Why husbands should not be in charge of matters relating to hair

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Remember this from last year?

Apparently, it has become a tradition.

Quite without my consent.

Here is what my darling boy looked like before the Husband took him for a haircut today:
And here is what he looks like now:

There are just no words (except words with four letters in them, and I vowed to stop saying those out loud).

Welcome to my world, internets.

The keeper of the kingdom

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TravelinOma wrote today about the green people in her life.

Let me take a moment and tell you about the little green person that is in mine (who probably would be much happier with more environmentally-conscious parents like these).
Chase has always been fascinated by animals. It began when he suddenly became obsessed over elephants at about age one. And when I say obsessed, please think of stalker-like, all-consuming-type behavior. To say that he loved elephants does his passion a great disservice.

Elephants somehow morphed into dinosaurs around age three.

There were not enough books in the library to satisfy his need for information. Big, thick books with words I had to learn to pronounce like Orinthomimus or Pachycephalasaurus (which I still know to this day). It agitated him to see cartoon-like T-Rex's with three claws on scrawny arms. Because, after all, T-Rex only had two claws. And any self-respecting paleontologist would know that.

Dinosaurs eventually morphed into reptiles--frogs and snakes, in particular. He can identify any snake or frog, in pretty much any part of the world. He can reiterate its life cycle, predators, food, and mating habits. He even once tried unsuccessfully to mate two plastic frogs in the middle of church.

He has always expressed extreme sorrow when reading about the rain forests being destroyed. His little heart nearly bursts when he talks about the importance of protecting the environment. It has in the past, and no doubt will in the future, bring him to tears. When his hero, Steve Irwin, died, we felt like we had lost a real friend.

Chase is just that kind of a guy.

Well, lately his passion has taken on a new voice.

The very loud voice of recycling and energy conservation.

He lectures me on a daily basis for not recycling my diet coke cans. He yells at his brother and sister when they leave the water on while they're brushing their teeth. He digs through the garbage when he gets home from school, and pulls out anything that can be recycled. Even if that thing has disgusting dried up food on it. He sees beautiful neighborhood fountains, and is disturbed by the wasteful use of resources.

And, with a passing comment made by Aunt Heidi in Utah, he is busily preparing a full-blown lecture series on the environment for his cousins when we visit this summer.

And yes, he's only eight years old.

So, thanks to Chase, we'll keep recycling around here, even if it's against our will and without our consent.

Al Gore would be so proud.

Scrambling for the finish

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What happens when bad weather forces your husband to be stuck out of town for two extra days right before the Pinewood Derby, with unfinished cars sitting at home?

Besides a whiny, complaining wife, this is what happens:


Instead of having those two extra days to make the cars all by himself work with the boys, The Husband was scrambling to get the cars finished in time. In his haste, there was an incident with Chase's car.

The unfortunate incident rendered the car completely unusable (unless he wanted to send it careening down the track with no wheels. I thought it might be funny, but Chase didn't really see that as a viable option).

Through tear-filled eyes, Chase told The Husband it was okay. Though his heart was broken, he resigned himself to using McKay's car from last year. I quickly grabbed the spray paint Chase had picked out for his own car, and we went to work, remaking the hand-me-down car. Before long, even Chase began to get excited again about the race.

His entry was The Golden Frog. Why golden? I'm not really sure. Maybe because of his great love for money.

And why frog? Well, because when he's not voluntarily studying Winston and the War, Chase is dreaming, thinking, talking, and obsessing about frogs.


Here were this year's entries. McKay's is the bright orange one in front with a large firebird on the hood. Me thinks his taste in cars is a little too close to the white trash style that I take so much pleasure in mocking. I won't tell him that unless he someday decides to buy a car just like it.

Don't worry that some poor cub scout had to endure the lifelong shame of bringing in the pink car. It was a dummy car that they'd rigged to come in last on every race.

You know, because it's not about winning or losing, right?

Try telling that to McKay, here on pins and needles:

And what sporting event is complete without a gratuitous shot of the hot and sassy cheerleading squad? Here was ours:


The Husband and I held our breath as both cars went down the track for the first time. Much to our relief, neither one lost a wheel.

But much more important was the fact that we didn't take first place (which would entitle us to spend hours and hours at a district competition), and we didn't take last place (which would entitle us to spend hours and hours with sad boys at home).

A win-win for everyone.

All in all, the Pinewood Derby was a roaring success for the boys.

Now we can rest for another year. Thank goodness. I don't know what we'd do if this blessed event came any more often.

Trying to break down his genetics

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My son Chase has certainly proven to be one of the more interesting children I've ever met. As a baby, the doctors called it colic. I called it simply his personality. He cried non-stop unless he was being held up and shown everything happening around him. He couldn't stand to miss a minute of life. I can remember holding him for hours as I cooked, or washed dishes, or even sometimes put on my make-up. He was unendingly curious from the very start.

And he's never been one to seek the approval of friends or peers. He could care less if anyone thinks he is out of the norm. He can play for hours with a group of boys, or happily get lost in his own imagination. He lives his life doing what makes him happy.


And yesterday, what made him happy was to check out these books from the school library for some light recreational reading:

While most kids his age spend their time giggling over the potty-laced humor of Captain Underpants, Chase frequently picks up biographies or nature-filled nonfiction. He can reiterate the seemingly useless facts for hours.

Days, even.

And within minutes of walking in the front door, he proceeded to update me on the life and times of our friend, Mr. Churchill.

I don't think I can blame his sports/politics-obsessed father for this part of Chase's personality. And I know that People magazine doesn't even count as real literature, so he can't have gotten it from me.

But there is one man who I fully blame credit for Chase inheriting this unabashed love of all things history:


That's right, Opa. This nut didn't fall too far from your tree.

And if Chase turns out to be half the man you are, nothing would make me happier.

Sometimes, the morning gods smile upon me

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The alarm clock goes off, rousing me from a disturbingly-realistic dream in which I own two pet tigers that I am terrified will eat me (thank you, Celia and Paige. I blame you for all the tiger talk). I look around and remember that I don't really have any tigers. I lay my head back on the pillow and sigh in relief.

I stumble for my glasses and peek to see if the sun is out. It is starting to rise over the rooftops and slant across the yard in sharp angles. The frost on the grass glitters like diamonds. It looks beautiful. It looks cold.

I struggle to remember what day the Husband gets back this week. I don't think it's today.

I put my hair in a ponytail and stand on the scale. I curse. I sigh.

I move on.

I stretch and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I walk down the dark and silent hall to start rousing the troops. Two of the three are tired and cranky, and do not want to get out of bed. Chase wants desperately to be sick today. I refuse to allow this. The princess has 80s rock star hair. I remind her that she needs a bath before school, and silently pray there is enough time for it.

I go downstairs, heat up the leftover pancakes and smile, knowing how happy it will make Chase. Boy, that kid loves the pancakes. Within minutes, they are all seated in front of steaming pancakes that are dripping with maple syrup. Poor things, they all look half asleep.

A quick prayer is said. Pancakes are eaten. Spirits are lifted. Someone even tells a joke or two. I try to permanently stamp this moment in my memory.

Showers get taken. Lunches are made. Backpacks are packed. Coats and layers get put on. I hug and kiss each one, and promise to wave when the bus goes by. I smile inside, knowing they won't want want me to wave in a year or two. I am glad for it today.

Sixty-two minutes after my alarm clock went off, they walk out the door. I thank god for this alone time. I put on some good music. I workout hard. I sweat. I drink a lot of water. I sweat some more.

I sit down and read this blog and this blog, both of which inspire me to count my blessings.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.