It’s a good thing I gave up sleep in 2001 because between Making a Murderer binge watching and the night spent on the couch because my husband came home from Israel with some sort of stomach plague and the constant stream of drops and gels and creams I’m depositing into the eyes of my poor little shih-tzu, sleep is not a thing that has been happening much. This isn’t actually a complaint — sleep is an elusive dream — just a state of affairs and maybe a way of explanation as to why I constantly have a mug of coffee in my hands and I’m constantly on the search for a
miracle great under-eye concealer to hide those BLACK dark circles. No joke, in the what-plastic-surgery-would-you-have game, I’d have the black removed from under my eyes (is that even a thing?) even before I’d get a tummy tuck and I have had three babies so I think that’s saying something. Possibly the thing that it’s saying is that I’m a wee bit of a crazy person. Per.haps.
I don’t like to make resolutions about weight and weight loss and exercise because good lord, like Phyllis Nefler and the PTA, Save The Whales, and Hands Across America, I never finish anything I start. But I have been working out for the past few months because I really missed my oblique muscles and was starting to feel a little too slothy. But then I overdosed on baked goods and decided that I needed to stop eating like a teenager. Dear Ali: an entire box of Cookie Crisp is not an appropriate dinner food. Well, maybe it’s appropriate, since I’m a fully grown adult and can make my own adult decisions, but it’s certainly not making me feel good inside. So I’m eating a lot of the foods they create funny memes about because I actually *like* kale no matter how many times my sister tells me that this is untrue. Sure, I like giant head-sized cinnamon buns MORE.
I know, I know, a person *can* exercise and eat well and not tell the internet about it, so even though you don’t care, I guess I’m just an oversharer.
NOTE: The only thing I’ve lost so far is a pair of wunderunder lululemons, so.
But I did get a pen today! I wish you could see my face right now because as a girl who loves school supplies, getting a gift of a pen for being an employee at my company for a year is awesome.
Isabella reminded me that I needed to take her for new boots this week because, well, the child now has bigger feet than I do so she’s now the proud owner of nicer winter boots than I have. It finally snowed around here which was both a blessing and a curse because the day it snowed Isabella spent 3 hours in a row outside and did not come in one single time to either pee or whine. I’m telling you, the child who needs constant entertainment can keep herself busy for hours on end with 4 inches of snow. Hashtag blessed. BUT, the curse part of this equation is what my front hall looks like. I refuse to photograph it because it basically looks like a footwear graveyard. Because my husband is Canadian, my children are required to remove their shoes and boots when they come in the door. But, in the absence of a place to really put their shoes —I basically need one of those floor-to-ceiling bowling shoe wall cubbies—hork, they just leave them anywhere between the front door and the kitchen, creating a fun hazardous maze. (bonus…exercise?)
I didn’t know that this shoe removal thing was a THING until I moved to Canada. As a kid, if my shoes were dirty or wet from rain or snow, I took them off because I’m not disgusting, you guys. If my shoes were not dirty, I kept them on — especially 1) flip flops or anything else that would require me to be barefoot in front of other people because ew I have a foot thing and no one needs to see my feet and 2) if I am wearing shoes that go with a dress or outfit because who wants to take off heels that make your jean hems two-inches too long once the shoes are removed and who wants to wear a really nice dress to a party but have to walk around in tights feet? The answer is CANADIANS. It’s true! The first time I visited my now-inlaws, I didn’t remove my shoes. It wasn’t until after I had done this and insulted his parents that my then-boyfriend, now-husband told me that I should have taken my shoes off. Luckily, my English now-father-in-law spoke at length about visiting a PAWN shop only my American ears apparently hear the pronunciation of that word a little more like porn and I had a very Edward Rooney-like so that’s how it is in their family moment. So, it was easy to forget about the shoe incident.
Are you a please remove your shoes in my house kind of person or are you a totally leave them on! I don’t mind! kind of person? And is it a Canadian VS American thing or did I completely make that up?
I wonder if I could will my feet to grow a size so I could steal Isabella’s boots when she sleeps…