The Ramblings of a Long-Lost Beatle

I feel like I haven't been the bloggiest lately. (Yes, that's a word. Because I said so.) The Cases are slowly recovering from the Last Cold of the Season (Yes, that's a proper title.), so time I might normally spend regaling y'all with the witty trivialities of our lives is instead used up wiping noses, administering Benadryl, and hacking all over my sleeve.

Makes you want to jump up and bring us a cake, right? Or maybe just stay the heck away.

Right?

The upside is that we are winning this battle, and perhaps, in light of the fact that trees are budding and tulips and opening up, this will be the last sickness for awhile. I certainly hope so. Or perhaps I am in fact experiencing my usual spring allergies, and I'm in for another round of "Guess Which Allergy Medicine Will Work This Year!" This is my all-time favorite springtime game. I seriously never know and I usually end up with 362 different kinds messing up my medicine cabinet. Walgreens loves to see me coming.

But enough about sickness. That's what old people talk about, and y'all, though I might be closer to 30 than not, I am definitely not old. Instead, I will tell you about how we are excited to have our in-laws coming to town this weekend, and how Stephen and his dad have several household and outdoors projects they hope to complete, one of which is assembling our new-used swing set. The 'rents are coming in specifically because of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra concert we will be attending tomorrow evening, which was a Christmas present from them. Yes, we just went last week. Yes, we realize how late we will be getting in. But we're really excited. It's the full orchestra this time around--I may not be able to get away wearing jeans this time.

What else? Oh, yes, my dear, dear hairdresser, Kim, who is genius personified, cut my hair into a cute, jaunty little asymmetrical cut this morning, and I just adore it. Kim is much more organized and inspired than I am. A couple of months ago I announced my desire to grow my hair out again, and I haven't given it much thought past that announcement, unless you count forgetting last month's hair appointment completely and letting myself start to look like the long-lost fifth member of the Beatles. (When they were in their shaggy, moppish stage, of course.) When I went in this morning for my appointment, she showed me several chic styles she had bookmarked in a magazine, and I wanted to hug her for her forethought and attention to fashion. I agreed to whatever she said, and the result is something cute and different and altogether fabulous. Plus I don't have to deal with the typical awkward growing-my-hair-out-oh-dang-it-looks-weird stage.

And just for the record, my husband's reaction went along the lines of, "Oh no, what happened?" He maintains that he was concerned Kim had slipped and cut my hair too short on one side, as if she is a novice without any ounce of sense. I wonder if he will ever wake up and learn what NOT to say.

Is there any hope?