It's been an emotional week here at Mellow Lane. I'll start by saying the everything is just fine, in fact, better than fine. Better because I am more grateful for my life than usual.
Almost a month ago, while we were on vacation, Juliette and Zachary were sharing a bed. Juliette and Zachary both like to be scratched when they are sleepy and somehow Juliette convinced Zachary to scratch her back and her legs. (This is not surprising as Juliette can convince just about anyone to do just about anything. Even her preschool teacher, when asked by a friend how she can stay strong with all those strong-willed preschoolers, said, "Oh I never have trouble saying no to them at all. Except Juliette. If Juliette asks for the doll house, I'll get it down. If she wants the dress up clothes, they're hers. For some reason I just can't no to her!" This is not good.) Anyway, she convinced Zachary to scratch her legs and in doing so, he found a lump on the back of her right knee. Being a sensitive middle child (totally unlike his mother. cough. cough.), Zachary freaked out. He came running out of the bedroom, Juliette trailing absently and smiley behind him. We looked and felt the back of her leg, and indeed there was a lump behind her leg. We assured Zachary that it was probably nothing, but that we would check with our friend, who is a pediatric radiologist when we got home. This appeased him and both kids went to bed. (Notice I said appeased "him" -- Juliette was totally unfazed.)
A few days later, we saw Dr. Friend, who looked at and felt the back of Juliette's knee. She thought it was probably nothing, probably just a blah de blah or a blah de blah. (It all went over my head. On purpose. I knew if I knew something specific I'd be on WebMD, which is the devil.) She told us not to worry, but to keep an eye on it just in case. This made us (and Zachary) feel better.
Then last week, Juliette was walking in front of me and, all of a sudden, her lump looked much bigger. (It's about the size of half a ping pong ball for reference.) I called Dr. Friend right away and we went to her house later that afternoon. She looked and poked and felt and still thought it was probably still just a blah de blah but since she is someone who looks at films and not at feeling actual kids, she couldn't be sure. She did agree that the lump was bigger. She suggested that we go to see her friend at Children's Hospital who could tell us definitively what the lump is. "Don't freak out when you hear what kind of doctor he is. He's the lump guy. He's the very best and he'll know what it is." The lump guy is a pediatric orthopedic oncologist.
You don't really want to hear or read or use the word "oncologist" when you're talking about your four year old. You just don't. It also doesn't make you feel too much better when the lump guy's office is able to squeeze you into a completely full schedule "for something like that." (Though I felt so grateful that I would have to wait less than a week to see him in the clinic, which is close to our home - and not at the hospital - on his next day there.) And so we went on with our lives, tried not to think about it and waited patiently until it was the day for our appointment. My mom was able to clear her afternoon to watch Annalise and Zachary, pick them up and drop them off at their various activities, so just Juliette and I made the trek to the doctor. It was afternoon and so Juliette, who no longer naps, was pretty sleepy in the car, and therefore quiet. (She's never quiet.) Unfortunately this gave me time to think. (I rarely have time to think. Except when I'm falling asleep. I don't sleep too well.) And as much as I tried not to let it happen, my mind "went there." I thought about what it would mean to have a kid with cancer. I thought about how our lives would change, and everything we would do to fight. I thought about how tough my little girl already is and how tough she would have to be. I even thought about losing her. And then I decided I had to stop thinking. I cranked up the VBS tunes (and if you know how much I dislike over-produced children singing, then you can only imagine how much I can't stand listening to the VBS CD). Fortunately it perked Juliette up and we sang along, badly and loudly, while she attempted to remember the "moves" in her carseat. Much better than thinking.
We arrived at the clinic, and were greeted so warmly and cheerfully in a bright, open waiting room, well stocked with blocks and nice books. (Like really nice books, like the kind you would actually buy or check out at the library or want to read. Not like the usual torn, ragged, chewed crap books that you'd never even look at in normal life, but you will read over and over out of desperation, kicking yourself for neglecting to bring books from home, that you usually see in waiting rooms.) We read about Piggie and Elephant and holes which are to dig and waited our turn. I looked around at the other parents and children, some playing happily, some sitting quietly with their parents, one infant, and one preschooler with a prosthetic leg screaming "I hate this leg!"and wondered if I would be back in this waiting room another time; if I would become a regular, if I would meet other parents waiting anxiously like I was, if this would become another home for us.
It was our turn and a lovely nurse led us to our room, asked questions, looked and took notes. She was followed soon after by the lump guy's PA (also lovely), who asked more questions. She lovingly helped Juliette roll over onto her stomach on the table and gave her a pen for her to draw on the paper covering the table. She felt her leg, asked more questions and attempted to shine a light at Juliette's lump. Apparently there isn't much use for the light in the orthopedic rooms and the light was out. She led us to another room where we met the lump guy. Equally lovely, he let Juliette get comfortable before he poked at her lump also. She was a little nervous, so she laid on my chest while he shown the light all the way through the lump, its red light going all the way through, revealing that the lump was indeed the blah de blah which Dr. Friend had suspected all along... a Baker's cyst. The light will shine all the way through only liquid or air and since there is no air in this part of the body, the lump is indeed liquid. A Baker's cyst in children is totally benign and usually not painful at all. There is absolutely nothing that needs to be done. Juliette is totally fine and the cyst will eventually just go away on its own. He said that some day we will look down and just realize that it is gone. We spent much of the appointment remarking on how fabulous Juliette's big brother was to have found the cyst in the first place. What a great little kid.
So my baby is going to be fine. She is totally, totally fine. She is the same happy and healthy girl that she was last week and last month and last year.
I am grateful, so grateful I don't even know what to do or say to express just how grateful I feel. Honestly the whole episode has been an exercise in gratitude: gratitude for a not-even-yet eight year old big brother who found the lump to begin with; gratitude for a dear friend who is willing to look at my daughter (and the daughters and sons of all our friends because she is the kind of friend who doesn't mind looking at the rash, hurt wrist, etc.); gratitude that she has a friend who is a leader in the field; gratitude for a staff fitting us in when they could have told us to wait a month and gratitude for a mom who can watch my other kids so I can focus on the one who needed the attention at that time. Mostly I am grateful for my beautiful family, with all our ups and downs, nooks and crannies, temper tantrums and doldrums and giggles and tickle tortures and hugs and kisses. And scratches. I'm grateful for scratches.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
I'm a Dance Mom
True confession time: I'm a dance mom. I fully admit that this is a role I have embraced and grown to love, but in no way did I ever expect that this would a part of my life. Soccer mom? Yes. Baseball mom? Yes. Minivan-driving suburban mom? OK, it wasn't on my list of things I hoped for, but I'm not too terribly surprised that I ended up there. But dance mom? Oh hell no. No way. No how. Not in a million years. But somehow I ended up here. It's been a journey. Before you judge me, let me share a little of the journey with you.
