Princess donates her hair

Before shot

Today, Princess cut her hair in order to donate it to Locks of Love. Unfortunately, we were 1/2 inch short for them, so Pantene's Beautiful Lengths will gladly accept her golden locks.

Either way, Princess was so happy to cut her hair off and get a little spa treatment out of the deal. Shampoo, styling, nail polish, balloon and costume ring...I'd say she was pretty happy about getting her hair chopped off.

THE Cut

There is absolutely no regrets or even thoughts about her hair. She simply grew her hair out for another person who needs it, she is truly humble and honorable. We are beyond proud of this little girl!

One proud little girl!

Comfort Zones

I have a bubble around me, it is my comfort zone, my blankie or my snuggy, if you will. I say it's literal, but my husband has convinced himself that it's figurative. For some reason I appreciate space. Maybe it is because I am an only child, so I wasn't exposed to privacy or space issues. I'm not one of those "huggy" people either, even if I know you.

Different people have different comfort zones or levels. My mother-in-law can have complete conversations with strangers on a daily basis, she doesn't seem to have a comfort zone, she's just nice to everyone. We have told her several times that she is too nice for California! My husband is very sociable and people tend to love him; however, he doesn't like to be in big crowds.

I am not very sociable therefore in this texting/emailing world, I am completely comfortable. We are symbiotic. The one thing that I absolutely hate is ordering food. It doesn't matter if it is on the phone or in person, I just have no love for it at all.

For as long as I can remember, my husband and I have argued over whose turn it was to call the pizza delivery or Chinese take-out place. Fortunately for me, my husband is a wonderful enabler and allows me to convince him to order whatever is needed. This method worked for years until the wonderful invention of online ordering. Both of us feel better because I am now able to contribute something when ordering food.

When Military Dad wants to order something and he decides he is going to force me to act out this process, I will make sure that our choices are companies that have online ordering. Once again, he is an enabler and allows me to get away with this. This went on for months, until one day he decided to stop enabling me.

It all started with a trip to the beach. On the way there we noticed a Sonic and we decided that it was Cherry Limeades and Tots on the way home. MD starts teasing me relentlessly about not being able to order; even going so far as to comment on my anti-social habits.

Despite his best efforts, we had a wonderful time at the beach. Upon arriving at Sonic, MD decided from out of nowhere that I should order. I tell myself, "It's going to be okay, you are ordering 4 Diet Cherry Limeades and 4 Tots, how hard can it be?"

Yep! This is where that connection from my brain to mouth malfunctions at its finest. Please read Military Dad's post about the conversation, because honestly it's so horrific, I can't revisit it or I will need more therapy. What should have taken maybe a minute to order, took about 4 minutes and a Sonic employee almost in tears. It was that bad.

Evidently, I should have gone through this horrifying experience years ago, because now MD doesn't even bring up who is going to order anymore. If he wants food that doesn't have online ordering, he makes the call. I think he also feels at this point that he isn't enabling me anymore, he is saving me and several food employees from therapy. It's a win-win for both of us.

Pride doesn't even begin to describe how I feel...

I have mentioned several times about how my daughter seems to be years ahead of herself in maturity and intelligence. It's absolutely amazing the innocence and depth that children possess.

Years ago I decided that I wanted to donate my hair to Locks of Love. Unfortunately, I have issues with taking out stress on my hair, therefore I color it or cut it regularly. Due to the process involved in creating hair pieces they need long, healthy, un-colored hair. Since college, my hair hasn't been longer then shoulder length or anywhere near its natural color.

I knew after doing this research, that I would never be able to donate my hair. My daughter being ever so observant asked me why I was so upset. I tried my best to explain to a then 4 year old about the reasons for Locks of Love. It was difficult, depressing and utterly uncomfortable to explain how not everyone is blessed with health.

Princess, being the empathetic person she is, understood and immediately stated that she wanted to give her hair to people who couldn't grow their own. What had left me depressed just minutes ago, had me amazed and proud of such a huge personality trapped in a little girl's body.

So for the next two years we have been taking care of her gorgeous blonde hair in order to whack it off and give it away. Every few months she had me measure it to see how close she was. Not once during this entire period, did she every change her mind. Our goal was to have it long enough, she could easily cut off the minimum requirement (10 inches) and still have neck or shoulder length hair. She is about one inch from neck-length haircut.

After helping her wash her hair this evening, I came to the realization that her type of hair might not be able to make it that last inch. For every person, no matter the hair type, there is this magic length at which hair stops being healthy. Her hair appears to be thick, however it is actually pretty fine, so I'm amazed it made to the length it has. After leaving conditioner in it, spraying with detangler and working out clumps of tangles, I had to finally come to terms that this was probably her magic length...just one inch shy of our goal. I was heartbroken for her.

In one last attempt to save our goal, I thought maybe it was just split-ends wreaking havoc, because then we could get a trim and let it grow some more. However, after relentless searching, I couldn't find a single split end.

