Clip, Clip, Tear.

Today I finally decided to follow through with a milestone that many do long before now with their children.  That's right.  A long, long, LONG time before now.  Take for example poor HS.  He didn't stand a chance as a little darlin' curled up in my arms at the tender age of 2 1/2 months.  He had so much hair the Navy docs laughed and said he was already out of Navy regs. with all his hair when I delievered him.  Others, including his own proud momma, couldn't get enough of his thick wavy curls that covered his head and beyond his earlobes.

I remember making the awful deal with HH through my clinched teeth as we walked away from yet another person telling us our "daughter"was so precious.  "Honey, the next person who calls him a she is going to ensure we take him quickly to the barber.  I'm not having him mistaken for a girl for the next year or more of his life" HH tried to propose the deal as delicately as he could. 

I wasn't going to conceede easily.  NOPE.  Not this gal.  "Darlin' they just aren't looking closely when they speak to us.  For for Pete's sake...HE's wearing head to toe navy blue with trains on it.  Or, he's wearing little bluejean coveralls with a big huge football and his cute little ballcap covering his endless sea of brown curls.  You are being to sensitive.  They don't all think he's a she."  I replied back sweetly. 

"Babe.  Everyone who doesn't know us calls HS a girl.  Tell you what, if the next people we run into call him a girl while he peacefully is sleeping without a care in the world, we're taking him directly to the Barber.  If they call him a him, then you can keep the curls...on his head."

Deal.  Good grief, did I just make a pac with the devil himself?

Well, we all know how the story ends.  We shortly ran in to new faces who called him a she.  I cried like a baby as they cute his locks and he morphed before my eyes.  He then screamed bloody murder for the next three years every few weeks whenever we headed to the barber.  It was...misery. 

Fast forward five and  half years after HS was born with his mass of curls.  LD was born on a cold Friday mornin' without a hair on her head.  She was bald as a billard ball.   It took forever for her to grow her hair.  As it grew I knew she would not face the same fate as HS.  With each new blond ringlet I guarded her hair like it was the next precious jewel.  Then it began to grown down her back.  I fought the urge to cut it.  I was going to perfect the braids and begin putting it in adorable little buns just like Princess Leigh.  Ok, so it's all the time flying around like a hornet has been sucking on it, but nope.  I'm not cutting it.  I began making silent deals with myself: when mom and papa are here, I'll cut it.  when it's her 3rd birthday, I'll cut it.  after I've taken some adorable shots of her posing with her gynastics leotard on, I'll cut it.  With each silent deal I made to myself, I broke it.

LD getting her hair cut for the first time
Nov. 6 2011

Until today.  OK, so she's 3 3/4 years old.  Nevermind that her 4th birthday is next month.  Today, I bit the bullet.  Today, we (HH, HS, and me) witnessed her milestone.  LD got her hair cut.  She didn't cry.  She didn't fight.  She giggled.  She watched her show.  She was so proud.  As for me, I teared up.  HH took one look at me as he paused from videotaping a knew before he finished his question, "babe...are you...crying?"  I don't think crying is the word.  I sobbed. 

Her hairdresser gave me two little bags when she was finished cutting LD's hair.  One held a tiny blond lock.  The first clipping.  I admit, it took two times to cut LD's hair.  I didn't want to much taken off.  HH looked at the back of LD's hair after I thought we were done and said, "what did she clip off?"  The hairdresser agreed with my HH.  She hadn't really cut much off, if any. I thought it looked great.   

The second bag held a rather large lock.  The second clipping. 

In all, I could only bear to have about 2 inches clipped. 

I know, I know, I know...

not a drastic change. 

It's called Baby steps.

Werewolf Meet Butterfly

What happens when you cross together one spunky Nine year-old Werewolf... 





 ...with a flitty flighty Three and three quarters year-old butterfly?

The perfect combination, of course!
















This Halloween started off a little horribly rocky.  Even a bottle glass of wine wouldn't help me say it started off splendidly.  I'm not going to deny it.  Seriously, I'm not. 

After a delightful sibling fight in front of half our neighborhood at a potluck that was indended to be "fun" for all of us, I had almost decided that my kiddos weren't going to go trick-or-treating.   If there is one thing this momma can't stand...it's being embarassed by their bouts of horrific behavior.  However, they rallied together and plotted worked together ensuring their quest to gather candy and partake in good ole neighborhood door-to-door trick-or-treating occured...hand in hand.  