When Annalise was young she was painfully shy. Painfully. She was the kid who was constantly attached to my leg. She would spend playdates and parent ed on my lap or clinging to my side or in my arms. It would take serious coaxing to get her to play. Even when we were with kids she'd known her entire life, she would cling and worry. Until she was fine. It just often took her hours to be fine. She wanted to go to the birthday party, but she wouldn't participate. Until the end. About fifteen minutes before the party was over, she'd start to have a great time. And then she'd have a fit that it was time to leave. With a mom who stayed home full time and being the oldest child (and only child, for almost three years), she was almost always with me. She had yet to start preschool. She didn't have a lot of opportunities to spend time with other kids without me. So when a friend suggested she take a dance class, I thought it might be a good idea.
Annalise was almost three. I was due with Zachary any day. (And then I was overdue with Zachary. Every time I would walk/waddle down that ramp with Annalise, I'd hear, "Are you still here!?" I swear I was pregnant with that child for two years.) But I digress. Annalise was technically too young for the class, but they made an exception for her. (Probably not the smartest move they'd ever made.) Well, she loved the class. No clinging. No whining. No crying. Just a little girl having a whole lot of fun. There was a little problem though. She wasn't dancing. She jumped and she ran and she giggled. But there wasn't a lot of dancing coming from that kid. So we took a break for a while. We tried a different class at a different studio the following summer. Egh. Not impressed with the class. Annalise didn't really like it and neither did I.
When Annalise was a little over four, we tried again, back at the original studio. This time, something stuck. Right from the beginning, Annalise was happy there. She loved her teacher. She ran into class with glee. She didn't need me to hold onto her, hold her hand, peel her arm off my leg. And going in, she didn't even know any of the kids. For the first time in her little life, Annalise was at home. (Home away from home, that is. At home, the child was funny and silly and talked incessantly, sang and danced and told stories, made jokes. Away from home: leg clinger.) She was so happy at dance class we really couldn't believe it. And so somehow we got suckered into becoming dance parents. It happened so subtly that we really didn't see it coming. It kind of snuck up on us and took hold before we even realized it had happened.
Before Annalise's recital, I asked the studio owner what would happen when she ran off the stage in a panic as soon as her music started. She attempted to assure me that it wouldn't happen; that it almost never happens and it wasn't going to happen with Annalise. "Uh huh, " I said. "So what are you going to do when she runs off the stage in a panic?" Again, she tried to convince me it wouldn't happen. Clearly she didn't know my kid at all.
The day of the recital arrived. I curled and curled and hairsprayed my four year old daughter's long, straight-as-a-stick hair, knowing it would be completely flat by the time she went on stage. I put blush and mascara and lipstick on my four year old. (I could write a whole blog entry on putting makeup on children. It is one of the weirdest things I've ever done. I don't even wear makeup myself, so this is bizarro land for me. And I suck at it. She's lucky if the makeup is anywhere close to the right spot on her face.) I dressed Annalise in shiny black tap shoes tied with red grosgrain ribbons, tan tights, and a polyester stars and stripes dress. Backstage I helped her instructor bobby pin on seven white sailor hats. They were ready to perform thirty seven seconds worth of "The Good Ship Lollipop." I went and sat down, ready to jump onto the stage to retrieve my screaming daughter. It didn't happen. She came on, in her line of little American flag-clad girls, and did her dance. Her head was turned, watching her teacher off stage most of the routine; she didn't smile, but she never did look like she was going to make a run for it.
I went to retrieve her from backstage. A smiling, happy and proud little girl awaited me. She LOVED it! She loved it so much she wanted to stay and watch the rest of the show. We changed her out of her costume and went upstairs to the balcony to watch. She stood on the edge of the balcony, hanging on the railing, completely enthralled by the show in front of her. At the end of the show they called all the dancers back on stage for the finale. Since we didn't know this was going to happen, we'd stayed upstairs, Annalise in a sundress and not her costume. Once she saw what was happening, and that she could be back on that stage, Annalise had an absolute fit. She wanted back on that stage so badly that we had to drag her out of there crying. She was totally hooked.
And that's how it all began. From there, we continued on. Annalise took one tap/ballet class a week. She dabbled in hip hop. (She'll tell you this was not her strong suit. It wasn't.) We kept her at the small studio where she had started. They were personal and loving and greeted her by name and with a giant hug before every class. They made her feel special. And Annalise bloomed. We watched our shy little girl grow not only in skill and grace but we watched her gain confidence and poise. She learned how to handle pressure, rise to the occasion and role with the punches. She learned to deal with last minute changes, recover from mishaps. And she learned about hard work. Dancing does not come naturally to her. She has a hard time remembering choreography. Her musicality was lacking. And she gets her flexibility from my dad, which is to say she could barely touch her toes. As a four year old. She's a lucky girl; most things come really easily for her: school, soccer, softball, running, most things she tries. She's never the best at anything, but she's always one of the best, and without much effort at all. Dance has taught her to have a strong work ethic. It has been amazing for her and has helped to transform her into the confident child whom I know today.
Over the years Annalise has increased the time she spends in the studio each week. She was on the company at the small studio where she started when she was four. We went to dance competitions. (Yes, dance competitions. This is another blog post as well.) We've done quick changes backstage at recitals where she was in six different routines. And then her studio closed. We saw it coming. We weren't surprised, but she was deeply saddened all the same. So this year we made a move to a much bigger studio. MUCH bigger! She is now a small fish in a big pond. And the kid is swimming! She's thriving! And she's happy. And now her little sister is dancing, too. And loving it as well. And that kid loves the stage as much as her sister. She even has the smiles and facial expressions on stage already. Oh boy. I got another one.
So, yeah, I'm a dance mom. I put mascara on small children. I own Aqua Net. I buy booty shorts and foot thongs. And I've seen the power of dance. I've seen how being on a stage can bring out the best in someone. I know the confidence that comes from learning to do the splits on all three sides, mastering a double pirouette, winning a special judges award at a competition. I will try my best to not be a crazy dance mom, but I will continue to load my minivan up with dancers and bring them to the studio, where they will learn about team work, dedication and hard work.
When Annalise was young she was painfully shy. Painfully. She was the kid who was constantly attached to my leg. She would spend playdates and parent ed on my lap or clinging to my side or in my arms. It would take serious coaxing to get her to play. Even when we were with kids she'd known her entire life, she would cling and worry. Until she was fine. It just often took her hours to be fine. She wanted to go to the birthday party, but she wouldn't participate. Until the end. About fifteen minutes before the party was over, she'd start to have a great time. And then she'd have a fit that it was time to leave. With a mom who stayed home full time and being the oldest child (and only child, for almost three years), she was almost always with me. She had yet to start preschool. She didn't have a lot of opportunities to spend time with other kids without me. So when a friend suggested she take a dance class, I thought it might be a good idea.
Annalise was almost three. I was due with Zachary any day. (And then I was overdue with Zachary. Every time I would walk/waddle down that ramp with Annalise, I'd hear, "Are you still here!?" I swear I was pregnant with that child for two years.) But I digress. Annalise was technically too young for the class, but they made an exception for her. (Probably not the smartest move they'd ever made.) Well, she loved the class. No clinging. No whining. No crying. Just a little girl having a whole lot of fun. There was a little problem though. She wasn't dancing. She jumped and she ran and she giggled. But there wasn't a lot of dancing coming from that kid. So we took a break for a while. We tried a different class at a different studio the following summer. Egh. Not impressed with the class. Annalise didn't really like it and neither did I.
