I’m having one of those days, you know? The kind where you wish you could go to sleep, rewind and start all over.

Sunday night, reading books in Pea’s bed to the girls, I’m pretty sure that Coco broke my nose. She beaned me, square in the face, with her tiny little head. She was fine. Me? Not so much. After hearing a distinctive ‘crack,’ the blood came gushing. The geyser finally stopped, but now I’m sore and my nose is stuffed up, on the left side. Big time. My poor husband, he actually had to sleep with his headphones on – music playing – all night long, and he still didn’t get any sleep, on account of the difficult time I was having simply breathing through my I’m-pretty-sure-it’s-busted nose.

Can we say “snore?”

Yup, that says broken to me…

And then, while outside playing with Coco before her nap, I noticed two odd-looking freckles on my arm, that have never been there before. Of course, my being the hypochondriac that I am, you can pretty much figure out how this afternoon is going to go…

Don’t you ever feel like you just can’t catch a break?

My time is valuable. I once heard that if stay-at-home mothers were actually paid for the work that they did, they’d make somewhere around $800,000 a year. Can you imagine? How do we work that one out?

I don’t need permission to have a life – to take some time off. I work just as hard as the next person. I really do. Believe it or not.

(And if you’re a mom? I’m pretty sure that you believe it…)

Read more on this topic at The Bump…

We just got a bunch of new children’s books in our home, and the timing was perfect. Even with what has to be the hundreds that we already have, I get bored…

These are among the titles that are currently in rotation, once bedtime rolls around:

“Different Like Coco.” This one is based on the life of Coco Chanel. I adore it. I wasn’t sure how the girls would take to it, since it’s written more as a timeline of her life that’s been turned into a story that a child can follow. But I read it to my Coco, and then read it again later on to Pea, and they both loved it. Pea was especially fascinated by the simple artwork, and she loved the theme that it’s awesome to be different. I think it’s going to quickly become a favorite. And for the record, I’m also sending a copy to my mother, a Chanel fanatic. I know she’ll get a kick out of it, and it’s the kind of book that’s going to be very amusing, sitting out on her coffee table, which is where I know it’ll find it’s home.

“The Girl in the Castle Inside the Museum.“  Reviews have called the story-line ‘clunky.’ My own mother says it seems more like it’s been translated from another language. I don’t find it to be either. I just find it adorably appealing. There’s nothing wrong with the story, but there’s really nothing wrong with the artwork. And that’s the real reason that Pea can’t (or won’t?) put this book down: the illustrations are just breathtakingly, mesmerizingly dazzling.

“Hansel & Gretel.” I don’t know how you feel about reading Hans Christian Anderson’s dark fables to your child, but after being bombarded with Disney crap during the day, I don’t mind one bit, settling into Pea’s bed with her, and reading her a tall tale that, while not as light and fluffy as Disney, still has a happy ending. And the artwork in this book is, once again, just beautiful.

“Kaito’s Cloth.” As soon as I saw this one, I just knew it was meant for little Coco. It’s a sweet little fable, with beautiful illustrations. I mean really, really beautiful. That’s the only word to describe it.

“The Lonely Doll.” Another cherished book from my own childhood. If you read the reviwews, you probably won’t order it. But you know what I say? Lighten up. It’s a book for kids. Who cares that the author was a tortured soul? It’s simple and clever, all wrapped into one little package. Don’t read into it, okay? Just read it.

“Pippi Longstocking.” Fond memories of reading this story with my own mother, coupled with Lauren Child’s (of “Charlie & Lola” fame) charming illustrations, are making this a very satisfying nighttime read with Pea. It’s a chapter book, which I didn’t know when I bought it, but it’s working out nicely. We read the first two chapters last night, and while she had an adjustment there, for a brief moment, over the pages that don’t have pictures, she came around and figured it all out. She’s now bookmarked the beginning of the third chapter, set aside for tonight’s bedtime story, and has it sitting on her pillows, eagerly awaiting 8:30 pm.

“Waking Beauty.” Hysterical. Pea refers to this one as “the princess with the stinky breath book.” Is your interest piqued?

“When You Were Small.” It’s short, it’s sweet. It’s also very charming and has the girls rolling into fits of giggles at the little boy who ripped all of his Daddy’s shirt by hanging out in his pocket.

