Christmas tree logic according to a 4 year old

4 year old's silhouette.  He'll come at you like a ninja, apparently. 

Rooster (in defense of not having a tree at his house):  People celebrate Christmas different ways. Some people don't have trees.

Hawk:  Well, when you have a kid, you have to go get a tree. I might have to call 911 and tell the police to tell you to go get a tree.

My broke ass cheated on my stylist

I love my stylist.  She's brilliant, funny, open, and really, really talented.  I tell everyone I know to go to her (if you're in Austin go to Keith Kristopher Salon and book Deanne -- see? Now I really just told everyone I know).  She's a colorist guru and a whiz with the scissors.

However, after tip, I will have spent nearly $200 on a cut and a color.  Definitely worth every penny, but when you're on a budget as tight as mine there's really no way of reconciling the expense.  -- In fact, it's a testament to her coloring genius that even after 7 months, my new growth color gently fades into the work she did.  People pay mega bucks to get this ombré look she gave me naturally. --  Brilliant or not, I simply can't see her, yet.  She'll be the first thing I do for myself after I get a job. 

The last few weeks my hair has almost reached what I call "stripper hair" length.  I cocktailed in a titty bar for a few months in my early 20s (lawd, the stories I could tell you!) and I noticed that at least half the dancers had Lady Godiva hair.  They used their locks for false modesty while parading around the tables of men and as organic props on stage.  So yeah, anyway, my hair is almost that long.  And it's screaming for some help. 

I look like a washed up stripper on a bad day: ends frayed and splitting; like Yulia Tymoshenko on a good day (she's the Ukrainian prime minister, in case you didn't know): hair up in braids in some fashion to hide the secret stripper lurking beneath the surface.

Today, I did what I've been dreading for weeks now: I cheated on Deanne.  I went to a different stylist.

I was racked with guilt as I sat in the barber's chair and even told the orange-haired stylist as much.  But I simply can't turn down a $27 hair cut.  I can't. 

And so another woman's hands were on my head and her stylistic impressions were made on my hair.   I have no idea if Deanne will look at her work in a few months and know what I did.   I feel so dirty!  So guilty!  So wrong!!

Finding a stylist you trust and can rely on is almost as hard as finding a decent relationship.  He or she holds in their hands the power of esteem and beauty.  One misstep and your superficial life can be ruined (I once passed up free Pearl Jam tickets because I was busy sobbing over a mullet I got when I was 19.  God, that was horrible.).  It's a big fucking deal to form a lasting business/personal relationship with this person.  Maybe I seem silly, but I don't care. 

So, yeah, the split ends are gone, the stripper hair is beaten back, and feel like I'm taking care of myself, but I also feel like sending Deanne a bouquet of "I'm Sorry, Please Forgive Me. It's Just I'm Really, Really Broke" flowers.

At least I refuse to use a box o' color.  I draw the line of frugality there.  I'll grow all my hair out to its natural color before I destroy it with a DIY attitude. 

Decisions

Seriously, which should I get?

One attracts bees (lavender), one attracts ladies at tea (chamomile), one tastes good on just about anything (olive oil), and one is soft and fuzzy and makes a good brown-butter (sage).

I'm so conflicted.

Me v. The Trash Can

I'm 2 for 3. Take that, you tiny trash can 8 feet away!!

The Universe giveth and it taketh away

I suppose I forgot to mention an important piece of my world in my earlier post: tonight is the first official night where Anthony lives somewhere else with my son.

I packed up a bunch of clothes and toys for Hollis and we "shopped" through his things for other odds and ends and when Anthony got home from work we almost immediately took off for the apartment; me chatting amiably with my small passenger about how Daddy has a house, Mommy has a house and he has two houses.

It's no small miracle (and blessing) that Hollis adores the apartment, and more specifically, Anthony.  The idea of spending a bunch of time away from Mommy with Daddy is a no-brainer for him, an enormously fancy treat that only fills his heart with joy.

So, you can imagine his pure jubilation at the idea of overnights in the apartment with Daddy. 

It made tonight better.  It was an immediate salve to my broken heart.  And this amazing Wookie/Blues/Ewok brilliance during our pizza dinner brought tears to my eyes and made me know without a shadow of a doubt that we would all survive this.

 Forty-five seconds of sheer genius.

And now that I'm home safely I will get happily stinking drunk because I'm really fucking sad and lonely, and I'll simultaneously do my best to not drunk-tweet, -dial, -email, -text, -blog, or -FB.

