What Was I Thinking...Bobblehead?

Or 5 dumb ideas that resulted in a bad 2 bad haircuts.)

Dumb Idea #1 Thinking that by growing my hair long, I could have my hair all one length. To me that meant the front length would be as long as the back.

(This was my hair in April.)

Dumb Idea #2 Believing that this could be achieved by cutting 2 inches off of the back, not 4.

(The sides are plenty long enough here in June to get a nice cut.)

Dumb Idea #3 Letting a girlfriend tell my hairdresser, over the phone, exactly how to cut my hair.


Dumb Idea #4 Not noticing that when she cut 4 inches off of the front and sides; thus having almost the same haircut I already had, except 4 inches shorter.

(I showed her this pic from 11/08, because it was on my phone. It was an attempt to show her a look that would work with an already mangled haircut.)

Dumb idea #5 Trusting the hairdresser to fix my hair. When she said she'd have to cut the back shorter, I told her no. Just even it up so the right side wasn't longer than the left. Somehow I didn't notice until she was finished that she'd cut 2 more inches off. Now the right side is shorter than the left.

Did I mention before that a bad haircut could mean a month of bad hair days?

I'm afraid this one will last longer. Here is my hair after I worked with it for over an hour. Hair this short shouldn't take an hour to fix.

I hate my hair right now.

Monday Morning

Monday morning makes me mindful of memories made meandering in Mesa.



Guitar gig going strong in Gilbert



Ethan & Ella entertaining each other


Never enough noise


Great Grandma giving good-bye hugs

My Brain Must Be Fried

Who in their right mind would trade this:

For this?

Hello? A 40 degree difference on Tuesday?

Thunk Thursday

We've had a lot of weather warnings scroll across the bottom of our television lately. They look like this:

Wow! Thunderstorms with deadly lightning? I've never seen the word deadly before lightning. This is quite a storm...until I realize that is not what it says.

Now we have to watch out for deadly "lighting."

Faithful Are The Wounds Of A Friend

He masquerades as a funny, little fellow. Brimming with helium and tied to a brightly colored ribbon, the balloon pretends to be a child's faithful friend. Mom knots the string to her child's wrist. Both are amused at the pleasure it brings. The balloon smiles down on its owner, bouncing and bobbing playfully. The child squeals with delight as she pulls her friend close and squeezes tightly. She laughs when the balloon boings back up to its watchful place.

Most toys, when forgotten, lay still and lifeless. But not so with Mr. Balloon. He dances and sways to attract the attention of others. A boy standing nearby notices. He too wants a leash wrapped around his arm and a pet balloon to walk. Mr. Balloon caught my attention on Saturday and I yielded to his friendly demeanor and glossy allure-a birthday balloon for my grandson.

Ethan played with Mr. Balloon until he opened his birthday presents. Megatron emerged as his new partner. Together they road in his truck, crawled in the tent, splashed in the sprinkler. But Mr. Balloon was undeterred. He hovered around the house all day. Desperate for attention he bumped & bobbled against the touch lamp; on, off, on, off...but to no avail. Ethan was out in the garage adding real gasoline to his battery powered truck. Mr. Balloon was finally successful after Ethan was dragged inside, showered off, and required to play indoors. He found the balloon dancing quietly in the corner.

Dinner was served outside, and the forever faithful friend was invited to eat with Ethan. He was tied to the chair so he could freely play in the wind. But Ethan kept untying him. Mr. Balloon was looking a little tired. His chest wasn't proudly puffed out anymore. Instead of bobbing quickly to the end of his string, he fluttered quietly beside the chair. I feared he was close to losing his floating ability. I watched as Ethan pulled loose the string. Mr. Balloon's bouncy bubbly self was slow in response.

But he's a tricky little fellow. Ever so slowly, he meandered to the edge of the deck. He lingered for just a moment, contemplating his next move. And then without looking back, he darted out. As fast as he's ever moved, he took flight. Over the houstop he went. Realizing his balloon was headed over the house, Ethan sprinted from his chair. Running as fast as he could, he made his way through the garage and onto the driveway. Words were spilling out of his mouth. His arms were pointing and signing towards Mr. Balloon, who was quickly becoming a speck in the sky.