As I’m looking back over this list, it occurs to me that it’s generally the illustrations that sell me on a story. But I think that’s only because with little kids, it’s all about the visual. So it’s nice that while they are enjoying the illustrations, I am able to be taken in by them, as well.

What books are you reading your kids? Any favorites you care to share?

Not that I’ve had a lot of time lately to play around on my computer, but there were a few late night’s over the past week, spent checking out the links of sites that I love. I found some good ones!

My Mama Made It is my newest addiction, and it’s such a new blog that it’s going to take you no time to cruise through her ‘archives.’ Great tutorials for sewing projects, and the projects are easy. Check out the instructions on how to make ruffles, which I can’t stop making! I’ve been sewing them, centered, down the fronts of boy’s tanks from Target. The girls love to wear them, feel all fancy, and they cost nothing to make. (And the ruffles? They can be made by hand, as well. You do not need a sewing machine to do these.)

This lesson in how to shoot self-portraits from a photographer. The author, Monica Shulman, was a guest blogger on another site I recently stumbled onto and have been enjoying, The Blah, Blah, Blahg. I love photography, love taking pictures, but it occurs to me as I go through my collection that there are so few pictures of me! I want some lovely photographs of me!

This absolutely beautiful bridal belt of flowers makes me want to get married again! And wear exactly what the model in this photo is wearing! How stunning, right? Just so perfect. Twigs & Honey, an Etsy shop, has just charmed me with their whimsical designs. Delicious!

Sparkle Power has a recipe for easy-to-make bubbles that cannot be beat! And I’m guessing your home is a lot like our home in the summer, just chock-full of bubble-blowing fun in the backyard. And your kids? Do they eat the bubbles like mine do? I don’t know what else they could possibly be doing with them – we always seem to be running out!

I’ve been reading Creature Comforts for a while now, it’s possible I’ve even written about the site before, but it’s still one of my favorites for design inspiration.

For the DIY-er, check out Cucumbersome. Great tutorials and craft projects. I love the corsage shirt tutorial. And the recycled fabric necklace tutorial. Just what you need to wile away the long summer days…

Centsational Girl… Fabulous for Less. The name says it all, right? I love looking at her before and after shots. Ordinary (and cheap!) things made extra-special. And a lot of it is done with a can of spray paint, my newest obsession for upgrading tired and boring old furniture pieces in my own house.

If you have little girls in your life, you must check out the designs at Whitten Grey. I don’t even have words for how awe-inspiringly gorgeous their dresses are. You can find them on-line at Emma & Avery. I adore this one. This one, too.

And I’m about to tackle some sewing projects for myself, and I’m using the Built by Wendy patterns. So I checked out her site. And I had no clue that you could just order her clothing! Of course, I intend to sew mine up myself, but how cool to peruse her line. I love it. Classic but with a twist – right up my alley! I especially love the dresses for summer, like this one. Perfect for a summer date night, right? Her clothing is the reason I will continue to work on improving my sewing skills.

Marais shoes. So cute, and so reasonably priced. They have the perfect summer sandal, and it’s more than affordable.

The sale page at Tulle. Whoa, is all I can say. Cute clothing, phenomenal prices. I love the button-down shirt dress. And for less than $25? More than a steal! And the belted cardigan sweater? Under $40? Sold. And really, even without the bonus sale prices, this clothing line is priced really well. Do I see a summer wardrobe shopping spree in your future?

These Bensimon Ballerine sneakers. Pea has a pair, and I just love that they are functional tennis shoes, but look more than appropriate with a cute little dress. I can’t get enough of them. And while they are a little pricy, they are also machine washable, so that adds more life to them then we will probably ever need. I just hope she doesn’t wear them into the ground this summer, so that she can pass them down to her little sister when she’s outgrown them.

These cardboard appliances from Pomme in NYC are just plain cool. If you don’t have a play kitchen set-up for your kid yet, I highly recommend one. We spend hours in ours, playing restaurant, mommy & baby whipping up purees, whatever. It’s fun for the whole family! I should add here that we had a cardboard playhouse that lasted for well over 18 months. In fact, it was still going strong when I donated it to the local drop-in childcare center, and that was only because the girls were gifted with a fabric playhouse last Christmas, from their Opa.

