Big I, Little I or 2011 – the year of loss
2011 is unlikely to go down in my diary as my favourite year – in fact it’s one I would rather forget if I could. Looking back now, with only nine days of the year left, 2011 feels like the year of loss.
First of all the amazing Clarence Clemons of the E-Street Band died – and for everybody in the Springsteen community it was devastating – not just because of the loss of the Big Man himself but of course the reminder of the mortality of the entire band including their… Boss. I try not to think too much about that last – but then do any of us like to think about death? Ours or that of those we care about?
Around that same time, the beautiful Sandra Hyatt died suddenly– she was fine on Friday and gone on Sunday and it was a huge loss and so very sad as she was such a lovely woman.
Then in September we woke to the news that Den’s (better know to most people who read this blog as TMoTH) dad, Ian, had had a stroke. And in less than a week, he was gone. As if that was not enough, Den was invited to chant daimoku (a Buddhist chant) at the marae during the tangi and the Anglican ministers present threw a hissy fit. There was a lot of nastiness with Den’s family all banding together and taking Den’s defence and the ministers eventually being asked to leave – not exactly how you want to farewell a much loved father and grandfather.
A couple of weeks later, my mother’s cousin died suddenly and unexpectedly – and by now I was almost too scared to check my messages in case someone else had passed away.
While this was happening, we were dealing with something else that zapping our energy and attention. With work and money being so tight earlier in the year, we received a letter from the bank holding our mortgage informing us we had a four week arrears. We promptly went back to them querying this and heard nothing back. I followed up again and again and while I was still trying to get a clear answer from them, we received notice they were invoking their right to foreclose. So at this point I went straight to the solicitor, asked for the sum required to stop the action, reasoning we would pay it and then sort it out later. The bank’s answer was they were not interested in the arrears being paid, they simply wanted the mortgage paid in full.
And so it began. We asked for the right to sell ourselves and approached a local agent – but the bank insisted on continuing with the mortgagee action – which pretty much made it impossible for the local agent to do anything, so they did nothing. In early November there was a mortgagee auction and … the house did NOT sell. So the bank began marketing it and the local agent dragged his feet still pleading how difficult it was to sell if people had known about it being a mortgagee sale. We received notice last week that an offer had been made and accepted and settlement would be January 13.
During all this time we continued to pay our mortgage – and over the past two years the mortgage has always been our focus even if it meant not paying other bills. In fact I calculated recently that in four years we have paid just shy of $200,000 (yes two hundred thousand dollars folks) in mortgage payments and guess what – we’ve paid just over 10k off the sum borrowed. I have spoken to several professionals over the past two weeks – and no the bank did nothing illegal but even the solicitor I spoke to said they took extreme action in a case where they really didn’t need to – especially as we were STILL paying our mortgage. Could we have fought it? Yes probably – but then if we had had the kind of money necessary to fight it, we wouldn’t be in the situation in the first place so that really wasn’t an option.
So why are we sharing this with the world? Why aren’t we hiding in a hole and praying nobody will find out?
First of all, let me tell you, folks you do not know what situations the people you are sitting next to are in or what got them. Maybe they made bad choices, maybe they made the best choices at the time and things changed, maybe they got caught in a domino effect over which they had little, if any, control. Or maybe it was combination of all those things. My point is we do not know what is going on in other people’s lives – we make assumptions based on what we see, but in 99% of cases, we do not know. And unless people talk about it, nobody can help them. Help doesn’t have to be money. Help can be a hug. It can be listening. It can be simply not frowning and saying “but how could you let that happen?” It might be helping someone find somewhere to live. So part of the reason I’m sharing this with you is to remind you to not make assumptions and that a hug can be as helpful as a hundred dollars.
The other reason for sharing is to tell you something you may not believe and that is this: there are worse things in life. You go through life thinking one of the worst things that can happen is having the bank foreclose on your mortgage. I will be honest with you: it’s bad. It’s horrible. If I could change it, I would but… there are worse things.
I don’t want this to sound holier than thou or blasé but like it or not, however bad this situation is or feels, the sun keeps coming up every morning. Some days that is really annoying too I might add – some days I want to pull the covers over my head and ask the world to go away – but when the sun comes up so cheerfully you can’t do that. So I get up, I chant for half an hour, I find my smile and I hit the day.
