This too, shall pass.

I sat down last night in my buttery, dark purplish-red leather lay-z-boy, intending to relax and read my trashy novel. Which is about adultery. I don't like it so far but I'm too far into it to quit now. It's a little like reading salacious gossip about people you don't know. I feel dirty just reading it, but that doesn't stop me.

I was sitting in the chair absently knotting my hair with one hand, like one of my college roommates used to do. She was (is) just the cutest little thing, extremely smart and reasonable--in fact, now she is a counselor. About 5'1" with dark brown silky, long, very straight hair. Back then we would sit and talk and she used to take one hand and make a knot in a strand, then the knot would slide out and she would do it again. It took me the longest time to figure out how to do it, and now sometimes when I get nervous or stressed I do the same thing she used to do.

So sitting there all of a sudden I realized (this is Sunday night, mind you) that I can't remember when I last washed my hair. I literally CANNOT remember. But before you think I'm too over-the-top disgusting I have to tell you that I have pretty great hair. It's just dry enough that I can sleep on it and it will look the same as it did (good) the day before. I rarely have a bad hair day, and when I do, it's long enough to just put in a pony tail. I can wear it straight, or on a good summer day, I can wear it wavy/curly as well. I love it. It wasn't so much that I hadn't washed it (because it looked fine, good even) but that I couldn't remember when I had (and usually I keep pretty good track of such things as personal hygiene). I can't wash it too much because it gets really dry, but I did think not remembering was a bad sign. Could have been last Thursday, I'm not sure.

It may also have to do with the fact that nearly every time I shower I have a kid standing in the pack and play (pulled into the hallway so I can see him through the open door because the little escape artist has started trying to climb out) screaming bloody murder. Sometimes when Tony is here alone with him in the morning I wonder why he hasn't showered by the time I get home in the afternoon. I shouldn't really have to wonder though, I already know the answer.

I washed my hair today. Nevermind that it is 80% humidity and 80 degrees. Now, when I said that my hair is wonderful/awesome I meant when I actually do it. That means either blowdryer or mousse/scrunch/curling iron. That does not mean take towel off hair, let dry. Ha. Today it looks similar to a brillo pad because that is exactly what I did. You know I don't want people around town saying I "let myself go" after I got married.

But seriously? I'm sitting here home alone with a one year old and three dogs. And no car, because we did some really poor planning this weekend. Believe me when I say--when I was single, and young, and used to spend $40 a weekend on booze (I'm a cheap drunk) and movies and dinner--that I never ever thought in the future washing my hair would be the highlight/lowlight of my day (pardon the pun).

Of course I wouldn't trade one day with my wonderful son and husband for all the weekends I spent languishing in bed, at a bar, in a restaurant, or in a theatre. But I enjoy looking back and thinking about those easy and carefree times in my life.

I walked to the corner store today (GASP-walked? on the highway? with a stroller?). I know, there is no other way to get there though. In villages I guess there are very few rules that govern the building of sidewalks. Or funds to do so. In fact, there are very few rules period. That is why there are trailers in the middle of town (yes, the metal kind) right next to regular houses. I think that is so weird. I walked out of the gas station pushing the stroller with my 32 oz. Diet Dr. Pepper in hand and rounded the corner before I took a long pull from the straw. Like it was booze and I was raiding my secret stash. But the humidity was 80% and I was on a walk (I can walk again with relatively little pain!).

And I was thinking about what Tony said to my Pastor when we ran into him before church, after dropping Holden off in the church nursery. The Pastor asked how we were doing and Tony said, "Ready for 2009 to be over." And the pastor said, "Don't wish it away." I don't know if my DH heard the Pastor say that or not, but I got to thinking about it today.

These are good times. They are bad, but good too. Holden will only be this age one time, and we may or may not get another shot at raising a kid so we should enjoy it while we can. He is an absolute delight and I don't want to wish these days away--even though all the other stuff is hard. I don't want to wish away these days with my dad, because even though I feel a little hopeless sometimes when I leave the rehab center, I know that his days may be much fewer than I had hoped. Holden may not be able to remember him when he gets older, so we should spend as much time brightening dad's days as possible. I won't have the freedom of staying home forever, so I should cherish it now.

The days are long, but the years are short.