Personal Grooming

A decade or so ago, before I had children, I had a job. This job required me to be interact with other people, many times even being in front of people speaking. Having them look at me. So it was kind of important to me that I appear at my best. Hair cut and colored, brows waxed, nails done, clothes ironed. I also had all the time in the world to spend on doing these things. I used to tweeze my bikini line, for the love of Pete (I'm saying that euphemistically, not that I tweezed my bikini line for a guy named Pete). That is a person with too much time on their hands. My disposable income was considerably more disposable, not having to buy things like diapers and piano lessons.

I now have three children and no job. And my personal grooming habits...well, they've slipped. A good day is an outfit without food on it. A good day is not getting in the car after coffee with my put together friend, looking in the mirror, and having a booger in my nose. A great day is managing to have on a decent outfit, a shower AND no booger.

Standards. I haz none.

It's not that I don't care. It's just that...okay, it's that I don't care. I have people barfing and shitting on me on almost a daily basis, I am not so concerned about my brows. Between the dead caterpillars above my eyes and my hairy upper lip, I'm looking like the love child of Frida Kahlo and Wilford Brimley. I'm a hairy armpit away from being a headliner at Lilith Fair.

The moustache bothers me. Waxing was wreaking havoc on my sensitive skin, and I never managed to remember bleach at the drug store, so I decided to just trim it at close as I could with a pair of craft scissors. DON'T PRETEND YOU'VE NEVER DONE THIS. Or at least considered it. I actually thought it was a pretty clever idea, until Sean caught me outside one day, my stubble glistening in the sunlight.

Every girl, even tired mommies covered in baby barf, wants to feel pretty. So I'm resolving this year to put more effort into my personal grooming. Tweeze regularly. Shave my legs. Both of them. At the same time.

To that end, I bought some bleach for "stubborn facial hair". The hair on my upper lip is many things - black, bristly, annoying - but I've never considered it stubborn. It figures, my moustache has an attitude problem. No wonder I have such a hard time with it.

I was going to post a picture of The Moustache, but I can't do it. Mostly because I couldn't manage to take the picture without smiling.  I'm not sure why I was smiling, I look like a cercopithecus cephus (check out my Latin! thank you, google!).

I pulled out the bleach, gave my 'stache a stern talking to, and bleached the hell out of it. I feel prettier already. 

Catching up with my photos of the day:

Monday, January 24 - Julia fell at preschool and busted her chin. They were able to glue and steri-strip it, and she is sporting her own kind of beard. I am constantly amazed at what a tough little kid she is.

Tuesday, January 25 - Due to a miscommunication with my dear husband, the delicious dinner I had planned was scrapped. Instead, I raided the fridge and found leftover chili. After a quick check of the pantry, I indulged in one of the most delicious, heartburn-inducing treats known to man. The Frito Chili Pie.

I like my Fritos on top, so they stay crunchy. Yes, that's ketchup. And a blue plastic bowl. Food snobbery abandons me on such occasions.

And a Julia and Henry conga line-