37 Weeks! Thanks for all the great advice/reassurance about the BH contractions. I had my 24 week check up yesterday and was once again cleared to exercise.
Can't say I'm going to jump right on that, but I'm still thankful for the all clear.
And speaking of being thankful can I just say how much Park and I have been enjoying this beautiful weather?
Two days ago we spent the entire day outside, painting with marbles, sponges, and good old fashioned side walk chalk. There may have been a few (or a hundred) baseball pitches that he required of me, in between activities, as well. That child is so efficient at hitting the ball that there is a strong possibility he could take my head off in the near future.
And today we spent the morning at the playground. He spent some time in the sandbox before we had a picnic and went on a nature scavenger hunt. A while back, Bridget had given me some pictures she had pulled off the Internet of things like a playground, fence, tree, bird, squirrel, and so on. I cut them out and put them on a little ring and Park couldn't have been more thrilled to explore with me until we found each item.
He also discovered something that wasn't on the list.... a huge hill to ride his bike down at breakneck speed while I prayed his training wheels would somehow keep him from bodily injury. If this next baby is cautious, I'm not even sure I will know what to do with that.
In other news, Park has learned to read. Now, if you ask him if he can read he will say, "Well, I can only sound out words, but I still need you to read my books to me." But, the last time I checked, that still counts as reading when you are a three-year-old.
I'm not sure exactly how it came about, but I've known that he has a love for letters for some time now. Last summer we made an alphabet book (a letter of the alphabet on each page and then you cut out things from magazines that start with that letter) and he was quite confident of what items started with which letter.He is constantly asking me what sounds each letter makes and loves when I arrange his fridge alphabet into words.
So, last week I decided to I showed him the word "bat" and asked him how I could change it to "sat". I wasn't sure he would know, but when he handed me the s, we just kept going. Before I knew it, he was reading words like hen, sun, bed, pig, doll and so on.
And at the risk of sounding like a bragging mom, I was amazed that he read "Pass Left" off a sign at the playground today.
Unfortunately, he also screamed this rule to any biker who was trying to get around us on the trail this morning. At least he added please to it, right?
Looks like our next task will be teaching him to read the sign that says: "Caution: Dangerous Hill Ahead."
If you happen to have wondered where I've been lately, the most likely answer is sleeping.
I cannot keep my eyes open to save my life.
Last week, Chris, Park and I were coming home from an evening with friends at around 7:00 PM. One minute Chris and I were in the middle of a great conversation and then the next thing I remember is him waking me up in our driveway 45 minutes later.
Narcolepsy, I tell you.
And this is really odd for someone who usually has to have her teeth brushed, face, washed, mask on, and pillows fluffed accordingly, just to have a chance at falling asleep within the hour.
Not to mention that every time I lay down with Park to read books, I end up reading the back of my eyelids, instead. And by God's mercy Park has been taking more naps, too, probably because he'd have to crawl over his sleeping mommy to have a chance at escaping his bed.
Clearly I should have tried this strategy sooner.
But all that to say, I'll take sleepiness over queasiness any day of the weak. With the exception of some waves of nausea here and there, I am very blessed in the morning sickness department. (Well, technically early mornings have always made me sick, pregnant or not.)
However, let me warn anyone willing to listen about taking your child to the rodeo during the first trimester of pregnancy.
One whiff of the air upon entering the arena sent this little cowgirl into dry heaves for the remainder of the festivities. It wasn't pretty, but I was able to manage long enough to see the final bull rides.
Even if I had to bury my nose in my shirt to do so.
When purchasing their tickets, the poor people next to us had no idea what kind of show they were actually in store for. Perhaps rodeo attendees should push for a refund clause in the off chance you are seated next to a hurling, shirt sniffing, drama mama.
On the up side, Park didn't seem to mind my misery a bit, even pausing his "YEE HAW!" periodically to slam pat me on the head. And Chris was gracious enough to hide his grins with his hands, although I did faintly hear some snickering between dry heaves.