I look around myself and think about the fact that ownership doesn’t make a home. People do. I’m not saying money and stuff aren’t important – of course they are and if you really don’t think so, try paying bills without money or preparing Christmas for your kids without stuff – but it is important with a Little i. Not Important with a Big I. Title is starting to make sense now right?
The biggest thing I personally have got from this year is that while I’m interested in what is important (Small I), I am a LOT more interested in what is Important(Big I). My family and friends being safe and healthy. Being able to feed and clothe my kids. Going for a walk on the beach with Dennis. Listening to Bruce.
So yes this year has been a year of loss – but it hasn’t all been bad. I had a gastric sleeve and I have lost 44 kilos since May. Weight loss: Small I, important. Being healthier – and thus able to cope with everything else: Big I, Important. Not all loss is bad….
And it’s not all bad. We’ve found a new home (Big I) to rent (small i) in Beachlands (small i) and we are all thrilled with it (Big I). Life is starting to settle down (Big I) and money is easing up (small i). I’m writing (the i for that one varies on the day …..). The kids are happy and excited about summer vacation and the new school year (Biggest I in the book – their being happy, not the new school year….)
2012 is just around a corner – so hey, see you further on down the road.
Kingdom of Days
There are just some songs that make you go ‘yeah’ – this, for me is one of those songs. No matter how many times I hear it, that’s my reaction.
There’s got to be an opening….
Or so The Wallflowers’ song One Headlight goes.
Some days you find yourself sitting at your laptop scratching your head and saying “ok well anytime now would be good”. Or is that just me?
Yesterday, although I got no fiction writing done, I did get a lot of non-fiction writing done,including the launch of a new project: Women of Inspiration and Soul. While I should be pleased with myself…I’m really still just somewhere between dissatisfied and frustrated.
Some of the problem is, as a guitar teacher once told me “you want the moon now” (it sounded better in French).Once I’ve made up my mind about something, I have no problem rolling my sleeves up and doing the hard work required, but I have little patience with all of those things that fall outside of that. You know, the stuff that is dependent on other people. And let’s face it, outside of writing your actual story, when it comes to writing, everything is dependent on something or someone (usually the latter) else. For those of you muttering rude things about me being a control freak, it’s less about control and more about “could we just get on with it?”
A lot of it though is about the harsh reality of being a writer who has yet to break through – and please feel free to substitute actor, musician, mountain climber, entrepreneur or even chocolate taster if you are still hovering on the brink of success. Being a starving actor – either metaphorically or really – has limited appeal. Particularly if you are older, have a mortgage, kids to feed, or any combination thereof. Not to mention a Springsteen obsession to nurture….okay maybe that’s not a priority, but it’s the little things in life that get you through the tough stuff remember.
This little outpouring, however, isn’t about me feeling sorry for myself. This is, after all, just part of the journey. It’s more about saying out loud what we’re not supposed to say. This part of the journey, necessary, obligatory, dues paying, or otherwise, actually really sucks. While I’m quite sure JK Rowling appreciates her success even more because of the tough times she experienced while penning it – quite literally and on the back of cafe napkins as we all know – I bet she’s enjoying this part of the trip a whole lot more than that part.
So I ask myself, just what am I going to do about it? Well, I’m going to go find my smile – it’s probably under the stain on the carpet where the dog threw up this morning (not once but twice – thanks buddy) – and I’m going fill the coffee cup and get back to writing.
Because the reality is – that opening I’m looking for so desperately is hidden in there somewhere, I just have to find it.
Decisions, decisions…
I’ve been talking a lot about my fiction work lately, mostly because I really like to read and write fiction. Becoming a novelist is my ultimate goal – no wait, that’s not quite accurate – becoming a successful novelist is my ultimate goal (though at this stage, I admit, I’ll settle for published….). None the less, I do also enjoy reading and writing non-fiction (and considering I’m a journalist this is probably a good thing don’t you think?)
One of the challenges I’ve discovered is that often writing becomes an either/or activity. Either you are a popular writer or a literary writer. A novelist or a non-fiction writer. Someone even said to me the other day they wanted to achieve two things with their writing: one best seller and one prize-winner. See? Another either/or.
For me, it’s fiction up against non-fiction. I love both equally, whether reading or writing. And yet when I spend time with one I constantly feel like I”m cheating on the other – and yes I’m sure it says a lot about my personality that I consider it an act of infidelity, just book me in on the couch already.
