So Ellie just started napping, which is seriously, one of the coolest things ever. I mean, I noticed that she slept from around 8:30am to 10am but I always assumed it was because I was wheeling her around the lake, and that the motion, and fresh air were to thank. But lo and behold (or hold me below as my old, exfriend Arianne used to say), this weekend, sans lake walk, she slept regardless. Hmm.
We woke up late, 7:30 vs 6am, after a day of swimming yesterday at my sister's complex's pool. Which is probably the cleanest public pool I have ever, ever, ever see. Nicer then a hotel's even. If we had a pool, I'd be in it ALL the time b/c Miss Ellie was tuckered out! Plus she moved her legs like a trouper in the water and LOVED it. So cute. And my feet didn't actually ache this morning...but I digress.
So picture it. It's Sunday. Doug is home. We get up, oh, say 7:30 am. Doug makes coffee, we give Ellie her medicine, there's a gentle breeze coming in the window. No one is mowing their lawn, doors aren't slamming. It's fabulous. The house is clean(ish), errands are run, nothing is looming. It's going to be an at home day. I get up and take a shower, then ask Doug to hand Ellie in. We shower for a bit, then sit for soaping. I hand her out, Daddy dries her off. (And dresses her in an abominable onesie but I say nothing because, hey, at least he tries)After a nice little feeding and a few books, Ellie falls gently asleep.
It's clear skies, and about 72 degrees. God's weather as they say. (This is a long set up for a very unrelated punchline by the way) Anyway, so I download some photo's, put away laundry, and then it suddenly occurs to me. "HEY, Ellie is asleep. As in napping." gasp! Then further..."I bet I could actually dry my hair today."
I peer out at Doug, who's been happily puttering away. "You need me?" I ask. Nope, he says. I dry my hair. Dry dry dry. Dry dry dry. Wow, I think, my hairs gotten really long. Dry dry dry. I notice gray. Dry dry dry. "I should get it colored." Dry dry dry. "Coloring is expensive," I think. "Who's going to watch Ellie if I go? When was the last time I went? It was after Ellie so it was within 3 months I know that. Maybe after August 15 I'll make an appt. Dry dry dry.
I notice, post dry, that there is a slight nimbus of frizz. Ah the humidity (you're supposed to read that as if it says "Ah the humanity".) Anyway, so then I remember that I saw, on the Style Network, this flat iron trick. "Hey," I think, "I have a flat iron" purchased at the end of the trend and never used I might add. Out it comes, I check Ellie. Still sleeping. Plug it in. Section hair. Straight straight straight. dum de dum. I'm wasting time, I think. I should be writing thank yous. But I continue. I mean, really, when am I going to get another chance? So I flat iron my hair. In my ratty tshirt and shorts. We are going nowhere, doing nothing - but dammit, I have time and I'm gonna do this.
Meanwhile, Doug putters on. Deleting files, then trying to retrieve video off the camcorder. He plays electronically. I finish.
"Do you want a muffin" I ask.
"Oh yeah, I forgot I had one" he says
(I mean this is REALLY a long set up)
So I go downstairs to the kitchen. I hear a song I love. I'm amazed that it's playing on the radio. I hum along. Then I hear a second song. That I love. Now I'm doubly amazed that it's playing on the radio. Irish folk music followed by Metallica? How can it be. then I spy my ipod nano. Plugged into an ihome base (radio thingie). First time. Who knew that that's how it worked?
I think that I just love this man with all his electronic Sunday fun.
So I start dancing a bit in place. Cleaning the kitchen, shimmy shimmy. I turn the music up louder. Singing a bit a'loud. Shimmy shimmy to 1991's "Hero of The Day"
Doug walks in. I stop dancing.
"Hey, did you straighten your hair" he asks.
I fidget self consciously. "Yes, but only a little. It was frizzy..." I stammer to a stop., embarrassed.
He comes up to hug me.
"I like it. You look cute" he reassures me. "You look like..." he pauses "It's someone from, like, before..."
I know he means when we were younger.
"Lisa Loeb? Katie Holmes?" I ask amusedly
"No no," he puzzles, then slowly, "From The Wedding Singer. That girl with the ..."
"Not the Van Halen TShirt?"
"Yes! That's it! You look like her"
I wince. NOT the look I was going for...
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