Next haircut will be The Schrute

I am dying. Of a cold. The Spawn had it for a day and are now just fine. Me, though, I feel like my face is about to come off. Even my teeth hurt.

The good news is that, since it hurts so much to chew, I've lost a little weight.

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Speaking of The Spawn, The Child got a haircut a few days ago. The last one went really well, and she had the cutest little bob with bangs. She fussed and squirmed a little bit, but not enough to screw up the haircut.

Then it grew out. My sister pointed out the Lloyd Christmasness of it while she was here visiting last week. As hilarious as I think this is, I decided it was probably time to get another haircut. So Jeremy took her on Tuesday evening. By himself. I was not there.

(have I mentioned that she recently switched sides from Team Daddy to Team Mama?)

They were back much, much sooner than expected. And her hair... Oh, her hair. It's not really that bad, I suppose. Especially considering how three of the four haircuts I've given her have turned out. But her bangs are crooked, and instead of the little layered bob, she now has something close to a bowl cut. With little extra-long wisps behind the ears.

Totally not the stylist's fault, I should add (though we can take her back to get it fixed for free). James said Grace wouldn't hold still, and screamed, and tried to climb up his body, and chanted "donedonedonedonedonedonedone" the entire ten minutes. Next time we're both going.

So now she looks like Lloyd Christmas got caught in a combine.

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My sister! Came to visit last weekend! And now I have nothing to live for!

Okay, that's not true. And I'm not just saying that because I know she reads this. But I need to find a new Big Thing to look forward to. I don't need much excitement in life, but I feel so aimless when there isn't a Big Thing off in the distance.

Anyway, she and my brother (both lunatics, if you ask me) ran a marathon. On purpose.

I might think they're lunatics, but I still think it's pretty awesome. Go siblings! I will cheer you from the comfy underachiever's chair over here.

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James has been picking up the slack for the last day and half since I got sick. I get nasty colds, but they're not usually this bad. I think it's that I haven't been sleeping since Emmy got here.

It's not her fault. I won't tell you how well she sleeps, since all you other mothers will want to kill me, but it's long enough that I could get more than enough sleep every night. It's the same thing I did when Grace first arrived: spend all day paying attention to a needy human incapable of irrational thought, and after bedtime, there's not way you're wasting those precious hours by sleeping. Geez.

I always regret it the next morning. Especially when I wake up wishing to be decapitated. Like yesterday and today. No pseudoephedrine, since it can affect milk supply, so I'm left without any means of relief. Except for the neti pot that James got me a few months ago. The thing is amazing, people. Sure, it's only temporary relief, but it's wonderful. I could sleep with one of those glued to my face, except that I would probably drown. They need to make something that flushes your entire sinus system. It would be amazing.

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I discovered that Netflix has the entire Office series on its website. Guess what I've been doing for the last day and a half while wishing to die. Yes, watching a lot of The Office. Also, I tend to have really, really weird dreams when I'm sick. You can perhaps imagine what kind of fresh new horrors my subconscious has invented that involve beets, Toby's dead eyes, and Dwight's cousin Mose.

On that note, I need to go back to sleep again. I'd like to be able to go to church tomorrow.