Warning: I’m on my third cup of coffee at 10am, and I am ROLLING!
Old Man Winter blew in overnight, and I’m feeling a bit schizophrenic. At the moment, I’m busy digging out my special hat with the hole for a ponytail, my toasty tech tights and my Smartwool running socks.
I have such mixed feelings about winter running…
I love the feeling once I’m warmed up and about a mile in–the fresh cold air on my face feels so good!
I hate the pre- and post- feeling: leaving my perch next to our space heater , stepping out into freezing temperatures, feeling like a stuffed sausage, etc..
I love it far more than summer running, though, except for those really cold days where I run with a neck gator over my face and my snot/breath makes the gator wet and gross. That is some nasty stuff!
Once I finish this post and gear up, I’ll head out for a 4-miler, because I need to get it done. I’m hosting Thanksgiving next week, and my mom is coming in on Monday (my dad on Thursday). This means that I need to have the house clean and my stuff organized by Monday, because otherwise Mom will want to help, and not only do I NOT want her to have to work, but I also don’t want her to help because we tend to have very different opinions on what constitutes a properly cleaned room. I’m a little more laissez-faire and she’s a little more Marine.
I also want to have some Christmas decorations out, so I need to get to cleaning and also digging junk out of the 20 Rubbermaid bins I have sitting in the basement.
I have a sick 14-year old at home as well. He staked his claim on a cold last night before bed. Normally, when my kids say they’re sick, I try to maintain that delicate balance between sympathy and outright accusations of lying. I ask them if they really really need to stay home, and when they say yes, I give them what I’ve always called the Eyes of Honesty–a great parent trick where I stare at them until they break (try it–it’s quite effective and useful in many types of parenting situations.)
I got up early to make Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bread for my 11-year old (what am I? Mother of the Year?), and then my older one came down snotting and looking like death. I put him in a plastic bubble and rolled him back upstairs…no eyes needed. Get the F away from me.
I should also mention that I went to get my hair cut and colored yesterday (I’ve recently had to start covering grays…woe is me.) I told my gal that I was ready for a change…25 years of long straight boring hair was probably enough. Here are the parameters that my stylist had to deal with:
I don’t like change.
I want something different.
I consider a half-inch trim to be drastic.
I think my hair should be slightly lighter (it’s deeeeeppppp dark brown.)
I want a little volume, but anytime someone styles my hair with any sort of lift I think I look like Annette Funicello in Beach Blanket Bingo and I scream.
I want my hair to have a little bit of style, but not look overly done.
I’m willing to put in zero effort. Like literally almost no effort at all.
I want it long enough to pull back into my running ponytail.
In the end, we went with a trim and a few super long layers, and then some highlights around the top. Now I have streaks of orange all over my head. I have stripes the color of a fing basketball. Call me Spalding. I am hideous. My hair is the color of Snooki’s.
So I’m going back tomorrow morning to have them darkened back up again (poor girl! Can she fire me as a client?).
Oh, and my husband is on a guys’ weekend trip…nine guys in one RV, one night in Lake Charles, LA, and two nights in Baton Rouge. I’m thinking I should set up a hazmat disinfecting tent, a la E.T., for when he returns.
What I’m running to: Takin’ It To the Streets by the Doobie Brothers.