Like most writers when I get lost in a story – regardless of genre – I find it hard to pull out (um…no….let’s not go there) and lately I’ve been caught up in my fiction writing. I’m hesitant to let it go – I don’t want to let it slip away or even worse, give that rotten Internal Editor the chance to wake up and start bullying Ms Muse.
But this morning I have the urge, drive, need, desire to work on It’s NOT that simple (INTS). I had set it aside simply because I was waiting to interview a bariatric nurse. I am still waiting to interview her – she’s kind of busy, being a nurse and all – but today I want to work on the book. MS Muse however wants to work on Six Important Things.
The obvious solution to this is to apply some discipline and if you have read any of my earlier posts and/or you know me, you know that I’m not so hot on the D word. It’s not that I don’t try…it’s just that well I’m rarely successful. I start off really well and then kind of get sidetracked by shiny things and M&M’s along the way. Discipline is the behavioral equivalent of almonds in my book – I know I need to eat the things because they are good for me but I really don’t like the taste.
Sigh.
I have no problem at all with splitting my day into segments to work on non-fiction during one part of the day and fiction during the other.. What worries me is how I’m going to make myself adhere to the schedule. If I was any good at that I would be at the gym right now instead of updating my blog – and don’t ask how many webpages are open alongside this…because to be honest you don’t want to know.
How do other people – especially writers – do it? What little tricks do you use to keep yourself on your best writerly behavior? Apart from not using the word writerly….
What kind of writer do I want to be?
I’m one of those strange people who don’t believe you have to be a Great Writer (the caps are deliberate) in order to be a Great Storyteller. Like love and sex, each can exist without the other and it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.
Let’s take a look at one of the shelves in one of my book cases (I have a lot of both books and book cases) the complete Harry Potter series, Twilight (the first book),Candace Bushnell’s original Sex and the City, Niffenegger’s The Time Traveller’s Wife, Alan Paton’s Cry The Beloved Country, The Well Read Witch, AA Milne’s Winnie The Pooh, and a funny little book called The Daughter’s of Megwynn. The first thing that shelf tells you is that I’m hopelessly disorganized when it comes to my bookshelves (which is probably unsurprising to many who know me) and the second thing is that I have fairly ecclectic taste.
If I were to admit I enjoyed the Harry Potter series and the first of the Twilight books, I’m sure plenty of people would be quick to point out all the things wrong with them – and the reasons would vary from poor writing to vampires shouldn’t sparkle.
My eldest son was about eight when the Harry Potter books first came out and he devoured them. In fact the collection we have is so battered and dog eared you’d think they came from a library rather than just one family. These books have been read, and read again. Over and over. The story still captivates him – even though he’s a 19 year old musician covered in tattoos. I enjoyed seeing his enjoyment so I read them. She may not be Shakespeare, and to be honest The Goblet of Fire leaves me cold, but I thought Rowling told one hell of a story. In fact I’d read Harry Potter over MacBeth any day ( I think I just heard them revoking my NZ Society of Author’s membership).
I felt the same about Twilight. I fell into the story and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Did I think it was the best piece of writing I had ever read? Well no, though I’ve seen worse, but it was a great story. A great love story. The fact that the vampires sparkled never bothered me because I never viewed it as a vampire story. The story that captured me was the story of two young people falling in love, who technically shouldn’t be together. Some other writer has dealt with that hasn’t he?
And let’s be honest here – I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I would love to be the next Rowling or Meyer. Does that make me a sellout? I don’t know and I don’t care. At 44, starving artist has lost its appeal….
Anyway….I didn’t like The Time Traveller’s Wife. I loved Niffenegger’s writing. She certainly could make me see what was happening – but not once did the story engage me. I felt no sympathy or empathy or even interest for any of the characters (except the father’s landlady). I didn’t care what happened to them – yet I always felt sorry for Snape and could cheerfully have booted Bella in the Potter and Twilight books. The Time Traveller’s Wife just left me grumpy and irritable and I had to force myself to keep reading.
The jury is still out on Sex and The City although I loved the TV series. The Well Read Witch is a directory of books for …well….witches. The Daughters of Megwynn is a great little story that I found hidden in the back of my mother’s bookcase. The writing is at best…correct but it’s saving grace is great characters and a lovely storyline.
The ideal book for me is either of the two remaining on the shelf: Winnie The Pooh or Cry The Beloved Country. About as far apart as you can get in style and subject I grant you but both, for me, are brilliantly written and brilliantly told stories.
