I’ve reached the point where I no longer have any plans for my hair. All I know is that it’s looking very Mom-like, and I suppose that’s fine because I identify as a mom.
My shoes are about 75% of the way broken in. I have no complaints. The anguish makes me hard-nosed.
My wooden Mala bracelet reminds me to release what doesn’t serve me.
I was asleep less than two minutes after taking this photo. Something about the warm sun on my face and the warm dog by my side.
Lunch? Salad with a friend! Chick peas and green peppers and cloves of garlic and a tiny bit of feta and pineapple and tomatoes and mushrooms and balsamic dressing.
Scout got a haircut and provided the perfect headrest while I watched Brooke Baldwin on CNN.
Currently:
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I have the same haircut I had when I was 20. To me that is wrong, right? Do you reach a point when long hair makes you look silly?
Sigh.
(First world worry. Escapism from current affairs…)
I meant to tell you the other day that I really like your hair. It’s adorable. I guess it’s okay if you think of it as Mom Hair because you are a mom, but it’s really cute Mom Hair. It becomes you.
I would like to talk to you about breaking in shoes. Currently I’m on a program of wearing a different pair from my closet around the house for at least an hour every day. Those that don’t make it to an hour without piteous lamentation on the part of my feet, are heading to Goodwill. But your post is making me reconsider. Talk me through this, Angela; I *really* need to pare down that closet!