Last night, I took myself out.
It’s been a rough week in the Burton home. Paul is sick with the flu, Porter was sick and is now on the road to recovery, and I desperately needed a moment to breathe. So, I sent Porter with Grammy and Opa to clean the clinic, made sure Paul was comfortable on the couch, and I left.
I drove out to Ulta and spent a good hour pouring over all the makeup and hair products and curling irons I could handle. I bought another new sea salt spray, a new BB cream, about forty new concealers (#momprobs), and then I took myself to the only coffee stand that was open at 8:30pm and got an iced white almond-milk mocha. At 8:30pm. Clearly, I am sleep and sugar-deprived.
Anyone who asked (the girls at Ulta, the barista) what I was up to, I gave them my current life story: “I HAVE A ONE YEAR OLD AND A SICK HUSBAND AND I NEEDED SOME TIME TO MYSELF.” I was met with knowing and sympathetic smiles from the Ulta girls and a semi-confused and totally-alarmed smile from the eighteen year old barista, but I didn’t care. It’s reality, sweetheart, take notes.
I swear by hair night, and now I swear by Ulta-sprees. I don’t think Paul agrees, because he almost died when I handed him the receipt (followed quickly but a bottle of new hair product for him to try, because I love him and I’m smart like that: never return from a shopping spree without something for your spouse. I learned this the hard way.)