Technically, it’s a Thursday.  But I am fairly certain that it is actually a Monday thinly veiled as a Thursday.  Either that or I am completely incapable of life today.  Honestly, it could be either.  I rolled out of bed this morning, a full hour before I needed to be, and promptly managed to fall forehead first into the wall.  Apparently, I had a rough night of sleeping (and a not quite complete waking up) and my foot was completely tangled in the sheets, a fact that I didn’t notice until AFTER I face-planted into the wall.

Then I continued on into the bathroom, with the intent of dyeing my hair and was confronted by the largest house spider I have ever seen.  To some, this might not be the biggest deal in the world, but alas, I am a tad bit arachnophobic.  Okay, maybe a LOT bit, although I am greatly improved from the arachnophobia of my youth.  Needless to say, there was screaming involved, at a pitch probably only dogs and unicorns could hear.  My blood pressure rose to frightening levels as I began to plot it’s demise and realized I was the only potential assassin awake.  But as I neared it with the intent of shortening it’s life, it moved.  How dare it try to escape me and cause me more apoplexy?!  More screaming ensued as I chased the damn thing around.  Finally, I threw the box of baby wipes at it and was successful.  Eep.

Heart racing, it was time to dye my hair.  Strangely, although keeping the front away from the back was not easy, it was far more relaxing than chasing around a Beast of Terror.  Unfortunately, due to time contraints, the purply part in the front is not quite purply enough, but the black is definately black.  However, the reign of terror from the Beast left me with little attention span for details.  So I didn’t pay nearly enough attention to my hands, the gloves, and where dye was going.  So now I have a faded black spot the size of a dime on my left wrist.  Charming.

But in the end, I sit here, typing away in the sun, sipping at Amaretto-infused coffee (the cream, NOT the booze) and loving my new hair.  I know, I am pushing 41, but I don’t care.  I relish my age-inappropriateness!  It makes me smile and that is all that matters.

I’m telling you, sometimes it is terribly hard to manage all the sexiness that is me.  It’s a burden, but a burden I have to bear nonetheless.  This morning, I woke up refreshed after about 7 hours of good sleep after 48 hours running on about 30 minutes of sleep.  The husband is on a plane headed back to Afghanistan, the smelly monkeys the ankle biters the children all still sound asleep and therefore mercifully silent in their neverending needs.  So I did what every overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated mother of 5 4 children should do.  I decided to pamper myself.

My hair is in a period of revolt.  Revolt against me.  Really, it has a point.  I have abused it in my quest to be a non-cookie cutter, non-soccer mom.  Let’s just say that Manic Panic Flash Lightning is no longer allowed within six feet of my head without it coming to life and screaming in denial.  Of course, no one else can hear it so they just look at me like I have finally gone around the bend when I attempt to coerce my hair into accepting it.  So in an attempt to make things right with my angry hair, I bought some lovely Moroccan argan oil cream treatment.  It involves liberal slathering through my hair and the addition of a very lovely clear shower cap over it.  Combined with my bleary, fresh from sleep red eyes, I realized just how stunning I really was as I gazed upon myself in the mirror.

But not stunning enough.  So I dug out a packet of my favorite dark chocolate mousse face mask and slathered up.  God, I was sexy.  And then it was time to go make some blood of life coffee.  As I stood at the sink, filling the pot with water, I noticed my neighbor outside my kitchen window, walking his dog.  Being the friendly, gorgeous girl that I am, I knocked on the window and eaved.  The look of shock that spread across his face was intense, as was the palpable awkwardness that followed as he backed away from the window.  Confused, I finished making coffee.  It was several moments later, when passing a framed print and catching a reflection of myself, that I remembered just how gorgeous I was at that moment.  Oops.