When Annalise was a little over four, we tried again, back at the original studio. This time, something stuck. Right from the beginning, Annalise was happy there. She loved her teacher. She ran into class with glee. She didn't need me to hold onto her, hold her hand, peel her arm off my leg. And going in, she didn't even know any of the kids. For the first time in her little life, Annalise was at home. (Home away from home, that is. At home, the child was funny and silly and talked incessantly, sang and danced and told stories, made jokes. Away from home: leg clinger.) She was so happy at dance class we really couldn't believe it. And so somehow we got suckered into becoming dance parents. It happened so subtly that we really didn't see it coming. It kind of snuck up on us and took hold before we even realized it had happened.
Before Annalise's recital, I asked the studio owner what would happen when she ran off the stage in a panic as soon as her music started. She attempted to assure me that it wouldn't happen; that it almost never happens and it wasn't going to happen with Annalise. "Uh huh, " I said. "So what are you going to do when she runs off the stage in a panic?" Again, she tried to convince me it wouldn't happen. Clearly she didn't know my kid at all.
The day of the recital arrived. I curled and curled and hairsprayed my four year old daughter's long, straight-as-a-stick hair, knowing it would be completely flat by the time she went on stage. I put blush and mascara and lipstick on my four year old. (I could write a whole blog entry on putting makeup on children. It is one of the weirdest things I've ever done. I don't even wear makeup myself, so this is bizarro land for me. And I suck at it. She's lucky if the makeup is anywhere close to the right spot on her face.) I dressed Annalise in shiny black tap shoes tied with red grosgrain ribbons, tan tights, and a polyester stars and stripes dress. Backstage I helped her instructor bobby pin on seven white sailor hats. They were ready to perform thirty seven seconds worth of "The Good Ship Lollipop." I went and sat down, ready to jump onto the stage to retrieve my screaming daughter. It didn't happen. She came on, in her line of little American flag-clad girls, and did her dance. Her head was turned, watching her teacher off stage most of the routine; she didn't smile, but she never did look like she was going to make a run for it.
I went to retrieve her from backstage. A smiling, happy and proud little girl awaited me. She LOVED it! She loved it so much she wanted to stay and watch the rest of the show. We changed her out of her costume and went upstairs to the balcony to watch. She stood on the edge of the balcony, hanging on the railing, completely enthralled by the show in front of her. At the end of the show they called all the dancers back on stage for the finale. Since we didn't know this was going to happen, we'd stayed upstairs, Annalise in a sundress and not her costume. Once she saw what was happening, and that she could be back on that stage, Annalise had an absolute fit. She wanted back on that stage so badly that we had to drag her out of there crying. She was totally hooked.
And that's how it all began. From there, we continued on. Annalise took one tap/ballet class a week. She dabbled in hip hop. (She'll tell you this was not her strong suit. It wasn't.) We kept her at the small studio where she had started. They were personal and loving and greeted her by name and with a giant hug before every class. They made her feel special. And Annalise bloomed. We watched our shy little girl grow not only in skill and grace but we watched her gain confidence and poise. She learned how to handle pressure, rise to the occasion and role with the punches. She learned to deal with last minute changes, recover from mishaps. And she learned about hard work. Dancing does not come naturally to her. She has a hard time remembering choreography. Her musicality was lacking. And she gets her flexibility from my dad, which is to say she could barely touch her toes. As a four year old. She's a lucky girl; most things come really easily for her: school, soccer, softball, running, most things she tries. She's never the best at anything, but she's always one of the best, and without much effort at all. Dance has taught her to have a strong work ethic. It has been amazing for her and has helped to transform her into the confident child whom I know today.
Over the years Annalise has increased the time she spends in the studio each week. She was on the company at the small studio where she started when she was four. We went to dance competitions. (Yes, dance competitions. This is another blog post as well.) We've done quick changes backstage at recitals where she was in six different routines. And then her studio closed. We saw it coming. We weren't surprised, but she was deeply saddened all the same. So this year we made a move to a much bigger studio. MUCH bigger! She is now a small fish in a big pond. And the kid is swimming! She's thriving! And she's happy. And now her little sister is dancing, too. And loving it as well. And that kid loves the stage as much as her sister. She even has the smiles and facial expressions on stage already. Oh boy. I got another one.
So, yeah, I'm a dance mom. I put mascara on small children. I own Aqua Net. I buy booty shorts and foot thongs. And I've seen the power of dance. I've seen how being on a stage can bring out the best in someone. I know the confidence that comes from learning to do the splits on all three sides, mastering a double pirouette, winning a special judges award at a competition. I will try my best to not be a crazy dance mom, but I will continue to load my minivan up with dancers and bring them to the studio, where they will learn about team work, dedication and hard work.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Freakin' Lice. Twice.
Summer is finally here! Alleluia! I feel like I've been waiting for summer to come all school year long. By the end I was done. Spent. Finished. If you haven't read Jen Hatmaker's blog entry calling herself "The Worst End of School Year Mom Ever," read it now. And don't be upset if seventeen people haven't forwarded this to you already. Your friends must think really highly of you. Myself, well, let's just say lots of people thought I'd enjoy this. Pretty sure I shouldn't take that as a compliment.
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/30/worst-end-of-school-year-mom-ever
It is hilarious, timely and so on point. With the exception of one person (who is clearly organized and energetic), every single person I talked to said, "Oh my God! That is so me! I could have written that!" Yeah, no you couldn't. You didn't have the energy to write it. I honestly don't know when Jen mustered up the strength to sit at her computer for that long, attach video and pictures, and write thoughtfully and with that much humor. I'm pretty sure my sense of humor dropped off somewhere in April. And I couldn't even gather the strength for Pinterest much less writing something with which thousands of people could relate. So, yeah, I'm with ya, Jen. I don't know you at all, but we are sisters in this whole parenting adventure! And thank you for speaking for all of us who were only capable of head nods and drool in May.
Which leads me to summer. There was a lot leading up to summer. Class parties. Dance recitals. PTA meetings. Parent Board meetings. Dance recitals. Plays. Performances. A parade. Dance recitals. Special lunches. Girl Scout events. Team parties. And did I mention the dance recitals? Keep in mind that they also come with dress rehearsals. Between the two girls, I spent three plus hours in dress rehearsal and I think seven (or eight? it's a blur) hours in recitals. I'm sure you've figured out that I wasn't the one dancing, but let me tell you, I was exhausted. I was literally sore from sitting so much! Is that even possible? The dance recitals almost did me in. Smart people at the dance studio take a huge break before starting up again for the summer. Brilliant. It should be enough time for me to forget the pain.