[Ed. add: I only got happily sleepily drunk last night, lest some of you worried about me.  A few friends all randomly texted me love and funnies and I had a couple of great conversations with friends millions of miles away.  It was a good night.  Sad, only a little bit lonely, and a lot pretty cool.  Only snafu was when Anthony called at 11:30 because Hollis was scared of the apartment and wanted me to come and get him.  I lovingly talked to Sweet Baby Hollis for a few minutes until he abruptly said, "Ok, goodnight!  Love you!"  I got a text a few minutes later of a picture of him sleeping.  All really is well.]

If only I were still 10

Best SkyMall EVER

They've really outdone themselves this time.

Isn't it obvious?

Everytime Hollis sees this he points and says, "That's you, Mommy!"

A lesser woman might have asked, "What about this reminds you of Mommy?"

And a lesser woman might also have been relieved with, "Shes eating grapes!" as a response.

Quel suprise!

I went to stash my water bottle under the stroller and this is what I
discovered: three identical $68 bras.

Can you guess what I'll be doing today?

I sure hope Nordy's understands that almost-three-year-olds are very grabby... and like to squirrel things away.

"Mermaids and snowman!"

So exclaimed Hollis as we drove down South Lamar in Austin, TX and saw these guys on billboards.

*sigh*

YouTube video of a GARBAGE TRUCK has over a million hits

And I'm pretty sure this is why.

Watching Garbage Trucks Part 1.

Coolest iPhone app for kids EVER: Talking Carl

My little friend, Carl.

I'm an iPhone junky.

I was a total skeptic at first thinking, "What the hell do I need internet for on my phone? Games? 'Apps'?? I just need something that makes calls and I'm good."

Oh, how naive I was.

Hollis was born in October of '07. Shortly after that I inherited Anthony's first generation iPhone. I graciously accepted it and was eager to use the camera feature, but really nothing else.

To my own (great) surprise I used that phone CONSTANTLY - mostly while I breastfed - and I breastfed everywhere, all the time: in the car, in the store, in the Nordy's "sitting room," in the vet's office, in the doctor's office, at my mom's house, friends' houses, parks, coffee houses, whatever, whereever, and whenever. You get my drift.

And as romantic as it might sound that a mother should stare peacefully and contentedly at her innocent babe suckling her breast, that was about 30 seconds of each nursing. Then I was looking for something to occupy myself... with one hand. (As all you breastfeeding mothers know, one-handed entertainment is hard to come by with a wee one attached to your chest.)

Enter the iPhone's many amusing features including (and espectially) the internet and games.

So that's my history. I'm hooked. Anthony's hooked. Just about everyone else I know is hooked, too.

And now, I'm a little ashamed to admit, Hollis is hooked, too.

We started out slow with toddler puzzles and cute games that helped him to listen to instructions and learn object names, etc. I only used them as a last resort crutch in restaurants or while visiting with a friend whom I wasn't quite ready to say good-bye to, yet. I never just handed him the phone so he'd fade into the background din of my surroundings. Therefore, the iPhone is a very special treat to him and each time I hand it to him there's a new, amazing thing for him to mess with for toddler-eternity.

Today, I found the pièce de résistance of toddler games: Talking Carl. It echos back anything it "hears" in a little elfin voice. You can also tickle him and he giggles; poke him and he exclaims; and pinch him and he growls.

I'm telling you, Hollis played with Carl for 2 hours. TWO HOURS, people!! That's like 14 lifetimes in Toddler Time. And the laughter it evoked! The sheer amazement and thrill! Holy crap, it was like he was being tossed in the air, tickled, and eating a lollipop all at the same time!! He "poked Carl" and "talked with Carl" and begged to "Poke Carl more!" as soon as he was finished eating breakfast.

Anyhoo, go download Talking Carl. I swear even you will love it.

Hollis workin' old Carl (and Anthony snoring).

11:14 am: Wordless Wednesday

I know it's not wordless if I say anything, but I have to say this: Only this 2 1/2 yo knows why a pile of my (formerly nicely folded) clothes are necessary for his enjoyment.

I live with a comedian

Hollis was sitting on my lap watching cute Pug videos when he stops and says, "Wipe! Nose!" and sure enough, his fist was covered in something wet (and icky). So I said, "Ok, sweetie, go into the bathroom and get some tissue so we can blow your nose."

He says, "Ok!" and runs off with a big smile, comes back with about two squares of toilet paper proudly, and hands them to me. I thought, Wow, that was so very good of him! since recently I've been asking him to do more complex things with varying degrees of success.



A few minutes later I go to the back of the house to get something and see this:


I love this little kid.

When bad things happen to good brain cells

Yesterday I checked on the status of a couch I ordered from Urban Outfitters a few weeks ago. It's supposed to make our office into a more comfortable guest room, natch. It's been on backorder since January and I've been checking in on it periodically never noticing one fatal flaw (until yesterday, that is ): the shipping address is wrong.

