Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Blah de Blah Blah

It is damned hot here this week. I'm not complaining, since we get precious few hot days here in the Great White North...but it makes it hard for the kids to sleep. Especially since G insists on having at least one blanket on him, more if he sees an extra one in his room. I think I'll make him a blanket out of cheesecloth so he can have a blanket on him and not wake drenched with sweat. Today he learned to say "hello" and he was sooooo proud. I was too--yay for verbalization!

N is having a sleepover at his cousin's house (my sister's house). I availed myself of his absence to do some shopping. Shopping with three little kids is a special kind of hell, and nobody should have to do it. I spent a few hundred dollars on bars to put in the windows, since N has taken to climbing up the walls to stand on the window sills so he can lean on the screens ON THE TOP FLOOR. I have had numerous heart attacks this week, what with the wall-climbing and the window-perching and the patio-door-opening and the running-outside-without-permission. Whatever N does, G does, or at least tries to do. It's only a matter of time before I have to take one or both of them to the ER with a broken bone or two. And I haven't even mentioned how N can now open doors which have those childproofing doorknob covers on them. So now he can let himself into the pantry which I thought I'd safety-fied, where he climbs the shelves and helps himself to various junk food, including several choking hazards. Short of electrifying the shelves, I'm not sure what to do about this.

Today I got a haircut. The experience was uncomfortable for several reasons. First, the hairdresser was very quiet. I expect bubbly chatter from my stylist. I may not always be in the mood for it, but I expect it nonetheless. She may have been quiet because she was annoyed with me for bringing J along. I asked her if she had kids, and she said no, so I think she has no mommy sympathy and doesn't understand why some whacko would bring an infant to a salon. (Note: I am a stylist whore. I don't see someone regularly, don't even go to the same salon regularly, so we didn't have that rapport going.) Also, instead of sleeping the whole time like I hoped he would, he fussed and then shat up his back. I tried to nurse him while she cut my hair and I think she saw some nip. So it wasn't the relaxed experience I was going for.

I liked the haircut a lot for a few seconds. Then she showed me the back and I didn't like it so much. I asked her to change the back a bit, and she did, somewhat. I turned my head differently and liked it better. Then I checked it out in the rearview mirror on the way home, and didn't like it again. My mom's reaction: "It'll grow." Thanks Mom, you couldn't fake it any better than that? There's nothing wrong with the cut, but it shouldn't be on my head. It's giving me some kind of butchy Sporty Spice vibe that I just am not feeling. I played around with it a bit tonight and discovered that if I part it differently, it looks better. So there is hope for me yet.

Reason #98,796,210 that I married the awesomest guy ever:

Last night I asked him to help me paint my nails AND HE DID. They looked like crapola, but he helped! That's true love, baby. I tried to remember that as I sat with my fingers curled so the hairdresser wouldn't see my clumsy paint job and scorn me. Why do I care what she thinks anyway? I really had the impression that she thought I had terrible taste in hair and it pained her to give me this cut, and that I was weird and presumptuous to bring J.

I'm getting all weirded out about the impression she has of me. I need to settle down, maybe pop a placenta pill. There, now you have a freaky impression of me too.


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