OK, so it's now summer. All that crap is over for the year, we've started off strong with swimming at friends' houses, having friends over for dinner, sleeping in, watching boatloads of TV and just generally being blobs. (The kids needed to up their ante on the drool factor. While I was plenty braindead by the end of the year, they were still kicking.) So on the night of day four, (DAY FOUR!!!) Zachary complained about being itchy. Want to know my response? Yeah, you guessed it: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Sure enough, the boy had lice. Oh. My. God. This is how I get to start my summer? Are you freakin' kidding me!?
I need to back up. Over spring break this year, while in Northern California, after having stayed in other people's homes and visiting NINE other families, we discovered we had lice. When we made the discovery, we were an hour away from our friends' house, where we were staying. The lovely people at LoveBugs took pity on us, cleaned us up and sent us on our way. (That sounds simple, but it was about three hours for two people to comb our four heads and hundreds of dollars.) Meanwhile I was texting, calling and voxing everyone I knew to tell them to be on the lookout. If you've ever had to make the call after the birthday party to tell everyone your kid threw up that night, has a fever, has pink eye, whatever it is, you get the feeling. I've made all those calls. For some reason this one is SO much worse! Mostly because lice is a major pain in the ass. You can take care of it yourself, but you probably won't do a very good job, so it will take a long time to get rid of it, and meanwhile you're risking exposure to everyone else around you. Or you can pay God-sent people who will come to your house and comb you out. Obviously this is a great option, but it's expensive! And the vacuuming. And the laundry. And the laundry! Loads and loads and loads of laundry. My poor washing machine won't even make eye contact with me anymore. It just groans, opens up and accepts the inevitable. Like a baby eating squash. Or me eating squash. Blech.
Fortunately the day in Northern California when we discovered lice I had spent the day with three beautiful women (and their children) from my childhood. I'd warned them ahead of time that Zachary suspected he had lice because he'd become paranoid during the car ride down. (Mind you, I'd checked him before we left the house, found a nit - which I didn't know was a nit because it didn't look like the pictures I saw on the internet - dismissed it and got in the car to go meet our friends.) We had a great day, laughed and laughed and miraculously didn't share our bugs! One of my friends had just finished up chemotherapy for lymphoma, which was found on a routine ultrasound when she was four months pregnant. (Yes, you read that correctly. Read it again if you need to.) And here she was, at the park, with her two gorgeous daughters, the baby having literally saved her life, beautiful and happy and strong. (This friend is one of the most incredible people I've ever met and if she doesn't become an inspirational speaker or write a book or somehow share herself with the world after all this is over, I will have to drag her around myself. The way in which she has dealt with cancer, while pregnant and caring for a toddler, is unbelievable. She has an incredible spirit, positivity, faith and has maintained the same sense of humor that cracked us up as seventh graders! And now has no evidence of disease! She really is a walking miracle.)
I send a text to the friends I saw that day, my head in a shower cap, neem oil stinking up the joint, and right away, this friend calls me. "Lice sucks, " she said. And you know what, it totally does. But to hear that from my friend who had just gone through chemotherapy not only validated what I was going through, but also put things into perspective. We joked about how much quicker it would be to get rid of the lice than cancer and how, comparatively speaking, LoveBugs was a huge bargain compared to the price of chemo. We were also pretty sure that she wouldn't get lice seeing as she was sporting what she called "the Matt Lauer look." She was just the person I needed to talk to that day, to talk me down off the ledge, to keep me from feeling too sorry for myself.
In the days since then, I have not stopped itching my head, constantly afraid of the lice coming back. (Paranoia runs in the family.) And of course it did. Clearly someone in Zachary's world has it, as it is very definitely a new case of bugs. It sucked to have to make those calls. Again. It was a bummer of a way to start the summer for sure, but not the end of the world. I'm always trying to find the reason for things, the "why?" in God's greater plan. I have to be honest, I'm still searching. But I have made an amazing connection down here now with Angel from Lice Schmice. Her website is http://www.liceschmice.net. And, yes, I am plugging my lice lady! She is truly an angel! If you're in Southern California and you suspect those little buggers are in your home, then Angel's your girl.
So maybe the reason is to keep me humble. Maybe it's a lesson in forgiveness and learning to not place blame. (I have no idea where the lice is coming from and this is hard for me -- not in that I want to place blame, but in that I want some answers and I want to know that this won't come back into our house.) Maybe it's a lesson in appreciating every day life, and appreciating the fact that I have my own washing machine and dryer and that I can (sort of) afford to have someone come to my house to deal with this for me. Maybe it's just a lesson in lice removal. (I've learned a lot this year!) Whatever it is, I'm paying attention. Summer 2013 has now officially begun. Instead of spending our days doing nothing other than laundry and vacuuming, we are Legoing, playing board games, scootering, reading, swimming. And gearing up for dancing to start again.
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/30/worst-end-of-school-year-mom-ever
It is hilarious, timely and so on point. With the exception of one person (who is clearly organized and energetic), every single person I talked to said, "Oh my God! That is so me! I could have written that!" Yeah, no you couldn't. You didn't have the energy to write it. I honestly don't know when Jen mustered up the strength to sit at her computer for that long, attach video and pictures, and write thoughtfully and with that much humor. I'm pretty sure my sense of humor dropped off somewhere in April. And I couldn't even gather the strength for Pinterest much less writing something with which thousands of people could relate. So, yeah, I'm with ya, Jen. I don't know you at all, but we are sisters in this whole parenting adventure! And thank you for speaking for all of us who were only capable of head nods and drool in May.
Which leads me to summer. There was a lot leading up to summer. Class parties. Dance recitals. PTA meetings. Parent Board meetings. Dance recitals. Plays. Performances. A parade. Dance recitals. Special lunches. Girl Scout events. Team parties. And did I mention the dance recitals? Keep in mind that they also come with dress rehearsals. Between the two girls, I spent three plus hours in dress rehearsal and I think seven (or eight? it's a blur) hours in recitals. I'm sure you've figured out that I wasn't the one dancing, but let me tell you, I was exhausted. I was literally sore from sitting so much! Is that even possible? The dance recitals almost did me in. Smart people at the dance studio take a huge break before starting up again for the summer. Brilliant. It should be enough time for me to forget the pain.
OK, so it's now summer. All that crap is over for the year, we've started off strong with swimming at friends' houses, having friends over for dinner, sleeping in, watching boatloads of TV and just generally being blobs. (The kids needed to up their ante on the drool factor. While I was plenty braindead by the end of the year, they were still kicking.) So on the night of day four, (DAY FOUR!!!) Zachary complained about being itchy. Want to know my response? Yeah, you guessed it: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Sure enough, the boy had lice. Oh. My. God. This is how I get to start my summer? Are you freakin' kidding me!?