At least my rodeo debt is paid, unlike Chris who is still having to play the calf, while Park chases him on a stick horse before mercilessly roping him to the ground.
How's that snickering working for you now, hubs?
So, all in all, I'm alive and well, thankful beyond words for my waves of nausea and narcoleptic tendencies. I'm heading into my ninth week of pregnancy and not taking one minute of it for granted.
Even if I have to bury my nose in my shirt every now and then to do so.
Last week I headed to my sister's and our boys enjoyed some serious playtime.
Those three little men simply adore each other. Krew and Park spent most of their time throwing the ball back and forth to each other, while taking turns falling to the ground over fake injuries that caused them to giggle hysterically. Not to be excluded from the action, Kage would also periodically collapse, eliciting excited hoops and hollers from the older boys.
They were rough, rowdy, and rambunctious and loved every minute of it. Park is definitely the ring leader, but Kage's innate knack for mischief puts him at a close second. And somehow the two of them even manage to corrupt Krew, who typically tends to be the most trustworthy of the group.
In the early years, while I was busy dragging Park out of cabinets chasing him from room to room, and putting locks on our toilet paper, Challi was sitting idly by watching Krew, who couldn't be more content on the same spot of blanket where she had set him an hour before.
It all seemed mildly unfair, until Kage came along and she hasn't sat since.
And did I mention come March she will have three kids ages three and under? I don't see much rest in her near future. However, after undergoing in vitro with Krew and then God miraculously giving her the next two "surprise" pregnancies, I think she would argue that rest is overrated. I've never seen someone more thrilled to sacrifice her sleep and energy.
Challi and I discussed the possibility of my parents having FIVE grandsons. With her due in March and me in September and neither of us finding out the gender ahead of time, it could actually already be the case.
Then we spent some time trying to decide what gender we would choose if God put the ball in our court.
And what did we come up with, you ask?
That we are thankful God has the ball.
Neither one of us have any preference toward anything other than two healthy babies. Girls, boys, or both, we believe His plan for our family is perfect and complete.
Now, if only Park can grab hold of this concept. When he overheard us discussing the matter, he piped in with, "We want more brothers! We don't need any stinky girls in this family!"
Perhaps he is taking after his Pops, who at the tender age of 4, chased his babysitter around the house with a bat after she informed him he had a new baby sister.
Turns out, Pops wasn't playing around about wanting a BROTHER.
However, all these years later, you'd be hard pressed to find a man who loves and takes care of his baby sister better than Pops. Aunt Phyl even has some pieces of Tiffany jewelry to prove it.
But there is one thing we decided Park is right about. If we do end up with a girl, she will probably be stinky. After all, what chance does she have with monkeys like these for her brothers? 
Our only hope is that she might just grow into some Tiffany jewelry down the road.
Math has never been my forte, but apparently I should have familiarized myself with this little equation pre-Christmas shopping:
2 loads of freshly washed clothes + laundry basket = hours of entertainment.
Who said chores are boring?
Oh, the fun of being a little boy! (Or even just being his mommy)
And speaking of equations, here is another one I learned today:
dirty lens + using camera anyway = pictures with random spots
Sigh.
Has anyone else noticed a disturbing trend in fashion this winter?
Regardless of what store I visit, there are no appropriate clothing options in sight. And by appropriate, I mean shirts with actual sleeves.
After trying on a few of the short sleeve ensembles from various racks, I could stand it no longer. Baffled by the lack of warm attire being offered to the general public, I finally resorted to questioning a teenage sales clerk about the issue.
Without batting an eye, she answered me with, "Oh, long sleeves are so last season. We only carry the newest trends here."
Now I realize that I live in Texas, but is she for real? Who knew that warmth could go out of style?
Perhaps this should have been my first clue that I am not Forever 21, no matter how much I shop there. In my old age, I favor practical over cutting edge. And call me old fashioned, but I need sleeves in January.
