Who knew Meatloaf was such a motivator?

Remember in the movie Sixteen Candles, when Molly Ringwald’s character said about waking up on her 16th birthday “I just thought turning 16 would be so major that I would wake up with an improved mental state that would show in my face”?

Yeah, I got married 12 days ago and I don’t feel any different as a married person than I did as a co-habitator. I’m still in love with Corey and I cannot imagine launching into a lifetime partnership with anyone else. What is going from being a girlfriend to a wife supposed to feel like? I’m so pissed if I’m missing part of the experience.

So I cut off all my hair. Really, I vowed this summer that after 15 months of growing it out, I would cut it after the wedding. I dreaded dealing with all that hair in the wind of a cruise ship for six days. And I wanted a new look to go with my new position in life—wife/stepmother clearly equals excellent shoulder-length ‘do, no?

So today I greeted all of my coworkers with the same two questions—do you notice anything different about me? Everybody notices when you’re missing ten inches of hair. The other very noticeable thing about me took a minute…

Here’s the thing. We have the boys this week. And as is scheduled every other week when we have the boys, I take them to school in the morning so that Corey can get to work early enough to leave early in the afternoon to pick them up. Because we are a team like that. But DAMN. We leave by 7 AM. To drive to school. In Gonzales. The other weeks of the month, I am not even stirring at 7 AM. So this is serious devotion to duty, is all I’m saying.

Anyway, this week I have completed a research paper and prepared for and taken two final exams. And worked full days. And done my mommy thing, which includes getting up at 6 AM after staying up studying or writing until 1. (By the way, I tell Corey constantly when we’re both feeling overwhelmed with life, that there are people who are parents ALL the time, so we can certainly be a success at this half that much.) I’m fucking pooped, is all I’m saying.

This morning I got up early, dressed us all, got us all out of the house, spent three hours in an economics final, grabbed some lunch and went to work. In a meeting at 3 PM, my friend Ashley whispered at me from across the room, “what’s up with your shoe?” I spin from the desk to process this inquiry with a visual inspection of my feet, since I am certain I can feel shoes on both feet.

I am not proud to say that with no sleep, deadlines, the pressure of finals while being a full-time employee on one of the two weeks a month I am a full-time mom, the only response I can deliver upon finding two different shoes on my feet is “OH HOLY SHIT.”

Y’all, it was 3 PM. I had gone 9 hours and encountered countless individuals with one black suede flat and one black/white/yellow plaid flat with a bow. I was too tired to be embarrassed. I knew where the matches were and my hair and my clothes were clean.

I have it on good authority that two out of three ain’t bad.