Dolled Up

Uh-oh, watch out. I've finally discovered a thing or two about textures and layers . . . but it may be too much. I feel like a young girl that's just been handed her first blusher. Haven't got a clue how to blend and be subtle and sophisticated. In fact, the first day I was allowed to wear cosmetics of any sort (at a very self-conscience 14 years of age), I went to a youth group function and was told by a leader that I looked sick. As in actually ill. Apparently the apples of color on my cheeks looked something like the flush of a fever -- there was laughter which likely increased the surreal effect of blush on my cheeks! My lingering phobia of cosmetics aside, I've had fun tinkering with these pictures.  But is it too much? Do these little butterflies need a tissue and a mirror?
Another weekend is coming to a close. A basket of clean but not folded laundry is at my feet. A bowl is waiting on the counter for me to mix up some baked oatmeal for breakfast this week. My kids may finally be asleep . . . and I don't know what to do with myself. There is often a bit of angst about watching the sun go down on the weekend, anticipating the return of routine and the expectations of the week. We're a crazy lot, us humans. We pine for our "down time" and then get all anxious as we watch the minutes tick by, robbing ourselves of being truly present. 

We moved around quite a bit while I was growing up and towards the end of my 5th grade year, we were packing up again. I was old enough this time to know what this move would mean -- uprooting from a place that had become comfortable, struggling to make new friends and get situated all over again. The school year wasn't over yet so we must have had weeks if not months until the move but I was dreading it, sick with sadness when I thought of leaving one friend in particular. She and her family invited me to a dog show out of town. I wasn't supposed to be able to go because I was grounded for something or another. My mom relented when she saw how important it was both to me and my friend. That morning, the family came to pick me up and I burst into tears. I was too sad to go! My dread of saying goodbye quite literally robbed me of the opportunity to spend a wonderful day with my friend. 

Perhaps a rather heavy metaphor for the angst and general bad humor I can feel at the end of a beautiful Sunday such as today. I look around at the unfinished or partially finished chores and think of the days that stretch ahead and I just get grumpy -- sometimes. Not all the time. Thank god, my husband says! I guess, it's not just the end of a weekend . . . it's the end of the summer and the beginning of momentous things as well. Its an in between place. Transition. A place of growth and ambiguity and a touch of ambivalence. 

On that note, I can smile with acceptance at my moodiness. This will pass. I continue to grow and change. One day, I may even wear eye shadow:)