It is just who I am, a cold blooded American.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Well, that and to keep from shivering as I slipped off the trendy tank top I had tried on in a moment of weakness. As I hung the symbol of youth back on the rack, I made a 31 -year-old executive decision.
I'll be waiting to buy winter clothes until sleeves make a come back.
Until then, I see a lot of scarves in my wardrobe future. Apparently, they are the hot item of the season, anyway.
And with all the freezing cold outfits being sold out there, I'm convinced that something HOT has become more of a necessity than an accessory.
Either way, in the innocence of his youth, Park has totally bought into the trend.
First and foremost, thank you for all your precious comments on my last post. It is such a blessing to be encouraged and supported in prayer.
Today Park and I ventured out for a little grocery shopping. We were in no rush to get anywhere, so we decided that we might as well make an adventure of it. (Truthfully, grocery shopping with small children is always an adventure anyway, right?) Upon Park's suggestion, we decided to pretend our outing to Wal-Mart was actually a trip to the zoo.
And based on how crowded it was on a random Wednesday morning, it really wasn't all that much of a stretch.
Our first stop was produce, and it was in this department that Park determined that we must eat some ice cream if we were going to enjoy our zoo experience. Just as I was about to shoot down that idea, I turned and saw what he was using as a makeshift cone.
"Yummy to my tummy!" he exclaimed, " This broccoli ice cream cone is DELICIOUS. And it makes me super strong!"
Broccoli crowns as ice cream cones? Knock yourself out, buddy. And to think of all the times I've stressed over getting him to eat his vegetables when it turns out all I needed to do was take him to the "zoo"?
A few minutes later we encountered our first zoo animals:
"WOW, MOMMY!" he shouted, "They don't even have lobsters at the real zoo. This is the coolest zoo I've ever seen!"
Yes, baby. And let's look at them quickly before the lady behind us purchases a handful. Praise the Lord she was gracious enough to wait until we were out of sight so I didn't have to explain why the zoo pets are being cooked for dinner.
After moving to the bread aisle, we encountered two small children in the throws of screaming tantrums over a mutual desire to push their mommy's cart. (Not unlike the fit an unnamed child, who may or may not belong to me, threw at the check-out last week, I might add.)
While I did my best to avert my eyes in order to give the frazzled mother the opportunity to preserve some dignity, Park on the other hand was tickled pink to point and squeal loudly. "Looks like we found the monkeys!!!" He proceeded to place his hands in his underarms, while dancing around and making loud OOH-OOH-OOH monkey noises.
So much for preserving the dignity of either mommy.
Finishing up with the groceries, we made our way to the aquarium portion of the "zoo". He was delighted to see the little fish swimming around, although I'm pretty sure they were really happy to see us leave after he banged on their tank to see "the little fishies swim all fast." I had flash backs to Finding Nemo when the dentist's niece came in for a visit. 
After checking out and making our way back to the car, Park said, "That was really fun, Mommy, but I'm so sad we didn't see an elephant."
"Maybe next time, sweet P, " I said, "but for now let's get these groceries into the trunk."
A huge smile lit up his precious face and I heard him saying, "Our car has a trunk!"
I was a bit confused and distracted, so I just mumbled, "Yup." Unsatisfied, he pulled at my leg and said, "MOMMY! Our car has a trunk? Our car has a trunk? Our car is an ELEPHANT! This is the BEST ZOO IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!!"
Perhaps Wal-Mart should change their marketing strategy.
I am sitting in the chair next to my bedroom window watching the rain fall. The house is unusually quiet with Park down for an unexpected afternoon nap.
He pretty much all but gave up naps a few months back, so it is a special treat to have some quiet time all to myself. Typically, he does play in his room for about an hour as a trade off for sleep, but that time doesn't ever feel extremely relaxing, what with the banging of race cars into walls and cheering for his stuffed animals to fly off the top bunk and all.
Although, I do count my blessings that the animals are now taking over for my cute little man, who has been known to do all his own stunts in the past.
