I See a Shamrock Shake in My Future!

It turns out blogging is sort of like going to the gym: The more you put it off, the harder it is to get back into.  When I was blogging every day I had no problem shooting the shit with you all, just spouting off the meaningless details of everyday life.  But when I only try to write the occasional post, I feel like I have to have something more profound or newsworthy to say. 

I don't have all that much newsworthy to say, though, so I will just begin with that picture of Leia poking out of a blanket fort.  That pretty much sums up life right now: Just day after day of simple, mundane realities.  We wake up, we perform the day-to-day tasks whose purpose is to sustain life until we can perform the same tasks tomorrow.  We clean the house and then mess it up again with toys and dishes and blanket forts.  We spend quality time with friends, go to kids' birthday parties, shuttle ourselves between various professional/educational/enrichment/athletic activities, get frustrated with each other sometimes, grumble about malfunctioning household appliances, shop for stuff, watch TV, read, and eat.  And, about a third of the time, we sleep. 

So, you know, life.  There's a comforting simplicity to the everyday routine, but it doesn't make for very interesting blog posts. 

Let me see what I can extract from my everyday life to talk about here. 

Well, here's something: I purple-ified more of my hair.  I know I said my previous little purple streak was a metaphor for my own private, hidden exciting side.  But the reality was, I kind of wanted people to notice the damn purple streak.  So when I went to get my hair cut, I asked the stylist to give me more purple:

Now, people notice the purple.  Even people I just meet, and strangers at the gym notice it.  I love it. 

The only trouble is, the purple fades really quickly.  Already it's down to a dull violet, which is okay, but when it gets any lighter it's going to look really bad.  It's bleached under the purple, and the dark-brown-with-bleach-blonde-streaks is not a look that can be pulled off by white women.  But I don't want to go and get it colored once a month, because the cost adds up, it's kind of a time commitment, and I hate trying to make small talk with the salon employees. 

Also, Valentine's Day happened.  You all know I like the V-Day.  It gives us an excuse to bring out pretty flowers and hearts, and to eat chocolate.  Of course, this Valentine's Day fell on a Tuesday, which is in the early part of the week where I'm still trying to be a good Weight Watcher, so I made these:

Bill got me some red roses, and I got him some chocolates that I think he doesn't like, and we got Nathan a little heart-shaped container of Hershey's kisses.  (And by the way, Target, I do not appreciate your packing up all the Valentine's merchandise mid-day on February 14, to make room for the Easter stuff.  Was that necessary?  Is there anybody who needs to buy Easter grass on Valentine's Day?) 

Also for Valentine's Day, I made some little individual chocolate souffles from the Weight Watchers website, which was a poor choice of dessert because souffles are very timing-specific, and that doesn't work in my house.  See, another recent development, which I am unhappy about but just have to accept, is that Bill and I have started making our own individual dinners.  We both have very specific dietary/nutritional needs, and very specific food preferences, and the reality is that neither of us wants to compromise, and maybe also that neither of us should compromise when it comes to our health.  Still, I have found this whole "separate meals" development to be very upsetting, because apparently I had a very strong-held belief that having the same thing for dinner every night is something that married couples should do.  I draw an analogy between the separate meals and those couples who have to sleep in separate bedrooms because one of them snores loudly.  On the one hand, in principle it feels wrong for couples to have such a separation.  But on the other hand, sometimes you have to throw away principle for the greater good of everybody being able to happily function.

Anyway, the additional challenge is, the separate meals present a problem in terms of having everything ready so we can at least eat at the same time.  Such was the trouble on Valentine's Day.  I had made myself something in the Crock Pot, and I prepared a heart-shaped peanut butter sandwich for Nathan, but Bill's daily stir-fry wasn't ready yet.  Bottom line, the chocolate souffles deflated by the time we were all ready to eat them.

Other bottom line, the staggered food preparation/eating meant that we never found the time to get a family photo while we were all dressed up for the Valentine's Day dinner.  We got a couple of silly photos of Nathan, and that's it:

So, although it is not pictured, I was wearing a dress, despite the fact that Nathan accused me of not owning any dresses.  I should maybe have tried harder to photograph that rare moment. 

The next day Nathan's class had their Valentine's party, which of course bothered me because I like to keep things in their proper time and place, and February 15 is not the proper time for a V-Day party.  Also I bought flowers to arrange for Nathan's teachers (another Mason jar arrangement FTW), and it turns out that, unlike chocolate, flowers are not discounted the day after Valentine's Day. 

But I interrupt my usual cynicism for just a minute to bring you this photo from Nathan's school Valentine's bulletin board display:

I mean, come on, could you just die? 

In other news, I have one week until my indoor triathlon.  I still can't run for 15 minutes straight. 

After the triathlon, my next extracurricular activity is appearing in the community theater production of Jack and the Beanstalk.  My character is named Surla.  I haven't seen the script yet, but I'm told she is surly.  Type-casting.  

Also, Weight Watchers is sucking.  I gained at least week's weigh-in, and that's always just a huge demotivator.  I might take this week off.  Seems like a good choice. 

And last night, for a change of pace, I went to an activity called Paint 'n Pour, which is a painting class featuring alcoholic beverages.  The instructor guides you step-by-step through a painting.  Last night's painting was of the Chicago skyline.  Here's what I made, with one cup of Skinny Girl sangria in me:

You were supposed to arrange the buildings in a cute little arc, but mine is a little lopsided, so it looks like there was some kind of devastating earthquake.  The instructor came over to look at mine, and she was like, "That's good!" but with that super high-pitched fake inflection at the end of good that clearly indicated she was lying. 

Bill told me he thought I could pass it off as something by a famous artist, which I think was a compliment. 

In TV news, who is watching Smash?  I really like the music, and the opportunity to get a behind-the-scenes look at the Broadway scene.  You know what I don't like?  Debra Messing's wardrobe.  Or her hair.  Too much hair.  It's too red and puffy and flowing.  Please get your hair cut or at least thinned a bit.  And then they dress her in these drapey looking clothes, such as a big wooly scarf with her pajamas (???), or a big floppy sweater and baggy pants.  She just looks like a floppy, drapey mess.  Why?!  She would look good in tighter-fitting clothes.  Is this an attempt to make her look artsy?  Because if a woman in the real world dressed like that, Stacy and Clinton would be coming for her pronto. 

On that note, I think I'll sign off.