Martha Crocker

28 Jun

The weekend was gloriously productive.  I got a haircut, which I felt was needed.  Have you ever been to Oklahoma?  How about that wind?  Yeah.  I will spend the rest of my existence battling my hair into submission due to the freakish wind that come sweeping ‘cross the plains.  Of course, I can’t really complain all that much.  I’ll take a hot, windy day over a hot, stale day….well, every day.

So, I cut my hair.  Shortish.  I have always had shortish hair.  I’ve always loved it…until this past year.  What happened?  It doesn’t look bad on my, but it doesn’t look great either.  *sigh*  Maybe I should cut it shorter?  (Negative.) Or maybe I’ll grow it out again only to have my face hounded by stray hairs.  Curse you, universe ! (Only an ever-so-slightly joking wink.)

Haircutting aside, the kids were at their dad’s this weekend which meant an uninhibited, passionate cleansing of their rooms.  It.  Was.  Amazing.  My mild OCD could not have had more fun.  I do not even want to say how much stuff I hauled out of the kids room, but I will say it was a lot.  I know.  Wow.  Never has cleaning been more exciting.  It was made even more exciting by listening to The Flaming Lips as I threw away things with wild abandon.  Ahhhh.

I rounded off the weekend by making some homemade blackberry cobbler.   Not only was it made in my home, but it was made from scratch.  Shazam!  That’s right…I was half Betty Crocker, half pre-prison Martha Stewart.  Martha Crocker.  That’s my name, don’t wear it out. *A totally dorky wink*

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