As much as I would love to use this time to post fun party pictures, the thought of waiting for all the photos to upload off my camera would shatter the tranquility of the moment. So, instead I will let you in on some deep thoughts that I'm currently pondering:
1) Why is it that my Tae Bo exercise tape takes only 25 minutes from start to finish, yet I seem to avoid it like the plague? Recently, I've been feeling like I have no excuse not to exercise, so I got Park to do this video with me. He enjoyed it a lot more than I did.
2) How is it that I loaded/unloaded the dishwasher twice yesterday and still found a sink full of dishes waiting for me this morning?
3) Could I travel to Beijing and come back with gymnast Alicia Sacramone in my suitcase without anyone ever realizing I left? Bless her sweet little heart, that girl is in serious need of a hug after getting roughed up by those mean old Olympics.
4) Should I be more embarrassed at the fact that I have tickets to the SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE tour that is coming to Dallas or that I'm counting down the days until the show comes back on the air next summer?
5) If I simply play the Tae Bo tape while sitting on the floor folding laundry, will this count as exercise?
6) Why is it that days you can't take your kids outside to play feel twice as long as days you can?
7) When other people are annoyed when your child throws a loud tantrum at the grocery store, wouldn't that energy be better spent by giving the embarrassed Momma an encouraging smile? (To protect the privacy of the guilty, the tantrum thrower shall remain nameless)
8) Wouldn't it seem only fair to house the large drum set given to the birthday boy at the house of the Grandma who gave it to him? After all, it doesn't seem right for her to miss out on all the beautiful music this little prodigy is creating. (Love you Momma C:)
9) Is it possible to pass off a bowl of Cheerios as our dinner tonight?
10) Did I actually just spend the same amount of time typing this random post as it would have taken to just suck it up and listen to Billy Blanks scream at me to count out my last 4 punches? Three Tae Bo reference must mean I'm feeling convicted to just do it already.
Goodbye tranquil moment, hello alternating knee lifts and side kicks.
I am long overdue on my Allaso Ranch wrap up post, complete with an insane amount of pictures and stories of life change and revival. It is in the works, but I'm having a hard time completing it because it almost seems impossible to capture with mere words all that this last month was about. And although I'm hesitant to put a timetable on when it will appear on the blog, I can tell you that I am hopeful to complete it sometime before we return there next summer.
Did I just take vagueness to a higher level or what?
In the mean time, I can share with you that we are currently in the throws of party planning. As unbelievable as it is to me, Park will be turning three next week and he had a special request as to what theme his party would revolve around this year.
When next Friday rolls around, Park's Third Birthday Circus: The Greatest Show on Earth will be appearing for one day only at our house. Well, technically, the show is already in progress because there is a little boy so excited for his party that he has walked around looking like this for the past week:
By the way, Chris wanted me let you know that we are more than willing to rent this little clown out, so that you, too, can experience ear piercing squeals and getting your nose honked every five seconds as he shouts, "STEP RIGHT UP, LADIES AND GENNLEMEN!"
My husband is nothing if not a generous man.
I also might as well admit to the entire Internet that we are THOSE people. You know the ones I'm talking about? The obnoxious parents that enjoy throwing large birthday bashes that our little man will probably not remember six months from now. We don't spend crazy amounts of money or anything, but we do love to go all out in the planning department. And even though I realize this is more for me, considering Park would be happy with a just a cupcake and some streamers, I find it to be a much needed creative outlet that I look forward to each year.Yesterday, my neighbor Michelle and I threw caution to the wind and took a trip to Six Flags Amusement Park, despite the fact that that it was projected to be over 105 degrees. Apparently, it takes more than being able to fry an egg on the concrete to scare us away from some good old fashioned Texas fun.
And had we known what was in store for us, the scorching temperature would have been the least of our worries.
Now, keep in mind that Michelle is one of those oober prepared people by nature. Her son Jacob is just six months older than Park and prior to our trip she had taken her trusty little park map and marked it up for all the rides deemed height appropriate for our boys. Upon arriving, she navigated us directly to the Looney Tunes area, which according to the Six Flags rating system, fell into the "Mild" category.
