Of Wearing it Down

When I was in middle school I still had my hair done daily by my mother.  And by "done" I mean pulled into a ponytail.

Ok, let's be honest, she was still doing it for me in high school.

I'm sure a lot of this stems back to her "helpful" nature for which we often tease her.  The nature that led her to look at my poor attempts at self-styling and assure me, "That looks great, honey.  Do you want me to help you?"  Eventually I realized it was just a lot faster to hand her the brush and skip the facade - I was never going to be able to handle a bump-less ponytail.

Thus, one day in seventh grade, I sat at the black tables of the science classroom and, for whatever reason, some hairs escaped their holder.  I was doomed.  I pulled the elastic out and tried, in vain, especially with no mirror, to capture every one of the millions of hairs on my head and tame them into submission.  Pulling them all together, I turned to the outspoken, no-nonsense acquaintance sitting next to me and asked, nervously, if it looked ok.  I could not be seen with bumps.

Her response was to pull the elastic out of my hair once more, hand it to me and tell me, "I like it better that way."

Wear my hair down?!  Well, that's just not something I do.  As mentioned, there are millions of them (seriously, I have an obnoxious amount of hair - as noticed by every hair-dresser ever) and they just get in the way.  I don't wear it down because I get tired of pushing it from my face.  All. Day. Long.

But someone thought it looked good that way.  And no one (besides my mother, of course) ever told me I looked good any way.  So, for that afternoon at least, I wore my hair down.

Throughout the years I have tried various styles, but almost every day, no matter how it starts at the beginning, I end the day with my hair pulled back.

It still drives me nuts.

Thus, a week or so ago, as Micaiah and I sat on the couch during a family game night of Mario Party, I relaxed, in my pj's and ponytail (which is still bumpy, but I have long since gotten over it, recognizing my curly hair is not destined for bump-less-ness - and not wiling to drive eight hours to have my mother "help").  Suddenly, as she observed my face, she announced, "You need to keep your hair long."

I was confused a little until she pointed to my up-do and repeated, "It needs to be long. I don't like your ponytail!"

Well, apparently I have once-again encountered an outspoken, no-nonsense girl with very strong opinions about my styling options.

And now I'm the mother consistently pulling her hair up - only she's more independent than I was (hard to believe, really), as she declares, "No, Mommy!  Girls wear their hair long!"

So we have.  Well, I more than she.  But I'm doing it on her behalf.  I hope she appreciates this.  Because I don't wear my hair down for just anyone.

But I am a girl - and this is, apparently, how we do it.

1,000 Gifts:
949. Being the kind of friend I look for
950. Recognizing He has always been everything I have ever longed for
951. Friendships on the horizon
952. Being on the same page
953. Talking things out
954. Bees, many of them, flitting from flower to flower, pollen on their legs
955. A defenseless wasp, skittering away
956. Learning of His Creation

We painted pumpkins last week with Aunt Dia.  I did the swirly one for me and the polka dots for Joey.  Philip did the awesome Jack-o-Lantern face.  Micaiah's is all drippy (I LOVE it) and Emmett's is green, because that's what happened when all his paints blended.  So fun.

Of the Classics

I had one of those moments the other day, the kind of moment when I was vacuuming the living room/dining room floors and watched an ant scurry away and, thinking of all the insects, crawling, creeping or flying, which have invaded our home as the heat has risen, seeking respite from this mid-spring summer weather, reaching the 90's already, I had a fleeting thought of, "I could blog about this."  Really, about bugs.

I could title it,"Of the Bugs of Summer" - catchy, eh?  But then I realized maybe the reference would be lost on most.

Because maybe not everyone spent their childhood repeatedly putting the VHS tape into the VCR on which their dad had recorded a couple of hours of VH1 (you know, the grown-up version of MTV that played more soft rock than pop hits - though those were allowed, too).  Not everyone fast-forwarded the VH1 recording to find their favorites, like Paula Abdul's "Straight Up," Billy Ray Cyrus's "Achy Breaky Heart," and, yes, Don Henley's "Boys of Summer."

Especially not many my age.

Most of my friends were barely sitting up on their own, if they were even born, when this hit was at the height of its popularity.  And there I was, nine years old (or younger), singing about long-lost summer love, when Don Henley was already past his prime - and here I sit, still able to sing along with the chorus.

This is one of the gifts my dad has passed along to his children, a fondness and appreciation for the classic rock (and a little pop, too) hits of the seventies and eighties.

Because I know not everyone spent their weekly Pizza Hut visits sitting in a booth, waiting their Pan-Style Meat Lovers, while Dad picked out the songs on the juke-box, always the same ones, asking the waitress to turn up the speakers so we could hear his prime playlist and he could quiz his tiny musical protegés on the name and artist of each hit - like Brownsville Station's "Smokin' in the Boys' Room" or ZZ Top's "Legs" - while we competed to see who could spit out the answers quickest, hopefully within just the first couple of notes of the tune.

So not everyone still turns up the radio if their dial happens to land upon Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl," singing along to lyrics that will never be forgotten, though definitely not understood at the time at which they were ingrained.

And all of these memories flooding back because of one tiny ant as I vacuumed our living room/dining room floor.  And now I'm pretty sure I won't see another insect this summer without humming a little Don Henley.  Thanks, Dad.


1,000 Gifts:
452. Women being real
453. Free paint
454. Chicken Carbonara Pizza (especially when it's free)
455. Realizing what's worth crying over (and, more importantly, what's not)
456. A husband who consoles, even over the not-important tears
457. Being noticed
458. Remembering


Photo of the Day: Our big little man loves playing with his "babies" - this afternoon he even fell asleep snuggling with sissy's doll.  He's going to be such a good daddy some day - only don't tell him that; he always just responds with, "No, I Emmett!"