Do you have any favorite sites you’d like to share?

I just read a post on a random blog that I’ve never visited before, and I have to tell you that this post? It resonated with me in a way that brought me to tears.

With a 4 and a 2-year old, I feel like my whole life is one big “no.” And lately, Pea’s whole life is another big “no,” passed along to her little sister, her puppy, her whomever… And I get so irritated with her. Tell her that saying no? It’s mommy’s job. Not Pea’s job. My job.

To say no? Just a broad, all-encompassing no? What a job to have.

I don’t sound like a lot of fun, do I?

So now, I, too, will be breaking out a pen and writing “just say yes” on my hand.

Finding this post? Was serendipity, at it’s best…

I’m in a bit of a predicament here. About one year ago, Pea was obsessed with ballet. So naturally, we wanted to find her a class, just as soon as we settled into our new home. And we did find one. Good news: close to our home. Bad news: quite literally the only dance studio in town.

Every Monday, we’d get her into her tights and leotard, and head over there. She’d have her little pink dancing bears ballet backpack on, with her tap and ballet shoes inside. For a while, it went pretty well. And then, something happened. I don’t know what, but it has made my life hell. I cannot stand taking her to class. She won’t get dressed, she doesn’t feel well. The list of excuses is endless, and if my husband isn’t here to ‘handle’ it, the whole day is ruined by what was supposed to be a joyful hobby for her. The screaming, the crying. And that’s me! So many times, I have wanted to throw in the towel. I’ve told my husband, “to hell with it. If she doesn’t want to go, I’m not going to force her.” And his response (and many others, too, whom I’ve talked to about this situation) has always been, “she needs to finish what she started.”

And welcome to my childhood. Finish what she started. Might as well be finish what I started. Because with my ADHD, nothing was ever finished. But boy, was I good at the starts.

And so, for Pea’s sake, apparently, I continued to battle her, every Monday afternoon. Stuffed her in her outfit, threw her in the car, cursing the universe to hell as I made the five-minute drive to the studio.

But last Monday, I had an epiphany. Her dance studio? It stinks. And I mean that. It just stinks like a skunk on the side of the road. And you know what else? They are allowed to stink. Because they are the only joint in town. There’s no competition! No second studio to keep them on their toes. (Get it? Ballet? Toes?)

Pea’s teacher has missed so many classes, I don’t actually know who she is. And the classes she does make it to? She is always late. And the girls don’t get to make it up on the back end of the class, since there’s another class that is shuffled in exactly when their class ends. And I don’t know who is in charge, there’s never anyone at the front desk who knows anything about anything. And they never answer the phone. Never, ever. Ever.

So, back to last Monday and my epiphany… My little Pea is truly a chip off the old block. And I’m the block. She thrives on routine, schedule, knowing what’s coming next. Everything has it’s place, and if it doesn’t, she’ll find it one. I am just the same way. So, to walk into this building that is literally teeming with eager little preschoolers in their dance outfits climbing the walls, awaiting a late instructor, or one who’s never even there, the confusion of a new teacher filling in for the AWOL teacher, it’s just too much for my sweet little girl to bear. And so, when we got her into her costume for her ‘rehearsal’ last Monday, I just knew that it wasn’t going to end well. Scheduled right before the rehearsal were to be the pictures: individual shots and group shots. But no one from the studio was there to help us, it was just the poor girl from the photo studio, and she had no clue. “Where is your teacher, Pea? Oh, wait! That’s her! She’s actually here! Hi! What are we doing? Where should we be? Excuse me? This is Pea. She’s in your Monday afternoon class? Has been for nearly a year? Remember? Hello?”

And off the teacher went…

Okay, then. Thanks, that was just very helpful. Yes, turn on your heels and walk away from us. And by the way? You’re feet are nasty. And you’re not a very good dancer. (Okay, this last part was in my head. But I meant every word of it. And I know, dancers have rough-looking feet. I just didn’t know how rough… And they are rough.)

We managed to figure it out. I did my best to hide my annoyance with her clueless teacher and the crazy chaos of the afternoon. I got her into the studio for her photos, only had to remind one other mother (lady, why so rude? Take a look around. There are other people living in your world.) that we were there first, so get to the back of the line. Then, we headed up to the studio for rehearsal. And waited. And waited. And waited. Then, waited some more. And finally, it was announced that there would be no rehearsal for the preschool ballerinas, as their teacher needed to be with her own girls for group photos. So, go home. And we’ll see you on Saturday, for the performance.

