The Great Leap Forward

This is how the time change makes me feel. (Sorry, India!)

This time change kills me every year.

Every. Single. Year. I spend the first week after the spring forward feeling like I've lost an hour each day. I stagger around all discombobulated, not quite sure which direction is up.

I know I am not alone in this. I see you reaching for another cup of coffee. I do.

The fall back gets me up a little earlier and gives me a boost, even though the dark end of day kind of sucks the life out of me. But losing an hour in the morning, ohh, it pains me.

The kids would be all cracked out today but for the fact that we took them to New Jersey for the weekend and they were so tired and off-schedule that this morning must've seemed normal to them. Unlike their parents, they weren't all bleary-eyed.

Shockingly, Jordan, who never wants to go to school, was even rather temperate this morning.

Every weekday he hopefully asks, "Is it a stay-home day?"

And instead of saying, "I fucking wish!" I say things like, "No, honey, it's a school day. You have to go to school and Daddy and I have to go to work..."

And then he argues with me. I kind of like the blind faith that if you insist hard enough, you can make it so.

Alas, this works not with time.

Today I said, "It's a school and work day. Daddy would like to stay home and I would like to stay home and India would like to stay home and you would like to stay home. But we all have to go. So please be nice to Daddy, because he would really like to stay home, too, and he can't."

I don't know if this sunk in, or if he was just feeling more reasonable, but we didn't get the squawking stalling bawling that we often get in the every damn morning.

On Saturday night I posted the following to Facebook: In NJ with Nick's family. India loves brie and pâté. Jordan hates all food that isn't waffles. The clocks turn back tomorrow. That's all I've got.

Aaaaand was informed that in fact, they go forward. Fall back! Spring forward! I knew that, I did, but maybe not so much after a couple glasses of wine and really, we're lucky Nick was in charge of the clocks.

I sort of feel like that Saturday post might sum up my week. We'll see...

Agents of Anarchy

Sid and Nancy as kids.

No sleep till Brooklyn. Or, you know, Bogota or Iqaluit or Quito.

A few weeks ago, Nick took the liberty of setting a number of world clocks on my iPad.

This past weekend, he realized there was space for so many more cities! Cities I've been to, and cities I'd never heard of! Acton? Iqualuit?

I know these are not great photos. You can, however, embiggen them for details. And size counts for something, no?

Local time first. Alphabetical from there:

See? Sometimes I actually leave the house without oatmeal on my shoulder.

So, I got a new work/date dress and I kind of really love it and wanted to share.

Fortunately, I know this is not where you turn for hard-hitting news. Or soft-hitting news. Or, you know, anything of global consequence.

But back to my dress.

By work/date dress I don't mean that I've become an escort. More that I think it's serious enough for the office but that I can tart it up for evening. No?

This is my subdued for work look. Black tights and boots. Black cardigan when I'm cold.

But I feel like for a nice date night like perhaps next week for Nick's birthday, I could wear it with pops of bright color...maybe red? Fuchsia? I don't know. I have fuchsia shoes, but they're for warm weather.

I don't have any red shoes. I probably should, no? It seems like red shoes should be a staple. But, anyway, can you wear colored shoes with dark tights? Maybe just very red lipstick? Or a bright sweater? Or scarf?

Because honestly, I can't think of any footwear besides wool socks and boots right now. Seriously, it's supposed to snow tomorrow night!?

If Snowquester keeps us all home, I'll be all, "Jordan, India, Betty, sit still so I can practice the smoky eye!"

But back to the dress: I think it makes me look super curvy and like I have boobs, which I still sort of do, but less and less as we head towards Boob Liberation Day, which is right around the corner. But there's that nice optical illusion piece in the front that seems like a bit of magic.

Turns out I had a lot more to say than I thought.

Hi! Monday!

The bare minimum?

I have never worn a whole lot of makeup, mainly because I'm not very good at it.

And I always admire women who know how to do eyes, lips, cheeks, all of it, and look so put together. 

Me, I love eye liner and mascara. I desperately want a blue mascara, and seem unable to find one. I had the best one in the 80s and never again. Saddy! I like to wear eye shadow, but it never seems quite right on me.

And I don't feel like I need it. (If need is at all an accurate term here. I recognize the first-world prolemness of this.)

So, when I look candidly and assess frankly, I know that increasingly I need under-eye concealer so as not to look like I need 54 hours more sleep. I could probably use blush (if it's still called that - seems like an archaic term) and I could use some lipstick, as my lips are rather pale.

I mean, I don't think I look terrible without any makeup, but I feel like now, with age and exhaustion, I need more help than I used to.

All that said, on work days I mostly manage concealer, eyeliner, mascara. On weekends, mostly just moisturizer with sunscreen.

So, one of my friends/colleagues sells Avon. She is one of these people who can and do pull a whole outfit-makeup hair look together on a regular basis. She really knows how to use makeup, and is up on the latest products, tries different looks, has been using eye cream since back when I should have been, and always, always has her nails done.

Basically, she's a perfect person to buy makeup from. She loves makeup and she has a rather expensive Sephora habit, and I don't know how she started selling Avon, but she and a variety of our colleagues are happy she did.

It has a number of very nice products, and she's totally helpful and candid with her recommendations.

I'll go to her and be all, "I need something for my HAAAANDS which are so very DRY but I don't like the rose smell of that one cream and the other feels a little slick and ugh..." and she is all, "Here, try this one."

In fact, she's one of the first places I turned when my pregnant tummy was itchy itchy itchy and I headed over and was all,  "HELP! My stomach! Itchyitchy! Argh! Desperate!"

Or something of the sort. Likely not even complete sentences.

So the other day I headed over to her desk to inquire about soft eyeliner and if perchance Avon has a blue mascara (no).

Her (pretty! thick! red!) hair was nicely done, and I complimented her, and we were talking about hair cuts and length and how mine is aaaaalmost long enough to pull back. And how I can't wait to be able to do that, because it will just be so much easier.

She said, "I know. It would be great to just get up in the morning and not have to fuss with the washing and blow drying and styling."

And I was all, "Oh, I don't do any of that. I wash it at night and sleep on it. I'm not even sure that mine is clean today."

 We looked at each other and I said, "Yeah. So I guess what I'm saying is, I don't do anything...and I want to be able to do even less."