Crazy Hair Day!

It was Spirit Week at Ava's elementary school.  Which I find ironic since Halloween is just around the corner.  As Ava would quip, "Get it?"  Anyway,  Monday she wore blue.  Tuesday was nerd day which she refused to participate in because she is too cool I guess.  Wednesday she dressed like her teacher.  Today was crazy hair day.  I may not know a lot about a lot of things, but I know about crazy hair.  If only every day of grades four through six were crazy hair day I would have been the talk of the school.  This was in the days before I discovered hair gel.  Which pretty much meant frizz fest every day of my life.  Ah, the good old days.  But I digress.  Here is what we came up with for Ava.

FYI the hair color said purple on the bottle, but it was pretty pink.  Which suited Ava just fine as that was the color she wanted in the first place. 

I worried later that she looked a little like "Hell Boy".  If you don't know who that is you should thank your lucky stars and it's likely you aren't married to a nerd.  Can you believe they made a Hell Boy 2?  There must be more nerds out there than I thought. 

The back.  It was pretty traumatic for her to sit still long enough for us to make this creation.  Both Brigham and I at one point threatened bodily harm if she didn't stop whining.  I did the braids and Brigham cut the tie wire and installed it.  I must admit I was inspired by this picture.

Bad quality.  I admit I'm akin to an eighty year-old when it comes to technology.  I'm sure there was a better way to do this.  We don't have a scanner though.  Oh well.  The girl on the right is my seven year-old self dressed as Pippy Long-Stockings.  The cute girl on the left is my baby sister, Dawn sporting the witch costume all three of the Cooper sisters wore at one point or another.  She was two at the time.  Anyway, Dad somehow engineered a wire hanger in my hair to create the stiff braids.  Do they even make wire hangers anymore?

Back from 1988 we arrive back in present day time with a very alarming site.  To the left is my artistic handiwork.  You didn't know I was so talented, did you?  Hehe.  While the girls were painting at my sister-in-law's house last week we spray painted our pumpkins black.  Holly chose to use three pumpkins and write the letter B-O-O.  It was super cute.  I tried to paint a ghost.  Yeah, it didn't work so I tried to manipulate the shape into a skull.  This skull was supposed to look like "The Punisher" symbol.  It ended up looking like an Asian jelly fish.  I really got the giggles while I painted it.  I kept trying to salvage it but kept making it worse.  It's slightly disturbing and clearly the work of a psychopath.

This was the side I tried the original ghost on.  It's funny as well.  What I didn't capture in this picture was Ava was doing "cross bones" with her own arms.  She looked a little like Coolio flashing gang signs so I cut it out.  I don't want her future Ivy League school digging up any dirt on her from her gangsta past. 

Ava was sad when we washed her hair out.  She asked if they were going to have another crazy hair day any time soon.  I informed her that it was unlikely.  To which she frowned and then asked for a cup of chocolate milk while we read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.  Tomorrow is the big finale with a Halloween program at school, followed by a costume parade.  It's so fun to watch kids experience all the joys of school. 

Motherland or Gosh, I Love Cache Valley!

I steal away to Cache Valley whenever I can.  For me it's like coming up for air before having to go back to a hard swim.  I'm fairly certain I'm not cut out for city life, adolescent yearnings be damned.  The first thing I do when I get out of my car at Mom's house is to just stand there.  Just stand there and listen to...silence.  It's wonderful stuff for sure, and highly underrated.  

A portrait of a young artist.  I think we are all artists until someone tells us we aren't creative, that's why every preschooler enjoys finger painting.  No one has told them they aren't artistic yet.  

All the grandkids love painting rocks at grandma's house.  Ava is no exception.  Mom always finds them appropriate painting frocks AKA one of the hundreds of race shirts my parents have collected over the years. 

She has an artist's temperament.  Serious.  Sensitive.  Philosophical.  Prone to emotional outbursts.  Demanding. 

Goofy.

Grandma Debbie's dedicated to her craft: playing with the grandkids. 

The view from my brother's house.  I do believe Mt. Sterling is Cache Valley's best kept secret.  On a clear day you can see to Franklin...well almost. 

I've decided that Cache Valley is very geographically well-endowed.  The downside to all that beauty...nine months of blistering cold weather.  Okay I might have exaggerated a bit.  Eight months. 

More painting.

 More cousins.

 More cousins.

More cousins.