And while that’s the kind of writer I dream of being – one who is both a good writer and a good storyteller- if I had to choose, I think I would opt for being a great storyteller. Why? Because I love how my kids got lost in the worlds they were reading about. Because I love the way I feel when I’m lost in a book. Because quite simply, nothing beats a really good story.
Of Words, Weightloss and Weeping
It’s been a funny old week. From the loss of Clarence Clemons to the ridiculous comments by Alisdair Thompson of the EMA (don’t get me started), to inspiration for a languishing novel and finally to breaking through a weightloss plateau – to be honest it’s been exhausting.
Oddly enough three of these things were intimately connected – and Thompson’s comments are the missing component (did I mentio not to get me started on that?). Let’s begin at the end,shall we?
For the past week the scale has been hovering around 80.2 kg – it has driven me mad. Regardless of what I ate or how far I walked – and I’m up to five kilometres a day so yes I’m walking – that damned scale would.not.move You would think after years of battling with my weight, a plateau would be something I would be used to. And let’s be honest – a plateau at 80kg is different to one at 105kg isn’t it? Well, isn’t it? No. It’s not.
To be perfectly honest with you – it’s worse. At 105kg I was kind of resigned to not seeing the numbers drop despite busting my ample butt on the cross trainer while living on chopped lettuce. At 80kg, after weeks of seeing the weight slowly but surely disappear, it has been incredibly frustrating. And yes a little frightening. At the back of my head there’s been a voice whispering “this is it – not going any further. Gonna start creeping up again. You’re gonna be the one this doesn’t work for.” Ridiculous? Yes. Arrogant? Yes (like I’m so special that I’m going to be the only this operation fails? Get a life woman) Impossible to ignore? Absolutely. I found myself obsessing about everything I ate, about how my clothes felt, about whether or not I had drunk enough water.
Then this morning the number changed and on that little electronic screen blinked the numbers seven and nine. 79kilos. My weight has not been in the seventies since my eldest son, Josh, was a babe. As in a “oh he’s lovely, well done, does he sleep well?” babe. He’ll be 19 this year – so it’s been a while. The relief I felt when I saw those numbers was huge – and it got me wondering if I had done anything differently this week.
Well yes I had - I spent much of the week distracted by the grief of Clemons’ passing. I was hanging out on E-Street with the rest of the Springsteen world, trying to take in the loss. That distraction meant I wasn’t listening to that annoying little voice and I wasn’t thinking (read:obsessing) about the numbers. I was just getting on with my life. As the lovely Jenna from Twitter pointed out – plateaux are normal as your body readjusts. Obsessing about the numbers serves no purpose. Climbing on the scales every ten minutes serves no purpose. If you are doing all the things you are supposed to be doing to be healthy, obsessing is of absolutely no use to you at all – and you know folks, I know a thing or two about obsessions (if you don’t believe me, come on out and let me show you my Springsteen collection sometime….) I am also painfully aware that that is much easier to say than it is to do. So a little distraction was really just what I needed.
In a funny round about way that weepy distraction also helped unblock a story I’ve had sitting in a drawer for nearly seven years. Back when I first decided to try writing, someone said “why don’t you write a sexy, rock and roll, romance?” and while that may leave many of you reaching for a barf bag, that kind of appealed to me, so I got started. Then got stuck and ever since it has just sat there waiting for me to come back to it. Even though every time I’ve picked it up I’ve been absolutely stumped at what to do next, I haven’t been able to bring myself to toss the damned thing out.
Fast forward to Wednesday. I was reading a newspaper article about the memorial service for Clemons at which Springsteen gave the eulogy and was struck by the sentence: “Springsteen went on to eulogize his friend – breaking down only once, when describing that first meeting …”
In some ways it felt a little like voyeurism – are we really meant to know this intimate detail? I don’t know if I have an answer to that – but I do know that the image stayed with me all day. And that night when I went to bed, as I lay there thinking about it in the dark, I knew what to do with my story. The story opened up and I figured it out. I am extremely proud to say I did get out of bed and make notes so I wouldn’t forget it overnight. Good thing too – my dreams that night were even weirder than usual and involved emperor penguins and chilli. Don’t ask – suffice to say, I would not have been able to remember anything had I not made those notes.
So, what started as a painful week ended up being, if not happy, at least productive and inspiring. And really – some weeks that’s enough.
