I've come to the conclusion that in 2016 I should have loftier goals when it comes to personal maintenance.
I mean, I haven't completely let myself go. But I'm kind of dangling on the edge.
This hit me last night as I was scrutinizing my eyebrows, wondering if I had the energy to tackle such a monumental task - after I had looked over the fresh pimple that was forming on the developing laugh line around my mouth (really? Pimples and wrinkles? Come on) and checked over the heels of my feet, which I think are so rough they're wearing holes in my sheets while I sleep.
I think the softest part of my body right now are the legs I haven't shaved since it started getting dark at 4:00 PM.
I'd like to think it takes a certain amount of courage to let yourself go. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that so that when I actually jump off that cliff I'll feel better about the house dress that's hiding my socks and sandals. And I haven't quite gotten to the point where I've seen myself on the People of Walmart website.
But I don't think it's a good sign when you look in the mirror, shrug your shoulders and hope that the Freda Kahlo look is on the cover of Cosmo next month just so you don't have to worry about it anymore.
Speaking of self-improvement...I'm kind of irritated with Oprah.
It's hard to explain. She and I have been so close in the past and this rift between us has really been bothering me. Maybe my irritation would be better expressed in a letter.
Dear O (she lets me call her that),
What's up with this Weight Watchers thing? Like, I totally get that you want to lose some poundage, but why are you putting that on me?
Frankly, it's taking all that I have to be "my best self" - I've meditated with you, I bought that "reasonable" blouse you put in your magazine for $540, and I've taken a hard look at my career and relationship choices. Hell, I even put up with Gayle for you! So, I'm kind of getting conflicting messages - do you want me to lose weight or be my best self?
Because I'll be honest. Those are two different things.
When did my best self become not enough? When did our relationship take this turn? I thought we were in it for the spirituality - not to rock bikini bods in Daytona next year.
Anyway. Get back to me when you can. Sorry about the ketchup stains on this letter.
I feel like it's okay for me to change the subject now because...well...it's my blog and I can do what I want.
Yesterday I had my first Who The F--- Are You? moment with a kid since moving into our new house.
Now, I realize that much of what we tolerate with children these days is very generational: I grew up in southern family and it was a requirement, way back when, that you answer an adult with a "yes ma'am" or a "no sir." The table was always set for dinner. My sister and I were often The Help at my parents' dinner parties.
My kids really don't do any of that. And I know that has to drive my parents nuts.
Anyway, I had this kid over yesterday - 10-year-old-girl - who came home with my daughter after school. First, her parents had no problem with her coming over, even though they'd never met me and didn't know where I lived.
And in the space of an hour, this child was a whirling mass of destruction with a peppy little ponytail.
Last night my daughter was treated to the "be careful who your friends are" speech, followed by my reminder that she was part of a club that was supposed to stop bullying at school. This ended up with us agreeing that my daughter was not going to spend much time with the Tasmanian Devil and will eat lunch with the kid whose feelings have been hurt.
So, I'm sorry, little child whose parents should be paying attention and aren't. I'm guessing that since my daughter had to clean up your mess in my kitchen (that pot took her a while) and her bedroom, which was then followed by a lecture from me (and I suspect her older brother and sister as well)...I don't think you'll be invited back.
And, if my daughter has a lapse in judgement and agrees to have you over after you invite yourself (as you did yesterday)...I assure you I will put a stop to it.
My daughter might play. But this mama don't.