Once upon a time, there was a lady—and she met a guy. And they thought the other was pretty cute (Well, maybe not initially—but, after a few dates, they were smitten).
Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle.
Dun, dun, da-dun. Dun, dun, da-dun! Here comes the bride…
And then 12 years later we found ourselves here.
Old mom (give me old—because at 36 my body TOLD me it was OLD) to a newborn that went from…
In just under 5 minutes.
And then we finally got him here:
To send him back to this:
Phew! Back here:
And now for his first international trip—German hospital, here we come:
Finally, bringing him back home to us here…
Besides being exhausted, everything’s looking pretty a-okay, right???
And that’s when we realize that sometimes photos are deceiving.
Here. Let me give you some examples.
Look at how absolutely lovely (yes, I’m calling us lovely) we look together in these photos:
And, yes. Times, over the years, were good.
This past Fall it went from: birds chirping and harps playing while choirs are singing to pictures off the wall, loud shouting, and lots of crying in approximately 2.4 (seconds, that is).
And then that’s when I did it…
Lack of sleep and marital un-bliss did me in!
I loudly announced that I was off to the hairdresser and I was CUTTING my hair! (That’ll show my husband, eh? My hair, that he LOVED, was going, going, going…Gone!)
And I drove to the nearest city (we live in a little Polish village) and trudged up two flights of creepy stairs (literally creepy stairs) and announced, “I want to CUT MY HAIR!”
Even the hairdresser questioned my decision making, asking me many times…
Are you sure?
How about just a couple centimeters?
Loudly did I protest!
No…Cut it all. To my chin! Get rid of my hair. Oh, and, by the way, color it while you are at it! Color it…This color! (I pointed to a color on the chart).
Again the hair dresser questioned…
Are you sure?
How about this color instead…???
Boy—I must be very opinionated and protest loudly because I INSISTED…
No! This color. This short!
And, so, reluctantly, she did it…
And, yes. She was RIGHT. I was WRONG!
My hair. Oh, my once rather decently glorious hair went from decently glorious to ‘scarecrow in a field’ worthy in just under 2 hours.
Well. Nothing I could do now.
(Speaking too soon, obviously)
Ooooooh, look! A lady that can pluck my eyebrows! Here I go, I’m gonna clean up my brows. Yes!
(Laying myself down on the table)…
Nothing too crazy, okay? Just normal eyebrows, okay? I said to the eager looking cosmetologist.
And that’s when I felt it…
A refreshingly warm liquid being painted onto my eyebrows.
I thought—What? Is she going to wax my brows? I thought she was going to pluck my brows.
And then she did something else. She wiped the liquid off.
That’s odd. I thought. Maybe it’s a new treatment for brows—kind-of like a brow-cial (instead of facial).
And then she did something else. She plucked my brows.
Now curiosity was KILLING me.
Hmmm. It appears she’s done. I sit up. She hands me a mirror.
Friends, that’s when I realized that my husband—although the CULPRIT in this original bit of marital dispute-was The Winner. I was CLEARLY the loser.
And to prove that he won and I lost, I’ll post these:
While he still looked like this:
Moral of the story…
When you are in a time of marital un-bliss and you feel like you NEED to do something crazy in order to simply survive, sit back, open your computer, and take a look at my eyebrows.
If those suckers don’t convince you, well, then, perhaps counseling will…
God bless counseling.