That’s tomorrow. It is the official ballet school performance. And it’s been three weeks since the girls were in class, working on their routines. The holiday, class photos, Spring Break, etc. And none of the parents can help the girls practice at home because they won’t let us stay and watch our girls dance. So, now we are all clueless. And I’m supposed to be sending Pea to a performance tomorrow? Who the heck wants to watch a bunch of stressed-out 4-year olds dance in a performance that none of them remembers ever having done before?

Needless to say, Pea announced to me after class that she would not be performing in the recital. And without even confirming it with my husband, I let her know that her decision was a solid one. And that we were instead going to have fun at her best friend’s birthday party.

And then, I called the gymnastics studio in town, to get their summer schedule. And you know what? They answered their phone on the first ring. Can you imagine? I have a good feeling about this…

So, this is another ‘first’ of many more to come, I’m sure: not finishing what she started. But this one? Is sanctioned by mommy. And it’s okay.

Have a great weekend…

Check out my most recent post on The Bump. For some of you, you’ve already heard it: it was hard to watch my ‘baby’ turn four years old. Yesterday was the official date. And if you asked Pea yesterday what day it was, she would tell you that “it was the day they took me out of my mommy’s tummy. I didn’t want to come out.” Truer words have never been spoken! Anyway, it’s all official. I am now the proud owner – I mean parent – of a four-year old kid. And it’s awesome. I don’t know, something just happens when they turn four. It’s as if a light-switch was turned on, and Miss Pea realized that she is now a person. A bona fide person. Again, it’s awesome. Anyway, check it all out on The Bump.

And Happy Hump Day…

Pea’s fourth birthday party was on Saturday, and I think it’s safe to say that a great time was had by all.

There were beautiful party dresses, chosen just for the special occasion:

There were good friends and lots of laughing:

There was an extra-special birthday cake with not one but two layers – the top was a white cake, dyed pink, and the bottom was raspberry-lemon. To-die-for comes to mind…

There was painting:

There were presents:

There was also a subtle moment of mommy’s tears, just as Pea blew out her candles. That wasn’t caught on camera, thank God.

The next morning, the first words out of Pea’s mouth were, “I’m glad to be your kid.”

Enough said.

We have a good thing going on here. A very good thing, indeed…

I cannot believe that my little Sweet Pea is about to turn four years old. Honestly, it seems like just yesterday, she was fresh from the womb, in my limp noodle arms at Baylor Hospital in Dallas, ceasing to scream just long enough to latch on and empty my milk stores in record time. Then? Back to the crying. I do not miss those early days of mommy-hood. The first time around? Every peep sent me running for the Baby Book Library that was growing at warp speed in our hallway bookcases. You had a question? I had the answer. Attachment parenting? Check. Cry It Out? Check. Love & Logic? Potty training? Laughing with your kids? Check, check and check.

Funny thing is, I don’t have any of those books any more. I kept “What to Expect: The Toddler Years,” and the “Love & Logic” series. The former because I like it, it’s full of good information, non-judgmental and generic information, and the latter because, well, on occasion it works for us with our defiant preschooler.

Minutes after being born. The only time she was silent the entire three days we were in the hospital:

Her first birthday party, in Fort Worth:

Her second birthday party, also in Fort Worth:

Her third birthday party, just after moving to Utah:

Her fourth birthday party is this Saturday. All of the kids from her preschool class will be there, as well as some of her buddies from outside of her class. She’s very excited. We just came back from Target, where we were picking up ’supplies.’ She’s gone birthday dress shopping, found a pair of party shoes, and can’t stop talking about it.

But in the meantime, as we wait for the big day to arrive, I’m looking through photos of her last four years, and ugh. My heartstrings are being tugged. They just grow so stinking fast, you know? From a helpless newborn to a fiercely independent preschooler. And this is not to say that I’m weepy for another baby, those days are long behind me. Especially now, that one girlfriend has a brand-new baby, and another just found out she’s pregnant for the third time. My husband will be relieved to know that I feel no pangs of desire for what they are going through right now, or will be, in the next seven or so months.

