The state of things

I'm sitting here on a Friday night with my whole head smelling like olive oil, my husband alternately coughing, moaning and winking at me (likely a fresh case of conjunctivitis, if you ask Dr. Damselfly, along with a cold) and wondering where my day has gone. Where my week has gone. Where my mind has gone.

First, the olive oil: You know the economy. The one that almost doesn't really exist? I decided to sacrifice my salon highlighting habit in the name of the family budget. This meant a trip to my (former) favorite stylist to, as I said, "reverse my highlights." When it was all done, he declared me, as he said, "a raven-haired beauty." Oh, hee hee. It wasn't until I got home and looked at myself in good lighting (why shouldn't a salon, of all places, have decent lighting?) that I realized he was right. I now look like a contestant in the Miss Goth Universe pageant. My hair is pretty much black.

I should note my hair has never naturally been this dark.

So I consulted my next-favorite stylist, Google, and learned I could strip away some of the color by putting Prell shampoo on my dry hair for 45 minutes. (This required a trip to the store. I don't keep Prell around at home.) Then wash it out, watch the dye go down the drain, and apply hot oil.

I may have just ruined three towels with hair dye stains. And nearly burned my scalp.

But my hair still looks black.

Can I say it? Lather, rinse, repeat as needed. Tomorrow morning.

Now, the husband: He is clearly sick. Two nights ago, he came home, slumped over dinner, went to bed without saying a word and fell asleep. Leaving me to entertain and take care of Fly for the rest of the night. JP finally woke up ... just as I was putting Fly to bed.

Today, he went to the doctor, who told him he doesn't have a cold -- he has a respiratory infection. I asked him what the difference was. He said he didn't know. Back to Google again, and voila! Apparently a cold is a respiratory infection. But I think the "respiratory infection" proclamation just gives him a good reason to shuffle around the house and go to bed early. I know you're not supposed to hold grudges, but I clearly remember having mastitis once with little sympathy from JP, and another time I had a bad cold (couldn't take anything because I was nursing) and JP left me with Fly all day to go to a car show.

I've heard it said before, but it's true: When it comes to being sick, men are just big babies.

And now that I pointed out to him his left eye has been red for hours and it's oozing goo, having a possible case of pinkeye will just give him an additional reason to get out of doing things. Anything. All he needs now is to stub his toe really good, because then he clearly couldn't be expected to walk.

I'm not really trying to come down hard on JP (you know how much I appreciate my husband).

But this is all plenty to make a mama grumpy. Between a sick husband, my hair crisis, preparation for Thanksgiving and then a weeklong vacation, and being so behind in my to-do list that a birthday gift I started making for Fly (who turned two in September) will now be a Christmas gift if I'm lucky -- and assorted unraveled nerves as of late -- I need to take a blogging break. I need time away from the computer to slow down and yet catch up on real life. To make my hair brown again. I hope to pop in now and then, but I won't be around much until some time in December. I'd love to blog through my vacation, but I've heard Internet access rates there are crazy.

So, I will miss you and you and you, and I hope you have a great Thanksgiving. Don't mind my olive-oil-infused tears ... maybe they will make the wrinkles around my eyes go away.