And not only is it wrong, it's REALLY, REALLY WRONG. It's my sister's OLD apartment address. In CALIFORNIA! I live in TEXAS!!

My stomach clenched and I wanted to barf and laugh all at the same time. And just my luck, this weeks-long backorder was now over and the damn couch went on a truck on Thursday!! FIVE DAYS AGO!! I sent an email immediately highlighting my error (and utter inability to check the details) and tried to just forget about it. It's not the end of the world if I end up having to pay shipping fees. Well, it's not terrific news, but whatever. It could be worse.

I called them this morning and they'll see what they can do. I'm not very optimistic. I think some stranger is gonna be lounging on my couch looking out over the Bay.

*sigh*

Later, I ran to the grocery store to pick up toilet paper and olive oil. Just those two things. And of course I left with $88 worth of other "necessities." Among them was a bottle of sparkling water and some cranberry juice.

Behold my booty:




Besides the fact that they are paper towels, spring water, and pomegranate juice I think I did ok. At least I also scored some much needed cheesy poofs along the way and I managed to make it home.

To my house.

Ugh. Someone just shoot me now.

UPDATE: Yay!!!! Urban Outfitters called me back today (3/9) to say my couch is still at their shipping hub... in North Carolina!! Woohoo! That means I don't have to pay any extra shipping, some hipster in San Fran isn't lounging on my couch, and I have somehow redeemed myself!!

I love cats

Cats on a Treadmill - watch more funny videos

I can't tell you why I find this so hysterical, but I do. Right up there with cats in sinks.

The Grinch who stole the Super Bowl

Don't be fooled by this intense show of cuteness. Behind those lenses lies a diabolical mastermind.

The face of the little man who erased the most important 15 minutes of the Super Bowl!!

Last we saw it was 24 - 17, Saints up. Next thing we knew the channel was changed and our buffer lost and it was 31 - 17!! Turns out ol' Hollis got his chubby little hands on the remote and decided to mix it up a bit!

Good thing they replayed that winning interception for everyone AFTER the whole thing was said and done.

Beware of toddlers with freakish technological skills!

Who needs a Santa hat?

Hollis' great-grandmother sent him a pair of fuzzy and silky baby-blue rabbit ears this past Easter. He loved them for one day, then promptly forgot about them... until a couple of days ago when he rediscovered them in a toy box.

Since then it's been rabbit ears all the time everywhere.

12/18 - In a stoner voice, the mailbox guy asked, "Why is he wearing bunny ears?" and I replied, "Because he wants to."

12/20 - Nothing much cooler than this.

12/21 - He came into my room this morning with his boots on and his ears.

12/21 - At breakfast. I can't imagine what I'd do if I looked up from my pancakes and saw a little 2 year old bunny peaking over a wall.

I don't know if you know what happens when a rosy-cheeked toddler in an argyle cardigan and Yoda t-shirt wears blue rabbit ears in public, but I do: people wave from cars, they smile in restaurants, and their faces generally split into a wide grin as they whack the person next to them to "Look at that!"

I don't bring this kind of cheer into the world, I don't even know how. And I am beyond proud that on any given day I have in my hand a smaller, warmer one which belongs to someone that does.

I'm thinking this little guy is gonna be just like his cousin when he gets older, too.

12/19 - Atticus with Cordy Roy Aardvark.

Would you like some wine with your cheese?

I have finally been initiated into that parenting club otherwise known as, Kids Say the Darnedest Things.

I admit, my first story is really pretty tame, but I'm sure it's just a warm up (I'm legendary in my family for telling my grandfather, "Foktar, Papa!" when he wouldn't stop tickling my knee as a 2 year old).

We were in the grocery store the other day, checking out. Hollis was saying, "Hi" to everyone who was upright. In other words, people were paying attention to my squirrel-cheeked little boy when he decided to start shouting, "Poo! Poo!"

Now, I knew immediately he wasn't talking about poop. Instead, I had a feeling there was a big island of impulse buys somewhere nearby consisting of cheesy poofs and sure enough, all I had to do was turn around and there it was. A 15x15x4 foot mountain of cheesy poofs. And Hollis, bless his little I'll-talk-coherently-whenever-I'm-damn-well-ready butt, was calling for them, "Poo! Poo!"

I chuckled and looked at the cashier and bagger and said, "Oh, he's saying 'poofs'..."

"Uh huh," the bagger quipped, "Sure he is."

I laughed, Hollis continued to shout "Poo!" and I left, with nary an impulsively bought bag of poofs.