But, still. Babies. They’re so awesome. But you know what? So are preschoolers who can tell it like it is.

Happy almost-fourth birthday, little Miss Sweet Pea. I love you…

I received an email from Matilda, the designer of Rocker Baby, that she has opened up her own on-line shop. You can find it at Rocker Baby, Inc. All of those adorable dresses are available, as well as some new halters and pillows and blankets. I’m very excited to see that they’ve decided to branch out into their own ’space.’   

Bonus: Memorial Day Weekend Sale. Now, you can pick up a Clementine dress for your own little girl. On sale! Coco has one, and it’s my absolute favorite dress on her. And how about this chic little skirt? With a plain white tank top? Perfect…

Enjoy your holiday weekend!

When I was about seven years old, just a few years older than Pea is now, I spent my summers at Kelly’s Camp, outside of Chicago. One year, we were putting on a play, something about “Charlie Brown.” I don’t remember the premise, but I do remember that I was cast as none other than Charlie Brown, himself. Why they didn’t choose a boy is beyond me. Well, maybe back then it was beyond me, but looking back, this was a common theme in my life. I think my big mouth, the fact that I talked – a lot – landed me in these positions. I was not an actor, although I was the daughter of an actess, and I did not enjoy acting. But something about that motor mouth of mine always gave off the impression that I’d be good at it. And after several years of studying at the Piven Theatre Workshop in Evanston, Illinois, and filling in over and over again for late ‘actors’ on infomercial sets during the year that I spent in LA, it became pretty clear that acting was indeed not something I was ever going to be good at…

But back to Charlie Brown. Before the play, we were set to do a dance number, to warm the audience up. It was a hoe-down, I recall. It must’ve been, because I can so clearly remember the red bandanas that all the kids showed up with, tied around their necks. Some were blue, some were green, but most were red. Including mine.

Recall the stories about my OCD? My nuttiness for things a certain way? Well, somehow another girl ended up with my red bandana, and she wouldn’t give it back to me. And I flipped out. And so, Charlie Brown? At that night’s performance? Was played by my counselor, as she knelt on her knees, to be at eye level with the other thespian campers.

To make matters worse, my cousin who had just moved to the states from Israel, and didn’t speak a lick of English, ran onto the stage during the production and stole the audience’s heart. Salt? Meet open wound.

Last night, Pea had a performance with her entire school. Her class sang two numbers, “La Bamba” and “It’s A Hard-Knock Life,” from “Annie.” She’d been singing the former for weeks, and knew the entire tune. Not bad with the Spanish pronunciation, either, I might add. Anyway, we dressed her up in her dirty little orphan best, and headed to the auditorium.

Here she is, clinging to one of her teachers, before she took to the stage:

Looks a little nervous, no?

We don’t know if it was actually nerves, or if it was a touch of what her mama has – a tough time adapting to a situation out of her normal routine. We’re thinking that perhaps it’s the latter, since we seemed to start the day off on that particular foot. It was her rehearsal, and it was at the auditorium of the town’s library. And she had to wear her uniform, since she was going directly to school afterwards. That threw her off. She couldn’t understand why she had to wear her uniform to the library, and why once there, she couldn’t check out any books. We should have seen it coming…

This is how she chose to perform:

(That’s her, standing with her back to the audience, her teacher’s arm wrapped around her…)

Both of her teachers tell us that she sang both songs during the performance at the top of her lungs, word for word. Nerves? I don’t think so…

Anyway, we had flowers for her, she was thrilled. Look how cute she is in her little orphan get-up (as she high-tailed it out of the auditorium. Kid could not move fast enough!):

I made her ‘costume’ in the three minutes before my husband rushed us out the door, for the drive across town to the stage. It amounts to little more than a stay stitch on her jeans, keeping a couple of torn grey patches from my husband’s old tee-shirt in place; pant legs rolled up. A white (and cheap!) tee-shirt (Hane’s boys) that was sacrificed for her art – I ripped it up a bit. We tied some kitchen twine around the jeans, as a make-shift belt, and I smudged some of my dark brown eyeshadow (that I use as liner) on her face, to look like dirt. Lastly, since she proclaimed that she would not be leaving the house in this particularly hideous get-up (”can’t I wear a dress?“), I threw a ‘bow’ in her hair, nothing more than the ripped-off hem of the same jeans that we used for the patches. It worked. She left the house. Lastly, no shoes. I didn’t think that orphans from back in the day would actually be wearing imported French tennis shoes to scrub the floors so that they’d “shine like the top of the Chrysler Building…”

