May 9, 2012


Have I told you that we're addicted to Swamp People? Well, we are. We can't DVR it because it conflicts with Grey's and The Office, both. Priorities, People. But we catch all the reruns and marathons on History Channel. We's swamp nerds like that.
Gymnastics is going great for numbers 3 and 4. They're learning lots and Mabel can do a cartwheel now, while most of her teammates are still cart-hopping. They have just a couple more weeks before the winter/spring session is over and we are incredibly proud of their progress. 
I had my hair done last night - just refreshened at the roots and a trim. Well, that was the plan. My stylist (same one for a year now) got a little crazy with the bleach, however, and I ended up much more blonde than I intended. Much. As in, I may have to go back and have her add lowlights a bit early. Also, when I said, "Take off 3/4 of an inch," she heard, "please cut 2 inches off of my hair." I am not pleased. It could have been worse, yes, but I have reached my point of no return with this stylist. I know I am a difficult client because I tell a stylist exactly what I want them to do. I give them more than enough information, pictures, the lot of it. I ask about product, texture of my wave, and so on because I know that it affects the outcome of color and cut. So, I am incredibly irritated when I give them the exact description of what I'd like and they nod and say they understand. And then they do not do what I ask them to do. I am a bit uptight and very detail oriented; of course I tell them that my hair lifts warm and needs a bit of ash. I tell them what product I'm using and ask if I am doing something wrong, working against the cut and so on. But this girl, God love her. This girl needs an update in her training. I asked her to point-cut my hair to remove some bulk (cannot razor, texturize or thin my hair, I've learned the hard way). She nodded and said okay. Then she razored the ends. And I'm not such a bitch that I would stop her and yell at her. No, I just sat there, knowing what the riiiiip-riiiiiip-riiiiiip noises were and knowing that when I try to wear my hair curly - LOOK OUT. Sigh. 
Also, due to the aforementioned hair 'trim', I very much doubt I will be rocking that messy bun up there anytime again soon. DANG IT.
Two nights after my stylist took me blonde I met a waitress at our favorite sports bar and obtained HER stylist's name and phone number. She had beautiful hair. I have full plans to utilize this information next month. 
A few additional houseplants would be a wonderful addition to our home. We have two already that Bryon brought home from his father's funeral, as well as a pothos in the bathroom (oh how I love thier love for low light). I would like a couple in the kitchen and living room as well. Problem is: kittypottamus. I have isolated a few that are cat-friendly and sent the list (along with photos just in case) to my husband in an email entitled MOTHER'S DAY. Ahem.
I am incredibly sad that I cannot spend Mother's Day with my own mother. That's all there is to say about that.
Andrew has always been odd. Nana could tell you that Andy is always after a laugh, once tying his very large, stuffed Easter bunny in knots behind his neck, and riding it around the house in his underwear. Therefore it was not a surprise when I came out of the kitchen this past week and found Andrew wearing horse Lucy upon his head. He snickered. He has such a darling snicker.
Yes, those are Mabel's gynmastics shorts on his head.

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