Jinkies

Alright, so I get bored every once in awhile and totally change my hair. The fact is, it is a miracle that I have kept it red for as long as I have (about three and a half years now). And when I change it, it is always drastic.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to go back to the dark brown I had several times before, but the last time I had it was when I was pregnant with Zoe. I printed pictures I had of myself with the dark brown hair and showed them to my stylist. She said she was clear on what I wanted and when it was all said and done, it was black. It is always hard to tell with the lights in the salon, so I came home and examined it in my bathroom- still black. I looked a little like Gene Simmons.

Thanks to Facebook, I received tips for fading it quickly- and they worked, but not as fast as I would have liked. It still took almost a week to fade it to where I am not so self-conscious. It is still a tad dark for my taste, but I like it- it isn't black anymore.

This brings us to last night. The kids are in Texas and my husband and I decided to have a real date. We have a local restaurant I LOVE that has live entertainment on Friday nights out on the patio. I booked the reservations, put on a hottie sundress, some makeup and out we went.

The live entertainment was a comedian. To be fair, he busted on everyone in the audience and I know how comedians are, I've been to shows before. But, he pointed to me and said, " You- with the glasses. God bless those glasses, they are so hot! You look like Velma from Scooby Doo." There was actually more to the joke, but it was R-rated and I try to keep this blog PG, so I will leave it out. It was funny, I am not a bad sport, but I couldn't get past the Velma thing. My husband tried to tell me Velma was hot to make me feel better. And I was like- come on! She's the homely one with the bowl hair cut and baggy clothes. She's the one in orange.

So, if you are looking for me, I might be either playing with sharp objects or hanging out with my head in the oven.

Jinkies!

{taken the first day, when it was still really dark}

Deep in the Heart (Corner) of Texas

The kids are in Texas with family and DJ and I are back in New Jersey, kid-free and not entirely sure what to do with ourselves. We are currently camping at the Jersey shore in our pop-up camper. It sure is quiet, and peaceful without the kids to contend with.

Last night, we spoke to Noah and Zoe on the phone. So far, everything seems fine, I have not heard of anyone crying for home, but Zoe does make it a point to mention during every conversation, "I want to stay with you guys." I keep reminding her that we will be there in a few weeks, and she lets it go.

Noah, on the other hand, has slipped right into life in the Lone Star State. Or perhaps not so much.

It becomes more and more apparent to us as the years go by that Noah is a Jersey boy through and through. Yesterday, he told his MeMaw he wanted some "water ice". She looked blankly at him and after some confusion and clarification, she took him to a sno cone stand. It was here that Noah gave the man working there a lesson in water ice and how it was made. And then proceeded to inform him that he had no idea why the product this man was pedaling was called a "sno cone" because it did not resemble snow in the least. He asked the man had he ever seen real snow and assured him it was nothing like this shaved ice he was placing in a paper cone for Noah.

What is "water ice" you ask? First you must learn to pronounce it properly- /wooder ice/. Now that you have the proper pronunciation down, you can educate yourself here and here. It is a regional name (Philadelphia area which includes South Jersey) for Italian Ice. It is like a slush or a sno cone, but smoother and with more liquid. Whereas with a slush or sno cone, you tend to suck all the juice out, leaving ice, this doesn't happen with a water ice.

So, if you are in the great state of Texas and you run into a small, scrawny boy, about 4' tall looking lost and confused and demanding his "wooder ice", please tell him his mother says hello.

And that she's eating a Rita's water ice as you speak.

A Hair Raising Tale

Okay, if you have been reading this blog for more than ten minutes, you know that my daughter is a little headstrong. She also has her own unique way of doing things and she expects everyone else to get on board or else get left behind. (She's three)

This way of thinking about things extends even to her hair. I really can't remember when she started assigning her own names to her various acceptable hairstyles, but I know it has been going on since at least last fall. The fun began the first time I had to figure out what kind of hairstyle she wanted based on the name she was giving me. This isn't as easy as it sounds.

Many a morning was spent with tears, tantrums and fits while she tried to convey to me how she wanted me to fix her hair and I tried to understand what it was she wanted from me. I believe I have finally cracked the code (at least until she comes up with another one) and have compiled a list of her favorites. The original reason for this list is because we are meeting some family members halfway between our house and theirs this weekend (we live 1500 miles from our families) and for the first time, our kids will go home with our family for the summer without us. I am excited and nervous, but mostly, I fear for my family members and the days they will spend trying to figure out what it is that Zoe wants from them. I made a little flip book to send with her for reference and I wanted to share the highlights with you.