You get Ava and Ellie together and you have a recipe for giggling and teasing and a few crude references to bodily functions. 

Brielle was a big fan of Lily.  Everything she did fascinated her and she would crawl after her.  It's always hard to leave Cache Valley, especially because so many of the people we love live there.  But sometimes as I'm exiting off the freeway into SLC it almost...almost feels like home.  But not quite. 

Happy October!

The computer is not safe with this girl around.  She will find it and close it if she can, if you resist her advances she will get in a few good keystrokes and usually sends you off the page you were looking at anyway. 

You might as well close it yourself and put it away and pay attention to this toothy grin and the little person that goes with it.  In other obvious news, it's October and we all know what that means...

 

Fright Night!  I don't think Dracula was ever this charming.  Many important things began for me in October.  My mother was born.  My husband was born.  My marriage was born.  Yep.  9 years, with a brief "vacation" from each other for five months in year seven.  All I can say about that is...phew, so glad that is over.  

My husband is 31.  When I was sixteen I could have never imagined myself married to a 31 year-old.  And guess what?  I still can't.  Aren't we still sixteen? 

Ava and I went and picked up a Cold Stone ice cream cake in the afternoon.  It was okay.  Nothing mind-blowing and probably not worth what we paid for it. 

We dropped the girls off at a neighbor's house and then went out to dinner with some friends.  Ichiban Sushi.  Good stuff...if you like sushi.  Which we do...sorta.  I have to try hard not to think about the raw fish aspect.  Being my mother's cook-it-til-it's-charred child it goes against every moral conviction woven into my being from birth to consume anything that is not cooked properly.  But you know, it was Brig's birthday and he loves sushi and has no such moral conflicts when it comes to raw fish.  The sushi rolls flowed like wine as well as the F-words from the table next to us, but still we dined.  WARNING:  TRAIN WRECK AHEAD.

Caption this picture:

"You went to Cold Stone and all you got for me was this lousy toothbrush?"

"The hills are aliiiiiiive with the taste of ice cream and devil's food cake!" 

That's all I got.  Sorry. 

Where have you been all my life? 

To Brigham:

I'll briefly say this about our anniversary, I'm glad we made it here.  On the day I committed to love you forever we did not know who or what exactly we were saying yes to, but we leapt anyway hoping it would all work out.  We made our mistakes, to put it mildly.  When I came back to you I knew what and who I was saying yes to...and somehow that makes it more meaningful to me than the day a young, naive girl said yes to a complete fantasy of what she thought her life would be.  Thanks for never giving up on me.

Bree

 

Brielle has been pulling up to furniture and trying to stand on her own.  She crawls after me everywhere and when I'm in the kitchen I have a beautiful baby girl trying to cling to my leg if I stay in one place for too long.  She's so mobile!  It's so different from Ava.  Ava was always so mellow.  She didn't crawl until she was almost a year and then that only lasted two or three weeks until she started walking.   Ava was content to sit and play with toys.  Brielle is not.  She wants to go.  She wants to be in the middle of everything all the time.  It's so interesting to see their distinct personalities.  

She is a few weeks shy of ten months.  She says Ni-ni for Night-night.  She waves hello and goodbye.  When I put on my shoes she knows I'm going to walk out the door and starts begging for me to pick her up and take her with me.  She says Mama and Dada.  She says num-num when she wants another bite of food.  She loves to snuggle up under my chin.  She loves to pull hair.  She wants to eat and drink whatever we're eating and drinking and gets hurt feelings if she is not partaking at the same time we are.  She hates peas.  She prefers real solid food to the pureed stuff out of jars.  She loves the song on The Cat in the Hat on PBS.  She loves to watch Ava run around like a crazy person.  She likes to watch us dance in the kitchen.  She does not like the big bathtub and cries the whole five minutes it takes to bathe her.  She will take juice or water out of a bottle, but not formula or breast milk...which is bad news for me.  So.  Done.  With.  Breastfeeding.  Obviously she's pulling the strings around here though so I won't be done until she says I'm done.  Hopefully when she can have whole milk she will be more willing to wean.  

Basically I love the girl.  I can't imagine our family without her.  She makes me want to have another baby right away, and then another and another.  Shocking, I know.  What can you do?  The heart wants what the heart wants...until the body wants a full night's sleep.  Then the body tells the heart to take a hike. 

