I thought I'd better check in, lest you think I've fallen off the face of the earth. Well, I sort of have. I'm in Houston.
Yup, Allie-14 is playing in a huge volleyball tournament, and we are 280 bluebonnet-lined highway miles from home. As we speak, I am lounging on a sumptuous hotel bed -- my very own double, with four pillows all to myself (never mind the four teenagers piled on the other one watching TV while I type this).
This morning I enjoyed a VERY LONG HOT SHOWER during which no one interrupted me, and after which I wrapped myself in a velvety 100 percent Egyptian cotton bath sheet. I smile at the memory. I just hate it when I have to "take one for the team," don't you?
We will be here all weekend, just the two of us in a room (when she's not playing her heart out and I'm not cheering mine out). I think this should be good for us to get away from the whole move thing for a while.
The last time I went on a weekend away (was it really almost two years ago? I am SO PITIFUL!) was the only time Dennis has ever hijacked my blog. Back then, our kids were, well, two years younger, so this should theoretically be a piece of cake.
I talked with Dennis earlier, and he apparently got everyone out the door this morning. He said he was holding up well. He worked from home today and had lunch with Libby-10 and Annie-6 at school. Then he took Ruthie-4 to the barber shop while he got his hair cut.
"How'd she do, just sitting there while you got your hair cut?" I asked, impressed.
"Oh, great! In fact, Scotty [the barber man] said, 'Hey, why don't you let her hop up here and I'll trim her bangs!'"
I tried to restrain the hysteria I felt rising in my voice. Hasn't he EVEN noticed that we've been trying to grow Ruthie's bangs out since she gave herself the mini-hemi-mullet NINE MONTHS AGO?? "Y-y-you didn't let him, did you?"
Dennis continued, oblivious. "Oh, yeah. She was so cute and sat so still. They were way down past her eyelashes. He just trimmed a little bit."
"Like, how little? Are they above her eyebrows now?" Please say no! Please say no!
"Um, let me look." There was a little pause while Ruthie obviously pranced before him displaying her new 'do. "Yep. She looks so precious!"
I'm sure she does look precious, but Oh. My. Gracious. Remind me never to let the man who gets his hair cut every three weeks take his daughter to the barber shop, okay?? All those months wrangling [what was left of ] her curls into headbands and teensy butterfly clips...WASTED!
After a few words explaining my shock and horror, I reaffirmed my love for him, and how it's just hair. It IS, isn't it?
On another note, we are still not sure what's going to happen with our fixer-upper offer in the country. We are talking with our realtor tonight about our plan in case things fall through. It's in God's hands, which is good, because I'm really wanting to take things into my own about now. His are much bigger.