The boys skipped from one ride to the next, as if they were professionals. The smile on Park's face was so huge that I could see it clearly from the ground, even when he ascended high into the sky on the airplane ride.
Eventually, the boys walked up on a roll-a coaster that required a parent to ride with them. And that might have been an issue for some kids, but being that Park and Jacob were born to mommies who hunger for an adrenaline rush, we hopped on as giddy as they were.
UNTIL, the ride actually BEGAN...
Can I just say that whoever was in charge of determining the rating system is in need of a serious psychological evaluation?
MILD???? MILD, I ask you???
Call me crazy, but I believe lost hats, whiplash, and broken necks rate at least "Moderate". It's not like I'm asking for an "Extreme" , because it only makes sense that someone actually has to lose their life on the ride before it earns that rating. But, people, work with me here.
As the ride came to a screeching halt, complete with smoking wheels and ear piercing squeals, those in the back of the roller coaster suddenly found themselves relocated to the front. Thankfully, we were already in the front, so we simply landed on the exit ramp and ran like mad to get as far away from that torturous experience as possible.
Well, we would have run had our necks not been snapped in two.
That, and the fact that our children had already made their way back in line to ride it again. I actually saw tears in the eyes of a father whose daughter said, "Daddy, let's do that together one more time!"
A grown man, muscular enough to play in the NFL, driven to tears by the sheer panic of having to repeat the ride once again.
That has "Moderate" rating written all over it, I tell you.
All in all, we had a blast. The boys had the time of their lives and Michelle and I laughed until we almost wet our pants. And in hindsight, it really wouldn't have mattered, considering how drenched we were by The Aqua Man, which coincidentally was the one ride we didn't even get on.
However, apparently dropping vertical into a river at a speed fast enough to cause a tidal wave that soaks those simply walking by at an inopportune moment doesn't get you more than a "Mild" rating either.
And on that note, since me driving this point into the ground is probably getting "Mildly" old, let's just move on to some fun pics from our memorable day: 
Every year before we leave for camp, we celebrate with a party for the student worship team/ band. These teenagers are talented musicians that pour their hearts and lives into glorifying Christ with their gifts. Much is asked and expected of them throughout the year and before camp kicks off is a great time to gather and show appreciation, as well as motivate, encourage and challenge them to continue to serve wholeheartedly.
It’s such a fun night and Bonnie (my dear friend and the student programming pastor’s wife) and I have brought Park and Cooper every year they have been alive. The first party they attended, they crawled around and helped themselves up the stairs every five minutes. We spent most of our time corralling them, but it was still somewhat manageable and we were glad to get to be apart of the celebration.
We vaguely discussed getting babysitters for the next year’s party, but by the time the summer rolled around, we brought them once again. At this point, they were nearing two and we spent most of the party saving their lives. The details of me jumping into the pool fully clothed to spare Park from drowning after he flung himself into deep water is something I’ve just tried to block out.
Did I mention it wasn’t even a pool party?
And Bonnie did an equally good job of blocking out the fact that Cooper had a horrible blowout on the patio moments after we managed to lock ourselves out of the house without a diaper bag in 100% Texas heat.
Thank goodness for that little dip in the pool that kept me cool.
Oblivious to the drama we were partaking in outside, our husbands were inside preaching the messages of their lives. Engrossed in prayer with students, no one noticed that we were missing for the better part of 2 hours.
That night, while trapped outside, Bonnie and I discussed in depth our babysitting plans for the following year’s party. We even debated calling to book someone a year in advance. But, apparently all that “blocking it out” business gave us temporary amnesia when the time came around for this year’s party.
Just like two women begging for punishment, we showed up again, children in hand. And this year we even threw in Bonnie’s new addition, 4 month old Maddox, just in case our near three-year-olds were not enough to send us over the edge.