See you a little further on up the road.
Image: http://russelldavies.typepad.com/advertising_practitioner/2008/12/79-short-essays.html
One month down the track….
So…I’m one month on from surgery today. I weigh 81.5 kilos and I feel great. I’m walking every day for at least 40 to 50 minutes and I’m slowly reintroducing my yoga routine. I’m baking and cooking – which is ironic given how much I avoided it prior to my surgery. And I’m writing – I’ve passed the 10k mark on “It’s not THAT simple” – and to celebrate I’ve started redecorating my writing room so it’s warmer and reflects what I do and who I am more.
A month ago I could barely walk my daughter to school without being exhausted for the rest of the day. Now I can buckle five kilometres and be ready to start again. I love that. I love that my new watch is going to be too big before long – there are only two holes left on the strap. I don’t love that my engagement ring is in danger of falling off at any moment however – it’s even too big for my middle finger (leave it alone) and when it’s feeling particularly precarious I slip it on my index finger, but I suspect that will only be a temporary measure at best. Hmmmm…..I wonder if this means I get to go jewellery shopping….
Working on this book is proving challenging – well more challenging than I anticipated. It never ceases to amaze me the buttons that are pushed when you bring up the word ‘weight’. What does amaze me is who the people are whose buttons are pushed….wow. I’ve managed to annoy Weight Watchers already with the suggestion that ” because not one size fits all (pun intended) I want to highlight different programmes available to people in order to reach a healthy weight”. I was informed that not only does Weight Watchers work for everyone, but if I had not succeeded with it, the problem was me, not the programme. Hmmmmmmm…let me think, I was training for a duathlon, I was following the Weight Watchers programme to the letter and I put on four kilos. I accept that my body seems to require very few calories so yes in that sense it is about me – but in that case, their programme does not suit my case. In which case, one size does not fit all….
Jenny Craig to my surprise – this is what I get for having preconceptions – has been very open to dialogue and helping me gather the information I’m looking for.
I have to say it’s an exciting adventure and I’m enjoying it - the healthier and fitter I feel, the more I wish everyone could feel this good.
Nearly half way there - from this to this
Where is the damned book?
I was very tempted to title this entry ‘the best laid plans of mice and men’ but I figure one literary reference in the title is enough – two is just showing off. Given that Sunday mornings are my sleep in mornings it says a lot that I am up and about at 8.14 am, rather either still sleeping or reading a book in bed. This is what I get for watching Eat, Pray, Love last night and promptly feeling guilty for letting my routine get out kilter – and for abandoning yoga for a year.
Once the movie was finished I marched my fuzzy, little self down here to The Writing Room (love the Pooh Bear capitals?) and decided to knock out a couple of hundred words. The writers among you probably know what I am about to say. Nothing happened. I’m not sure if it was because I was tired or because I was still really thinking about Liz Gilbert or if it just wasn’t the right moment, but I found myself at a deadlock. So, I made the mistake of casting a quick eye over what I had already written – and that, folks, was that. I was back in my old familiar place of “what on earth do you think you are trying to do woman? This is rubbish.”
This is a familiar place for me – I start off feeling confident, I make the decision to just put everything on the page and worry about it after and then I hit this “oh jeez who am I kidding – nobody is ever going to read this garbage” plateau. I know this plateau so well I am just about ready to start decorating it and calling it home.
Last night, I decided I would try and break through the plateau with some advice from other writers so went in search of a book I have called See Jane Write – a book intended to guide aspiring Chick Lit writers. Unfortunately in my last wave of tidying, I must have tidied the damned thing away somewhere safe – and I’m damned if I know where. I was doing so well too, after the online course I had done. SIGH.
Which means I either have to untidy the house, or retidy it, or battle on without the book. I’m not sure that any of these are actually viable options so here I sit on my plateau, cross and bored with myself and wondering what on earth to do next.
No book, short story, or anything else is going to see daylight if I am forever trapped on this plateau and unable to break through the first 5,000 words. Never mind whether it’s good, bad, or otherwise – I just want to finish it (and boot that stupid damned interior editor who keeps bringing me to this plateau out for good).
Any writers out there who have been on this plateau and know how to find the exit – please help. Send me a torch or a map or something. Anything. I’m lost in here and I don’t even have any chocolate.
What the…..