Coke Bomb

Well, it was a good run.  I thought to myself the other day that it had been quite a while since I last publicly humiliated myself.  Which means of course that I was due for some red-faced trauma. 

So tonight I picked up Brig from work and then we ran to the grocery store to pick up a few things.  I have been feeling under the weather with a cold and have spent the day trying to keep the laundry going while also trying to keep my teething baby happy who also caught the dreaded cold.  I wasn't cooking.  So we picked up a few things for dinner. 

I've been trying to cut Coke out of my life once and for all.  I know, I know, don't laugh.  I know I've tried this several times.  I read that you have to cut back your intake so you don't get agonizing headaches from withdrawal.  Long story short, I had already had my allotted Coke intake for the day, but was feeling sorry for myself because I had had such a rough day so I thought...I'll just have a glass tonight to unwind, reward myself for dealing with...daily life?  I don't know.  I have a problem with Coke, alright? 

So I plucked a Coca-Cola from off the drink aisle and handed it to Brielle to keep her occupied.  Brig gives me the look.  The one that says,  Is that really necessary?  I smile smugly in reply.  I just love when you can have a complete conversation with someone without saying a word. 

Now we are in the cereal aisle and we each pick out a box of cereal.  Ava chooses Lucky Charms and promises me she won't just eat the marshmallows.  Brig picks out Shredded Wheat.  And I, who usually doesn't eat cereal get a craving for Grape-Nuts.  So I set the box in the cart.  It is then that it happens. 

Brielle in her eagerness to intercept the box of cereal drops the Coke bottle.  It hits the ground and immediately begins spraying all over.  Brig and Ava jump back like two cowards.  I rush forward into the fray, carbonated shrapnel pummeling me.  I pick up the bottle and try to twist the lid back on and instead of it stopping it starts spraying more.  My husband helpfully yells, "Stop untwisting the top!"  For the record I do believe I was doing righty-tighty but he claims I was pulling a lefty-loosey.  I guess we'll never know.  I get the situation under control and look down to see that my white shirt is soaked with Coca-Cola.  I giggle as I always do when I'm slightly mortified. 

Ava and Brig must be shell-shocked because they are standing there just staring at me like I'm some stranger.  I soggily pad over to the self-checkouts to inform the attendant there that there has been a spill on aisle 3.  I assume she will use the overhead intercom to say, "Cleanup on aisle three!"  But I am mistaken.  She instead hands me exactly two sheets of paper towel.  What?  Can't spare a square, lady?  I take it back to aisle three where Ava and Brig have made themselves scarce.  A nice man says, "Oh I was just going to tell someone about this mess.  I can tell by your shirt that you must have had something to do with it," He said glancing down at my see-through white shirt.  I flush red and try to position my arms over my chest acting as if I am just scratching my neck in a very awkward way.  "I think you're going to need more than two paper towels, though." He continues.  And then like a knight in shining armor he flags down a passing bag boy and handles the situation. 

I finally meet back up with Brig and Ava.  Ava says to me, "You must be pretty embarrassed, Mom."  The little turd.  I cajole them for leaving a wounded soldier in the throws of battle.  Brig smiles sheepishly and says, "Well that's what you get for buying a Coke when you're trying to quit."  If he wasn't so cute I'd wring his neck right then and there but my arms are too sticky and my blouse is ruined and I just want to go home to lick my wounds.  My Coke-flavored wounds. 

Conversations between a Husband and Wife

Admittedly my goal each day is to have the house in pretty fantastic shape when my husband walks through the door each day.  Sometimes I succeed, but most days he walks into complete chaos.  As evidenced by Monday afternoon. 

Mondays are no good anyway, because Mondays are laundry day and I despise laundry day.  Always have, always will.  I look forward to the day when Ava and Brielle can do their own laundry.  I'm already training Ava and I've fooled her into thinking it's "fun."  Sucker. 

I was in between folding batches when Brigham walked through the door.  I was sitting in the recliner surfing the internet for pictures of haircuts for my husband.  Really important stuff.  His first words were, "What the?"  Oh, did I mention I was holding a bag of frozen rhubarb to my left breast?  Any guesses why?  It might have something to do with this person...

Exhibit A, ladies and gentlemen.  Look at those choppers.  Talk about gnashing of teeth.  I'm in nursing Hell.  In fact I bought $25 worth of formula and a few more bottles.  I guess that's what happens when you bite the hand...er, boob, that feeds you.  Meanwhile Ava pops up next to me and asks if she can have some.  "Have some what?" I ask her. 

