julierichmond

This morning I woke and the first thing I took note of, after I dealt with my immediate need to pee, was my mouth. My lips hurt, they felt cracked and dry on my tongue. I went to the mirror, the dry air of fall had taken it’s toll. They were almost cracked, looked parched and appeared to belong to a much older woman. I found a pot of chap stick and smoothed it on. I went back to the mirror for one more inventory.

My mouth looked better, but I’d gotten paler than I remembered. It was like I’d scrubbed off my tan with bleach. I was pasty, a resident of the underground, one of the mole people.

I had some time so I went to work. I exfoliated with a exfoliation scrub, moisturized with a lightly tinted moisturizer. I slid lipstick on, the color of wine to make my mouth look  like I’d just eaten a plate full of berries. I patted on blush, just the way someone at Clinique had instructed many, many years ago, b.c., (before children). I curled my eyelashes, not sure why, probably that same woman at Clinique. Next I rummaged around until I found mascara. My eyelashes were looking sparse this morning, or maybe they always do. I was just looking more closely than usual.

Now that my lips were shiny, and my cheeks rosy, my eyelashes dark and curly, it was time for the hair. It’s not my hair. It is a creature in it’s own right with definite opinions and moods that most often have nothing to do with my own. It was not pleased when it was treated to some quality time with the hot iron. After the hair had been straightened it suffered the further indignity of hair spray.

Face, check. Hair, better, I guess. Downstairs I went. I was wearing my skinny jeans to make my legs look longer and, you are so smart, skinnier. There was a special bra tucked underneath 87 unmatched sports socks. I put that on.  My chest, I don’t think perky would be my adjective, but my chest definitely had a slightly uplifted attitude. Shoes, boots, two inch heels. Earrings. Perfume to cover up hairspray;.

It took me about an hour to look tan, berry fed, unchapped, untangled, a little sleeker, a few inches taller, with a mildly assertive rack. There was a lot I could have done in that hour.I could have cleaned one child’s bedroom, packed away my cd’s, started a loaf of whole grain bread, redone my resume, called my insurance company…

The older I get the more effort it takes to look different than I look in the morning. I’m not sure better is the right word, though I guess, now that I remember my first glimpse in the mirror, it is actually, a huge improvement.

I didn’t become a dog lover until I was in my forties. When I want to feel beautiful, and don’t want to make an effort, I say to Sophie the WonderPup,  “let’s go.” If I don’t want to go anywhere, and sometimes I don’t, I say “Sophieeeeeee.”

When I see myself in her eyes, regardless of my hair, or my breath, or my poorly maintained pedicure, I am beautiful. I am a goddess.

I really like people a lot and I am sincerely hoping  pale medium height women over forty  with sparse eyelashes and mindful hair comes into fashion.  Sophie isn’t the most scintillating at conversation, though better than some, and I’m short on time and a little bit lazy.

Today is Katy’s 9th birthday.

It is a gloomy, cold first day back to school after a long holiday weekend kind of day. I have to go to my work/study job so there won’t be any cupcakes delivered at lunch time. When it was time to wake her up, Katy’s dad was already at work and her brother was down the the street waiting for the school bus to Middle School.

So it was just me  creeping into her room at 6:45 singing “happy birthday”. In one hand, I held first morning coffee, in the other,  a partly unwrapped parcel from her grandma and grandpa. She looked happier to see me than she usually is first thing, but I think that’s because she was still in a state of bliss over her newly pierced ears.

I know that in the years to come, hell maybe even by next month, that things won’t be so easy between us. I know that she will begin that process of separating from me by flinging insults at my head and rolling her eyes every time I say anything. I know that doors will be slammed and my name will be whispered like a curse. I know this will all be part of her establishing who she is apart from who I am, and that it might be exceptionally horrid because so far, we have been incredibly close.

So I’m going to write this right now for you, Katy, to read then. Katy, my dear, you are a rock star and a princess. You are magic, and messes, slower than syrup and sweeter than honey. . You deserve a parade and a bouncy castle and the best I can do is spaghetti for dinner and an ice cream cake from Stop and Shop.

I wish for you the best year ever. And know that even when you want to jump on my head, or wipe the smile from my face, or deny that we ever shared a snuggle or a piece of quiche, I’m not going anywhere.

     This morning I was woken by a bird chirping. Under my bed. I am not a brave woman, I immediately ran up the stairs and woke my son to rescue me from the bird chirping under my bed. (I’m so thankful he is at the age where he can rescue me from stuff.)

     The bird was dubbed Stix. Katy’s last diorama was transformed into his a temporary home. Colin went out to dig worms while Katy looked on the computer for information about finches. While they were busy, Stix died.

     Services were held at approximately 5:30 in our back yard. We have decided Stix resting place will be next to dear Daisy and under a bush.

• 1. Colin, Katy, Tue and Christian are washing the dog in the back yard. It is was light when they started. It is dark now. Five minutes ago they were at war over who got control of the hose. Since I called them in, they started laughing again and arguing over who is the muddiest. Momma the cat is in the corner of the dining room. She’s been dying for months. Tonight Katy fed her tidbits of ham for dinner. I’m here on the computer, writing things down. Sometimes that’s the easiest, driest, safest place to be- in front of the computer, writing things down.”

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