Shag me baby!

Comments from my loving family after they saw me with my new haircut:


Lydia: "It looks like you've lived in the jungle for 48 years."

Giles: "It looks like a pile of "c*&%." (I so wish he got his crude mouth from his father). This did not either offend me or cause tears. And that delights me for there have been numerous tears shed over my coif during my lifetime. I'm growing up! And I appreciate my son's honesty.

I also appreciate his father's honesty. When he came home today, I sprang out from around the corner.

Stan: "I love it!"

Isn't he just awesome? He meant it too, I could tell.

Then he said ...

"Nice shag!"

I had been trying to put my finger on it all day. I knew it was a haircut of yore. But I couldn't quite remember.

It is a shag! Oh dear! Are shags in? I'm not sure.

I told Stan that I remember having a shag at some point. He commented that no one has had shags since Carol Brady. Ouch. But I finally figured out that I think I had a shag version in the mid-90s.

I have one in the mid-00s too.

I thought I was getting my "every six months whether I need it or not" trim that typically involves thinning out the mane and leaving me with the pony tail option.

I am between stylists. With two haircuts a year, I guess I can take some blame for my last fave girl switching shops without a forwarding number! But I just needed a thin and shape, so I headed to a no appointment needed quickie place with the kids were at PE today.

While in the car, I gave myself a peptalk about the whether I'd let just "anyone" cut my hair. It would only be a stop for products if the person had horrible hair, pink hair, body piercing that look like they hurt, and a few other traits that I probably shouldn't mention.

The shop was empty, and I interupted the middle aged lady who was about to dive into her hot pocket and root beer.

My self peptalk went out the door even though this lady resembled the "beauty operator" back in 1999 who scalped me like Sinead O'Conner while I was expecting Lydia. Yes,I think those were the last tears I shed over hair, or lack of. So, why I didn't just buy some spray and get out of there, I don't know.

Instead I was transported in time. My thinning, shaping and layering idea apparently translated into wacking off the hair of her graying minivan driving, sweats wearing (I was supposed to be exercising), hair unattended client with a "style" that could be defined as a mullet with just a couple of more wacks!

And why I would let a complete stranger give me bangs? She assured me the bangs could be blended in any day that I wanted something different. To me that meant, long bangs that would bug me to death but that I could clip back.

But her first wack was my first clue that I would not have long sweepy bangs.

Not since second grade have I had bangs this short ... when my mom cut them. I also discovered I haven't grown out of the cow lick either.

Turns out what she meant by the bangs was that I could wear them as bangs or FEATHER THEM BACK ... giggle.

I had a 20 percent off coupon for this place. But when she rang me up for $12.95, I was too embarrassed to whip out the coupon.

You do, indeed, get what you pay for.

Sir!

There is an ever so slight spousal disagreement going on in reaction to our oldest son's entry into pre-pubescent lunacy.

Let's just say that one of us thinks he's funny and laughs at him.
The other rolls his (or her) eyes and gives his (or her) soulmate the look of "don't encourage this!"

The phase no doubt will be short and is merely a precipice to full pubescent lunacy. And that lunacy might not be so funny.

Deer Boy's answer to every request, assignment, comment is the word ... "Sir" ... with a slight lisp to sound like "thir" with his nose scrunched up and teeth bared.

All of us in the house (except for the grownup parent) are now saying it also.

There's also the "scream and run." He has a high-pitched little girl scream that emits when he is startled, acting like he's startled, has to do a math assignment, take out the trash or is being chased by a sibling. Both parents agree it's highly annoying but at least one parent sees the boy becoming a man and wishes she (or he) could get this on video to show at his wedding rehearsal or senior banquet.

The amused parent has been in a funk where most of the time everything in the world appears broken, believes her (or his) efforts are all futile and she (or he) has a bad attitude about everything ...

so let's take the laughs where we can get them!

SIR!

If you give Alain a cookie recipe ...

you'll have a delightful time in the kitchen.

Two of our Rwandan son's wishes over break have been to make cookies, and to drive.

I called cookies, and left the driving lessons to Steely Nerve Stan. (Let's just say that apparently there are too many stop signs to keep track of out there in our neighborhood.)

Cookie baking was a big hit. Who wouldn't get excited when someone uses a teaspoon and a tablespoon for the first time? It is interesting to smell the flour and consider the properties of baking soda. How exciting to teach someone to crack an egg without the aid of a fork. Who wouldn't share the joy of getting to put the entire bag of chocolate chips in the dough! Really!

Cooking with G, L and G is usually a blast too ... but that comes with less wide-eyed amazement and more whining. Maybe because we're always working in math?

And since G and L have been convalescing all week with a virus, and Grant's photo taking skills are not quite up to the task, I tried to chronicle this major event as best as I could. Is that flour on the lens?

video

Menu



It's New Year's Day so of course we had Black Eyed Peas today. In year's past, we've had friends over, cooked up a big southern meal and had one last (first?) holiday bash. This year, I hoped we'd get an invitation to eat someone else's peas, and felt some guilt for not inviting anyone over. But in the end, after a long trip last week, and a long month (year), we decided we needed the rest. (Notwithstanding the knowledge that hardly anyone likes black eyed peas as much as we do!)

But Stan's brother did come through and made the good luck peas! We (Stan) made the collard greens and Mexican cornbread. Check out that pot Scott cooked the peas in ... slowly with many extra "flavors" thrown in. That pot is HEAVY and it gave us a new appreciation for our grandmothers and their grandmothers who hauled around pots like that daily to feed their hungry families.

We threw in some chow-chow, sweet potatoes, venison (thanks Giles!) and iced tea.

We were too full for dessert, so evening brings a slice of fresh coconut cream pie!

It should be a good year!

In the category of ...


if you can't beat 'em, join 'em ...
this is a terrible drive-by picture, but it's all I have for now.

Can you tell what it is?
Our clever neighbors are displaying their senses of humor. Making the most of our newly tree (limb) lined street, they added a little Christmas cheer to the scene. In other words, they strung some lights on their curbside post ice storm limb pile. So funny.

I keep hearing folks refer to the limb piles as looking like a "war zone." Although I see the aim of the comparison, I hardly think so.

Although I've never seen a war zone up close and personal, I doubt neat piles of tree limbs ever accompany blood, violence, death ... the detritus of war.

I love that word "detritus." It always reminds me of Dan who helped expand my vocab from this post way back in 2003 ...