In Which a Questionable Haircut turns me into an Utter Narcissist

So I tried again this morning:

I think it is better. It may actually look less like the inspiration pictures, but it looks more like me. Good ole stripey shirt never hurt either. I still think it needs work, maybe shorten the shorter side and thin out the longer side. And that thing is happening whenever I give myself bangs, what I like to think of as the Conan O'Brian swoop. But I think that might have something to do with my glasses, and so I can't really change that. All in all, I'm feeling better about it today.

What I'm not feeling better about today is my cold. It feels like a small, furry, stinky animal - a wet ferret maybe?- has cuddled up with my lungs. I get to have cold-medicine dreams all night, like last night when I dreamed that Jennifer and I were chasing our high school crush/obsession around and around Canyon High. I'm pretty sure that dream went on all night.

But hey, even in my drugged state, I managed to sign the girls (even Elsa!) up for swim lessons! I found some through parks and rec that are four days a week for two weeks, and they will happen before we move, so maybe my bleak prophecy that my children are destined to be non-swimmers will not come to fruition. And I finally told the owner of our gym that we are moving at the end of June, so I don't have to stress over what will become of my Zumba class. I was worried about telling her because I thought she would be really irritated that I started up a class knowing that I was going to be moving (we didn't know for sure, but when do we ever?) Anyway I took the chicken way out and wrote her an email, but she didn't seem mad. So that's good. Still don't know how I am going to handle the various trips I need to make to California this summer, but that's a ways off so I'm not too worried. I'm feeling a bit more optimistic today, so here are some pictures of cutie Elsa on her birthday last week:

She wouldn't eat the cupcake so I had to.

May we all get such joy from poking around in the dirt with a stick

Do I look like a newscaster to you?

No seriously, do I? I can't figure out my new hair cut.

Actually, I don't look anything like a newscaster in these pictures. But you should have seen it yesterday when I got home. It was very mushroom shaped.  I keep looking back at the photos that I brought in as inspiration to the hairdresser.

While it's true that mine is not as wispy as these are, it's pretty much the same hair cut. Then how come I still look 36? How come I don't look 18? I don't get it.

Also, I don't look so great because I am sick. And seriously, am I the only person in the world that thinks that half a vicodin is really the best cough and cold medicine you can take?

(un)settling down

I know, I know. It's been a very very long time since I've updated my blog. I haven't had any things happening to me that can be related by a "theme" so to speak, so it never occurs to me to write about them.

Of course there is the looming threat of the summer. A time of year that most people look forward to, which I do look forward to because it means we are getting out of here (two and a half more months!). But of course getting out of here is one thing, getting to somewhere else is quite another thing. You all probably know that we have no idea where the hell we will end up; the only thing we know is that our lease is up at the end of June. Hopefully something will have come along by then.

It's funny, because recently someone asked me how I can do what I do, moving pretty much every year. I say it's funny because I struggle with it mightily, but what else can I do? Tell my husband, "Okay, you got a job in Oklahoma? Me and the kids'll just move in with my parents. See you in a year! Love ya, bubye!" Yeah, no. So we do this instead. I feel like I've gotten slightly better at it. I've joked that you'd think that moving so much would cause me to re-evaluate my possessions, strip down to zen minimalism, but really it just causes me to hoard cardboard boxes.

Here's how it goes: the first three months, I am getting used to the place, finding the library and the good gymnastics place, figuring out where the best place to get produce is. At this point, things that are different are funny to me, like the multiple signs as you enter Stillwater imploring you to "Attend the Church of your Choice this Sunday!" Hahaha, hilarious, right? The next couple of months, I've got my routine down, I've learned how to function in this new place, and usually there is a chance of us actually staying in the place, so I'm becoming more upbeat about the place we live, looking for where in the town would be the best place to live permanently. These few months are also the time when René is applying to jobs all over the country, and I'm toying with the idea of living in crazy random places like Moorshead, Minnesota, or Amherst, Massachusetts and I think he even applied to a job in Honolulu this year. In addition to that, there are always the fantasy jobs in LA or anywhere in California, that I don't even let myself think about too much. 

Then there's the last few months, which is the stage we are at now. Last year at this time I was plotting how I was going to get a job at Trader Joe's and we were going to move in with my Dad. It's the point of the year where we know we don't have a job where we are, we know we aren't staying, but we don't know where we are going. It is also the point, at least here and when we lived in upstate New York, when we admit to ourselves that we actually really don't want to live here permanently. To admit to ourselves that grocery shopping here makes us want to cry and that we don't like the fact that in the eight months we've lived here we've received no fewer than five unsolicited religious texts. I don't know what to do about my Zumba class, I don't know whether I can squeeze in some swimming classes for the kids before we need to move, and I basically feel like we already don't live here anymore.


