We are on vacation.
Hashtag: life; reality; parenting; humor
No rest for the wicked…
Oh, wait. I mean the mommies (smile and wink).
Greetings from La Jolla sunny California!
Okay, we have had a lot of laughs on this particular blog site about eyebrows. I, alone, am a living, walking, talking, breathing eyebrow failure of a woman. BUT TODAY…today it was all about a lesson my son was teaching my youngest daughter. And, I am willing to bet, it’s a lesson that YOU, AS WELL, didn’t even know 😉
Maxwell (age 4), sitting at our lovely farmhouse renovated table, messy hair, and slightly hoarse morning voice, eating the “talking” cereal with his little sister, GoGo Bean (aka Josephine Diane), looked excitedly at her and proclaimed, “JOSEPHINE!!!!! You’re growing EYEBROWS! Soon you’re going to turn into a MAN!”
And as excited as he was for Josephine to turn into a man, this newfound knowledge did not sit as well with his 3-year-old sister who then proceed to cry, “I DON’T WANT EYEBROWS!”
Entertainment abounds, my friends…
Even in the art of eyebrows!
Okay, seriously…Like I may be 41—but in my mind I am still some smoking hot babe…41 in wisdom, 25 in beauty and 18 in youth!
And then I go to my mirror…and I’m like 41??? 51???? WHO IS THIS WOMAN?!
Reality registers. Oh, yes. It’s me. Brooke Heidi. I know me. I have been me for a whole lotta years now.
Then I go into the other room and fresh out of the shower comes some man. He has a lot of wisdom in his hair—which, in my wife-y opinion, makes him even WAY WAY WAY hotter!
And then he is dressed to the 9. LIKE HIS STYLE IS SO AWESOME. And he is just like, “Who me? Oh, I just got out of the shower. No big deal.”
It’s like a magazine cover walked into my home and here I sit—FEELING 18, THINKING 25 Hot Babe, and LOOKING like the extinct dinosaur.
How is it, Women?
Does anyone else out there have that husband problem—or is it just me?
Now some of you may say, “But, Brooke, you haven’t changed at all.”
STOP RIGHT THERE!
I’m not sure I take that as a compliment anymore.
Have I always been this frumpy? This messy? This wildly out of control?
Has this always been me?
Have I been blind sighted by my own wild imagination?
HAS MY MIRROR BEEN LYING TO ME ALL OF THESE YEARS???
So with those words, I shrug them off and say…
It’s all my husband’s fault.
Isn’t that the mantra of marriage anyway????
(Smile, smile…wink, wink!)
With that humor, I’ll sign off and say HAVE A GREAT DAY!
The true half of crazy (B)
Several years ago, I was sitting in a meeting of International Women. I was seated next to a beautiful Danish woman. She had 2 children. I had 1. One 4-year-old daughter.
We bonded over that mere fact.
And, as we were virtually strangers, yet with something HUGE in common, we had a lot to talk about.
Okay—we had parenting and mom-ming and kids to talk about.
But it was one of the deepest conversations of my life.
We looked at each other and both of, respectively, said, “We are so thankful that we don’t beat our children.”
It’s as if we were leaning over to give one another high fives for keeping our children alive.
We spoke on HOW difficult parenting is. How hard it is to practice restraint. How MUCH you want to, well, basically, put your child in a VERY big box and shut the lid.
It was so refreshing to have an honest parenting conversation with another mom. A mom that looked like she had EVERYTHING together.
Because parenting is HARD HARD HARD.
IT, your beautiful baby, your precocious toddler—turns FOUR…FOUR!
And you think…have I spawned the devil?
And these precious creatures we have spawned literally live to drive us bat crazy. You feel as if you have no shred of self control left. You literally have to physically leave the presence of your spawn.
Parenting is hard. And I get so ridiculously crazy of these soft-spoken moms that are like “Blah, blah, blah…the beauty of parenting…AND MAKING BUTTER..” because I am all like…MY KID LIVED TODAY!!!!!
And I feel as if I should run outside and SHOUT IT ON THE ROOFTOPS!
And I feel as if they should literally make a MADE FOR TV movie about my heroism.
This woman. This stranger. She got all of that. We talked for a long time about how people really should praise mommies for maintaining control. We talked about parents that struggled with doing what’s right. We talked about how much help we need as parents.
We need help. The good parents. The bad parents. THE PARENTS. We need help.
Because our job is the biggest in the world. And it’s the hardest in the world. And we have little little little people that trust us for safety and protection and life—as they should—even while they are trying to snuff that VERY life out of us.
Right now I am raising my second 4-year-old. I say second, because my daughter was my first and she is now 10.
And she is the FINEST decade gal you will ever meet (decade gal is what she calls her 10-year-old self).
She is funny and kind. She is smart and hardworking. She is silly and fun. She is outgoing yet shy. SHE IS THE BEST!
I couldn’t ask for a more amazing child.
Yet when she was four—I thought she was the she-devil herself. And I could hardly see straight because she drove me so insane.
And I PRAYED that we would BOTH live through that phase. That phase of her being 4.
Stubborn. Screaming. CRYING…PUBLIC HUMILATION. Up the wazoo.
I felt ashamed every time I walked in public with her because of her meltdowns and fits and tantrums.
I wanted to return this child I prayed so hard to receive.
And I thought I would never make it past this phase of being the WORST MOMMY EVER!
