It's home alone weekend with a twist. This time, while I'm down on the flats and the man is up his mountain, I have my younger daughter staying overnight to help out. Already she has been a tremendous assistant, fetching and carrying for me when I run out of breath after minor exercise, like walking as far as the doorway to the living room. She made dinner for me (boiled rice pasta and heated up spaghetti sauce that her sister made and froze for me, that I've been dreaming about for days), and she kept me company while we watched tons of bad TV, like Lottery Dream Home (which was surprisingly wholesome) and Princess Diaries 2 (which I know is awful but I compulsively rewatch every couple of years). And most of all, she helped with a herd of animals. She fed all of our crew, squeezed Murray at bedtime, and helped with the extras. T is out of town, and forgot that Mr S-P was also planning on being gone when he asked him to feed and care for the neighbor dogs (his two plus his girlfriend's one). I had no choice but to do it in the Mr's stead, because Hops gets overly aggressive with strangers coming in the house, but he knows his Auntie will not take any guff from him. But I needed our daughter to come with me and do the actual putting of dog food in the bowls and Kong, so that I neither handled it nor got more tired than I could handle. She steered and closed doors when needed to corral the boys in the room where they sleep, and shut the latches on Hops' crate, which saved me badly needed energy. Even with her help, it was a long, long walk between the two houses. It might seem like 150 feet to you, but to me, that was a marathon.
I finally got to tell her about the plan that has been brewing in my head for a week or two. This cycle has been really rough on my appearance, and it's gnawing at me just a bit. Even though I'm still well past the "curvy" stage, my face is gaunt from weight loss and pain. My bald head keeps getting irritated follicles, and there are stubbly hairs that never quite fell out. My fingernails and toenails are gnarly, with ridges and pits and easily broken edges. I still am not able to shower every single day, and I'm offending myself with the smell on off days. My digestive tract is every bit as bad as during the worst of my gluten-eating days. I haven't worn makeup in two months. I've officially gotten over myself and worn PJ pants in public to a doctor's appointment. In short, I do NOT feel like a girly-girl.
So I told my daughter, as she finished making dinner, when this whole thing is over, and I have hair and nails and maybe breasts that match each other in size again, I want to have a super girly day. I want all of us to wear pink and ruffles. I want to get mani-pedis. I want to wear makeup and jewelry and glitter moisturizer. I want to go out to a destination that feels entirely feminine to me, like to Shine for a Fairy Bubbles infusion drink (they say "infused with rose quartz" -- we'll discuss that one on a another day), or to the upstairs lounge at Cheese Importers, to have rosewater lemonade next to the room where they sell perfumed soaps and candles and ballet-themed trinkets. Maybe we'll go all the way to Denver and see a musical at the Buell. And I'm not restricting this to just people I know with double X chromosomes. I want as many people as are willing to play along come with me. Each can be comfortable with their own level of girliness, but some amount of pink will be required. It's a theme, after all. I want all of us to feel pretty and pampered. Even if it's just for one day, I want this to be real. I need a goal, to get me through looking and feeling like I do right now.
I had an okay day overall, but I didn't work up energy to take pictures. The Mr sent a few as the day waned from where he's camping, just down the hill from his cabin, where the kids he volunteers with will be holding their event tomorrow. His pictures were pretty enough for my theme (and I probably would have taken the exact same ones had I been there.)
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