We don't know where we are going so we can't plan our summer, which includes wonderful events such as the weddings of René's brother as well as my bestest friend (marrying other people, not each other). But I am beginning to see the routine in our lack of routine, and I am starting to settle into my unsettledness. But I don't know if my kids are ever going to learn to swim.

Doomed to be non-swimmers?

These goofballs don't seem to be bothered about it.

Greetings from Snow-klahoma!

Hi everyone! We are going on day two of snow days! Can you tell we are a little manic?!

Which means I haven't combed their hair in two days! Just kidding, I combed it yesterday!

Actually, it hasn't been too bad. We stocked up on groceries, wine, and library books, so we've been just hanging out. The whole town was basically shut down, including OSU, so René has been home too, catching up on work and the endless job applications. We were fine until last night, when I blew a fuse upstairs by using a space heater and a blow dryer in the same outlet. Then I opened the front door to go check the breaker box, and realized that we don't have as simple a thing as a snow shovel. Actually, we don't have as simple a thing as a regular shovel! And, because I am me, I managed to go outside and throw every breaker without fixing the problem. Fortunately, the only room without power was our room upstairs (and the porch light) so we made do with the baby monitor plugged into an extension cord. And a flashlight. And I still managed to get my pajamas on backwards.

Today, when René went out to deal with the wilderness outside, he took with him a broom, a dustpan, and a hammer in lieu of a snow shovel. (and no, I don't know what he did with the hammer.) I was going to go ask our neighbors if we could borrow one, but I thought I'd let McGuyver have his fun. Then he threw the same switches that I threw last night, except he must have done it with flair because it fixed the problem! Yay, I don't have to brush my teeth by candle light tonight!

Yesterday we literally didn't step foot outside the house, since it was technically a blizzard and the snow was falling from the sky, then from the side, then from the ground. It was entertaining to watch, from the coziness of our pajama-ed house. But today the girls and I decided to brave the elements, since the sun was shining, and we opened the front door! It was cold. I took my gloves off to take these pictures, and my fingers promptly fell off.

We didn't have long to capture the moment.

Elsa wasn't pleased. Whenever I let go of her, she fell down.

Charlotte lasted the longest. Doesn't she look proud?

 And the resulting pile of wet clothes, gloves and boots was quite large for a five minute outing into the snow.







In other news, I am so glad that we got the Wii for Christmas, and especially that I got Wii Zumba (of course.) I might not have been so patient with the being-trapped-in-the-house deal if I had no opportunity for exercise. But I've been doing the Wii Zumba every day, and working on choreography for my first couple of songs, and so I have been well occupied.

One of the unexpected benefits of the Zumba training I did is that I am actually excited and engaged in something that is happening in the here-and-now. I've been struggling these past years with mindfulness; you would think that moving as often as we do, I would start to value the present since the future is such an unknown for us. But for me, I just tend to obsess over it, researching the real estate options and school systems of cities where there is an infinitesimal chance we might end up living. But being a Zumba instructor is something that I can start here and now, and take with me, and do wherever we go. And, in case you were wondering, we still have no idea where that will be, except for that it won't be here.

Mueve La Booty

If you've talked to me in person within the last year and a half, then you already know that I am a total Zumba convert. But I've taken it a step further, and I'm going to become licensed to teach Zumba!

The instructor training is this weekend, and I am excited and nervous. On the one hand, I can barely work up the nerve to talk to other people in the classes I take, and on the other hand, I fantasize about starting an Adult Dance Fitness Studio, where we would have Zumba classes and classes on belly dancing, folk dancing, whatever!

But here's the thing: I'm terrified. I am a shy person, when it comes down to it. And, for the last six and a half years, since I passed the exams for my Master's Degree, since I got pregnant with the twins, I haven't put myself out there. I haven't done a single thing where I was evaluated, where someone said, "you are successful," or "You've got the job" or "Great paper! A+." Being a parent is wonderfully rewarding, and I'm not saying that no one ever appreciates me or gives positive feedback. But the thing about parenting is that you can be doing a pretty bad job and you don't get fired or fail.

I can fail at being a Zumba instructor. And I don't like failing.

So I'm doing something for myself, something that doesn't involve the children at all. I will wear eighties-reminiscent teal dance-wear with splatter paint. I will dance to silly Latin-esque music. I'm thinking about getting some legwarmers. Let's dance.