I DIDN’T cut my bangs. I promise. In fact, this whispy “fringe” (I believe that’s what they are calling it these days) is finally growing in from when I lost what felt like half of my hair after having Greta. It’s usually sticking straight up if I don’t wear my hair just right, but now that it is getting longer–almost bang-length–my hair-dos are limited. Wearing my hair down or in a low ponytail. It’s the only way I can push these silly hairs to the side and people won’t wonder “What in the world is that girl thinking? Are those supposed to be bangs?” No, they aren’t. I am definitely not somebody who can, or even thinks she can, pull off bangs.
Today is (another) one of those days, where I am still in the t-shirt I wore last night to bed–I even went to the store in that shirt–and I am not really concerned WHAT people are wondering. I am worn out from packing and making my way through all of the boxes in our house. I am tired of pricing items for our moving sale in the morning, and I am already beat up from haggling with people who want to pay pennies for a flat screen television. We have already sold some big items and with every sale, a weight is lifted, so I am just hoping the weather can hold off in the morning and we can get a lot more stuff sold. I’ll be flying through the air by the afternoon.
Every night, after Greta goes to bed, Chris and I have a huge list of things we should be doing and most nights this week, we have said, “Let’s have one more night of just resting.” And we get on our jammies and have dinner in bed and watch HGTV and Food Network, or maybe House and The Office (it was soooo good last night, right?). I am REALLY hoping we can have another one of those nights tonight, doubtful…but a girl can hope.