Not ever, really. Sometimes, when the sun hits me right and my high-sodium dinner regroups in my morning lip fat, and I walk past the mirror at the proper speed and angle.
I’ve been trying to lose baby weight (F-U, Jack!) and things are not so easy for me mid-thirties and in happy matrimony. Rich is a lovehandle lover and mombelly acceptor, so I have to really push it not to let myself go. I HAVE, though, lost 11 pounds since seeing a picture of myself at Disney (this Thanksgiving) and yes, thank you, I agree that I look comparably fantastic and accept congratulations via snail mail. (PM me for address.)
So, while I’ve been in a generally celebratory mood–stuffing my thighs into one jeansize smaller and not suffocating in a belt–I’ve still felt a little…frumpy. Mommy, you know? Splotchy and mousy and flat. What do I do when that happens? 22yrold Rachel gets something tattooed. 35yrold Rachel has a panic attack and considers highlights.
My kids have the most gorgeous hair, like a little troupe of surfer dudes. They ALL have this wispy sweep thing like those kids you hated in highschool, all cool and messy and beachy. So when I get bored with myself I stare at them like I do the oreo bucket at the yogurt place.
So the other night I’m creeping out Mila, who says, for the hundredth time, ‘Mommy, WHAT?’
So I say, ‘I want your hair. It’s so beautiful, it’s like gold but alive. Why is your hair so beautiful? Why’s mine like this?’ I thrust a forked hand into my ponytail for effect, because if I don’t brush for five minutes my hair starts to dread.
And then Mila, bringer of goodness and light, shoots me this priceless, teenager look. ‘Mommy, but I love your hair. It’s so dark and pretty! You’re SO PRETTY.’
And I’m floored! I don’t know why I never thought she thought I was pretty. It really shocked me. So, of course, I headed straight for the mirror and made a bunch of duck faces.
I turned my head this way and that, batted my eyes…I tried to see myself like maybe she did, and for a few seconds I was like, you know what? I’m not so hideous. Maybe my hair IS pretty!
But then today I got highlights. Because my friend sent me this picture and let’s be honest, I look awesome as a high school blonde. (And without wrinkles and age spots. Shhhh, I know. I once brought a Meg Ryan picture to the mall salon. I’m not good with reality.)
words I want to start using:
vitriolic (I actually don’t know what this means)
Also, did you see our awesome flyer that I’ll replug here because it’s awesome and the discount is awesome? Have you been to SFSE2015.com yet? Have you? HAVE YOU?