We took her out to dinner afterwards, to celebrate. She had mac ‘n cheese. And some of my salmon. And then? When she was ready to go? She turned and sneezed on me. All over me. Apparently, to Pea, that is the most effective means to getting her parents to hustle out of a restaurant and take her home. And it worked.  And I was still picking noodles off of myself as we pulled into our garage.

Hard to stay mad at this sweet little face, I’ll admit. How can you resist those baby blues? I can’t…

Over the years, I’ve amassed a lot of nice furniture and artwork. My mom is an Interior Designer, so I’ve made good use of her to-the-trade discounts, her own personal cast-offs and her gifts of art over the years. And my father, well, years ago, he decided to down-size, which meant selling his NYC apartment, which he hardly ever used. I got fist dibs. I walked away with a set of 12 dining chairs, a glass and metal dining table and some other pieces. Over the years, many of those pieces have been passed on to others, but we kept the chairs. They’re good chairs, and chairs are costly. Good ones, anyhow. But over time, the majority of them ended up in the crawl-space.

And so, I had an idea a few days ago, to start painting and reupholstering them myself. The instructions that I found on various websites made it seem so easy. And furniture paint in a spray-paint can? How much easier could it be?

A lot. Although there is a learning curve with the first of anything new, right? It gets easier as you go… I hope.

I’m still on my first chair. It’s been sanded, taken apart, painted twice and almost completely reupholstered in an Amy Butler print that I’ve had lying around for ages. I’m planning on making the finished chair a mate, an exact replica, and then using them as desk chairs for the girls in their little homework area (which, yes, I know is years away, but as a public space in our home, I’m just trying to get it there). My hands are all cut up, but the chair is starting to look like a real chair! A pretty chair! It’s been a bit of work, you could say. By the time it’s finished, I’d say about a day, maybe a day and a half. But so worth it. New life to an old and tired piece of furniture! Yeah, me! I’d been fantasizing about getting rid of the chairs, replacing them with new ones, but in the end? I worked with what I had. Made gorgeous out of so-so. And it cost me a grand total of under $8, for the two cans of Navajo White Gloss Spray Paint.

I didn’t grow up in a house of do-it-yourselfers. My mom was the ultimate shopper. I mean, it’s her job to shop. For other people, sure, but still. It carried over into her personal life. She is the penultimate consumer. A smart one, yes, but still, a great spender of money. So it never occurred to me that I could do this stuff: sew, knit, reupholster furniture. But I can! And to find that out? It’s so satisfying and opens up a whole new world of possibilities. And yes, I realize that sounds kind of… I’m not even sure of the word that I’m looking for… intense? I don’t know. But I do know that those pieces of furniture scattered around our house… the armoire from my parents first home together, the nightstand I swiped from my mother’s guest room, the mahogany sleigh bed from my own childhood? Suddenly, I see them in a new light, with a fresh coat of paint, perhaps a nice lacquer. And voila! New furniture! Our furniture! Not someone else’s discards…

It’s another nice day out today. I’m pretty sure you’ll find me in the driveway, covered in a layer of finely sanded wood and a mist of spray paint.

Why do I even bother? With my hair? I wear it long. I always have. The bangs are new, since about 18 months ago. That’s when I first noticed the giant streak of melasma from those insane pregnancy hormones planted smack in the middle of my forehead that needed to be hidden from the world. Those bangs also come in handy when camouflaging the weird little wispy hairs that now frame my face, another lovely leftover of those freaking hormones. That’s right, those little ragers left me with enormous bald spots on my temples. Both temples. I may not have gotten stretch marks or that black line down my belly, but bald and splotchy? Got it.

But the reason I wear my hair long is a simple one: no one – and I do mean no one – has ever, ever been able to get my hair right. As in haircut. (I’m thinking specifically of the modified mullet I was sporting after my last trim.) And now, you can add color to the mix. I waited as long as I possibly could before I needed to face the inevitable – the gray hairs sprouting straight up from my scalp. Really, would it kill those little buggers to grow in straight, with the rest of my hair? Wait, I don’t have straight hair, so that’s not really what I meant. I just meant, why in the world can’t they grow in the same general direction as the rest of my hair? Rather than at a ninety degree angle?

