Bound to Happen

In a house full of girls, you know that it's only a matter of time before one of them takes a pair of scissors to her head. My middle daughter gave herself a mullet when she was about 2, lopping off the sides of her long brown locks in two quick snips. My eldest child held off until she was in the 5th grade before deciding that she was old enough to cut her own bangs. If I were honest, I'd have to confess that even I have tried to trim my split ends using a hand mirror and my scrapbooking shears. So why bother getting upset when one of my 4-year-old twins circumvented all security measures and accessed some scissors in the bathroom . . .

Would it gross you out too much if I admitted that the scissors she used were a tiny pair of round-ended nosehair clippers that my husband keeps in his shaving kit?



Dinner last night: chicken breasts with ancho chipotle dry rub, potato salad

Exactly one year ago:

Things I Learned Over the 4th of July

Holiday, Schmoliday

Remember when we all used to say, "We're Gonna Party Like It's 1999"? What do we say now? We're gonna party like it's Two-Thousand Nine-Hundred and Ninety-Nine? That's a mouthful. Even "twenty-nine ninety-nine" is too much. I guess we'll just have to go retro and return to the short but sweet "Let's par-TAY!" I don't know why I'm even worrying about it, because let's face it, I'm no partier.

It's not like I don't know how to have fun. Some years are big party years in our house. This year just isn't one of them. I'm the family member who has to organize a celebration if it's to occur, and for whatever reason, I wasn't in the mood to throw a 4th of July barbecue this summer. Nobody else felt like it either, so a quiet day at home was spent by all. We hung out in our pajamas, watching movies and snacking.

At one point we wandered out to the driveway and shot off a bunch of noisemakers that my husband had picked up a week ago when we thought we might have the energy to clean the house and invite people over. Turns out we didn't even have the energy to get out of bed and go to church.

We may not have shown it this year,

but we're glad to live in the U S of A.

Happy belated Fourth of July!

Dinner last night: sandwiches, chips

Feeling Effish

F is for Functional. When I packed shoes for a recent trip to New Mexico, I took sandals. I knew the temperatures would be hot and that I would be wearing mostly capris and shorts. What I didn't consider was MY STUPID BACK. Two days into traveling, my lower back was on the verge of going out due to sitting too long on the plane, sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, and running around all day in flat sandals. I had to act fast, and made my way to the nearest mall in search of proper footwear. I really, really did not want to stick my already sweltering feet into a pair of warm socks and then encase them in sneakers. I came across these "fit" flops at Macy's.

I think it was Macy's. I honestly don't remember. It might have been Dillard's. I don't know! It was some department store that we don't have in Alaska. ANYWAY. FitFlops are marketed as a mini gym workout or something, and are supposedly constructed to tone your leg muscles, which is not why I got them. I paid far too much money for them because I was desperate to prevent my lumbar muscles going into spasm and when I tried on these sandals they actually felt comfortable—cushy, but with arch support. I wore them the rest of my stay in Albuquerque, and they did indeed save my back from going out. I've been wearing them at home, too, just because they're so easy to slide into. They're nothing great to look at, but they sure are a comfy pair of flip-flops.


F is for Frivolous. In my youth, I always wore rings on my fingers, but over time I have ahem gained a pound or two and outgrown my beautiful bands of gold and silver. I can't even wear my wedding ring any more, because I had to cut it off when I was pregnant with the twins and my left finger mutated into a swollen Polish sausage. Thank you for that imagery, Kim. You're welcome. With all the fabulous handmade jewelry I kept seeing in Albuquerque, I decided to buy myself a late birthday present. I was originally planning on a chunky turquoise bracelet, but I ended up purchasing this sterling silver and opal ring.

I always thought opals were white, but these look bluish. They probably aren't even opals and I got totally ripped off, but I still like this ring. And it fits!


F is for Flavia. I'm probably the last person in the world to read The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, as it has received all kinds of rave reviews and awards and you've probably already read it ages ago, but I really must recommend this book to mystery literature fans. I say mystery literature, because this book is well-written and character-driven, and might not appeal to those who prefer a quick summer read that's more pulp fiction in flavor. The author, Alan Bradley, is in his 70s and this is his first novel (although he's been writing most of his life—screenplays, short stories, a memoir, etc.) Bravo, Mr. Bradley!

The protagonist is a wonderfully precocious 11-year old English girl name Flavia de Luce, and I just love her and her sisters, Ophelia and Daphne. If you took Little Women and threw it in a bag with Anne of Green Gables and a bunch of Agatha Christie novels, shook it up, and poured it out, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie would fall into your hands. Sweetness is supposed to be the first in a series, and I look forward to reading more of Flavia's investigations.


F is for Friday. Have a great weekend, everybody!




Dinner last night: spaghetti, garlic toast, corn

Exactly two years ago:

Why Bother With Baby Cribs?