had been sitting quietly reading a magazine, was more than happy to see me. I laid back in the, um, eyebrow chair (?) and closed my eyes. Now, usually I kind of despise pain. But, on this day, I embraced it.

I had just stepped into Happy-Nail heaven. I listened to the soothing, classical music and I thought a heard the peaceful gushing of water and ... there were no screaming kids; and there was no sticky watermelon juice dripping from my baby's hands into the crevasses of my toes; and my eyes were closed--without the threat of my home being set ablaze.

I was in heaven! I mean, until the ... pull, rip and burn.

Oh, I don't even care if you do it again, woman! Just let me sit here in the cool of the quiet, dimly lit room. After a few pull, rip and burns, she began gently massaging my forehead. I knew it was coming to an end as she rubbed the cool, post-eyebrow lotion just above and around my eyebrows.

But, wait, can't we re-do them? I mean, isn't it possible that "you missed a spot?" Yes, you missed a spot. Please, let me just sit here in this chair with the music and the faux waterfall sounds and the no-screaming kids. Please, can I? I'll be your guinea pig. Just let me sit. And do nothing.

But, my time was up. And then I thought: Wow. I don't even care about the pain. As long as there is peace and quiet. You think she'll remember me if I go back tomorrow? I can pretend to be my twin and …

(Yes, people, this is what having four kids will do to you.)

Indeed, when there are four kids, the torturous eyebrow wax becomes your version of a spa treatment. Scary, wonderful stuff. I look at it this way, though: my eyebrows are going to look amazing until the last kid leaves for college.

Everyone always loves the volcano!

My two favorite girls at the ediorial picnic. My daughter (right) and neice (left).

Me and my boy. He is the one I prayed for--for an entire year. And then God gave him to me; and on many occassions, God reminded me of that! "Well, you wanted him!" LOL. He is my most challenging child and I love every bit of it. Tonight, that is. Because he is sleeping right now.

Wanting to be like his firefighter daddy! See Rock in the background? No, not a rock. My Rock!

Everyone in the place thought these were all my kids. Makes sense because they are all the same (shades of) color, lol.

Me and my hubby. There are three kids missing from this picture. I can't believe I have four children. Yes, I still have days when I have to wrap my mind around that one.

Hell on Heels

I haven't worn in heels in forever. So, this morning when I slid on my skinny jeans and my crisp, white blouse (and after hubby told me I was looking skinny), I was feeling a little sexy. Well, sexy can sometimes lead to trouble. My day was in. sane.

It began around 10, when I glanced at the clock and as I was looking down, I caught a whiff of something. My shirt smelled like mildew. "Oh, ugh, this must have come from that pile." You know, the pile that my hubby left in the washing machine--for like days. I was in such a rush this morning that I hadn't even noticed the stench coming from my bright, white blouse.

And once something bothers me, it bothers me a lot. I lose my focus and there are these little thoughts dancing around in my head. You know: like that girl in marketing is looking at me funny because she thinks I stink. LOL. Well, I had a secret little stash. Betty Boop to the rescue.

See, last week, I threw on a t-shirt and in my late madness, I threw on (white-trash) Betty. Don't get mad. If you saw what it looked like on me, you'd be saying the same thing. But, when I got to work, I realized that Betty looked hoochie. And so, my wonderful hubby braved a rainy morning to buy me a non-hoochie shirt. So, Betty was still in the drawer. But, I was wearing heels and jeans.

You all know that tight-black Betty Boop+high heels=hooch, right? I just couldn't do it, but I eventually found another little stash. Yeah, I apparently have them all over. It was a long-sleeve button-up blouse that I couldn't stand sometime in December.

After taking off the mildew shirt and tossing Betty back to the curb, I was feeling better. But, just for a moment, because the rest of my day was an editing nightmare. (I'm an editor and things were falling apart in one of my magazines. More like my client was a diva and I just couldn't deal with her).

After work, I picked up the babies. And about two miles down the road, the truck stalled. And then it died. I had just run out of gas. "Are you frickin kidding me?" I called hubby, whose phone was off becasuse he was in EMT school and it was his testing day. I was so, so mad. A girl-cop pulls up and semi-helps me, but ends up leaving me there in traffic with a crying baby and a toddler.

"Screw it," I say. "We're walking." The baby yanked my gold necklace off of my neck and I just started bawling. The tears were streaming down and I knew my face was probably bright red under my dark black sunglasses. I knew I had about 10 miles ahead of me, but I was just so mad that I had to move.

About a mile down the road, a kind stranger stopped me. (Okay, he was a police officer) And he gave us a ride home. By the time I opened the door, I just wanted to fall down. My feet were covered in blisters and hubby was still nowhere to be found. I was so mad and with no one there to allow me to vent, I had one thought: THE BLOG. Oh, yes, THE BLOG IS BACK. Thank God for Hell on Heels, I guess, huh? Thanks to the evil heels, the blog is back.