My NaBloPoMo goals were met

I had 3 goals during NaBloPoMo. The first was to finish. Check. The second was to not blather about television everyday. Check check. And the third was to not write about how I didn’t have anything to write about. No matter how tempting it was. And believe me it was. Several nights I was tired and ready to go to bed but didn't have a topic yet.

I think that’s part of what makes it challenging. It forces you to actually sit down and write something despite that. And then it forces you to actually hit publish and let other people read it even though you know it’s not that great. I tend to like to read and reread and edit my writing until the end of time. That’s just not a reasonable way to operate during NaBloPoMo. But that’s good. You learn to roll with it. I'd totally do it again next year.

My energy burst from last week has ended much as I expected it to. I’m back to being tired, lazy and bitter. At least I wear it well. My Christmas tree is not up. There are 4 loads of laundry sitting in front of our washer. And our oven is broken. On the other hand, I did get to catch up on several seasons of Project Runway that I had missed. So it’s difficult to view the weekend as a total loss.

We also took our 18 month old for a haircut. Or at least the kid I like to describe as “our 18 month old.” Because, technically, he’s less than a month away from turning 2. Which makes it seem like maybe he’s not 18 months old anymore. But that makes no sense whatsoever inside my head.

Here's the kid everyone claims will be two years old in 3 weeks before the cut:

And here he is minus the pretty baby hair:

Don't bother to tell me how much better he looks. I know. But there's something about cutting off baby curls that always makes a kid look older. My heart does not enjoy the missing baby hair. My heart was prepared to cling to the baby hair for several more years. I'm in mourning for the baby hair. And maybe the baby years too. At least his chubby cheeks are still intact. I shall keep them forever. Or at least until he goes off to college and starts forgetting to call me.