Perhaps I should call it cookie loading?
Actually, these oatmeal scotchies went to work with Craig this morning. Shh, don't tell Caroline, but I forgot to set one aside for her, like I usually do.
I'm such a horrible mother!
Hopefully she'll forgive me; I'm a wee bit preoccupied today. Things are getting down to the wire and I have to admit that pre-marathon freak out mode is in full force right now.
I got my mind off the fact that I'm running a ridiculous amount of miles on Sunday by getting my hair cut this morning. Craig's getting his hair cut today, too. They're our marathon cuts. Although, I've been letting my hair grow (read: I hate getting my hair cut so I avoid it like the plague) since July. I wonder if cutting my locks will affect my running ability? Like Samson in the Bible. Or playoff beards hockey players grow.
Or perhaps, my shorter hair will make me run faster?
That's what I tell Craig in regards to his facial hair. When he returned from Afghanistan, took 30 days of leave, and
See. I know off what I speak.
Anyway, my hair cut didn't goes as planned. I pretty much ended up with the exact opposite of what I intended to have done with my hair. It looks okay, and not a whole lot different than previous cuts, but....I'm not sure I should always listen to a hair stylist just because I 'think' she's an expert.
Also, I somehow managed to get talked into the 'deluxe' package which included a crazy priced conditioning treatment.
My hair is rather shiny, though.
Starbucks is conveniently located right next to the hair place, so naturally, I felt inclined to visit. It's the right thing to do. I got a vanilla flavored misto instead of my usual toffee nut. I must have been feeling cheeky with my new do, or something. I should have stuck with toffee nut; vanilla was tasty, but not as tasty as toffee nut.
When will I ever learn?
Okay, enough dawdling....I have things to do: laundry, packing, eating an entire bag of chocolate chips to calm my nerves.
Packing stresses me out. Packing with Craig really stresses me out because he doesn't share my appreciation for NEATLY and methodically placing things in a suitcase. He's a willy-nilly suit case stuffer.