Surprises

I've never been a lover of beards and mustaches. Clean shaven isn't my favorite either. I like the slightly defiant look of a five o'clock shadow, maybe even a bit more than five o'clock. I've asked T many a time to shave his facial hair. Or at least keep them more trim. I think he feels naked without them. His outward appearance when he is clean shaven doesn't fit his personality. So he never shaved on my request. I understood but I kept trying.

For months, T has been complaining about my long hair. He feels physically sick when he finds long hairs on the floor, or worse, in his food. I try to make sure I have my hair in a pony tail or a knot when I am cooking, but hairs are escape artists. That's why they make hair nets for cooks. I didn't want to cut my hair. Having long hair was the easiest way to ignore my hair. I could also pony-tail-it. And I have lovely hair:thick, strong, and flowing. The envy of many women. As such, my long hair suited my stay-at-home lifestlye and the lack of bathroom moments moms of young children experience. It also made me feel pretty.

In the back of my mind though, I kept thinking about how T didn't like my long hair. He is, afterall, the only person whose thoughts on my appearance are truly important. I should have just cut it for him, as an act of service. I took the more self-serving approach instead. I flipantly said more evening, "If you shave your beard and mustache, I'll cut my hair." I did not put any stimpulations on the statement, like you can't grow back your beard for three months (it would take at least a year to grow back my hair should I so chose). Really, I never expected anything to come of the comment. Two days later T came down the steps without any facial hair. Crap I thought, (I mean oh no)before noticing how handsome he looked.

I put off cutting my hair for weeks, wondering if he even remembered. Getting a good haircut is expensive, I don't know any stylist I trust, justifciation after justication postponed the cut. A month later, T brought home a business card from a salon he heard about. Two weeks later he asked if I had made an appointment.

I work hard to make sure my kids know they need to keep their word. Follow through, do what you say, let your yes be yes. The phrases I throw at my children were convicting me. I made an apointment. Together T and I searched the internet for haircuts. A week later, he came home in the middle of the day so I could go alone for the cut.

In the end, I love my new do. I loved the experience. God blessed me with a great stylist who was friendly and talented and even a massage chair for the shampooing, all for the price I paid for a bad trim at the mall salon. For once, I don't worry every time I meet a person who pretends they don't notice my haircut, I didn't cut it for them and I know that to some people, nothing will ever look better than beautiful long hiar.

Really though, the joy lies in the sacrifices we made for each other. Parts of who are (or so we thought) that we didn't want to change. A little like the Gift of the Magi.

And my children? H said my hair looked "gross" when she first saw my short-do. Ten minutes later she wondered if she could get her hair cut like me. K barely noticed.

Smoosh

K and I had tomato soup for lunch yesterday. It's been a long time since we've had it since I just discovered Imagine makes a line of creamy soups that don't have dairy in them. Yea! Always wary of new foods, K had a lot of questions, namely, what's in there (Translation: I won't eat it if you say onion or celery). I gave the vaguest answer: tomatoes. After one bite she says,"Is this called tomato smoosh?"
"What?"
"Did you smoosh all the tomatos?"
"Well, I didn't make the soup. I just poured it of the box, but I guess they did smoosh the tomatoes."
"I don't like it."
"Why not?"
"Too many spices." (tanslation: I think I taste onion.)
I spoon feed her four bites, then she liked it--until next time.
Tomato smoosh just might be one of those endearing childhood phrases that we keep around, just for the memory.
Oh and yesterday we got all signed up for pre-school...the one where all the students' make matching art projects. We will just do free form art at home. I like the teacher and the space a lot.

The important things

Three other moms in the neighborhood and their kids came over for a playdate this morning. Two little girls, and three boys were all playing in the house. Two were in diapers (man, I have not missed that smell!) but all were capable of running. One of the little boys, Joshua, is developmentally delayed and while almost three, cannot say much.

