It hadn't quite occurred to me what a deal a first haircut is for one's child. Having given my children their first haircuts within the last couple months I wasn't ready for the loss it signified and the future to come. Little Miss's came just shy of her 3rd birthday. Her hair was slow to come in but as one layer lengthened into cornsilk a new one of dandelion fuzz sprouted just underneath. From baby fuzz to little girl locks. Just before the cut she still had ends that were frayed from bobbling her head back-and-forth to take in the brand new world as a baby. The baby fauxhawk had filled in to white tresses. It was time, ready or not. But her papa went first - he having had hair well-passed his shoulders, if not to the middle of his back - for more than 20 yrs. She had been scared afterall, confusing a hairstylists smock to that of a Dr. so she drew the conclusion that haircuts hurt. He went first so she could sidle up her bravery. It's a new chapter, possibly a new book entirely. As her fuzzy ends fell to the floor, so did the last few shreds of outward babyness.

Little Man's came just a day or two after his first birthday. He always had a good swath of light brown then golden then near-white hair. It came in piles and was tickling the bottom of his nose in the end. At home I'd been known to put in a strategically placed ponytail or a glob of gel but in a few minutes time all was a fall of sunshined hair streaming over his forehead and into his eyes. Just like him, it couldn't be contained - at least not for any length of time. It was unruly in that ambiguous baby way. The cute way that says he's a babe, leave it uncut, unshaped, unbound. But as he swiped and blinked more and more by the day its badge of freedom turned to hindrance. Something held onto by the heart with no call to practicality. So a lock of bang was snipped for keepsake and then there was baby mullet. A firm "no" and several sessions of snipping over 2 days later we have a mini-Stingish sort shape. He looks older already and more "kept" than he truly is. My 1-yr-old little boy babe with only his eyes and grin to gleam wild.

Most every time I'm getting together with my closest, dearest friends - there is only a handful - I always think twice when applying my mascara. I should always know to apply the waterproof kind even though I sometimes underrate my buds and apply the regular kind (but it's always curling - love the curling).

Because I should know - with the friends I have - I will come home at the end of the night with raccoon eyes, not because of the sad-sobbing but because of the laughter. Full on - grab my sides, hope I don't snort, get disgusted stares from those around, tears streaming down my face - laughter.


With friends like these . . . well, I just shouldn't even wear mascara.

Today is my Little Man's 1-year birthday. The changes he's made over the last 12 months, let alone the last week are boggling to me. "Hi", "kitty", "woof-woof" and duck come babbling out of his rosebud lips and the eyes-closed grins are frequent and giggle-inducing. He and his sister are night and day in the way that their twilight and dusk run into each other without a notice of a beginning and ending. So alike, so different. He listens but does not follow. A constant game of chase no matter if he's the only one playing or not. Coming into his own expressions, mannerisms, likes and dislikes. Mama's boy - yes. His own person - most definitely. Happy Birthday Quade.

I'm in the midst of a vacation, one that simply means: I get to hang out at home 40 more hrs a week; more tv. That's not much to say considering - no cable, so network it is. I tried, triiiieedd stomaching the 10:35 Ughfest, that is the Tonight Show/Late Show hour - I got as far as Leno saying, "Didn't bin Laden think before he released his video on the same week of Harry Potter? / Why'd he use a video tape - he should get with it and send a DVD."

And, we wonder WHY the rest of the world hates our Foreign Policy. It's not the government's foreign policy, it's American's. Let's crack jokes about a Major, global, terrorist's with-it-ness over national tv, to millions of Americans. His Faux Pauxness managed the largest mass devastation on home soil that we've seen. It gives us permission to act like it's all a big joke, it's a punchline, it's not really happening - Big Brother/American Idol/Survivor/Dumb Fucking 1/2-scripted blend of Shit- insert-reality-show-here . . . is what's REALLY happening.

You know, because we can see it digitally -- and if we're truly fortunate -- in high definition, everything else is meaningless drivel.

I'd been getting ready for a relative's wedding for a while and the big day was yesterday, items I realized:

Catholics like lies - it just intensifies the guilt which is what they really love.

4 children - 2 five yr olds, a 1yr old and a 3 yr old can actually step-up and time their manic depressive episodes so that everyone else sees them as cute, darling, steal-the-show angels and they save the demon-hell-spawn episodes for us - too considerate.

Thinking that pseudophed (besides helping with my sinuses) and caffeine will keep me awake and ready to party when all it really does is act like rage fuel.

Having boobs and an ass actually helps keep up a strapless dress so I was the only one that could breathe.

The chicken dance and hokey pokey makes everyone a great dancer.

So the bc pills started 10 days ago. And I am 10 miles into Crazyville. At least, this time around I'm old enough to have figured out why, just why I am so pissed off, edgy, angry and tempermental - it came to me on the 7th day. Those might all sound like the same types of emotion, but - oh no - they are all very different and I have explored all their subtleties and nuances. I believe I am a professional when it comes to getting pissed off now. Edgy might even sound trendy, but I assure you, it's quite overrated. Edgy might mean an extreme hairstyle or too tight, too high, too complicated skirt in some cases but in mine, it means the edge of an abyss of bitch - I think I'm only hanging on by one finger now. Let's hope that finger is strong.