I am overweight. No secrets there. I am on the waiting list for a Gastric Sleeve procedure in the next 12 weeks – but this post isn’t about my choice to do this. My sister Fiona has had the procedure – very successfully -and this post isn’t about her choice either. It is about good old fashioned respect.
Earlier this morning my sister sent me this video: 23928807
I’m not sure if I’m disgusted or embarrassed by it – but I’m certainly upset one way or the other. Now let’s be clear -I’m aware these are actors in this case but I have seen this kind of thing happen over and over again.
Why does our society think it is okay to pass judgement or even just comment on the way another person looks or what they choose to eat because they are overweight?
This video upsets me not because I’m an obese woman and I sympathise with what happened but because it’s wrong to disrespect people because of the way they look.Why do people think it is okay to humiliate obese people – especially obese women – with words or actions? Does their obesity – whatever caused it – justify a lack of basic decency and respect?
If my slim friend buys an ice-cream nobody bats an eyelid -if I buy an ice-cream I get treated to disapproving glares, stage-whispered comments, and even at times outright condemnation from people I don’t even know. If my slim friend goes on a diet everyone is very respectful of her tuna salad – if I go on a diet everyone is offering me chocolate or cake.
What IS that about guys? Seriously – what makes it okay to tell people they need to lose weight, then to humiliate them and finally to actively sabotage them when they try to make changes?
Why every girl needs a plunger…
You may be forgiven for thinking when I talk about gadgets that I am referring to, and only to, the electric/battery operated/modern technology variety. But no – not all gadgets have to be electric to be either essential or exciting.
Now before we go any further – I am not referring to ‘those’ gadgets. Should I ever decide to discuss ‘those’ gadgets, I will give you sufficient warning.
I am in fact referring to a recent incident that took place in my shower. Stop looking at me like that – I’ve told you, this is a G rated post.
There are few things as delicious as a hot shower first thing in the morning – and few things can spoil that experience as fast as finding yourself in water that is already ankle deep and getting deeper by the second. In fact, the shower box was threatening to overflow on to the bathmat.
I ran a frantic toe over the shower base – sometimes those annoying plastic labels on the shampoo bottles can slide off the bottle and form an effective if invisible seal over the drainage holes. As it turned out, this was not the case. In fact no impediment to drainage was visible at all. Just as the first drips were indeed slopping over on to the ensuite floor I yanked the mixer to off and grabbed a towel.
Shampoo dripping in my eyes I went in search of help.
Now, I long ago learned if there was one thing a woman should never do it’s interrupt a man who is eating breakfast. Especially if the interruption involves an ‘emergency’ in the bathroom. In my experience, even the most sensitive, adoring, adorable, and new age of men will metamorphose into a John Wayne-esque ideal of chauvinism. The spider is neither big nor threatening, the water temperature is perfect, the towel rail is supposed to slant that way, and there is nothing wrong with the shower that waiting fifteen minutes won’t fix. Fifteen minutes of course being the time required to finish their muesli and coffee.
So I took myself off downstairs in search of The Required Gadget – yes a good old fashioned plumber’s plunger. Ignoring the ridiculous comments offered by the teenage members of the family regarding the evidence of dementia in the form of the shampoo bubbles now slithering down my face and neck, I stomped back to the bathroom.
I was torn as to whether I wanted to find the shower box exactly as I left it or I wanted it to have drained away, thus proving The Man of The House right. The latter would mean days of irritating “I told you so” comments but the former ran the risk of being decidedly gross. Both equally distasteful in my opinion – and after all it’s my blog so you’re stuck with my opinion.
Without wanting to form too great a visual in your mind, unblocking a shower with a plunger involves being on one’s knees and some vigorous pumping action. I know how it sounds – but there is no other description so I apologise and suggest you visit www.icanhascheeseburger.com to clear your mind, but I digress.
There was a somewhat disconcerting squelching sound as the plunger broke free of the shower floor, sending a wad of long hair flying and the soapy water draining. And as gross as that all sounds – it was far worse experiencing it firsthand.
As tempting as it was to get in the shower and rinse off – the shampoo was now forming what felt like a concrete skull cap – I had one more job to do. Scrape up the offending hair, hold it at arm’s length and go and find those responsible.
Oh, yes, I knew who it was. Both Miss 10 and I currently have short hair. TMoTH has a Number 4 cut every six weeks. That leaves two teenage boys – both metal heads and both sporting long, flowing locks.
Let’s just say there have been no repeats….see you further on up the road.
