Taking blog photos is always interesting. Wait, did I write “interesting”? Because I mean “mortifying”. The act itself is embarrassing enough (I think my neighbours think I’m a whackadoodle … which is probably not that far off, actually), but then there is my entourage. I use that term loosely, obviously; I’m referring to my kids. Miss T is still too young to cause much of a commotion, but her brother’s got her back – he creates enough commotion for two kids. Two kids and a hyena. A very angry hyena.

Which means I usually end up with at least one photo that looks like this:

I’m trying not to read too much into it (and failing), but my son loves asking to have his photo taken – while doing random things. To wit:

In case you’re confused, he is reading a “book”. Better known as an IKEA storage box. Apparently, it was a very good story – by the sounds of it, loosely based on the narrative pattern of The Giving Tree, and featuring his dad’s 1974 Beetle and Taylor Swift. This, by the way, describes 85% of stories he “reads”.

Sometimes, the outfit is the least interesting part of it all.

This outfit is a perfect representation of my Sunday visits to my parents’ place (which is where I wore it): brunch outfit on top, chasing-the-kids outfit on the bottom. OK, so this is kind of a half-baked outfit, but I’m 22 days into this never-ending challenge, and I’m trying my damnedest to not turn this into the blog version of Valium. If you’re laughing, chances are you’re still conscious.

Anyway.

Can we talk about my hair? Again. I know. But, you guys, I’ve had a real life-changing experience. If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve heard me blathering about this ad nauseam a little while back: I discovered sea salt spray. Yeah, I know: sea salt spray is, like, so 1995 or whatever, but I didn’t have the internet or wavy hair in 1995 and I do now, so – there! My perm is fine and all, but it still needs some help to look, well, less I-accidentally-jammed-my-finger-in-an-electrical-socket and more … intentional. Beach wavy.

More like this.

Also, with less poof:

A few peeps asked about which products I use, and I have a very un exciting answer: I use a cheapie drugstore spray from Fructis, which costs a whopping $3. One, I hate paying a lot for beauty products I’m not sure will work. Two, I am cheap. Period. The spray I’m using works just fine, so I probably won’t upgrade unless I find a killer deal on a better brand at Winners. The only downside is that it does seem to dry out my hair, so I have to be careful about how much – and often – I use it. Which isn’t easy because I’m basically addicted to it. Mermaid hair in a bottle! Moar, please!

This outfit is made of, like, 75% guilt. First, the blouse. I really shouldn’t have bought it. It drives me batty. I added it to the 30 x 30 line-up in order to try getting my money’s worth (all $6 of it) before chucking it at the end of the summer, but I may not be able to wait that long. Oy vey! Second, the bag. It is a perfectly nice bag. In fact, I liked it so much, this is the second one of its kind I have. Sadly, nowadays, I rarely use it anymore. Guuuuuuilt. To compound the guilt, this one was a present from my parents, so I feel squicky about selling it. Moar guilt. And then we have the necklace I bought on impulse and have worn exactly 2 times in 6 months. Pile on the guilt. Sigh.

Oh, but there is one thing that I don’t regret: buying these Levi’s cropped jeans. I thought Levi’s made jeans for old men but, clearly, I was wrong about this (as about so many other things, #letsnotevenstart). I really like the cut, and I wish I could find it in a regular, black pant version. Oh, how I wish! In the meantime, these jeans will do just fine, thankyouverymuch consignment gods! As I walked over to our customary picture-taking spot, my husband was, like, “Whoa! That is a fine looking pair of jeans, right there!” Or something to that effect, only somewhat more explicit. He may not have been, in fact, referring to the jeans at all. Ahem. Per his request, we took an extra pic. Let’s humour him, shall we?

And now let’s never speak of this again.