She better be a patient woman

My son, Trystan, is a warm, loving, smart boy.  He also is under the misconception that the world is here to wait on him.


You can ususally find him wherever his is, as he has left a trail of discarded items in his wake that he, wrongly, believes others will just pick up for him.  I asked him once, after he finished a snack, set down the plate, and began to walk away, who he thought was going to put that in the sink for him.  He promptly said, “You.”  The fact that he’s still alive today, I believe, is a testament to my patience.  The day of this event is when I began to have pity for my future daughter-in-law, the woman whose house him and his ill-guided ideas will move into one day.

The other day, I took my high maintenance boy in for a hair cut.  I didn’t think his hair was needed, but he insisted it was waayyy too long.  After flipping through the books to find his next style, he showed it to the stylist and they walked away to begin.  I waited and waited and waited.  Why was it taking so long to cut a kid’s head of hair?  I peeked around the corner.  He was leaning back in the chair, his face wrapped in towels.  Hun?!?!  Then the towels came off and a massager came out.  My ten-year-old son was relaxing in the chair as a grown woman massaged his neck and shoulders!  My son stretched a simple hair cut into a mini-salon day, draining my evening couch time and my check book in the process.  It’s a good thing I really like this kid!

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“She better be a patient woman!”  ~ It’s become a standard response around here.  I don’t even know this lady, but I love her for being able to put up with him.  Whoever she is, she’ll have her hands full with his constant trail of trash and weird grooming habits, but the trade off is, she’ll be landing one hell of a great guy….if he can just make it to adulthood before I strangle him!


Facial, schmacial

Ok, so visit número dos to the salon was for facial time.  I was pretty excited.  I scheduled it for Saturday morning when I’m usually cleaning the house.  Instead of all that scrubbing, I left a ‘to do’ list for the kiddos and high tailed it put the door to be pampered.

When I got there, my esthetician, Sherri, took me back to a dimly lit room where soft music was playing and told me to take my clothes off.  WHOA Sherri, we just met and I don’t play that way!  (Not that there’s anything wrong with that. 😉  I still  love Seinfeld!)  Now, I’ve had a few massages before and I know most people swear by them, but I can not do the whole get naked with a stranger while they rub on you thing.  It ain’t happening.  I think she read my panic and explained it was really only necessary from the shoulders down for the oils and lotions and such.  Ok, Sherri, but nothing in the swimsuit area, ok?

As the facial started, it was going fine.  I really liked the soft music and someone else pampering me for awhile.  I was beginning to think that I might make this a regular experience, clothes off and all…when it happened.  Sherri popped a zit on my face.  Hi, my name is Kerry, I’m 36, and my skin still breaks out occasionally.  I was hoping, like most of us, that zits would end with the rest of the awkward adolescent phases, but hell no, they have decided to stick around through adulthood just to mess with us.  It was a bad stress week at work and Nebraska humidity has hit full force, so those little pours are in full production mode.  Now, I get that Sherri probably does this daily, hell, hourly.  She works with the face, she knows better than anyone that zit happens, but I was mortified.

She finished the facial, and I got dressed.  As I exited the room to leave, she, politely, explained to me some products I could use for breakouts and thanked me for coming it. It was hard to look her in the eyes.  It was my own walk of shame.

Facial, schmacial….. I think I’ll just stick to the pedicures.  Has it been four weeks yet?