"Ethan, the balloon is gone. I'm sorry. We can't get it back. Let's finish eating." Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He continued motioning with his hands and babbling as if to say we surely didn't understand that he wanted his balloon back. In those moments I'd give anything to know what Ethan was saying. I tried to think back to the times when my own children had balloons desert them.

"Will someone find my balloon?"
"Do you think another boy will play with it?"
"Maybe it will fly up to God and he will send it back."

I offered answers to words I couldn't grasp. But nothing I said could stop the alligator tears rolling down his face. I don't know how many times we dragged him back to the table, coaxing him to take one more bite. Over and over he ran to the front, in search of his friend.

Sometime after dinner, Ethan gathered Megatron and his other transformers. He set them up in the driveway. And then I saw him gesture. He pointed to the sky and his arms were signing. He spoke to them with words that only the toys could understand. I could only imagine. But I think he told them to never trust a balloon.

Crazy Weather

Notice anything strange about these trees?

They had leaves on them yesterday. The storm last night created an instant Autumn, except the leaves on the ground are all green. The temperature is only 64 degrees, down from yesterday's 94. That is part of what caused the problem. It was quite warm when the storm hit.

The trees are shredded and limbs broken off.

On Friday I Cried

Tears are usually reserved for special occasions. I don't let them flow for just any old thing. But I cried on Friday...in the middle of the grocery store.

Lately, my food shopping trips have been happy ones. The store has increased their gluten free foods selection. It is thrilling each time I find a new product. Recenly I found a delicious cake and frosting mix that not only is gluten free but also casein free. Imagine my excitement at being able to bake Ethan a birthday cake that he could both eat and enjoy.

When I set out to make it, I realized the cake mix called for margarine to keep it casein free. No problem. The margarine I've used for the last 25 years contains vegetable oil and not a dab of milk. Perfect. I needed 8 tablespoons. Peering into the tub, I maybe had enough to smear on a piece of bread, gluten free of course. Off the the grocers I went.

I looked up and down the aisle of butter and margarines. Hoping my Nucoa had just been moved, I continued to search for it. It was no where to be found. After a few inquiries to a clerk, then a manager, I was informed they no longer carried it. I stood there in shock. When did this happen? I still had the nearly empty container in my refrigerator.

This store stocks no less than 30 different types of butter and margarine. How could they get rid of the one single brand that was dairy-free??? The one and only kind I can use to make frosting for a very special 7 year old's birthday cake.

It wasn't like I could run over to the bakery and buy him a cake. They don't make or sell GFCF cakes. The clock read 3:00p.m. At 4, family would be arriving for the birthday celebration. What was I to do?

So like any caring, creative-thinking grandmother would do, I cried in the middle of KingSoopers.

Thunk Thursday

Another fine example of poor translations on imported products. This is from a lamp. Made in China.



In case you can't read the fine print:



I know a few women who'd like to find some of that Neuter soap.

Guess Who's Seven?

Seven years ago, I became a Grandma.


A happy baby who loved his grandma


Your first birthday was filled with wonder.


At 2, you liked animals, and sitting on Grandma's table.


Three brought books of animals


and birthday celebrations were so much fun.


When you were 4, we went to Arizona for your birthday

celebrated with great-grandparents and cousins.



At 5, you were more reflective.


At 6 your love of transformers began.


Sometimes you wore your glasses, sometimes not.


And now you are seven


And often silly


Finding fun hiding places


But such a delight and joy.


Happy Birthday my sweet grandson. Grandma loves you so much.

Just Wondering

Thinking about Ethan this morning and wondering how he is doing. He is with his father and that scares me. "Lord, watch over my grandboy."

Seven Eleven

Happy 25th Birthday Christopher!