"Some of what's in the bag, Mom." 

"As you can see, the bag is in use.  No you may not."

"But mom!" 

Brigham takes in the state of the living room which is in full rumpus room mode.  It's like a few rockstars decided to trash the place.  Ava is an old pro, and Brielle can create a lot of damage for a 9 month old.  I start out fighting the good fight, but eventually I threw in the towel.  Like I said, Mondays.   I'm not good at being vigilant about making Ava put away toys when you get out new ones which all moms know is the secret to the universe.  Anyway, Brig refrains from saying a word about the state of the house and instead says, "Looks like you've had a rough day."  Which is essentially code for Good Grief, woman you're a mess!  The bags under your eyes have bags, and your hair rivals Medusa's thrashing snake dreads.  Aren't you in the same clothes you were in when I left this morning?  There is something to be said for restraint.  I thank you, husband.

"What are you looking at?" He asked after changing into basketball shorts and one of his collection of forty t-shirts. 

"Hair styles for you.  It's about that time," I say glancing up to his thick locks that have become more and more wild with length. 

"I was thinking I'd just shave it all off." 

For the record, I'd like to state, and this is not to brag but to merely point out the truth...my husband has great hair.  He's shaved his head before and he looks pretty good.  No sharp pointy angles on his skull or inexplicable soft spots like those mushy bruises on apples.  Still, I like it a bit longer.  The problem is his hair has some curl to it and some body.  So it can start to look a bit, dare I say mullet-like if left to it's own devices.  So I thought I'd help him with his communication skills when he goes to get his hair cut.  I thought, let's start with some visual aides. 

I know, terrible picture.  It was quite small though and I had to make it bigger.  This is Roger Federer, world renown tennis player.  Confession: I only ever watch tennis when this guy is playing.  And I don't watch it for the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat.  I watch it for this reason:

Look at the height on that hair!  I'm mesmerized by it.  When he and Nadal play against each other it's epic.  Battle of the flowing locks.  Who cares who wins the match, we're all winners just for having watched all that hair.  Anyway when I showed Brig this picture he just rolled his eyes.  I guess my crush is more obvious than I thought. 

Next I showed him this picture.  This man is named Nacho.  Yes, Nacho.  I usually steer clear of nachos because the goop you put on top seems faker than velveeta...if that is even possible.  Velveeta is like the Frankenstein of cheese product.  A unholy union of chemically altered ingredients forged in the depths of Mordor.  Lord of the Rings, anyone?  No?  I guess I'm the only nerd in the room.  I digress.  Let's just say I like my cheese the way I like my men...real and stinky.  As evidenced by my fragrant list of ex-boyfriends.  Just kidding.  Kind of.   I like my cheese the way I like my religious leaders...aged and holy.  Bu-dum-bum.  I've got more but I'll spare you. 

Nacho Figueras is an Argentinian Polo Player and model of some note.  He calls this look "latin Manhatten".  It's his go-to facial pose, just like Zoolander's "blue steel".  All kidding aside, look at that hair.  It's long, sure, but still structured.  When I show this picture to Brig he says, "I can't have a hair cut like that because I have a big forehead."  I've never thought he had a big forehead.  Maybe love is blind, but I'm pretty sure that he is way off on this forehead notion.  So I start combing the internet for people who really do have big foreheads.  Who knows how many of the photos that popped up had been doctored, but man, there are some big foreheads out there.  I came across this picture and it made me laugh and laugh. 

Apparently someone thinks she has a big forehead.  I don't see it.  But I'll tell you one thing, and I've expressed my feelings on this before in a previous post...I don't trust skinny cooks.  Give me Paula Deen.  You know she's been sampling some of what she's been fixin' to make, ya'll.  She's been sampling, because it's darn good.  Giada on the other hand, well, who knows.  I've never tried one of her recipes yet.  It's the principle of the thing. 

We never did come to a consensus on a hair cut.  But we laughed and laughed while discussing it.  Maybe you had to be there. 

Fashionable

I hear hats are in for the Fall.  These are just as good right?

 

I said, RIGHT?!

 

Next thing you know, Princess Beatrice and Princess Eugenie will be clamoring for a similar creation.

Guess who started crawling this past week?

This girl!

Please, no more pictures.