Coming to battle prepared, I came armed with dozens of toys in hand. Which was a nice thought, except who needs toys when there are three different sets of stairs to hurl yourselves off of? And stools to spin on? And candles to stick your hands in? And water bottles to pour over each other's heads?
What can I say? Bonnie and I are just crazy like that.
Eventually we took our disruptive wild banshees to the soundproof media room and watched them parade around while doing handstands and leapfrog to the tunes of Lion King, which was playing on the big screen.
About that time, I looked at Bonnie and she looked at me and we couldn’t help but laugh at how we had set ourselves up for this.
“I need you to promise me something,” she said. ”“Next year,” she begged, “If I suggest we bring the boys, for the love of all things good, JUST SLAP ME, ALREADY!!”
Agreed. A band party that we actually can sit through and enjoy without hurling ourselves into a pool?
Now, that is just music to my ears.
Yesterday, Park curled up with me in bed with a stack of books so high, I wondered if we would finish them before Chris got home from work 10 hours later. We read and read, until he eventually got distracted by my wedding ring.
"I know who gave that to you," he said matter-of-fact. "Gave me what?" I asked, absentmindedly. "That wedded ring," he continued, while pointing to my left hand. "Jesus bought that for you."
"Well," I corrected him, "Daddy actually bought it for me, but Jesus gave me Daddy, so you are on the right track."
He thought about that for a minute and then excitedly exclaimed, "Jesus gave me Daddy, too, so maybe I'll get a wedded ring for my birthday! Then I'll be so big, I can marry you and Daddy."
I could hardly hide my smile at the innocence of his simplistic logic. "Well, buddy," I responded, "I'm not so sure you can do that."
Undaunted, he replied, "You never know, Mommy. Daddy says I can do anything I sit my behind to."
Even though you got the wording wrong, you certainly understand Daddy's message loud and clear, little man. There is no doubt you will accomplish anything you set your mind to!
One day, Jesus will give you an incredible woman to marry and she will most assuredly enjoy hearing this story at the rehearsal dinner. Until then, you can simply admire mine and Daddy's "wedded rings" and we will bask in the idea that (at least for now) you think we hung the moon.
By the way, the feeling is mutual, my love.
I'm not certain this post will be clearly written considering that Chris and I have been staying up into the wee hours of the night. And although my precious hubby functions quite well on such little sleep, I lose coherency with anything less than 8 hours. It would seem we have a new addiction going on right now.
LOST.
Now, I know we are late to join the millions of people who have been captivated for years, but we have never been trend setters when it comes to our television viewing. It would seem we are the skeptics, the ones who usually say, "Let's just ride this out before we investigate what all the hype is about." If the show continues to be well received, say three years down the road, then we may think about watching it.
It's all about longevity, folks.
Perhaps this would explain why we ended up watching DVDs of the entire four year run of 24 in just one summer. Our living room became Jack Bauer's home away from home. And I have to say he was the perfect house guest, being that he neither slept or ate one single time, yet still managed to provide an unprecedented level of security.
And although we are only in Season 1, I'd have to say that these LOST people are not quite as charming as old Jack. I'm hoping their stint in our living room does not last all summer, seeing as I'm not certain which one (if ANY) of them that I can trust. There are so many intricate dysfunctional relationships going on that I'm tempted to recommend a good Christian counselor who will make island visits.
And speaking of islands, after how much time Park and I have been spending at the pool, I'm starting to feel like we live on one. I sit on my little piece of land while he plays in the water all around me. Despite being slathered in sun-screen, we are so sun-exposed that we are having a similar experience to that of the folks on LOST. Minus the killer monster-like creatures and strange people trying to attack us while we reminisce on our lives before the plane crash.
Other than that, it is exactly the same.
All this to say, my brain is too fried to write the rest of yesterday's post at this moment. (Rest assured that the above material is not what I was hoping would inspire you to allow God to use you for His purpose.) I'll save that for tomorrow, instead.
Unless, of course, the monster-like creatures or strange people try to attack us before then. Every since Jack moved out, good security has been hard to find.