I need to back up. Over spring break this year, while in Northern California, after having stayed in other people's homes and visiting NINE other families, we discovered we had lice. When we made the discovery, we were an hour away from our friends' house, where we were staying. The lovely people at LoveBugs took pity on us, cleaned us up and sent us on our way. (That sounds simple, but it was about three hours for two people to comb our four heads and hundreds of dollars.) Meanwhile I was texting, calling and voxing everyone I knew to tell them to be on the lookout. If you've ever had to make the call after the birthday party to tell everyone your kid threw up that night, has a fever, has pink eye, whatever it is, you get the feeling. I've made all those calls. For some reason this one is SO much worse! Mostly because lice is a major pain in the ass. You can take care of it yourself, but you probably won't do a very good job, so it will take a long time to get rid of it, and meanwhile you're risking exposure to everyone else around you. Or you can pay God-sent people who will come to your house and comb you out. Obviously this is a great option, but it's expensive! And the vacuuming. And the laundry. And the laundry! Loads and loads and loads of laundry. My poor washing machine won't even make eye contact with me anymore. It just groans, opens up and accepts the inevitable. Like a baby eating squash. Or me eating squash. Blech.
Fortunately the day in Northern California when we discovered lice I had spent the day with three beautiful women (and their children) from my childhood. I'd warned them ahead of time that Zachary suspected he had lice because he'd become paranoid during the car ride down. (Mind you, I'd checked him before we left the house, found a nit - which I didn't know was a nit because it didn't look like the pictures I saw on the internet - dismissed it and got in the car to go meet our friends.) We had a great day, laughed and laughed and miraculously didn't share our bugs! One of my friends had just finished up chemotherapy for lymphoma, which was found on a routine ultrasound when she was four months pregnant. (Yes, you read that correctly. Read it again if you need to.) And here she was, at the park, with her two gorgeous daughters, the baby having literally saved her life, beautiful and happy and strong. (This friend is one of the most incredible people I've ever met and if she doesn't become an inspirational speaker or write a book or somehow share herself with the world after all this is over, I will have to drag her around myself. The way in which she has dealt with cancer, while pregnant and caring for a toddler, is unbelievable. She has an incredible spirit, positivity, faith and has maintained the same sense of humor that cracked us up as seventh graders! And now has no evidence of disease! She really is a walking miracle.)
I send a text to the friends I saw that day, my head in a shower cap, neem oil stinking up the joint, and right away, this friend calls me. "Lice sucks, " she said. And you know what, it totally does. But to hear that from my friend who had just gone through chemotherapy not only validated what I was going through, but also put things into perspective. We joked about how much quicker it would be to get rid of the lice than cancer and how, comparatively speaking, LoveBugs was a huge bargain compared to the price of chemo. We were also pretty sure that she wouldn't get lice seeing as she was sporting what she called "the Matt Lauer look." She was just the person I needed to talk to that day, to talk me down off the ledge, to keep me from feeling too sorry for myself.
In the days since then, I have not stopped itching my head, constantly afraid of the lice coming back. (Paranoia runs in the family.) And of course it did. Clearly someone in Zachary's world has it, as it is very definitely a new case of bugs. It sucked to have to make those calls. Again. It was a bummer of a way to start the summer for sure, but not the end of the world. I'm always trying to find the reason for things, the "why?" in God's greater plan. I have to be honest, I'm still searching. But I have made an amazing connection down here now with Angel from Lice Schmice. Her website is http://www.liceschmice.net. And, yes, I am plugging my lice lady! She is truly an angel! If you're in Southern California and you suspect those little buggers are in your home, then Angel's your girl.
So maybe the reason is to keep me humble. Maybe it's a lesson in forgiveness and learning to not place blame. (I have no idea where the lice is coming from and this is hard for me -- not in that I want to place blame, but in that I want some answers and I want to know that this won't come back into our house.) Maybe it's a lesson in appreciating every day life, and appreciating the fact that I have my own washing machine and dryer and that I can (sort of) afford to have someone come to my house to deal with this for me. Maybe it's just a lesson in lice removal. (I've learned a lot this year!) Whatever it is, I'm paying attention. Summer 2013 has now officially begun. Instead of spending our days doing nothing other than laundry and vacuuming, we are Legoing, playing board games, scootering, reading, swimming. And gearing up for dancing to start again.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Mason Jar Plants
Happy summer everyone! I hope you are as happy as I am that the end finally came! I can breathe. I can relax. All the dishes in the kitchen are washed for the first time in weeks. My children like each other again. Granted we are only three days in, but I am a much happier person than I was last week. More on our end of the school year later. For now, I want to show you what I made as end of the year thank you gifts for our preschool parent board.
Last year, my friend Amber was president of the parent board, and, feeling generous, she gave every member of the parent board a pair of flip flops. Super cute. Summery. Useful. But at $5 apiece (at best) times 25 members of the board, that's a little more money than I wanted to spend. Plus, I couldn't do flip flops again. I searched all around and couldn't come up with anything cute for more like $2 per gift. So I decided I'd make something myself. Of course I went with my old standby: the mason jar! This is one of the easiest projects I've ever done, and I think they turned out pretty cute.
I filled the bottom with a mixture of those decorative shiny glass rock thingys that we purchased and some shiny real rocks that Annalise had in her "treasure box" from preschool. She just finished fourth grade. She wasn't too heartbroken to part with some of her treasures. The rocks at the bottom give you a little bit of a drainage so that the roots don't get too soggy. (These are technical terms here. Can you tell I'm a real gardener?)
You see what I mean. It's a good thing I'm such an experienced gardener and I never, ever kill plants. Ever. This took some serious skill.
I gently punched down the soil a bit, just so it all fit in nicely, but really I couldn't have planned that any better. (And believe me, I really hadn't planned for that to be that easy.) I didn't even have to use any additional potting soil.
I put my old file folders to use again. This time I traced a small glass to make circles. (This part made me yearn a bit for one of those circle punches, I have to admit.) But I LOVE reusing something I already have, especially something that has literally been sitting in a cabinet for eleven years.
They're not perfect, just like me!
Then I just personalized each one. And got out my twine, my other old standby.
Here's the finished product! Cute, isn't it? And not bad for less than $2 apiece.
Last year, my friend Amber was president of the parent board, and, feeling generous, she gave every member of the parent board a pair of flip flops. Super cute. Summery. Useful. But at $5 apiece (at best) times 25 members of the board, that's a little more money than I wanted to spend. Plus, I couldn't do flip flops again. I searched all around and couldn't come up with anything cute for more like $2 per gift. So I decided I'd make something myself. Of course I went with my old standby: the mason jar! This is one of the easiest projects I've ever done, and I think they turned out pretty cute.
Hello, old friend! I went with a cute, half pint size. I didn't want something too big to take up too much space. This little guy is perfect for a kitchen window.
I filled the bottom with a mixture of those decorative shiny glass rock thingys that we purchased and some shiny real rocks that Annalise had in her "treasure box" from preschool. She just finished fourth grade. She wasn't too heartbroken to part with some of her treasures. The rocks at the bottom give you a little bit of a drainage so that the roots don't get too soggy. (These are technical terms here. Can you tell I'm a real gardener?)
I didn't want to put too many in; just enough to cover the bottom. OK, get ready. Things are about to get really complicated. Jason bought me six packs of impatiens. I removed each flower, broke apart the roots a bit and shoved it into the jar.
You see what I mean. It's a good thing I'm such an experienced gardener and I never, ever kill plants. Ever. This took some serious skill.
