My new daily affirmation: "At least I'm not a sister-wife."

The slide into self-doubt and depression is as easy and familiar to me as tugging on a pair of blue jeans and wishing I hadn't had that extra slice of bread last night.

But thanks to my latest Book Club book, and a random selection from the library, I have a new defense against the darkness: At least I'm not a sister-wife.  Now, I'm not one to poke fun at religion. Actually I am. I sincerely respect, even envy, those who are true believers and who live the faith they preach. It's the hypocrites who get me going.

It should be noted that "The 19th Wife" and "The Dead will Tell" are books of fiction. But the first is deeply grounded in actuality,  and it's easier to find a religious leaders gone wrong than for me to pull on my blue jeans. Each book deals with terrible actions by leaders in the Latter Day Saints, Amish reglions and splinter groups of each, and they talk a lot about the lives of the followers. 

I don't think I'd make a good sister-wife. I'd be even worse as the offspring of a sister-wife. Not sure I'd be good at the Amish way of life, either. But that's not the point. The point is that when I get down on myself, I'm going to remember a few things to make it better. You can too, should the mood strike you:

1. I'm not a sister-wife.

2. I'm not a sister-wife's kid.

3. I'm not going to jail like Theresa Guidice (she's a Housewife of NJ -- so this is not so much a stretch from my point.)

In other news of the week, I cut my hair. Not because I was rebelling against fundamentalists' love of long hair on women, but because it's approaching Halloween and I didn't want to be mistaken for a practioner of the earthly arts. I'm witchy enough naturally; I don't need to look the part, too. 

Plus, I had to move a hair appointment and my usual stylist, Julie, was unavailable to me.  Nicole is not wise to my penchant for buyers' remorse and she cannot know how hopeless I am at dealing with my rats' nest of hair. Plus, she knows Julie will have to deal with me next time.

Monday morning should be interesting. If I can style this mess after I have to break down and wash it, I'll be starting the work week off in stellar fashion. If I can't figure it out, I might have to call in sick until it grows out enough to pull back.

Speaking of Halloween characters, I ran across an old photo of Alison wearing a pirate-witch costume -- one of Donna's finest -- and it really sent me back. Ali can't decide if she wants to trick-or-treat this year.  She also kicked me out of the kitchen (with a kiss but still) because she wanted to go solo in finishing her cupcakes for cheerleading. This includes clean-up so it's not a bad deal for me. Plus, she scampered in asking a half-dozen questions throughout so I ddn't feel entirely excommunicated. (which is what you get if you can follow along with the LDS or Amish.)

Check out this incomplete reel of Alison's Halloween costumes. 

  

In order, she was a chicken (the store-bought outfit that prompted Donna to step up); a ladybug, Ariel, Nemo (hand designed, architected and made by Donna and Jaime); a fairy, a butterfly, a white tiger (so she could better cuddle with her tiny Beanie Baby Allahs); the pirate-witch (a pattern Donna used multiple times for multiple girls all of whom totally rocked it.); a ninja, Ginny Weasley, Sean White, a vampire, and last year's brush with puns, a slice of gingerbread.

I'll survive this year if she doesn't dress up, I suppose. I mean, it's not like I'm a sister-wife...