#1- Ariel Hair



This is the term she uses simply to mean that she wants to wear her hair down.


#2- Ariel Hair with Barrette

This just means she wants to add a barrette to pin her bangs out of her face.


#3- Belle Hair

The sides of her hair are pulled back into a half ponytail with the back hanging down.


#4- Cinderella Hair


She wants to wear a headband.


#5- Ballet Hair

This would be a ponytail.


#6- Dance Hair or sometimes Ballet Hair with Dance Hair

In addition to the ponytail, she wants her bangs french braided to the side, away from her face and into the ponytail.


#7- Picnic Hair

Two french braids down the side of her head.


#8- Rapunzel Hair

This can either be one regular braid down the back or one french braid down the back.
(I do not have a picture of this)


And there you have it, should you ever run across Zoe, angry in a dark alley wielding a hair elastic and a comb, you will know what to do to appease her.

Good luck!

And may the force be with you.

The Evolution of the Beg

While leaving the parking lot of my meeting this morning, Zoe spots Burger King and here is what follows:

ZOE: Mommy, can I have fry-fries and chicken nuggets from Burger King?

ME: No, you just had breakfast.

ZOE: But I hungry!

ME: We are on our way to Target and maybe if you are good, we can stop at Chick Fil A on our way out.

NOAH: (being a typical little boy trying to antagonize his sister) Why don't we just stop on the side of the road and kill a chicken and eat it?

ZOE: Stop it, Noah! I not talking to YOU!

*silence for about ten seconds and then we pass the local pick-your-own farm*

ZOE: Mommy! I want to go there and get strawberries!

ME: No, do you see those dark clouds? It is going to rain, so even if we stop there, it will rain on us and if it starts thundering, they won't let us pick strawberries.

ZOE: But, I'm hungry and I want to eat strawberries!!

ME: Sorry, Zoe. We have to go to Target.

*silence for another golden twenty seconds*

ZOE: Mommy! I want to go fishing.

*I have no idea where this came from and I was silent for a moment because I was confused*

ZOE: MOMMY!! I SAY I WANT TO GO FISHING!!!

ME: I heard you, Zoe. Maybe one day Daddy can take you and Noah fishing. I think Noah has a fishing pole.

NOAH: You are not using my fishing pole, Zoe.

ZOE: SHUT UP, NOAH, I AM TOO!!

ME: Alright! Why are we fighting? In the entire time we have been a family, we have never gone fishing, so why are we fighting about it?

ZOE: At Target, can I buy a fishing pole?

ME: No.

ZOE: Why? I want a fishing pole with pink princess on it!

ME: BECAUSE WE DO NOT GO FISHING! We don't need more stuff in the house that we don't use.

ZOE: (on the verge of a meltdown) BUT. I. WANT. TO. GO. FIIIISSHHHIIIINNNNGGG!

ME: Zoe, what would you do if you caught a fish?

ZOE: I would put him in a bowl and put him in my room like Noah's fish.

ME: Ohhh. No, Noah didn't catch his fish in his room. That fish is a pet. We bought that fish.

**five second silence**

ZOE: Mommy, can you buy me a fish at Target?

ME: No, no more critters in the house.

ZOE: I WANNA FIIIIISSSSSSHHHHHH!

ME: Zoe, you need to straighten up or we are not going to Chick Fil A after we leave Target.

**about thirty more seconds of golden silence**

ZOE: Mommy, I hungry. Can I have fry-fries and chicken nuggets?

**Seventy- five days until school starts**

By the Skin of HisTeeth

This past summer, I wrote this post about my son's two bottom teeth coming in behind his baby teeth- resulting in two rows of teeth like a shark. A few months later, when his baby teeth were still not loose, we had to pay an oral surgeon to have them removed. Trust me, it was not cheap.

You can imagine my dread about three months ago when I noticed his top two front teeth coming in. The good thing, is it appeared that they were at least making his baby teeth loose. Then one day, I wiggled a tooth and it was noticeably loose. I was so excited that I was not going to have to pay someone to do what potato chips, apples, corn on the cob or just a good knuckle sandwich from his sister could accomplish.

