Crazy Hair Day + The Obligatory Aftermath

As the DFP, or Designated Fun Parent, Daddy is in charge of crazy hair day around here. (Mommy being in charge would be decidedly un-fun, thus Daddy's nomination.) This is the third year in a row that he's done it, and, as any Fun Parent should, he does a bang-up job involving lots and lots of colored hair spray, rubberbands, and bobby pins that result in some imaginative, Dr. Seuss-ish display. (As in, "every kid down in Whoville liked crazy hair day a lot. But the Mommy, who cleaned up after it, did not.) Okay, I don't really dislike crazy hair day, but I do have the task of cleaning up the bathroom after the mad crazy hair day rush leaves all sorts of hair accouterments laying about amongst the inadvertent splashes of colored hair spray covering the counter. But, as the Designated Responsible Parent, that's my job. And that's okay.

Anyway, the girls' hair looked great, and only one of them showed up to school late because of it.

Not a great pic, but the only one we got of Vanna before 

I rushed her off to school while Craig worked on J's hair

Julia Goolia, who was no more than two-lia

(Okay, so she's seven, but that 

doesn't rhyme with anything fun.)

fancy hairwork, no?

Lex wanted to be included as well, so I did what I

could with the supplies that remained.

Could have been much worse, but this is what I 

discovered a little later in the morning...

you can't really see the color on the 

counter, buy believe me, it was there.

Speaking of aftermath, J managed to get almost 

none of the hair color out of her hair when she 

showered that night, so I had to wash her hair in the sink 

about four times before the water actually ran clear.

(If you look really close, you can still see traces

of red in her part...and it's been almost two weeks.)

Happy Crazy Hair Day, everyone!

Mom Brain

I am finding that my already ample "I can't believe I just did that" moments are increasing lately with alarming frequency. As my children get older and my brain continues its slow and steady conversion into fluffy cotton candy, I am asking myself more and more, "did I seriously just do that?" and, sadly the answer is always a resounding, "Why, yes! Yes I sure did."

Sometimes these moments start with a good idea. This one did, anyway.

Since potato soup was on the menu for our Flagstaff trip, I had the genius idea of making the accompanying  rolls beforehand so we didn't have to mess with it while we were there. (Frozen rolls, not homemade, otherwise this story would seem a little more tragic.) I got out the rolls to allow plenty of time to defrost, rise, and bake before we left that afternoon...after which I promptly forgot about them.

I wandered into the kitchen some several hours later to discover their swollen state, so I quickly pulled off the plastic wrap and pre-heated the oven so that I could pop them right in before they started to deflate. Then I ran into the office to work on a discussion question that was due that day, and when I came back out at least 45 minutes later, the taunting hum of the oven reminded me that I had never put the rolls in at all. If they were a little puffy before, they were Ginormous at this point by comparison. I mentally kicked myself, and asked myself the obligatory, "did I seriously just do that??" after which, not to be dissuaded by even my own brain deterioration, I put them into the oven and crossed my fingers that they would not completely explode in there.

They didn't; they just got even huger and rounder, and since, at this point, it was time for us to be leaving, I hastily threw them into a bag and hoped for the best.

This is what they looked like right out of the oven:

But by the time we got to the cabin, they looked at though they had been tucked nice and snuggly under somebody's warm buns for the entire two-hour drive. (Sorry, no photo. My shame and consternation were too great.)

I told my mother-in-law that I was going to go ahead and blame the change in elevation on the destruction of my poor rolls. But we all knew that soft and sticky Mom Brain was the real culprit.

I'll tell you one thing, though...they still tasted pretty darn good.

When was your last Mom Brain moment?

Four Eyes

What's not to love?

The Lexa?

Love.

The Daddy?

Love.

The glasses?

Love.

Sometimes the cuteness around here threatens to swallow me whole.

The Lonliest, Blissfullest Number

One.
That's right...one.

As in

Un.
Uno.
Eins.
Um.
Jeden.

One is how many classes I have left.
You know, before I finish my Bachelor's Degree.
Yeah...my Bachelor's Degree.

A few months ago, I was under the impression that I still had about 11 more elective classes left (after I finished all of my core classes) before I would be graduating from college. I pretty much figured that I would be in school at least until my youngest was in kindergarten.

Well, something changed in my program of study and I found out pretty recently that all I really had left were the rest of my core classes, (along with an exam to test out of Spanish 1) and I would be done. Actually Done.

So, right now, I am one week into my last core class...an 8-week class called "The Novel," (which really means "Eight Novels") after which I will take my Spanish test and be on my way. With a Bachelor's under my belt.

There are literally not words to describe my excitement.

This is a big deal for me for a few reasons. After the reality of the "oneness" sunk in, I computed some things.

1. I started college at 23 years old, 3 months after Craig and I got married. Since then, with the exception of time taken off between our move from California to Arizona, and time off for having babies, I have been a student for our entire 9 years of marriage.

2. I have simultaneously been a mom and student for the last 7 and a half years. I have never had a kid and not been a student.

3. I have been a student during all of my pregnancies. I have nursed at the computer while doing homework after all of those babies were born.

4. I have had countless quasi-breakdowns over the years in which I have felt, in every way, torn between the way that I want to spend  my time, and the way that I need to spend my time.

5. I have had one amazing, loving husband, who has unconditionally supported me in my educational pursuits for the last 9 years with not one peep of complaint or exasperation about the time that I have had to spend, instead of with him and the girls, completing grueling homework assignments.

6. All told, it will have taken me almost 10 years to complete my "four-year degree."

I don't know if it seems like a big deal to you, but it sure does to me. I honestly want to laugh and cry just thinking about it.

Because, next to zero, One is just about the best number that ever was.

Chalking it Up

On a recent early evening trip to my parents' house to cut down the weeds for my dad, the girls had a hey-day putting some sidewalk chalk from a recent birthday party to use. And, whadayaknow,  it was only like 80 something degrees outside, so they actually did not melt while doing so. Me? I sat in the car reading Uncle Tom's Cabin for my lit class and Craig toiled away on the weeds after killing one scorpion and finding about 5 others that were already dead.

It's a little weird to me that we lived there for two months. Kind of like a dream that you are sure you had, but can't remember all of the details exactly. Such was the state of my frazzled brain at the time. (Kind of  like the time that Savanna was an infant and Julia was a demanding 2-year-old. I know it happened, because it had to have happened, but I sure as heck don't remember very much about it.)

And, in case you were wondering, yes, there were plenty of scorpions, both dead and alive, when we lived there, too. And yes, I still shudder to think about it.

Craig was even nice enough to do chalk outlines of J and S, 

which seemed a little crime scene-ish to me at the time...

(But I guess when you draw a happy face on them, 

it cuts down on the creepy factor a tad.)

This one is a little reminiscent of my infamous Flagstaff pose, no?

I love that the girls are so artistic and that
they LOVE to be outside.They sure don't get
either of those things from their mama.

P.S. Just found out that my parents' HOA cited them for, among other things, chalk on the communal driveway. Whoops. Too bad it never rains around here.