Pfft.

A few months ago, I had a pretty traumatic experience with my stylist. Who is, I might add, ‘one of the best in town.’ She’s done my hair about four times, the second time being the official last time I was going to go to her. She sent me home blond. Seen me? I’m not suited for blond. I have black eyes, black eyebrows and olive-ish skin that gets very dark in summer. Can we say ewww? Not a good match? Because it’s not. And so I swore, after listening to my husband make fun of me for about 10 minutes, that I was done with her.

Until… the drugstore incident. Wherein I colored my hair myself, with an $11 box from Rite-Aid. And all seemed okay. Until I got to Germany, and my husband, once again, made fun of me on the streets of Heidelberg, in a town where I spoke not a lick of German, and therefore couldn’t communicate with a stylist during an emergency color treatment to correct the issue, for having reverse roots. As in, dark hair, light roots. Lovely.

My hair needed professional help, and after desperately Googling stylists here in town and in SLC, I gave up and went back to my stylist. The one I’d broken up with. Know what happened? My husband again made fun of me, as I got into the car. Seriously. Can you say Goth Girl? Because that’s what I looked like. A little Goth Girl. We’re talking jet black. And this is after four hours, several rolls of tin foil and about three bowls of differently mixed shades of color. You know, for the whole ‘natural and multi-dimensional’ color we all strive for.

I cried. My daughter said I looked ugly. Several times. I cried some more. And then, my husband handed me the phone. And I did what I said I’d never do, in a million years. I called the stylist and told her it had to be fixed. It just had to…

And so, after promising me that 1) correcting the color would not destroy my healthy hair, and 2) that she’d give me the hair that I had as a child back, and 3) the ‘head’ colorist at the salon really knew what he was talking about, and 4) that she was not going to use bleach to lighten the base, after another four hours, I… 1) still had Goth Girl hair, only now with the added loveliness of an overall checkerboard pattern that brought in the most beautiful shade of brassy orange, 2) had massive breakage, 3) had hair that felt like straw… really dried out straw, and 4) found out today, from a new stylist, that she did indeed use bleach to lighten my color. But now? I’m back to a lovely shade of chocolate brown with… wait for it… orange roots.

What the? Is it me? Is it my hair? Do I just have really bad hair karma? Am I destined for a life of hair issues? I don’t get it. I go into these appointments armed with pictures. Clear photographs. I spend as much time as I need explaining what I’m looking for, what my goal is. And then, I ask the stylist what her opinion is. I’m patient. I don’t think my expectations are too high. And I’m not asking for anything unrealistic. Just natural, glossy and healthy-looking color. My color, basically. But without the grays. Am I asking too much? What more could I possibly do to make sure that what I walk out of the salon door with is the color that I’m paying for? The color I’ve requested?

I have no idea now what I’m going to do now. Miserable isn’t the word I’d use, because really, it’s just hair. And thankfully, mine grows like a weed. But in the meantime? I’m going to make nice with that collection of baseball hats in my husband’s closet. And brace myself for the peels of laughter, as soon as I head upstairs… Oh, and be grateful that I lost my camera. Because, seriously. You don’t want to see it. You just don’t.

Trust me.

It’s just hair, right? In the grand scheme of things? Just hair…

As part of our plan to simplify our home, my husband and I have had several meetings of our minds about the current toy situation in our home. We have a lot of toys. Or rather, the girls have a lot of toys. So many, that this is usually how playtime goes down…

Girls: Mommy, can we go downstairs and play?

Mommy: Yup. Just make sure to play with one toy at a time, when you’re done with it, put it away and take out another. It’s more fun that way.

Girls: Okay.

(cue the sounds of toys, dolls and art supplies being thrown all around the room; oops, there goes the dollhouse… crash!)

Mommy: Oh. My. God. What the? Who the heck is going to clean THIS up?

Girls: YOU are!

Mommy: Oh no, you are sooooooooo mistaken, my little mess-makers. YOU are both going to clean up this mess. Or else…

Girls: Or else? Or else what? We’re going outside!

