Lather, rinse, repeat.

I am doing something I have never done before today, getting my hair done. Now anyone with eyes can see that I've gotten my hair dyed more times than the average bear, but today I leave Turner with a babysitter and go in search of peroxide. Chelsea has watched Turner for us five or six times. She does great, he likes her. But, we always leave him with her at six thirty or seven and she puts him to bed at seven fifteen. Thirty minutes is a lot different than the whole afternoon.
Chelsea will come over at half past eleven today. She'll have to keep Turner happy for an hour then put him down for nap. No big deal. He'll sleep for a couple hours then she'll have him for the rest of the afternoon, til say four or four thirty. No, my hair will not take that long. But I will run and search out a bigger bra. I am going to a bowling pro-shop and having them sew two bowling ball bags together. Not really, but it will be nice to be able to look at and try on intimate apparel without a color commentary. "Hey Mama! There your boobies! You get new two boob holders?" Yes he has called them "two boob holders" for a while, no I didn't teach him that.
I know I need the time to myself. Turner will have fun with an energetic teenager to torture. I will, despite my best efforts, panic the whole day because I can't see Turner. I will feel lost when getting in and out of the car without having another person to buckle. I will feel very strange not having to hold a hand when crossing the parking lot. It'll be even stranger to be able to pay attention to anything other than Turner for more than three seconds in a row.
The weather is supposed to be nice here today, so I have already decided to tell the babysitter to stay inside. Crazy logic? Good as she may be, she does not love my child with every fiber of her being. That requirement must be met before you can take my child anywhere near a street. Also, I prefer them inside behind locked doors and windows. I'll go rent Happy Feet and be fully supportive of an afternoon of gluttony and sloth. A cupcake and a cartoon never hurt any kid.
So I am a little over protective, so what? It is my right as an American to procreate. That being done, I then have to right to raise my child in any legal way I see fit. Later we'll add the right to embarrass them by any means necessary.
When Brad is working seven days a week I get a little crazy. I need a few hours "What's that ?" free. I need some beautification therapy before I can live through Sunday anyway. Why? Because my husband has ordered Wrestle Mania 23, be still my beating heart. The only conciliation to being subjected to an extra day of wrestling torture is that he invited some friends over. Turner and I will both get to have playmates over, yeah! I will probably still be the only person in the crowd fighting their gag reflex while watching, but that's OK. When ever the fake drama and bad acting get too bad I can sneak in to the bathroom and look at my newly damaged locks and smile. I need a trip to the salon, Brad needs some time on his butt to enjoy his chosen type of mindless entertainment. Everyone wins.