In honor of your 25th birthday, I pulled up a few short clips from MY 25th birthday. You were 4 months away from turning 3. You and Christina helped your dad bake me a birthday cake. The sound quality and video are poor, but if you listen close, your voice can be heard.



Stirring The Cake


Chocolate...no, butter pecan

Candles


Kisses

(I posted this early, because in South Korea, it is July 11!)

It's been one of those weeks

Exactly one week ago it began with this post. I'm sure you remember the Sea Lion Bite. In that post I complained that if we hit a lull, someone or something makes sure life isn't too boring.

Here is my laundry room:

Pipe fixed, concrete poured.


At the end of the day, this is what it looked like and pretty much how it will look for awhile.


About an hour later, we had another casualty. But the driver is fine.


And did I mention we have out-of-town guests here, and for the next three weeks more coming?

Memories

Yesterday I had the privilege of reliving a childhood experience, but from a different angle. For a couple of years my parents owned a laundromat. Many Saturdays were spent helping mom or dad tend to this business. They both had full time jobs and this was our family's part time job.

A favorite chore for my sister and I, was to clean the lint traps on the washing machines. Thinking back, it was kind of gross and slimy. But for Laurie and I it was an adventure. The treasures left in pockets ended up caught in these traps. We never knew what we'd find. Dimes, nickels, pennies. We'd clean them as fast as we could to get to the next possible treasure find. I didn't like finding dead bugs, or when I couldn't tell what the object was. A key, buttons, a nail or screw, mostly typical things kept in a pocket or on clothing. But sometimes it might be a locket, earring, or other interesting artifact. At our young age, we didn't mind kneeling on the floor to accomplish the task. We got to keep whatever we found.

We loaded the vending and change machines too. I especially enjoyed filling up the soda pop machine and emptying out the coins. I could never figure out who it was that drank strawberry soda. It was always the most empty, and orange was the second. Nobody in my family liked either. I did drink my share of Mountain Dew, from a frosty glass bottle. Why doesn't soda come in glass anymore? It tasted so much better and seemed way colder. Mmm...the last time I drank Mountain Dew was at that laundromat and there will little chunks of ice in the bottle.

I went to the laundromat yesterday. But this time, it was as a patron. We have a broken sewer line. This very minute, men in jumpsuits are jackhammering the concrete under my laundry room floor. All we'd noticed last week was the drain wasn't emptying very fast. Since it was a holiday weekend, we waited to do laundry, run the dishwasher, etc. So I took my 14 loads of dirty clothes to the laundromat.

Instead of joy at filling the change machine, I fed my dollars into it. I got back quarters instead of dimes and nickels. Thirty dollars worth of quarters. It wasn't as much fun watching those coins going into the machine as I had as a kid hearing them drop into the metal change box. I imagined a young girl emptying the coins with her dad, taking pleasure at the sound of quarters emptying out. They probably don't plunk quite the same as I remember nickels did. But I'll bet she uses a plastic container that doesn't sing the way our coins jingled and clanked against the metal.

I did sweat more than I remember as a kid too. Which is surprising since I grew up in heat of the Phoenix desert. I guess it was the 14 loads of laundry. Have I mentioned that? But the childhood memories of laundromat ownership was worth the sweat and toil I endured.

One afternoon Dad and I worked hard. The machines were filled and emptied. Everything was wiped down and cleaned. Dad let me mop the floors with the big string mop and wringer bucket. I felt so strong flinging it back and forth. We locked up and I climbed up into his old blue pickup truck. As usual, he set the big metal coin box between the two front seats next to the gear shift. We each positioned a cold soda between out legs for the 20 minute drive home, a Pepsi for him, Mountain Dew for me. He started the engine, but before shifting, he leaned over and opened the metal box. He pulled out a 50 cent piece and handed it to me.

