Fantasy vs. Reality

This is one of the funniest things I've seen recently.


I totally get it. I've always been a little gangly and a lot awkward.
I joke that I was never a cheerleader and there is good reason. I
would have hurt someone with my flailing arms and poor stabilizer
muscles.

And, yet, the problem with people like me is that no matter how much
we talk about our failings, somewhere, deep down, we still believe
we're capable real fabulousness. Like the kind you see in magazines -
that's totally airbrushed and mostly computer generated.

Let me give you an example from my day...

There's not a whole lot to say about my hair. It's brown. With layers.
And the early dustings of grey. I blow it dry, and about 85% of the
time, I put it in a ponyta...I'm sorry, excuse me. I must have dozed
off out of boredom.

So, this morning - perhaps inspired by Martin Luther King in a
completely different and superficial way that he never ever intended
and would most likely be mortified by - I had a dream of good hair.

And I had just the tools and extra time to do it.

In rare form, I spent a good 20 minutes curling individual locks of
hair around a curling iron in an effort to get that loose, messy, I-just-woke-up-but-my-hair-just-happens-to-be-all-wavy-and-spectacular look
that's in every magazine right now.

I may have watched an instructional video on YouTube.

Then, just as I was finishing up the coif, the school called. Tee was
sick and needed to come home.

Now, bouncing out the door, despite the fact that neither my hair color or age had changed, I was absolutely certain I looked like this...

When I walked in the office, I was instantly reminded I probably
looked a little more like this...

My sweet 7th grader took one look at me, eyes got huge, and he turned
bright red. He actually buried his face in his hands. As we're
leaving, and I'm chatting it up with a friend, he's literally combing
his fingers through my hair trying to straighten it.

I laughed so hard I almost cried.

So, like Kenny Rogers, I searched deep within my soul for the ace that I could keep from this highly fascinating story. Here it is, my friends...

If your 7th grader has enough self-awareness to be embarrassed, and
enough energy and manual dexterity to try and straighten your hair with his fingers, he's
probably feeling well enough to stick it out through Latin.

Your only take away may be Shareese.

It's totally funny to me how much of a habit blogging became for me and then, like exercise, once I stopped for a little while, my brain - like my thighs - became strangely out of shape and blubbery.

I don't really know if my brain is literally blubbery but when I opened up this page and saw that the last time I posted was Thanksgiving, I'm imagining it is not in tip-top-writing shape. It may have cellulite.

So, in the very cliche act of starting all things new this January, I hope to both exercise and write a little more than I have lately.

I was talking with a friend today about the blog, and writing, and all that goes with it and, admittedly, it's a strange world. I love getting to know friends in the community - readers and bloggers both - but there would be times I would sit across from my closest friends here and they would say, "Amy Acquaintance (that's not really a person's name. Do you see what I did there?) asked me if I knew about something you'd written on your blog and I didn't have a clue." It became incredibly easy for me to write on here some of the things that were going on instead of sitting down face to face with a close friend - someone who knows the good and the bad and can speak into my life at close range. Sometimes, I discovered, writing it all down is cathartic. Sometimes, for me honestly, it's just easier - less personal.

And so, I hope to find that ever-elusive balance. To keep up with the incredible people I've met through this blog who I don't get to actually put my eyes on and, at the same time loving my friends and family with intention.

Which may also mean I need to log off Pinterest.

To catch up...

December was a blur of festive crazy. Dea was home and some yahoo planned three events in four nights at our house. Clearly, I am a scheduling idiot.

One of the events was the Annual Mercy Street Christmas Party. It was once again a blast and we're just thankful no blood or tears were shed this year during the white elephant gift exchange. We haven't always been able to make that claim.

We did introduce the element of a dance competition which I rocked. Or Trey begged me to sit down. Either one. You choose.

We loved being with family and without homework and watching movies together and eating chocolate covered everything which was either given to us by friends who hate me or made by me after a Pinterest bender. And now we're back to the need for exercise.

And with everything else going on, a Christmas card just wasn't in the cards this year... Wow. Yeah. Sorry for that....even though my sweet photographer friend Shareese Rowland got us all to smile at the same time. She's amazing - look her up.