I got out the ruler and checked to see if maybe I was wrong and we actually had hit our target. The number 9 kept staring back at me, no matter what chunk of hair I measured.
Princess:  "How much more Mommy?"
Me:  "Still one more inch, unless you want to cut it higher."
Princess:  "OK"
Me:  "OK, what? You want to cut it higher?"
Princess:  "Sure."

I measure up to 10 inches, the magic number. It would be about the middle of her ear in length. I show her with my finger the magic length and then try my best to show her what her hair would like that short.

Princess:  "OK, when can I cut it?"
Me:  "Um, go show your father."

MD:  "That's pretty short, are you sure you want to cut it now? If so, we can make an appointment this week and we can donate it."
Princess:  without hesitation..."I want to give my hair to someone who needs it."
MD:  "Sounds good, why don't you take a day or two and think about it, and if that's what you want to do, Mommy will make you an appointment."

Now Princess is off making a pretty big decision for a 6 year old. I'm in shock, I think. My daughter is such a better person than I am, and I'm worried that she may regret cutting it so short. However, I already know that as soon as it is cut, she will start asking how much longer until we can cut it again. Princess has mentioned before how she wants to keep donating her hair to Locks of Love. At 6, she already understands that it's just hair and it doesn't define her in any way. So, how do I come to terms with it?

How do I NOT mess my kids up?

As I dropped Princess off at school this morning I had time to reflect on a few things. First, she was completely comfortable saying good-bye and running off to play. Normally she has me wait until it's time to line up for class, then she's okay with me leaving.

I watched her walk around and decide where she wanted to play. Like her mother, she went straight for the monkey bars, with a dress on. (I'm patting myself on the back for making her wear bike shorts underneath). Then she got bored and went to the swings. Most kids were pumping their legs trying to be the highest, but she just moved her legs enough to create movement. Then she looked around and watched other kids.

She is extremely observant for someone her age, she rarely misses a thing. When MD and I have to speak about the covert operations Santa or the Tooth Fairy undertake, we have to wait until she is asleep, then close the doors and turn the TV on. She does not miss a thing.

This is what led me to my second thought. She is already developing some serious obsessive compulsive tendencies. When my alarm goes off on my phone, she has already had her backpack on and ready to go for about 15 minutes. If I even look like I'm trying to hurry, she panics and thinks we are going to be late. Yes, I mean panic, there are times when I think she is about to let loose some tears because we may be on time, instead of early.

I blame this issue on myself and MD's inability to be late for anything. Hell, we can barely be on time. Normally we are about 10 to 15 minutes early for anything/everything. I'm not sure where or when we got this bad, but there are times when we actually sit and wait for 10 minutes before we allow ourselves to leave. I'm sure the tension in the house is palpable and Princess, not missing a thing, sees that being late is not an option.

My last thought before slipping into my funk, is she never turned to look for me on the playground. Once she said her good-byes, in her mind, I was already walking home. Part of me is proud that she is comfortable and independent enough at school. The other part of me wanted her to know that I was still there, if she needed anything. After thinking about it for some time, I realize that last part is more about me than her. I want her to be independent, I need her to be strong.


Now here I sit, trying to think of ways to embrace her as an independent person, prevent her from having OCDs, and make sure through my own actions that I don't really screw her up for her future.

Being a parent is a daily art form of dealing with conflicting issues. How do you get her to behave and be well-mannered, but not be too strict? How do you stress the importance of organization and cleanliness, but allow her to go play in the mud? How do you get her to be nice and share things, but know that sometimes her and Little Dude are going to have throw some punches (figuratively, I hope)? How do you get her to be a good leader and example, but not be too easy on her little brother?

I have a feeling that this starts with who you are as a person. You honestly cannot tell your child, "Do as I say, not as I do" and expect them to actually listen or even do it. Being a good person and taking responsibility for your own actions is probably the most important things a parent can do. In the past few years MD and I have been very good at changing the people we are for the better, so now what is the second step?

I'm not sure what the next step is, however I think for our little family, working on the time thing should probably be a priority.

A glimpse of insanity...

Every morning at 6:08 AM a neighbor's sprinklers go off. Normally this wouldn't concern me. However, it wakes me up from my last sacred minutes before the school routine starts. At 6:08 AM, I still have 22 minutes before the actual alarm goes off, or Little Dude comes into our bedroom, already dressed.

What concerns me is the timing of the sprinklers going off. 6:08? I have already ruled out our clocks being early or late, as they are set with Sprint. (Whether this is an accurate time or not is moot, I just assume that everyone else sets their clocks to some cellular device nowadays.)

I now lie awake thinking is their clock 3 minutes slow? 2 minutes fast? Or, even worse, did they actually program their sprinklers to go off at 6:08 AM? If it is the last option, then I am in awe of their testicular fortitude to plainly mess with people.

I really hope it is the last option, because as soon as we get our sprinklers ripped out and a drought resistant garden built, I plan on setting my sprinklers to go off at some random time also, just to mess with people. (For those of you wondering, we do have a small patch of grass in the backyard that we will keep for the kiddos - this is where I will set off my sprinklers at 6:52 AM.)



