The Haircut

My hair tends to grow like a Chia Head.

Remember, from the early 90's? Those plants that you could rub the seeds on different shaped things, like a porcupine (Chia Pet) or someone's head?

Well, that's my life.

However, this summer, I read a book called "Curly Girl," by Lorraine Massey. It changed my life.

My curls are no longer frizzy, and they just...work.

So, earlier this summer, with my new-found confidence, I went short.

With my hair, I mean.

Now, a chapter in my book is devoted to cutting your own hair. Mainly because most stylists don't treat curly hair correctly, so you can just do it yourself. This way, you save money and a lot of heartache.

My dear husband just heard the "money" part, and has wanted me to let him trim my hair for a while now.

Since I was feeling especially "Chia" last week, I asked Matt to trim my hair. He gleefully agreed, and I could see the dollar signs shine in his beautiful blue eyes.

HAIR CUTTING RULE #1: It's not what you take off, it's what you leave on.

Looking at the beautiful cherub curls falling to the kitchen floor around me, I was getting nervous that my dear husband was forgetting ol' Rule #1. But being the ever-trusting wife, I just sat while he cut...and cut...and cut...

Finally, Matt stepped back with a big smile and said, "OKAY! Take a look!"

In the mirror of the first floor bathroom, I couldn't hold back the tears. It was SHORT.

Perhaps I should have both reiterated Rule #1, and redefined the difference between a "cut" and a "trim."

Matt felt awful. I felt awful.

Matt was told he no longer could trim my hair.

*****

The next day, I don't think I'd ever received as many compliments on any haircut as the one Matt gave me.

Matt started keeping count...around compliment 10 or 11, he lovingly leaned over to me and said, "I think I just may get my shears reinstated."

*sigh*

Okay. I give. I like it now, it just took a couple of days.

And yes, dear...here are your shears.

First Day of Kindergarten

This morning was Henry's first day of Kindergarten!

He got to pick out the color of his uniform shirt, got dressed right away, and came down to breakfast without any wheeling-and-dealing. (He's not the best morning person!)

Henry was escorted to Mrs. Widner's room by Mom, Nana (the school's music teacher) & all 3 brothers. Even though other kids were crying, Henry was super-brave. Right before I left, he told me,
"Mom...I'm getting a little frightened."

So, I gave him a quick hug and left the room. I figured it was better to run before he thought about it too much.

When we all picked him up at 11:00, he was all smiles. I asked him how his day went, and he said,

"Oh, Mama! It was AMAZING! I was, like, made to go to kindergarten!"

I was fine getting him ready, I was fine dropping him off. But it wasn't until I picked him up and he told me how ready he was for school that I got a little teary-eyed! I WANT him to love school, to do well and make friends.

He just got real big, real fast...I don't know, I guess it makes me feel like I'm a real adult.

I feel like I was made to be a mom. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me. As much as I have one hand pulling Henry back at home with me, I have the other hand pushing him out the door to be a successful little guy on his own.

There is a song from the musical "Children of Eden" that says,
'The hardest part of love is the letting go.'


I get that now.

EPILOGUE: Before Matt left for work this morning, he told Henry not to tell Mom everything so he could save a few new things for Dad. After Henry told me how amazing school was today, he said, "Mom...I can't really tell you anything else. Dad told me not to. Sorry."

*sigh*

At least he's a good listener.

Normal

Meet Jake.

He is like any normal 2 year old boy...he just is the most comfortable when he has a shirt draped over the top of his head.

This is SO different than before, because until he turned 2, he would only be calmed down by rubbing a sock on his face.

We tried subbing in a beanie baby, or a cute little blanket, but all were rejected.

Only a sock would do.

Now, he has graduated to t-shirts.

I feel bad for all those parents with weird children.