Mommy: Stupid toys. Barbie shoes – why so tiny? Pfft. Who the heck needs this many books? And Legos? Why so many pieces? Ouch! I just stepped on one! Jeez, I freaking hate this. What? I have nothing better to do than to clean up after these people? Really? Come on, guys! Team players! I’m not your maid! Or your servant! Stupid toys. That’s it. I’m done. And another thing? Husband? While we’re at it? Put your stupid belt away and stop peeling off your socks and leaving them on the floor! Just grow up! This is not my life’s work! To clean up after you, either! What, I have three kids now?

(This last part? Is spoken to myself, with the muffled sounds of my girls running around outside, in the backyard. Not helping me clean up their junk. My husband? Is making monster sounds, chasing them. I, in all of my OCD-ness, am inside, organizing toys, finding missing pieces, taping up ripped pages in books, etc.

So, I do what any mother would do, or at least what I’m told any mother would do: the next time the mess is made, I threaten to take the toys away if they are not put back in their place at the end of the day, and put them in the Sunday Bag. Which means you will not see them again until Sunday. Got it? Sunday. And then, I do, again, what any mother would do. And I follow through. I stomp around the house, pick up the ignored and discarded toys, place them in a sac and throw them in a clever hiding place, much to the girls’ pleading of, “no! Not that one! It’s my favorite!”

And then? Well, you can guess how this ends, right? NO ONE REMEMBERS THOSE TOYS IN THE SUNDAY BAG EVER EVEN EXISTED.

Stupid Sunday Bag.

So, I have since gone through all of the toys in the house, found all of their parts and pieces and taken a careful inventory. Kid not old enough for it? Stored for later use. Kid not interested? Donated to a worthy organization. Kid outgrown it? Passed down to a friend with a younger child. And on and on. Now? Streamlined. Toys, games and books that I have deemed fit for our home, our needs, our tastes.

This story is ending up a lot longer than I’d planned, but here is Chapter 2:

Meaghan (love the spelling!) sent me an email earlier in the week, suggesting that I check out a book on Amazon that she just received called “Cool Spaces for Kids.” She thought I’d like it. And she was right. UPS dropped off my copy this afternoon, and I cannot put it down. In fact, Pea and I just spent the last hour pouring over the pictures, talking about which projects we should tackle, and when.

The premise of the book is basically the same rule that we are trying to live by these days: less is more. Imagination is good. And children should have special places – just for them – in and around the house. A place all their own.

Interesting timing, since:

my husband and I have discussed the empty flower bed in the side yard, and how we’d like to teach the girls about food by having them grow their own vegetables. We’re starting with lettuce and cucumbers (this is covered in the book);

I have been dreaming of clever (and attractive!) ways to incorporate a window seat into the stairwell on the girls’ bedroom level, just under a window that overlooks the mountain across the street (also covered in the book);

pup tents… I have had plans for erecting a couple for the girls, out in the backyard, this summer (yup, it’s in the book);

and lastly, a conversation with my husband, as we drove him to the airport this morning, about a project I’d love for him to take on: a toy storage box with a chalkboard top, for the great room. That’s where we spend most of our time entertaining, and although currently there’s nothing in there for the girls, save two cabinets full of books, the room always ends up scattered with toys at the end of the day, so why not an attractive way to house them? I showed him a picture of one, from a shop that I like. He said no problem. Upon returning home from the airport? The new book I spoke of above was at the front door, and in it is a project for this very table. And with casters! (Which I had also requested on the one my husband build for us, I think they’re not on the one for sale above. Not that it matters. Because my husband is making us one! With casters! Lucky us! And, see? It’s in the book!)

So, in a nutshell: cool book, great ideas, all easily (I think) doable. And reasonably priced to complete, as well. Fits right in with my – our – new philosophy on home style and lifestyle…

Simple. Elegant. Sophisticated. Kid (and dog!) friendly. DIY (on occasion). Not going to break the bank (always good).

I think we’re going to be busy this summer…

Enjoy your weekend. We’ll be writing up hardware store lists, ourselves…

Oh, I almost forgot… Thanks, Meaghan!

Check out my newest post on how we’re coping with Pea’s not-so-hot sleep habits on…

The Bump!