And yet- nothing. Noah started guarding his mouth like an Egyptian tomb and would not let anyone near his mouth to wiggle them. Hush, hush plans were made and deals may or may not have been struck with Zoe that she would receive a new princess outfit if she could manage to knock those teeth out. Anything to avoid paying for it again.

Three weeks ago, his two top front baby teeth began sticking straight out. I mean, the boy looked like he could eat corn on the cob through a picket fence. The adult teeth were pushing them out and yet, he still would not let anyone near them.

Two and a half weeks ago, I picked Noah up from school early. As I stood in the school lobby, peering down the hallway, suddenly he appeared. Something didn't look right. He smiled at me and one tooth was hanging lower than the other. When we got in the van, I told him his tooth looked funny and he admitted he had gone to the nurse at lunch because it was so loose it was bothering him. She had given him some Ambesol or Orajel or something similar and advised him to PULL IT! I casually asked him to smile for me so I could see why it looked strange. He did and I instantly saw it was hanging by a tiny thread. Without hesitating, I snapped into Ninja mode and with one swipe, I grabbed it and yanked it out. He hollered and then realized it was out and it was done. One down, one to go.

Later that evening, the remaining tooth moved over in the missing tooth's spot. Sort of like I do to my husband as soon as he gets out of bed in the morning. That tooth was hanging sideways, twisted and crooked across his mouth and he looked like he came from the river bottom.

Nothing could persuade Noah to let us pull the other tooth. Not even the potential that maybe the tooth fairy could give him extra money for two teeth at once.

We were back to square one. I kept telling him to quit smiling in public because he was embarrassing me. He kept swatting at me everytime I came too close to his mouth. And EVERYONE we came across told him to PULL THAT TOOTH!!


Finally last week, his father- who had been silently staying out of it- reached his breaking point. He grabbed Noah and pinned him down on the couch and pulled the tooth. Once again, Noah screamed and then realized it was all over with and proclaimed it "no big deal".

I only hope we don't have to go through this drama for every tooth. If we do, I think the tooth fairy owes ME money!

The Year of My High School Reunion and Also When My Son Called Me Old

This year is the twentieth anniversary of my graduation from high school. I graduated in May of 1991. I remember when I graduated, my dad remarked how I graduated exactly twenty years to the day after he did. And I marveled about being out of high school for twenty years, being thirty-eight years old and having a child graduating high school. I could not wrap my head around it.

And yet, what seems like MAYBE five years later, here I am. Twenty years later. Wow. I did things differently than my parents. I did not give birth to my first child until I was thirty. I think that is partially why my brain can't wrap around my age. I still think I am the same age or just a few years older than college students. And then I realize I could legitimately be their mother. Whoa.

So, as I write and you read, my twenty year reunion is being planned. It was decided to have it in the fall in conjunction with the high school's homecoming game and festivities. I was asked to design a couple of logos for use on shirts, invitations and whatnot. As I was sitting at my computer this afternoon, playing around with different designs, Noah walked in and sat beside me.

"SHS Class of 1991? Wow! Is that when you graduated?"

"Yes, Noah. I graduated high school in 1991."

**pause**

"So... that's....uh....WOW! TWENTY YEARS!?"

"Yep! Twenty years. That is why we are having a reunion."

"Is the school still there?"

"What do you mean? Of course there is still a high school in my town!"

" No, I mean the BUILDING where you went to school. It must be pretty old!"

"Yes, the building is still there, but it is the middle school now. They built a new high school after I left."

"So, it is still actually a school, then?"

**getting irritated now**

"Yes, Noah, it is still a school. What is your point?"

"I just thought if you went to school there TWENTY YEARS AGO, it must have fallen down by now. That's really old."

Should I tell him our house was built in 1984?

It's Over (this time)

If you have been hanging out with me during my husband's deployment I both thank you for your support and apologize for the spotty and sometimes woe-is-me posts. The moment we were waiting for since the day he left arrived last week. He came home.

We are so excited to have him home and he is off work for two weeks to spend time with us. Thank you for reading and thank you for all your kind and encouraging words! So, until next time....






This post is being linked up with Dumb Mom's Wordful Wednesday at parenting BY dummies.