Considering I am a self proclaimed disaster in the kitchen, when I post a recipe you can assume one of three things:
1) Take cover! The sky is falling.
2) It is a really good and VERY simple meal to cook.
3) I have completely run out of things to say and become so desperate to post something that I've resorted to instructing others on cooking, for crying out loud.
I'll let you be the judge of which one applies in this case.
ASIAN CHICKEN:
1lb of lean ground chicken
1T. lemon juice
1 clove of garlic, minced
2 green onions (finely chopped)
2T. low sodium soy sauce
1/2t. ginger
1 egg ( 2 egg whites can be used as a substitute)
I usually cook it on the George Foreman grill, but it can be done on the stove, too. Put this with whole grain instant rice and stir fry vegetables and you have created a healthy meal in just 20 minutes. This one is my "go to" meal when I realize it is 5 pm and I have forgotten to plan dinner for the evening.
Enjoy!
My hair stylist and I have an understanding.
I wait until the last possible minute to call beg for an appointment, come in with completely no idea of how I want it cut, and spend the entire time in the chair agonizing over if she is clipping off too much. For her part, she works me in even though her schedule is always full, listens patiently while I vacillate between everything from Posh Spice's sporty 'do to growing locks longer than Rapunzel, and carefully reassures me that everything will turn out just fine.
Clearly, hair stylists everywhere are beating down my door for business.
Thankfully, though, the sweet girl who cuts my hair is a long standing friend. And perhaps I should be even more grateful that we have remained so even after she took me on as a client. It's a miracle that we didn't have to seek hair therapy to work out some of our trust issues.
Well, one of us, anyway. But, in my defense, past hair experiences have shaped (pun intended) me into the client I am today.
The road to finding my precious Kristi, hair tamer extraordinaire, has been a bumpy one, to say the least. And although I'm sure it was paved with good intentioned stylists, it often resulted in some very disturbing hair-do's.
At the end of high school, I did a brief stint of modeling with an agency in Houston that sent me to have my hair cut by a man named Andre. Apparently, he thought it would be really edgy to cut lots of flowing layers. Turns out, his idea of flowing layers was a throwback to Farrah Faucet and her plastered wings. Great idea in the 80's, Andre, not so happening for 1995. Goodbye modeling career, may you rest in peace.
The strained relationship with hair stylists did not end there.
Take, for instance, college, when I went in for a trim and walked out with the same hair cut as my father. Turns out $15 doesn't buy the greatest of craftsmanship. (No offense, Dad, it looks great on you.) Thank you for your services, Edward Scissorhands, but I'm afraid you and I will have to part ways.
Years later I moved to Dallas. Determined to find the perfect hair stylist, I went to the most expensive salon I could find. However, I discovered too late that money doesn't always buy good hair do's.
Ian, who preferred to be called, "Dash", (perhaps this should have been my first clue) never said one word from the moment he placed me in his chair. He began to Chi my dry hair and then promptly took the scissors and started snipping. After about 3 minutes of this, his assistant informed me, "Dash is pleased with his work."
Apparently, they don't call him "Dash" for nothing.
Dumbfounded, I handed over my life savings, was escorted to the door, and was in my car before I ever knew what hit me. One glance in the mirror revealed my hair looked exactly as it had upon entering the salon 5 minutes earlier. But "Dash" was pleased, so at least that made one of us.
Yes, good hair stylists are a rare commodity.
I wouldn't trade my precious Kristi for anybody else in the world. When I left her salon on Thursday, I thanked God for bringing us together. I truly believe His hand was in it because we serve a God that cares about the little things. (Although, technically, hair as thick as mine can't really be called a "little thing".)
Kristi, you are a gem. My hair thanks you for your services and my heart thanks you for your friendship.
Please remember this the next time I am calling for a last minute appointment or in your chair, agonizing over the hair cut you are creating.
Yesterday I realized something wonderful: tomorrow night is the season premiere of So You Think You Can Dance.