I gently punched down the soil a bit, just so it all fit in nicely, but really I couldn't have planned that any better. (And believe me, I really hadn't planned for that to be that easy.) I didn't even have to use any additional potting soil.
I put my old file folders to use again. This time I traced a small glass to make circles. (This part made me yearn a bit for one of those circle punches, I have to admit.) But I LOVE reusing something I already have, especially something that has literally been sitting in a cabinet for eleven years.
They're not perfect, just like me!
Then I just personalized each one. And got out my twine, my other old standby.
Here's the finished product! Cute, isn't it? And not bad for less than $2 apiece.
And here they are, ready to go to the parent board meeting. They held up better than I did, and I can attest that, two weeks later, they are still going strong! Woo hoo! One of our board members is still on a trip to Spain (lucky duck), so I'm managing to keep hers alive until she returns. And if I can keep one alive, then surely the others are still kickin'. At the meeting I was a blubbering mess, as you can imagine. It's not even my last year there. I don't even want to think about next year. Puddles. It won't be pretty. I'll have to come up with something really clever to give my girls next year. They are an awesome board, who deserve a little something pretty.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Home Tour
In the area where we live in Southern California, we are surrounded by many beautiful, large homes. I shouldn't say surrounded, because our house is actually surrounded by small California ranch houses that look similar to the one in which we live. But in the area, there are many big, gorgeous houses. Each year, the Pasadena Showcase House of Design chooses one of these big, beautiful houses and sets loose a bevy of designers to do their thing. After a quick four month turn around, the house is opened to the public to tour, admire and raise money for local music programs. It's estimated that this year 40,000 people will tour the house. My good friend Courtney was fortunate enough to be one of the designers chosen to design one of the bedroom suites this year. I have been "selected" to be one of the docents in Courtney's room. (*By selected I mean I volunteered my services as cheap labor. And by cheap I mean free.) It's been really fun. I even got in trouble yesterday because there was too much of a back up in our room. Can I help it if I'm representing the best room in the house? If you want to see some pictures of the room in progress, check out Court's blog at http://strongstudiodesigns.blogspot.com
She doesn't have any pictures up yet of the finished product. Oh crap. That's my job. Better get on that...
We also have a home tour every spring of local "real" people's houses in our town as a fundraiser for the junior high school. One of the houses is a 12,000 square foot Normandy estate. I'm sure our whole house could fit into the master bedroom.
All this talk of home tours has gotten me thinking about what people will see if they come on a home tour of our home. Let me give you a sneak peek of what you would see. I know you're super excited to see it, so I'll just give you a little preview!
As you meander up the driveway, look to your right to notice the flower beds. Lavender, society garlic, day lilies surround the base of a birch tree. Feel free to pick a few weeds. Wait. That gives me an idea. Pick a few weeds. Ten apiece. That will be your entrance fee. Mind your step on your way up the driveway. The driveway hasn't been swept in awhile and is carpeted with crap that falls from the tree next door. As you approach the front door, make sure you notice the basketball hoop. Attached you will find the remains of a "raccoon trap" that Zachary built last year. The planter box has a unique element! Instead of plants, you will find old pots, wooden spoons, sand toys, various doll parts, watering cans; you get the picture. This is where Juliette "cooks", "teaches", plays "Mommy", holds court over the cul de sac. You will also find the pots not used in the planter on the porch, along with various markers, maybe some dolly clothes. In the vintage egg crate by the front door, you will find either soccer balls, cleats and shinguards or baseball cleats and a mitt, depending on the season. The rainbow wreath on the front door is left over from Juliette's birthday party several months ago.
Enter the house into the grand foyer and be sure to gaze upon the spiderwebs that just haven't been removed yet. They are not only beautiful, but functional as well! They catch many of the various insects that enter the house when the kids leave the door open as they run outside to play. From there, enter the kitchen. The kitchen table sits in a lovely nook of windows overlooking the front yard. On it you will find homework papers, preschool notices, cookbooks and picture books. Assorted stuffed animals watch the youngest member of the family eat her breakfast. The homemade bulletin board, which has way too much stuffing for thumbtacks to stay in place (sometimes) holds birthday party invitations, photographs and preschool art projects. The refrigerator door holds pictures of soccer and baseball teams. The water heater cabinet door holds class pictures; lift up this year's to see the ones from years past. Piles of important and not-so-important papers are stacked on the kitchen counter, next to the lice preventative spray, next to a clay butterfly. There may or may not be dishes stacked in the sink. Probably the crock pot is filled with soup for dinner. The kitchen chairs, purchased almost eleven years ago for our first house, "until we can afford something nicer" sport spots of pink and red paint and one has a broken back.
The living room, which Courtney designed and put together as a surprise for me, is actually awesome. Take a look. It looks like a grown up owns that part of the house.
Further through the house you'll travel. The family room, the laundry room, the bathrooms, bedrooms. Toothpaste remains in the sinks. Spilled mouthwash makes the counters sticky. Piles of folded laundry are on the family room floor, the unfolded laundry spilling over the basket in the laundry room. The carpets are stained, the furniture dusty. Books and toys, plastic party favors clutter up desks and corners of bedrooms. Mothers' and Fathers' Day cards decorate the master bath. Pictures of smiling children cover every empty surface.
My friend Beth once told me, as I asked her forgiveness for my messy house, "You're raising a family, not a house." I try to remember this when I see dollies and kitchen toys filling up every corner of the house, crumbs on the dining room floor, unmade beds, red handprints on the wall out back. Someday my house will look like my parents' -- everything in its place, floors vacuumed, furniture dusted, papers filed. But for now, our house is our home, and we live here, all five of us. Our house is not worthy of strangers coming through to gawk and admire, but perhaps our family is. We aren't perfect and we aren't perfectly staged either. There are times when we are a lot prettier than others, all of us getting along, running through the sprinklers, playing basketball, having a real conversation at the dinner table. And there are other times you will hear yelling, arguing, bad grades on tests, lice. (OK, I'm hoping you won't have to see that again!) But we are a real family in a real home. We don't need a special tour to invite you inside. Friends are always welcome. Come inside. You'll find the greatest thing to see is the laughter and the love.
She doesn't have any pictures up yet of the finished product. Oh crap. That's my job. Better get on that...
We also have a home tour every spring of local "real" people's houses in our town as a fundraiser for the junior high school. One of the houses is a 12,000 square foot Normandy estate. I'm sure our whole house could fit into the master bedroom.
All this talk of home tours has gotten me thinking about what people will see if they come on a home tour of our home. Let me give you a sneak peek of what you would see. I know you're super excited to see it, so I'll just give you a little preview!