Yet here she sits at 10 as the BEST version of any kid I could imagine building on my own. Like, literally, if I could design a child, this child would still not come out as great as my decade gal.
And so I have chosen to write this post today for me. For you. For every HONEST mom out there that is pulling her hair, just trying to survive.
I write this for the solidarity of US!
We do deserve high fives. We do deserve made for TV movies. We deserve honor and recognition that our children are alive despite the fact that we are now bald.
You are doing a fine job. Maybe some days you want to cry because you feel like you are the worst. But take a deep breath. Go in the other room. Cry. And then breathe again. Because your 4-year-old will not be a 4-year-old forever.
One day your 4-year-old will turn into your decade gal…and you will be able to look at your child and see that you have made it. You have survived. And you are doing a darn fine job of it.
Drink a coffee…Eat dessert. And breathe.
Because the teenage years are just around the corner.
Saw this on Instagram this morning…I nearly died laughing. Because. Well, just because this is not my #truth when it comes to my infamous eyebrow and s. First of all, I don’t get in shape. Second—not even my eyebrows are there!
Last—I actually never knew the internet was FULL of all sorts of quotes about EYEBROWS!
I mean…I thought it was just my blog that ranted about these top hovers. But, no. I was rolling. And so I found a few fun quotes and a few blog reminders so we all may enjoy!
Here we go…a few fun internet finds and how I tend to blend right in to this craze.
Jack Black has something to say about eyebrows, and I learned this one the hard way…When I didn’t have one: Vanity Will Get You One Eyebrow—Less
Next..I never knew how important they were until I went to make a statement about my marriage: Marital Unbliss and Lack of Sleep Had a Devastating Effect on My Eyebrows
I guess this last one is especially humorous to me since I write a blog…Haha! Enjoy the quote and the blog: Do You Want To Wax Your Mustache?
Yes. Most of my blog posting comes with utter truths of utter failures.
This one comes to you with the proclamation that I am also vain.
And that got me one eyebrow.
It’s like chin hair pops up. And out.
Do you remember a recent post I wrote about the horrifying “wax your mustache, madam?” ???????!!!!!!!
If you don’t, please click here. It did not entertain me in the least (smile and wink).
Anyhow—I’m going to one up that cosmetician and post something FAR MORE HORRIFYING than mustache waxing…
And it all comes back to my eyebrows!
I say “back to” my eyebrows—because these eyebrows are ever so famous on this here blog…
If you don’t know the henna story, click here!
But let’s not dawdle on the past—it’s time I bring you present day…
To my one eyebrow.
So, I was looking in the mirror the other day.
When your children grow just old enough to let you actually shower and look in the mirror, that’s when you realize that you’re not only tired—but also…
(Insert My Big Fat Greek Wedding voice here)
Like, seriously, my eyebrows were crazy.
And I am seeing things.
Like going a bit senile.
I could SWEAR I saw some white hair. I would like to say shiny silver…but my hair seems to be skipping that blending stage and heading for Santa Claus white.
And they were in the tip top portion of my forehead and on my eyebrows.
And they were sticking out…Like straight out.
I looked like I was heading towards the portrait of Groucho Marx, except living in Poland. And being a woman. And not being born in 1890—although my 10-year-old probably does think I was born WAY BACK THEN.
That is when brilliance struck me. I didn’t want to waste precious and painful time plucking eyebrows—I would just use this super easy cosmetic razor and give them a little control zip.
So I dug it out and zipped…
That’s when I heard it. It wasn’t the gentle hum of the razor guard. It was the vicious roar of electrifying laughter shouting, “I’m going to get you eyebrows…zip. Zip!”
And sure enough the razor won. I lost.
An eyebrow, that is.
And so—I painted on eyebrows for weeks with the hilarious, tears rolling down your face, exclamations from my daughter—“Why are your eyebrows BLUE today???!!!”
I’ll tell you why, smart girl…because I never learned how to paint on eyebrows.
Or apparently groom at all…
Here’s to you and all of your crazy! I’m here to make you feel normal and victorious each and every day!
And, go ahead…make your friend’s day. Like and share. My eyebrow can handle it!
I was dying today talking about my life with friends that I only have the immense love & privilege of seeing one time a year when I fly from Poland to the States to see and be with my parents and family.
Like…I was on such a roll—sometimes I don’t know how I pull myself off of the floor and actually walk around in this life-like motion at all. I should be more like Walking Dead Momma—and my kids should be GRATEFUL for that momma.
Anyhow—it totally dawned on me today that I am just a bit of drama.
You see, I thought my daughter was all of the drama.
I thought she got it from her daddy.
He is the Drama King. I made him a crown.
But today when I was recounting all of my guilt trips and psycho parenting moments with my children and my HOW DARE MY HUSBAND SAY THAT stories, my peeps…my tribe…those that will ALWAYS tell me the truth told me that I was the drama.
I literally had no clue. HERE I WAS—blaming ALL of the drama on pretty much EVERYONE else in my family.
It’s kind of like those that have problems with everyone they meet—turns out it is THEM! Yep—the ones with all of the problems.
Apparently, out of the mouth of true friends, I am that THEM.
But, please, please, please, please…let’s totally keep this a secret from my husband. I still need him to think that it is ALWAYS ALL HIS FAULT!
I need this.
It is what is best for the family, right?!
(smile smile wink wink)