Now although I realize how insignificant this may be in the grand scheme of things, a deep excitement welled up in my heart. Had I not been holding a huge basket of laundry in my hands at the moment I happened to glance up at the TV and see the advertisement, I would have broken out with my own version of Michael Jackson's Thriller routine.
Well, actually the laundry didn't hold me back as much as realizing that I would probably need a chiropractor after such a performance. And it probably goes without saying that if you are folding the clothes of your child, you might be too old to be getting this excited about a teeny bopper dance show.
Have I mentioned my deep LOVE for dance? So much so, that I begged my mom to let me start taking ballet with my sister at the ripe old age of 2. And I continued to do so for the next eleven years until cheerleading came along. And when I realized that cheerleaders throw people into the air a lot more than they dance, I traded it in for drill team.
Although I loved high kicks, Friday night football performances, and competitions, the Raiderette Review was by far my favorite event of the year. Similar to that of a recital or spring show, it was a time where we got to not only choreograph all kinds of different styles of dance routines, but perform them in front of sold out audiences, as well.
However, before you have me off dancing on Broadway or in the NYC Ballet, let's remember I'm from small town America. "Sold out performances" translates to Aunt Jenny, who changed your diaper when you were 10 months, wants to be there to support you and she brought her friends Shirley and Earl along with their 4 kids.
But a girl can dream, right?
Tomorrow night, I'll be living vicariously through some incredibly talented dancers. And since it is the try-out portion of the show, I feel certain I'll also be hiding my face in embarrassment for others who should not dance in the privacy of their own homes, much less national television.
Either way, I'll be in great company. One of my girlfriends is hosting a So You Think You Can Dance viewing party and it will be nothing short of the must not miss event of the year. This particular friend is so funny that I have to save up laughs for a month before I can be in her company. Her commentary is sure to be better than the show itself.
And judging from the fun loving group of gals I'll be sharing the experience with, it is inevitable that someone will bust out the Thriller routine before we call it a night.
Better give my chiropracter a heads up.
I've always heard that boys will eat you out of house and home, but I thought that was supposed to be during the teenage years.
Lately, Park has been eating his toddler weight in food. Every time I turn around, he is begging for something else to inhale.
A few mornings ago, after eating a huge bowl of cheerios with blueberries, 2 pancakes, and a frozen banana, he asked for some oatmeal. Less than an hour later, he inquired about a snack. I gave him an apple, which he chomped to the core.
Now, typically, I live by the motto that anyone who expends that much energy is entitled to refuel as often as desired. However, shortly thereafter I decided to put off his pleas for more food by reminding him that it would be time for lunch soon.
He thought about that for a moment and then defeated, shook his head in disgust.
"Well, you are just starving me to deaf, Mommy," he proclaimed sadly.
Perhaps that accounts for why he never seems to hear me when I ask him to clean up his toys?
Every I since I picked up this costume at a resale store a few weeks ago, Park has been wearing it non-stop. When I tried to coerce him to change clothes before we left for the playground, he simply replied, "But it helps me do my mission, Mommy."
How could I argue with that?
It doesn't seem to bother him in the least that he is running around saving the world as a no named character, but for the life of me I can't figure out what action figure this was designed to be.
Should I just chalk it up to the fact that it was 50 cents for a reason and move on with my life or can somebody out there help me out? (Your best guesses are greatly appreciated)
Now, keep in mind that there are also gloves and boots that finish the ensemble, but I was afraid he might be featured on Big Mama's Fashion Friday if I revealed the completed look.
On a WHAT NOT TO WEAR special edition, possibly with my picture posted right next to his.
I can see the caption now: "It is one thing to allow your child to experiment with dress up, but how could this mother allow her son to wear this no named character with mismatched accessories? His fashion future hangs in the balance, and I for one am worried he may never recover from this."
No pressure, Internet friends, but Park's fashion future rests in your hands. Please help shed some light on what this costume was designed to be. Or at the very least, tell me your kids dress up as no named action heroes, too.
Even if they really don't.
Do you accept your mission?