Also, over the weekend, Anthony was mortified in a much more subtle manner. This kid is a mastermind, I tell you.

He and Hollis were at the grocery store, Hollis riding along happily in the cart, content to go wherever Daddy took him and shouting out words of things he recognized. On this particular trip, Daddy needed to stock up on wine. So, imagine his discomfit when his two year old son started shouting, "Wine! Wine!" and making a popping noise like a cork.

Like I said, the kid is subtle.

I can't wait till someone hears him trying to say, "truck," which is a perfect rendition of another word that conveniently starts with the letter F and ends in - you guessed it - UCK.

What are some of the things your kids have said to humiliate you??

The smell of pine makes a heart feel fine

I didn't get out of my pajamas until 6 o'clock at night Saturday. I spent the morning sleeping, talking to my sister who had just labored for 71 hours with her son, Atticus, and writing my grandmother's obituary. I napped for two hours and felt vaguely human again.

By yesterday I had climbed out of my fog and therefore decided to push on with my Christmas decorating. The last piece?? The tree!!! The rest of the house was already done - thank God for busy work, right? - and Anthony had set up an old train set from his father's boyhood days which would be perfect to circle the tree.

Barnyard animals on a joy ride.

We went to the same nursery we visited the first holiday season after Hollis was born. They carry gorgeous Fraser firs which look blue and whose needles are soft like rubber. We were in and out in under 15 minutes. I decided a couple of years ago to avoid those anxiety- and bickering-filled family Christmas-tree-hunting outings of my childhood by really embracing the idea that its JUST A TREE and no matter what we get it'll look beautiful and magical.

Actually, Hollis was more interested in the Koi pond than anything else.

Those suckers were huge (and NO, I'm not pregnant, just unphotogenic)!

While the college-aged boys were loading it on the top of our car I was busy buckling Hollis into his car seat. From his vantage point all he could see were the legs and torsos of these young men standing on our car. He was beyond excited, shouting, "Man! Car! Tree!!" We were all cracking up.

Once we got it home it was nap time. Hollis, as a two year old is apt to do, forgot all about the tree when he woke up. He skidded to a stop as he rounded the corner and yelled, "Tree!" when he saw it in the front window. I'm telling you, I'd have a tree in every room of our house if I could, his reaction was so precious.

When it was time for decorating Hollis ran around the tree and played on the window-box. He shouted, "Help! Tree! Mama! Dada!" and alternated between dragging his chair and his step-stool around. Anything to "help" and make him taller was fine with him.

Wassup?

He's a really gentle kid by nature (he must get that from Anthony) and he gingerly hung his little owl ornament for this year - this white, feathery poof of a thing - on a branch and watched in rapt wonder as Anthony and I went to these mysterious boxes and pulled out "balls" and weird little doodads and started to hang them on the house tree. He quickly caught on and decided he'd hang some, too, though instead of hanging them, he placed them. In a careful heap on a low hanging bough... with packing peanuts he found in the ornament boxes. Ugh. The cuteness! Must. stop. the. cuteness! My heart just can't take this!!

Hanging his little owl just-so.

My favorite ornament.

His nest of ornaments and packing popcorn is there on the left.

Hollis' contribution.

It's just gotta be so weird to see the first time. A tree in the house?! And then we put all these shiny, dangling things all over it hahaha.

There were a few "men" lost in the fray, but nothing I gave a shit about. Hollis would yell, "Broke!" and we'd sweep it up and try to keep him away from the other breakable ornaments. In fact, our tree is divided clean in half. The upper half houses all fragile ornaments, the bottom half all the felt, wooden, paper, and plastic. (My parents took it a step further when I was a toddler and only decorated the top half of their entire tree haha. Gotta love it.)

The grand finale was cleaning up because it involved the vacuum cleaner.


I'm pretty sure Hollis had one of the best days of his sweet, baby life yesterday. Not only did it involve Koi, trees, ornaments, trains, and vacuum cleaners, but he also ate his first donut ever and made friends with a skiing polar bear lawn ornament on our nightly walk. And his amazing day made my day exponentially better, too.

Children are so powerful and I don't think we even realize it in our day-to-day goings on sometimes. I still feel "drunk" off his day yesterday; I can't wipe this smile off of my face. Although, that could be because while I've been writing he's been on my lap watching Sesame Street skits on Hulu and kissing and loving on me. Either way, I'm feeling pretty damn warm and fuzzy today.


This post was brought to you by Adrian Grenier: Season, Paul Rudd: Brilliant, Sesame Street Mad Men, Abby Cadabby's Wand Magic With Elmo, Hey Food, The King and I, Danger's No Stranger.