***Upon reading this out loud to my husband, his response was, "You aren't right. It's the right title for it, though."

Welcome to a small slice of my "reality." (Insert evil laugh here)

Food Memories

As I sat down with the kiddos to eat our leftover Chinese food for lunch, memories started flashing though my mind. At this point they were mostly memories of previous experiences with Asian food, however it got me thinking about why did these memories just a pop in for a quick visit?

I've heard that your sense of smell is the strongest sense when it comes to memories. I understand that probably many, many moons ago we needed to smell a predator, or something rotten, then remember, "that smell meant something bad for me, run away!" (Yes, I'm a Monty Python fan).

However, this time it was more a visual experience that got me remembering the past. Since I'm a vegetarian, I have had to replace my beloved Orange Chicken with Orange Tofu, either way it's still spicy because of those red little peppers. For those of you unfamiliar with those dry, red peppers of intense pain and suffering, (if you eat one) they are szechuan peppers. In my opinion, they make a jalapeno pepper seem more of the bell variety.

The act of fishing them out of my meal, reminded me of a dinner with the hubby. MD and I had one of those rare date nights you get after having children, so we decided to go to our favorite little Thai restaurant in Monterey, CA. (Pacific Thai if anyone is around or living there - wonderful restaurant). I can't even remember what my husband ordered, I just remember looking over at him at some point because the conversation stopped abruptly. His face was red and he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Immediately I thought he was choking and started to freak out. Fortunately, before I could create a scene, he dug out (or hacked up) a slightly chewed version of those nasty little red death peppers. I realize at this point,  I probably should have asked him if he was okay or needed water, you know, any of those caring things. I, on the other hand, started laughing and saying, "You aren't supposed to actually eat those!"

MD learned a valuable lesson and I had a wonderful date story to share with the world!

My other memories came after lunch was finished and we managed to find the fortune cookies we hadn't eaten the previous night.

I remember eating at a Chinese restaurant with my parents when I was young, maybe more people were there, I'm not sure. After dinner when that lovely waiter brings the fortune cookies around, it is normally a time of excitement and joy.

This time, it was a little different. We each grabbed our designated cookie and opened them to see our futures or words of wisdom.

My dad read his, we chuckled. I read mine, we chuckled. My mom said she didn't get one. Wuh?

Originally we may have thought it was embarrassing so she didn't want to share, but after further investigation she really didn't get that piece of paper in her cookie. The waiter noticing our distress, came over with another cookie. We laughed about it and awaited patiently to see her new fortune.

The second cookie was empty.

I hate statistics with a passion, however I'm pretty sure the odds of this are astounding. This awful no-fortune-in the-cookie was repeated yet a third time with no luck. At this point, the waiter turns to my mom with a straight face and says, "I guess you have no future" then he walks away. My mom being my mom, shrugs it off and decides to be excited about the fact she got three cookies.

I believe this was also the same restaurant where during dinner, my mom asked for a fork - we hadn't become the chopsticks ninjas that we are today. The waiter explained that "the fork" was being used at a different table right now. Wow!

Maybe somewhere in the deep recesses of my scary mind, the sight or smell of lunch just triggered those thoughts. Either way, we had a good lunch and my bloggers and the kids got to experience some cool memories brought on by food.

My husband seems to doubt me...

Evidently, my eagerness to become home improvement diva of our house is scaring my husband. I imagined a warm reception, showered with support and praise. I was not aware that bringing home do-it-yourself books from the library would invoke some primal fear my husband has for home repair.

Last week I brought home sprinkler repair and gardening books. Being residents of California, grass....well, it sucks. I grew up in the Midwest where they have this thing called "free water that comes from the sky," also known as rain. California has "expensive water that comes from the pipes." I was trying to lay out a lovely rock and succulent garden where we could tear up the grass and sprinklers in order to save money. Military Dad keeps asking about a free estimate from some sprinkler company. Och! (Yes, I've seen Brave too!)

I just figure that I will start my sprinkler project when he is safely a thousand miles away in Department Head school. Therefore, I decided to move on to my next project: ceiling fans.

Ceiling fans are relatively easy to install....when you have existing lights. We do not. For some reason, when people build houses now, they have those stupid wall outlets that control the lighting. Yay, you saved some money not installing ceiling fixtures, but for the rest of us who have to furnish our homes with floor lamps....you suck!

I bring home two books, pictured over yonder. I bring them out of our library book bag (California thing - plastic kills people, reuse bags! Save a tree and what-not!) I proudly display them on our kitchen table. MD says, "Fine! I get the point! I'll make the appointment to update our wills!"

Um???

Cool on the updating our wills part, but I'm starting to feel there is a lack of confidence in my confidence. Now the thoughts going through my head are: if MD hires an electrician, would it be cheaper to fly my father out so I can install them myself? It would be a valuable learning experience that I may remember in the future. Plus Boppa could always entertain the kiddos while MD takes me to the hospital.

No, not for electrocuting myself. (That only happens when Boppa tells me to cut through wallpaper in order to cut out a wall outlet.) I'd go to the hospital for falling off the ladder and through the drywall....kind of like Boppa did....