As you meander up the driveway, look to your right to notice the flower beds. Lavender, society garlic, day lilies surround the base of a birch tree. Feel free to pick a few weeds. Wait. That gives me an idea. Pick a few weeds. Ten apiece. That will be your entrance fee. Mind your step on your way up the driveway. The driveway hasn't been swept in awhile and is carpeted with crap that falls from the tree next door. As you approach the front door, make sure you notice the basketball hoop. Attached you will find the remains of a "raccoon trap" that Zachary built last year. The planter box has a unique element! Instead of plants, you will find old pots, wooden spoons, sand toys, various doll parts, watering cans; you get the picture. This is where Juliette "cooks", "teaches", plays "Mommy", holds court over the cul de sac. You will also find the pots not used in the planter on the porch, along with various markers, maybe some dolly clothes. In the vintage egg crate by the front door, you will find either soccer balls, cleats and shinguards or baseball cleats and a mitt, depending on the season. The rainbow wreath on the front door is left over from Juliette's birthday party several months ago.
Enter the house into the grand foyer and be sure to gaze upon the spiderwebs that just haven't been removed yet. They are not only beautiful, but functional as well! They catch many of the various insects that enter the house when the kids leave the door open as they run outside to play. From there, enter the kitchen. The kitchen table sits in a lovely nook of windows overlooking the front yard. On it you will find homework papers, preschool notices, cookbooks and picture books. Assorted stuffed animals watch the youngest member of the family eat her breakfast. The homemade bulletin board, which has way too much stuffing for thumbtacks to stay in place (sometimes) holds birthday party invitations, photographs and preschool art projects. The refrigerator door holds pictures of soccer and baseball teams. The water heater cabinet door holds class pictures; lift up this year's to see the ones from years past. Piles of important and not-so-important papers are stacked on the kitchen counter, next to the lice preventative spray, next to a clay butterfly. There may or may not be dishes stacked in the sink. Probably the crock pot is filled with soup for dinner. The kitchen chairs, purchased almost eleven years ago for our first house, "until we can afford something nicer" sport spots of pink and red paint and one has a broken back.
The living room, which Courtney designed and put together as a surprise for me, is actually awesome. Take a look. It looks like a grown up owns that part of the house.
Further through the house you'll travel. The family room, the laundry room, the bathrooms, bedrooms. Toothpaste remains in the sinks. Spilled mouthwash makes the counters sticky. Piles of folded laundry are on the family room floor, the unfolded laundry spilling over the basket in the laundry room. The carpets are stained, the furniture dusty. Books and toys, plastic party favors clutter up desks and corners of bedrooms. Mothers' and Fathers' Day cards decorate the master bath. Pictures of smiling children cover every empty surface.
My friend Beth once told me, as I asked her forgiveness for my messy house, "You're raising a family, not a house." I try to remember this when I see dollies and kitchen toys filling up every corner of the house, crumbs on the dining room floor, unmade beds, red handprints on the wall out back. Someday my house will look like my parents' -- everything in its place, floors vacuumed, furniture dusted, papers filed. But for now, our house is our home, and we live here, all five of us. Our house is not worthy of strangers coming through to gawk and admire, but perhaps our family is. We aren't perfect and we aren't perfectly staged either. There are times when we are a lot prettier than others, all of us getting along, running through the sprinklers, playing basketball, having a real conversation at the dinner table. And there are other times you will hear yelling, arguing, bad grades on tests, lice. (OK, I'm hoping you won't have to see that again!) But we are a real family in a real home. We don't need a special tour to invite you inside. Friends are always welcome. Come inside. You'll find the greatest thing to see is the laughter and the love.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Rainbow Art Party, Part Four
This is so long overdue, but finally I have the time to sit down and write about Juliette's Rainbow Art Party! It seems like such a long time ago... It certainly was a different hairdo ago! Here are the final details and pictures from her party.
We made this banner so easily! Just a cute, free downloadable font, with the letters really big in rainbow order. I printed one letter per page and then cut them using my paper cutter. To do the bottom, I just folded the page in half only part way up the page and then cut on an angle from the corner to the middle. I strung them using multiple colors of yarn and my hole punch. Then I just taped that bad boy to the garage!
We also made these cute tissue paper puff balls for decorations.
They were really easy and cost less than a dollar each, having bought tissue paper at the Dollar Store. I planned to make a super cute balloon arch that I saw online, but time management still is not my friend, and the arch never got made. We ended up with balloons all over the living room which provided extra entertainment for the kids! Some balloons got hung up around the front yard, but most were kicked around, thrown and added to the fun. We also had our fabric wreath on the front door.
So have I mentioned that I have a problem with time management? Yeah, so it's a major issue. Now would be a good time to bring up the fact that all these pictures (with the exception of the wreath picture, which was taken well before the party) were taken by a ten year old. If I were an organized person, I would have taken pictures before the party started. Instead I was trying to string together a balloon arch that never got finished while my husband and mother spent the first half hour of the party finishing assembling the food. So you'll have to believe me when I say that the fruit salad was beautiful. Bottom layer: purple grapes, blueberries on top of that, then green kiwi, yellow pineapple, orange tangerine sections and red sliced strawberries on top. Here's what it looked like when we finally took a picture of it:
Oh well. At least they liked the fruit!
We bought white bread (Those who know me are shocked!) and took a flower cookie cutter and lengthened it to make cloud-shaped sandwiches.
The veggie cups were super easy to assemble... just some ranch dressing in the bottom of the cup, then a red pepper stick, carrot stick, yellow pepper stick and a celery stick. (Sorry, no blue or purple veggies!)
Grown ups had different sandwiches. When I have a lot of little people over, instead of buying a lot of water bottles that just get wasted, I buy these little shot glass size cups for water. There's still a lot of waste, but not as much as one four year old going through four water bottles at one party. One of our grown up friends got clever and served himself up a little wine!
Here are the rainbow cupcakes. They were a little tricky and time consuming. For one batch, I just lumped the batter in instead of spreading out the layers. Juliette got a lumped up one. Still super pretty, I think!
OK, enough of the food and decorations. Let's get to the important stuff! What we did!
We had homemade rainbow play dough...
We drew with sidewalk chalk on the driveway...
Each kid made their own 24 piece puzzle...
We made this banner so easily! Just a cute, free downloadable font, with the letters really big in rainbow order. I printed one letter per page and then cut them using my paper cutter. To do the bottom, I just folded the page in half only part way up the page and then cut on an angle from the corner to the middle. I strung them using multiple colors of yarn and my hole punch. Then I just taped that bad boy to the garage!
We also made these cute tissue paper puff balls for decorations.
They were really easy and cost less than a dollar each, having bought tissue paper at the Dollar Store. I planned to make a super cute balloon arch that I saw online, but time management still is not my friend, and the arch never got made. We ended up with balloons all over the living room which provided extra entertainment for the kids! Some balloons got hung up around the front yard, but most were kicked around, thrown and added to the fun. We also had our fabric wreath on the front door.
So have I mentioned that I have a problem with time management? Yeah, so it's a major issue. Now would be a good time to bring up the fact that all these pictures (with the exception of the wreath picture, which was taken well before the party) were taken by a ten year old. If I were an organized person, I would have taken pictures before the party started. Instead I was trying to string together a balloon arch that never got finished while my husband and mother spent the first half hour of the party finishing assembling the food. So you'll have to believe me when I say that the fruit salad was beautiful. Bottom layer: purple grapes, blueberries on top of that, then green kiwi, yellow pineapple, orange tangerine sections and red sliced strawberries on top. Here's what it looked like when we finally took a picture of it:
Oh well. At least they liked the fruit!