I have to hand it to them, they forgave oneanother, wiped the tears, and headed out for the evening.  I may be a little glad of the fight.  It made HS be glued to LD for the rest of the evening.  My days are numbered that he will want to choose to be with mom and lil sis over his buddies.  The day will come that he won't want to "strike a deal" because what he wanted was to spend time with friends...not family.

Thankfully, the half hour of torment and tears faded.  I watched with joy as they went door-to-door hand in hand...almost perfecting the deal they had made to me.   Regardless of their sibling spats, they do have a lot of fun moments together.  

I think HS's memory of almost getting to go around (with me two or three houses behind...that was the deal pre-fight much to my reluctance) faded and turned into a memory for them to look back and say with a start...

remember that year we fought and got mom sooo mad she almost took away trick-or-treating?   She sure is a sucker for us!  All it took was coming downstairs hand in hand and looking up at her with our big blue eyes and vowing we'd love eachother...for the rest of the night...as we trick-or-treated?  Then she made us promise we'd hold hands with one another around the entire neighborhood...man, she didn't waiver on that!

Life is...

While working on the photo display for my MCCW group, I began googling on the topic.  For those of you who know me, this is not an unusual occurrence.  Typically, my googling leads me to find little tidbits, quotes, songs, or poems. 

I adore quotes.  I love poems.  I am addicted to the words I read that seep into my soul like fine wine.  I am overcome sometimes by what I find.  Today, my googling was not in vain.  I came across powerful words.  Ones that are causing my brain to ponder over the meanings and seriously take a moment to reflect.  Reflect.  REFLECT.   

Life is beauty, admire it.



Life is bliss, enjoy it.


Life is a dream, make it a reality.


Life is a challenge, face it.


Life is a duty, fulfill it.


Life is a game, play it.


Life is precious, be careful with it.


Life is wealth, guard it.


Life is love, rejoice in it.


Life is a puzzle, penetrate it.


Life is a promise, keep it.


Life is sadness, overcome it.


Life is a hymn, sing it.


Life is a struggle, accept it.


Life is a tragedy, struggle with it.


Life is an adventure, risk it.


Life is happiness, earn it.


Life is life, defend it.     

~ Mother Teresa

The past few weeks since getting back from a fantastic vacation have been filled to the brim with activities. Waves crashing, children giggling, nose sniffling, heart poundings, siblings shouting, school bell blaring, alarm clocks screaming, karate kicks, gymnastic tumbles, and many, many, many hours spent gearing up for the groups I volunteer for.

Life is all that Mother Teresa expounds upon.  But do I truly take the time to smell the roses?  Overcome the struggles with grace?  Relish in God's blessings he has bestowed upon me?  Stay thankful for the things that we have in our life and not turn to those things we don't need to clutter up our home or our hearts?

***sigh***

Loving my moments in Colorado

It's time to sit a while.  Life is a treasure box.  God opened the lid for me the day I was born.  Mine is a life that is...

wonderful.
joyous.
sorrowful.

heartbreaking.

miraculous.

awesome.

fun.

jubilant.

challenging.

dynamic.

a gift.

Life is a puzzle that God created in a unique way for each of us, with overlapping pieces that create a masterpiece larger than our own little "life puzzle".  It's time I start really enjoying each piece of my puzzle with the words of Mother Teresa to help inspire.  That's my challenge to myself.  God willing, I won't fail.

What's That I Hear?

All I know is it is incredibly early in the morning and my cawfee hasn't even finished brewing.  In fact, I'm not sure that I even programmed it to come on.  Scratch that.  I know I didn't because the smell isn't wafting up the stairwell to greet a very groggy me.

It just doesn't seem possible that we are back at it again.  The morning school routine...for one of the first times in the last two months, I was rudely awakened by a sound. 

The sound of my annoying alarm clock.  The annoyance of that sound didn't last long.

It was replaced rather quickly.  Almost within seconds of the surge of dread.  It was erased by the sound of my handsome son calling out, "Mom!  She came again!  The school fairy visited!"  Yep.  Gone.  I'm not annoyed.  I'm happy for a little boy I used to cradle in my arms and tickle his tubby toes one by one.  He's now almost my height and entering into the wonderful nifty world of 4th grade.  No longer part of the "early" elementary years.  He has entered the "upper" grades.  *whew*  That's just a little to much to take in when cawfee hasn't kicked in.

Ready for 4th Grade

Wipe the tear dropping like a weight from your eye, momma.  It's time to get going.  The school bell will soon be ringing, and you must get the precious moments of a happy son burned into your memory.  After all, he'll have the moment ingrained, too.





Hugs from one of his greatest fans.