shopping.

So I know this may come as a HUGE surprise to most people...but I hate shopping.  Clothes shopping that is.  I don't mean like, "oh I just feel so fat" or "it takes me forever to pick something" or other things I hear some women say... I mean, I hate every single thing about it.  I hate trying on clothes, I hate looking when I know I won't like anything, I hate the smell (don't pretend you don't know about the clothes department smells), I hate walking by store fronts and feeling so confused at what people are willing to buy in the name of "fashion", shoot, I even hate having to walk by (or *gasp!* sometimes even into) the stores and having to THINK about shopping.  What I hate most, is spending one cent of our money towards something I don't care for, especially when there are SO SO many things I enjoy spending money on.  Namely music.   However, because I do in fact prefer wearing something rather than walking around naked, inevitably I have to go shopping for clothes...sometimes.  I dread these moments in my life with a passion.

A week or so ago my mother-n-law informed me she had a coupon for some percent off of total at Kohl's and asked if I needed anything.  I said no.  To which my husband replied "Sasha, you have ONE pair of jeans, go get some freaking clothes"   Whatever.  Fine.   I couldn't deny it was somewhat easier to start the process when I knew someone else was willing to buy the clothes for me.  I got a pair of jeans, and was ready to go.  My mother-n-law insisted we should get more, and I said I was fine, but she kept insisting.  Ok, I think, I'll go grab a couple guy t-shirts and THEN we can go.   Not so easy.  She wanted to at least get me a couple women's shirts.  I must say, I was fairly surprised when she picked up a couple pieces that I thought looked comfortable, and wearable.  Granted, they were flannel shirts... I am ALL about flannel.  A couple years ago I bought a brown flannel shirt in the men's department at Walmart for a cowboy costume at the daycare I was working at.  I realized I loved the shirt and much to Tyler's dismay, I kept wearing it.  I personally thought it was the most wonderful shirt I had ever owned.  

best shirt ever and best dog ever.

I'm not sure what happened to that shirt, but I'm fairly certain Tyler got rid of it.   So, a flannel shirt in the women's department?  Yeah, I'm down.  Not only was it flannel, but it had little flowers or something when you rolled up the sleeves to prove it was a women's shirt.   I really don't see what the big difference is besides the not so noticeable flowers, but apparently this one is "tyler approved" as well as "women's department" approved.  Anyway, needless to say, I own a new flannel shirt, I'm happy about it, and I had to go shopping to get it.    I feel all grown up and responsible.



The hazards of cleaning

I decided to be all housewifey the other day and dust every surface of my house.  This doesn't happen very often, I mean, I dust, but not everything.   You know what I'm talking about, you clean the same basic things over and over...but every once in awhile the tops of your dresser and books and windows have to be wiped down when you can see 2 inches of dust on them.  Or maybe you don't, maybe you regularly clean everything all the time...but I doubt it.  So since I'm too short to reach the top of the windows, I decided to stand on the bed to dust.  Rather than step gracefully down like a lady (which normally I do) I decided to plop down on my bottom from standing up, kind of like you did when you were a 8 year old on the trampoline.  It seemed like it'd be fun, jumping down on my soft bed and jumping to the floor, sprucing up cleaning time a bit.  Instead I jumped down and sprained my wrist.   
The  hazards of being a housewife.   I kept rehurting it trying to take care of the baby and various things until I finally got a brace.   Moral of the story:  only I could make house cleaning a dangerous job.  I'm pretty sure I should play it safe and never clean again.

Dream on dreamer.

Potty mouth!

About five different times this week my mom asked me, "when are you going to update your blog again?  It's so funny!"  Which, I'm  glad my mom thinks I'm funny, when I was younger I don't think she thought I was funny as much as a smart ass.  Now that I don't live with her I'm "funny".  Well, all this pressure to update has made me kind of anxious about being funny enough.   I thought, maybe this time I'll just reveal some deep thoughts about being a mom.  Truth being told though, I'm not really deep.  Whenever I try to reveal some deep thoughts (usually in various journals I've started and stopped through the years), I hope I'm coming across as intellegectual, enlightened or thought provoking.  Then I go back later and read something like, "it's amazing how blue the sky can really be sometimes.  I mean, somedays it's just kind of blue, and other days it's strikingly blue, like saphires."  I realize not only was I not intellectual, but it kind of seems like it could have been written by a hippie...high on pot.   To be an intellectual writter I think it's best if you use big words followed by good adjectives.  I find I spend too much time trying to think of fancy words to try to be intellectual so I think I'll stick to what I know.  Which is being a smart ass.  

In other news, I ran my first 5k yesterday.  I feel great about it!  Do I consider myself a runner now?  Not at all, in fact, just this week when I was running with my friend, a couple blocks into it I turned to him and said, "I hate this!"  Seems to me most runners I know, truely love it. 

You can see here, my friend Stephanie who loves running, smiling and waving at the camera, she looks like she's thinking something like "I'm running and I'm super excited about it! Hello photographer!".  I put my hand up to flip the photographer off, then decided that was inappropriate so I have the "I'm going to smile and put my hand up to wave but I'm thinking bad thoughts about you taking pictures while I'm just trying to breathe" (look closely for the slight grimace)

                               

 However, I do feel accomplished, for finishing something that was difficult, completing a goal I had set, and doing it regardless of how much I disliked it.   Everyone keeps asking if I caught the "running bug",  but the truth is I just want to feel healthy, and I don't like bugs.  

dreadlocks?

I got to work this morning and realized I forgot to brush my hair.  Not that it really matters that much, it would have looked nearly the same, but the ponytail would have looked a little more "finished" under my headband.   I wear my hair the same everyday.  On special occasions I will straighten it and wear it down... that means I am "dressed up".   I HATE doing my hair.  One of the many things that I guess would put me in that tomboy category.  I talk to girls who literally spend an hour on just their hair... AN HOUR!  Good lord I have better things to do with my time in the mornings...like sleeping in.  However, it's these same girls that do their hair for an hour(and that I think are a little crazy), that I feel insecure around.  What sense does that make to feel insecure around someone you think is a little crazy?  This is only the beginning of my silliness.  Because when I feel insecure I have a tendancy to make a complete fool of myself.  Words just start falling out of my mouth and the whole time I find myself thinking "STOP TALKING!  CLOSE YOUR MOUTH!"  I rarely listen to myself, and instead lay awake at night replaying my stupid comments over and over again in my head till I drive myself nuts.  Am I alone here? 
In other news, a three year old called me crazy today.  I told him he was right.  He was absolutely right, "your teacher IS in fact crazy".  I wonder how that conversation will replay at home.  "Mom, Miss Sasha told me she was crazy today!"  That doesn't sound too bad I guess.  It has to be better than the time my preschoolers went home and told their parents that I dumped the class fish down the sink.  oops.  I meant, let "Toto" go free to the ocean.  That's right kids, the drain from our class sink (in Kansas) leads to the ocean where Toto is now free to find his family. 
I think I'll go brush my hair.

Tyler made me do it.

Probably because I'm a preschool teacher, but before I type anything that offends anyone, I must first place the blame on someone else.  My husband insisted that I begin blogging.  Therefore he is to blame for just about anything said here.  Ok, now that that's out of the way.  Let the blogging commence.