We bought white bread (Those who know me are shocked!) and took a flower cookie cutter and lengthened it to make cloud-shaped sandwiches.
The veggie cups were super easy to assemble... just some ranch dressing in the bottom of the cup, then a red pepper stick, carrot stick, yellow pepper stick and a celery stick. (Sorry, no blue or purple veggies!)
Grown ups had different sandwiches. When I have a lot of little people over, instead of buying a lot of water bottles that just get wasted, I buy these little shot glass size cups for water. There's still a lot of waste, but not as much as one four year old going through four water bottles at one party. One of our grown up friends got clever and served himself up a little wine!
Here are the rainbow cupcakes. They were a little tricky and time consuming. For one batch, I just lumped the batter in instead of spreading out the layers. Juliette got a lumped up one. Still super pretty, I think!
OK, enough of the food and decorations. Let's get to the important stuff! What we did!
We had homemade rainbow play dough...
We drew with sidewalk chalk on the driveway...
Each kid made their own 24 piece puzzle...
We dyed macaroni to make necklaces and to glue onto paper.
We poured colored sand into bottles...
And we painted three large canvases for Juliette's room and each child painted a small one of their own to take home...
It was a really fun, colorful party! I hope you enjoy the pictures as much as we enjoyed the party!
Thursday, March 28, 2013
A Little Trim
I know I still haven't posted anything about Juliette's Rainbow Art Party. I will. I'm still deciding which pictures to use and I need a bigger chunk of time to do that. Someday I'll have a bigger chunk of time. Maybe when Juliette leaves for college.
So we had a little excitement this week in our house. Excitement in the form of scissors. Who has a guess as to where I'm going here? Yeah, you all do. Hair. Cut. Not pretty. I'd post pictures but I do want Juliette to still speak to me when she's a teenager. And I also want to save them for bribery.
Juliette was in her room for her nap on Monday. She almost never falls asleep immediately and sometimes she doesn't fall asleep at all. On Monday she did. And when she woke up I went in to cuddle with her. I did notice that her hair was horrible looking but isn't their hair always horrible when they wake up from their naps? And then I noticed in the trashcan in her room these beautiful long wisps of blondish brown hair (along with some clearly synthetic black and blond hair). And then I looked closer at her hair. Oh. My. God. Her hair was seriously scary. The bangs are awful. She took chunks out of the back and off the sides. All over. As one of my friends said, she looked like Billy Ray Cyrus. It was seriously mullet-like. Oh boy. Of course it happened on a Monday and no one is open on Mondays. Thank God for Supercuts! She now has a super cute bob cut. As she said, "My hair is really cute, Mommy. Everyone thinks my hair is cute."
Juliette's hair is cute. But I keep telling people not to comment. I don't want to encourage her to do it again!
My brother asked why I was upset by it all. He said I let her pick out her own clothes; it's Juliette's hair, why shouldn't I just let her choose how her hair should look. It's a great question. Why don't I let her choose how she wants her hair to look? Why was I upset? Do I care that much about what her hair looks like? On an every day basis, actually, no. I don't really care what her hair looks like. But for certain things, yes, I want her hair to look nice. For her dance pictures, where she's a part of a group, yes, I'd like her hair to look nice. I can't put her hair up because it's so short on the sides. I don't know how I'll even do the hair for the dance pictures and performance. But she's only four, and when we all look back on those pictures, we will all remember and have a laugh remembering how Juliette cut her hair. It's like the kid in Juliette's class who wears pajamas every day. I am so grateful that his mother let him wear his pajamas in the class picture. (Clearly a third child. No first born would ever be caught at preschool in their pjs unless it was pajama day!) I want to remember the kid who wore his pajamas every day. And really, how awesome is that?! Clearly this is a brilliant child. I would like to stay in my pajamas all day, too. That kid is a genius.
But there's more that upsets me. When I asked Juliette why she did it, she said, "I just wanted to be a little bit sneaky." So that upsets me. She cut her Polly Pockets' hair and the next day she cut the wigs' hair in the "beauty salon" at preschool the next day. Who's to say she's not going to go into her sister's room and cut the hair of the $100 American Girl Doll's hair. That's what I'm more upset about. It's a trust thing. She is having her nap now. I don't know what I'll find when I get in there. And I don't like feeling that way about one of my children.
So we had a little excitement this week in our house. Excitement in the form of scissors. Who has a guess as to where I'm going here? Yeah, you all do. Hair. Cut. Not pretty. I'd post pictures but I do want Juliette to still speak to me when she's a teenager. And I also want to save them for bribery.
Juliette was in her room for her nap on Monday. She almost never falls asleep immediately and sometimes she doesn't fall asleep at all. On Monday she did. And when she woke up I went in to cuddle with her. I did notice that her hair was horrible looking but isn't their hair always horrible when they wake up from their naps? And then I noticed in the trashcan in her room these beautiful long wisps of blondish brown hair (along with some clearly synthetic black and blond hair). And then I looked closer at her hair. Oh. My. God. Her hair was seriously scary. The bangs are awful. She took chunks out of the back and off the sides. All over. As one of my friends said, she looked like Billy Ray Cyrus. It was seriously mullet-like. Oh boy. Of course it happened on a Monday and no one is open on Mondays. Thank God for Supercuts! She now has a super cute bob cut. As she said, "My hair is really cute, Mommy. Everyone thinks my hair is cute."
Juliette's hair is cute. But I keep telling people not to comment. I don't want to encourage her to do it again!
My brother asked why I was upset by it all. He said I let her pick out her own clothes; it's Juliette's hair, why shouldn't I just let her choose how her hair should look. It's a great question. Why don't I let her choose how she wants her hair to look? Why was I upset? Do I care that much about what her hair looks like? On an every day basis, actually, no. I don't really care what her hair looks like. But for certain things, yes, I want her hair to look nice. For her dance pictures, where she's a part of a group, yes, I'd like her hair to look nice. I can't put her hair up because it's so short on the sides. I don't know how I'll even do the hair for the dance pictures and performance. But she's only four, and when we all look back on those pictures, we will all remember and have a laugh remembering how Juliette cut her hair. It's like the kid in Juliette's class who wears pajamas every day. I am so grateful that his mother let him wear his pajamas in the class picture. (Clearly a third child. No first born would ever be caught at preschool in their pjs unless it was pajama day!) I want to remember the kid who wore his pajamas every day. And really, how awesome is that?! Clearly this is a brilliant child. I would like to stay in my pajamas all day, too. That kid is a genius.
But there's more that upsets me. When I asked Juliette why she did it, she said, "I just wanted to be a little bit sneaky." So that upsets me. She cut her Polly Pockets' hair and the next day she cut the wigs' hair in the "beauty salon" at preschool the next day. Who's to say she's not going to go into her sister's room and cut the hair of the $100 American Girl Doll's hair. That's what I'm more upset about. It's a trust thing. She is having her nap now. I don't know what I'll find when I get in there. And I don't like feeling that way about one of my children.
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