I had a phone call with my momma yesterday. Our calls are long, hours long. We bounce from one subject to another and then back again, crack a joke about everything we learned was better to laugh about than to cry about, and then finally bring it all to a close with five to twenty “I love you’s”. I took my hair down during the conversation, the hair that has been up in some Elizabethan-era hairdo since Sunday. I am not going to complain about the humidity again…yes I am. My hair is naturally very curly, well, maybe not “very”, especially post-pregnancy (that is another thing no one warns you about), but it is curly. The high humidity which makes me want to float down my river word brain more than anything else, takes my hair to new levels. I contained her all week under hats as much as possible and securely restrained her from starting shit with anyone. She is a real treat when she climbs into the air above me and occupies more space than my ass ever will. With that said, I am not sure what I was expecting, but I did take mental note after she came tumbling down from her highnesses tower that she needed to be humbled. So I washed her before bed, dried her this morning, and now we are on the same level again. It won’t last long, she is wild.

Little Chip (who I now call “Little Ricky”) loves my hair product cabinet. He sticks his nose in and can explore it forever in his little puppy life. I always think, tell him “no” and close the door, but instead, I let him keep his pointy little snout in there because it makes me feel like I am looking down on myself exploring life. So who the fuck am I to tell him no? Other than his momma, adorer, and “disciplinarian”. My momma voice is plenty enough to discipline anyone. Although yesterday when I reached my max, I added in theatrics…and spent the next couple of hours owning my shit as a human and as a Britt that had a bad mom moment and needed to say sorry to my son, and that I will do better. Being a parent is no fucking joke. Hands down the best thing that ever could have happened to me, and heal me. The best things in life are no easy feat. I use a meditation app and it gives daily inspirational quotes upon opening of the app. Yesterday read “You cannot reach new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore” William Faulkner. Thanks, Bill. I am not so sure I had the courage to lose sight of the shore, but motherhood definitely sent me out to sea and left me trying to keep my head above water while holding my sons to the sky. And I kind of explained this to Avery yesterday. I would drown myself for you, I would starve myself to keep you alive. Remember, I get really intense when I explain things as my eyes try and remain serious but are only striving to stay open throughout the laughter. But yesterday he was not laughing and saying “mommmmmmmm” and making me laugh in return. Yesterday was different, yesterday we were crying together. No music was playing, no windows rolled down, just one hand on Bossy’s wheel and the other on his thigh with both of us letting our guard down and owning our shit. Communication. It is exhausting, but is that not what you do for love? Unconditional love, love you would die for. Motherly love. The part of me that is whole is them, and so of course I give it my all. As a result, my body demanded an early bedtime because emotions totally take me underwater, and you know damn well I kept my sons above because that’s what momma does. However, they know I will absolutely dunk a motherfucker…so long as my hair doesn’t get wet, duh. 

After I blowdried my hair, I decided I wanted to try out one of the new perfumes I purchased. Apparently, one was a cologne, and now I will spend the remainder of my day walking around telling people my name is “Brett” and ruling the world. I have been wearing the same perfume for twelve years. I told you, I really don’t have commitment issues in the strangest of ways. I have been trying to venture out and replace my “signature scent” but it is seemingly just too fucking forced at this point. All the ladies have grown to know me at different stores as I sit on the floor and talk out loud to myself as I spray and smell a variety of perfumes. I think they started coming up to me adamant to find “the one” for me because most people would when they see a person on the floor talking to themselves and laughing. Hell, maybe most actually would not, maybe that is just me, and maybe that is how I ended up kissing that homeless man in Austin when I was a teenager. This time was different, this time I met one of my soulmates because of it (sorry homeless man in Austin). She was standing a few feet away from me, sprayed a swatch, sniffed it, and said outlaid “Ew, what the fuck is this?” Ma’am, that is the scent that brought us together, a scent of the cosmos. I told my sons about the encounter and explained that I did not talk to her because I did not believe she would believe me when I told her she was inspiring to me and I needed to know her over the fact that she simply was just talking to herself as if her best friend was right by her side. Missed opportunity. Remember that website “meet up”? I used to use this shit out of it when I lived in California. It is just a website full of different groups of like-minded people or interests. Running groups, nighttime running groups, people who like to run with dogs, people who talk to themselves, hiking groups, boxer breed-loving people, proud Subaru owners, picky eaters, specific tequila requirements to avoid headaches and hangovers, Elizabethan-era hairstyle-wearing folk, foul-mouthed parents, don’t talk to me in the morning, I get distracted by everything souls, honk at me and I will cry but flip me off and I will marry you…whoa, Britt…I was starting to describe myself there, but you get my drift. And now I am briefly taking a break to see if I even remembered the website name properly and if so, if these groups exist. Please hold. Ok, yeah, the website is right. Fuck, you just never know nowadays with all these stupid fucking inorganic ways of meeting people, but I “met” her, and I hope to see her again. Preferably on the floor talking shit to Tom Ford “himself” because you know damn well I will back her up with my momma voice.