Monday, September 24, 2012

Trust Me

Right before I started 2nd grade, my mom trimmed my bangs so short that they barely laid down.  I remember looking at my hair in the reflection of our olive green stove, trying to push them onto my forehead.  My mom still reminds me what a trooper I was, telling her "Don't worry, they'll grow back."
These words resonated as I made a bold, very bold move last night.  I decided to trim Morgan's hair. I had tried to take her to one of those kiddy salons twice during the week and both times they were closed.  Morgan hadn't had her hair cut since last fall, and my child was looking a little rough around the edges.  You know the type, the kid who's wandering around Walmart in pants that are too big, with a shirt that's too small, hair all crazy like their mom spun it up in a blender and threw in a barrette for good measure. 

As she watched the first chunk of hair fall to the floor, Morgan gasped and yelled, "Don't cut it all off, Mom!" I calmly said, "Trust me, I won't cut too much." I actually had no idea what I was doing.  I am so bad at cutting hair I don't even trim my own bangs.

But she held still.  And I didn't cut too much.

In fact, I even tried to give her a few little layers.

In less than 2 hours no time at all we were done. And I left it long, and it looks perfect.  By the way, in case you were wondering, yes I did want her to look just like Farrah Fawcett.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012


I was recently talking to a friend about language development in children.  Her toddler, who is almost two, isn't talking at all yet.  We agreed this was perfectly normal and no cause for alarm.  What I didn't tell her was that Morgan was talking in full sentences before she was two and I had no idea if not talking at this age was normal.  In fact, Morgan had just about nailed the word "cappuccino" while we were camping right before her 2nd birthday. Yeah, I'm bragging, but you would, too.  If I was guaranteed a 2nd baby would be this cute, we might just have another.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Fish Face

I was recently at a meeting where some one stupidly asked me if I'd ever been fishing.  In Idaho, fishing comes as naturally as breathing for most of us.  Granted, there are the mamby pambies out there who are afraid of worms, but the vast majority of us can handle our business.
That being said, Morgan is 1/2 Italian.  There was a distinct possibility in marrying David that we were going to make babies who preferred meatball sandwiches and Jersey Shore over the great outdoors.
But I didn't need to worry...

She's got this shit nailed.  Snooki, eat your heart out.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Let's Get Dirty

Remember how I said 2012 was going to be the year of doing? So, yeah, we've stuck to that.  And we've recruited friends.  Last month, we took part in The Dirty Dash, which is a five mile obstacle course that just so happens to involve ridiculous costumes and beer chugging.  We were totally not prepared.
The car ride up was all fun and games.  We laughed about our witty noses, marveled at our matching shirts.  My friend Jen even rallied for some hot pink knee socks...we thought we were the bomb.  Little did we know...

See this group here?  All smiles and ready for a little jaunt in the woods?

Yeah, here we are two hours later (don't mind that dumb broad who photo bombed our foreground)- we were what I like to call a hot mess. Absolutely 100% filthy.

Oh, need a closer look?  As one girl on the trail said, "I was so dirty I had dirt in me!" She wasn't exaggerating. Like not even a little.

But we made it, and we were awesome.  I think next year we're going to try for tutus...and thongs. Good luck to everyone behind us.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Dish Pan Hands

I am trying to use the fact that Morgan is now four as some kind of parenting leverage.  Like, "Morgan, did you know that when you're four you have to listen to Mom the first time she tells you to do something?" Or, "Morgan, did you know that kids who are four know how to make their own bed?"  Or, occasionally, "Morgan, did you know that when you're four you can tell the difference between Coors Light and Bud Light?  Now you can get Daddy the right beer!"  

My plan is not going so well.  When I told her that being four meant she needed to help me fold laundry, Morgan fell to the floor and starting screeching, "But that will take forever!  I don't think I want to be four anymore!"  So I let it go and quit trying to make this whole birthday thing a push for manual labor.  

But when I got home last night, David asked me to look at the camera.  Without David asking, Morgan had put on her Hello Kitty tiara, threw on an apron, and started washing the dishes.  I'd like to think it's because she had a brief moment of clarity and recognized it was the right thing to do, but I'm pretty sure it was just an excuse to squeeze half a bottle of dish soap into the sink.  Whatever gets the job done.