It is amazing how quickly we forget. Pre-playdate I should have thought to myself: There will be boys here, one of them not even two. Put away the impossibly small Polly Pockets and cover the wire that is sticking out the wall in that room, and ...But I didn't think. I forgot those details like I forgot the smell of a poopy diaper. I also didn't kid proof the girls' room. Even if I had, would I have noticed the crayon jammed in the dollhouse amongst the tiny food and dollhouse sized toys? The girls never play up there, just downstairs. But of course, today that was the play area of choice after the two young boys had dumped the bin of legos, the bin of blocks, the bin of too -little- to- go- in- the- toybox toys. I had also forgotten this fettish of bin dumping that young children have and failed to remain completely cool during the viewing of these accomplishment as I unintentionally covered my eyes when I saw Joshua dumping the Polly Pocket bin. The poor mothers were trying to make their boys behave, but they did come to a house for a PLAYdate where I didn't plan ahead and my less than calm reactions certainly didn't inspire the hoped for relaxation.

As lunchtime came and went, it was past time to end the playdate. Which was full of helpful and comforting conversation. We began to pick up and discovered a gravel-like blue substance on the carpet. The white carpet. Clearly staining the carpet. We couldn't figure out what it was. An obvious smell wasn't present and the texture seemed foreign. But it was wet and clearly came from someone's mouth. After some admirable sleuthing, we figured out that Joshua had eaten a crayon (I later found the wrapper in the girls' room) and spit it out on the carpet and on some legos and in one of the Snow White dress-up shoes. We asked him if had eaten a crayon and he grinned and said "yum" (one of the ten words he knows!). I tried to be gracious. It is only carpet. I said all the right things. Afterward I told K how even when guests stain the carpet we need to react kindly. It wasn't intentional and people are more important than things. Right? RIGHT. I just wish my stomach would unknot itself as I think of a permanent blue spot on the carpet. Why can't my physical body follow the ideas and thoughts of my brain?

Oh for all those practical people out there, don't write some comment about how crayon can come out of carpet. I haven't really tried yet. I was capturing the moment!

Pause

The girls and I were reading stories tonight which is part of our nightly ritual (a ritual that keeps getting inexpicably longer). In the middle of the second story K realizes she is missing her beloved pillowcase. For those not familiar with pillowcase, K now carries a navy blue flannel pillowcase. She walks around with the thing glued to her nose with just her big brown eyes peeking over and when she forgets it and gets tired she whines, "Mmmoomm I don't have anything to smell." Getting back to the original story, we are in the middle of the second story and K wants her pillowcase, which is across the room. H would just get something across the room, but Kassy hangs on words and pictures in a story. Generally she will cry if she misses a page so she says, "Mom, can you pause it while I get my pillowcase" I say yes and chuckle. H picks up on the chuckle, pushes a pretend button on the book and mischievously says, "Play!" K panics that we will start without her and starts to whimper. I assure her that the pause is still in effect.

Style

Hadley and I went shopping at Kohls tonight. She walked through the store, touching different dresses and shirts. She gravitated toward shiny, silky polyesters (it was Kohls) with a little bling. She kept saying, "This is sooo stylish." In the dressing room she would put on the dresses I was trying on which hung on her like bags, twist and turn while staring in the mirror saying, "Don't I look so stylish?" in this higher than normal snotty voice. Then when we got to the girls section. My eyes bulged as my little princess admired trendy seventies patterns and ignored the classic little girl dresses. I was also working hard not to laugh outloud as my little girl passed judgement on all the dresses.

Hadley will be six this month. Sounds old for my baby, but still a little girl. I wonder often about the teenage years. Hadley regularly comes home from school emotionally distraught, super happy or sometimes near tears. It all hinges on how she and the other little girls got along that day. There is the drama of Qynn who, in Hadley's eyes, is always saying something mean. And the appeal of the beautiful Lily, it seems all the little girls fight to be Lily's friend and she can't play with more than one person at a time. Nicole who has scratched Hadley for no reportable reason. Rashad who makes Hadley giggle and gets her in trouble at naptime. I don't suppose the actors vary much from classroom to classroom, but her emotional response to it all is nothing I expected to deal with so early. I keep thinking, how much more intense is this going to get? I mean she's only six (almost).