A while ago, I noticed that a few chunks of my hair were sticking out funny and looked too long. So I cut them. Smart, right? Except that every day after that, it looked really bad. I guess it was just that one day.
After weeks of debating with myself, I decided I should just try to dig out of the hole I'd gotten myself into and give myself an all-over trim. You know, to even it up with the part I cut off.
Because again, I'm that smart.
I cut Phillip and the kids' hair all the time, but never my own. And I have layers, which adds yet another element of "I don't know what I'm doing." I didn't even take pictures because if I ended up having to shave it all off and start from scratch I just wasn't going to say anything here.
It turned out just about as bad as I expected. You know how some haircuts have names, like "the Rachel" from the 90s? Phillip and I decided to call this one "the Shipwreck." It looked like I'd been marooned on a desert island for ten years cutting my hair with a jagged piece of coconut.
Before admitting defeat and going in to a hair place to have them fix it, I decided to watch some YouTube videos on how to cut hair and try one last time.
And... it actually turned out okay. It's been a few days and not only has my picture not become a meme on Pinterest (to my knowledge,) I even got a compliment on it the other day!
|If anyone has tips on how to angle your camera so your selfies don't look like a reflections in a funhouse mirror, I am all ears.|
We went to a Halloween party called Trunk-or-Treat at our church. First there's a chili cookoff dinner, then a costume parade so we can see all the kids' cute costumes, and then people line up their cars in the parking lot and hand out candy from the trunks. It's a pretty crazy time.
When they announced my son's name at the costume parade (he was dressed as an injured man with crutches and casts all over), there was silence. No one came out. It took forever for him to finally emerge and hobble across the stage.
Since irony seems to follow our family wherever we go, I shouldn't have been surprised to find out afterward that he took so long because he'd fallen down the stairs. Actually, I guess the real irony would have been if he'd really broken bones from the fall, so I should probably count my blessings.
What are your best methods for rationing your kids' candy loot after the big Halloween haul? I decided a while ago that I didn't like being the "no/yes" machine every time someone wanted to have candy for the next few months.
This year we're trying out the rule "you can have one piece of candy after every meal." (The part where Phillip I steal handfuls of it after they go to sleep is like the last paragraph of the terms and conditions that nobody reads.) So far, it's going pretty well.
My 9-year-old would also like to know why Snickers have tire marks on the back.
I'm super-practical to a fault, so even though I really like the idea of seasonal decorating, in practice I just never really get around to it. Just like I wish I were the kind of person who hangs fresh flowers from the porch to make the house seem really welcoming and inviting, but that also is something that I rarely do.
This year, though, the stars aligned for me because I just realized that:
- I did have flowers hanging outside this summer, and
- Said flowers are now a great Halloween decoration!
|Double-duty decor: this hanging basket says "welcome to our lovely home" and also "BOO!"|
I realized how quickly you can come to take things for granted. Phillip has been cleaning up the kitchen every night after dinner almost every night because I'm still just too tired from this pregnancy, and I've sort of gotten used to that.
I woke up one morning after he hadn't cleaned up and was shocked. Dirty dishes were everywhere and spaghetti sauce remains were cemented to the table. A hardened lump of noodles was still in a pot on the stove. You mean if no one takes care of this stuff, it just stays there?
So this is how my kids feel.
One thing I try to do is make most of our bread from scratch, which can be dreadfully annoying when you don't have a bread machine and are doing it by hand. It doesn't take a lot of work, but my recipe requires me to let the dough rise twice without forgetting about it, which is assuming a lot out of me right off the bat.
The other time you can't forget about it is when it's baking in the oven. Unfortunately I put my daughter down for a nap and accidentally dozed off with her, sleeping blissfully through the bread getting burned to a crisp.
My older daughter noticed the timer going off every 3 minutes and took the burnt bread out of the oven (yay for 6th graders who don't let their mothers burn the house down!) but it was still hard as a rock.
Since the whole process takes hours, I wasn't about to toss two loaves of bread in the trash. I carved off the hardened magma exterior and found that the bread inside was still okay — so my kids are taking little Leprechaun-sized sandwiches to school this week in their lunches.
My son gets weekly visits from a therapist at Early Intervention to work on his gross motor skills, but this week she suggested that we come to visit her at their "movement center."
Imagine a big room covered in mats with swings and trampolines and every kind of ride-on toy there is, and that's this place. I've never seen him (or his 4-year-old sister, who was graciously allowed to play, too) so happy.
Things went great until the very end when the therapist opened a sensory table filled with dried beans and all kinds of measuring cups. I don't know if other kids have more self-control or what, but mine were so excited there was no way that any of it was staying in the table.
If anybody needs to know how long it takes to pick up a sensory tub's worth of dried pinto beans of the floor with your hands, let me know. I have a realistic estimate for you.