"Here. You worked hard today and I'm glad you came with me." I took the shiny coin. It felt like a million bucks, mostly because of the pride with which it was given. As we drove home, we listened to country music and sang. No, we jammed. The tin box became our snare drum and the handle of it made a tambourine sound. Dad would hit the side with the back of his hand, tap the top to jingle the metal together, beating to the rhythm of each song. Then I'd get a turn. I don't remember coming home exhausted like I did yesterday. But I do believe I came home feeling much taller.

A Hard Day At Work

"Come help Grandpa, Ethan."


Every boy wants to master a chainsaw, right?


Can you believe how helpful he is?


Strong too.


Taking a break, but can't take his gloves off if Grandpa has his on. I even tried to get him to wear some his own size, but he would have no part of it. Grandpa's are way cooler.


"Okay Grandpa, let's haul the branches away.


"Whew! Am I tired."

Acceptance & Tolerance

I played Partini with the kids the other night. It's a fun game, if you don't mind laughing and being laughed at. I don't. One of the categories is to write a funny or true statement about a team member. Half of my cards mentioned not being able to multitask. Written much more cleverly than "unable to multi-task," they were the true statements.

My lack of being able to plan multiple things at once is getting worse. I used to pull it off quite nicely. I attacked each day fresh and new, without thought of the following day or week. I only had to think about and consider what was right in front of me. Keeps life simple.

My way of living leaves the door open to be spontaneous. Fun & excitment can happen at any moment, if I feel so inclined. Each day is full of possibility. If something unexpected comes up, I can adjust accordingly. I don't have a plan so nothing is interrupted.

The downside is, I can frustrate those around me due to my lack of planning. I can't carry on a conversation while on the computer. I am not a social shopper. If you want to chat, let's sit down and have a cup of coffee and visit. If you want to shop with me, know that I don't want your opinion, nor do I want to give you mine. I want to find what I went there looking for, purchase it, and go home. I don't want to browse or talk about how cute-this-outfit-is-even-though-I'd-never-wear-it. Nor is it my desire to check out the latest in ugly fashion statements. Sigh. I know this is a great disappointment to many.

Honestly, I can only focus on one thing at a time.

The same is true when I cook. It is hard to let you help me. I don't delegate well. If I'm talking I get distracted and forget ingredients. I'm also much slower because I have to stop chopping or dicing to say what's on my mind. If I'm chatting, I am not preparing the food. Dinner will be late. Truly I am single-minded.

And you know what the beauty of this whole post about me is? It is ok to be like this. My way isn't right and it isn't wrong. The world needs planners, and those that don't. If we were all planners we might frustrate the heck out of one another. Just like we all can't be leaders. If we were, we wouldn't be, because there wouldn't be anyone following. What fun would family and friends be if we were all the same?

So my promise to you is I will accept that you plan out every single last detail, if you will tolerate that I don't.

And sometimes, just for fun, let's reverse roles and broaden our horizons.

Too Much Fun

I think it is a conspiracy. If too much time passes without us paying a visit to the Emergency Room, one of my kids finds a reason to go. I think our last visit was in April. Yesterday was July 1st. They must think I really miss the busy waiting area, or the blood and gore of the real deal. Maybe they've heard me remark too many times, while watching Trauma Life In The ER, "I think I may have missed my calling...I should work in the ER." So one or another will oblige me. Yesterday it was Sarabeth.

What happened? She was bit by a sea lion. No, we don't live in San Diego, nor were we vacationing in California. Frolicking with the sea lions & subsequent nibble happened here in good ol' Colorado. The ER docs were very excited to have an interesting case. They were equally impressed with Sarabeth's flipper bruise, as it had the outline of the digits. She saw no less than 8 or 9 curious doctors, nurses, & staff that all wanted the story. Apparently, when you work in the ER you get asked about your most interesting patients of the day.

Just in case you ever think it sounds cool to swim with the sea lions, let me show you these:

Notice those teeth? They can make a pretty good puncture wound.

(I know, you can't really see the puncture part, just the cut after it was all cleaned up.)

And this

Can leave a pretty good mark.




The pictures don't do justice to the actual injuries. But Sarabeth can't wait to swim with Kitty again.

What's Going On?