Hair, hair, hair!

Today I gave all three kids haircuts. Thank you, Jimmy for documenting the process. Here are some before and after shots. This was the first haircut for Libby and Cash.

Here is Cash right before we started, caught in the act of eating frosted mini-wheat dust. The queen would be proud, she hates to throw that stuff away.

Here are some of Jackson's mane. I declared it was time to cut it because I just couldn't stand not seeing his eyes anymore. I tried to get him to push it back but he just couldn't keep it out of his face.

Libby before. I didn't cut much. There's not much to cut!

Here is Cash, excited about his first lollipop. He did figure out how to eat it from the right end, and yes, he ate plenty of hair too. Yuck!

I know the "after" shots aren't great but getting them to sit still and look at the camera at the same time isn't possible, even for a semi-pro photographer like myself!


For a long time I've been meaning to write a blog totally devoted to Jackson. I think it all began when we were sitting in the waiting room of my Dr's office last month for a normal pregnancy check-up. Out of the clear blue sky Jackson says to me, "I hope your baby's not black skinned, Mom." Trying to hide my laughter, and hoping the other prego's nearby hadn't heard, I of course explained that our baby cannot have black skin because myself and Dad don't have black skin. Putting two and two together Jackson says, quite happily, "And I don't have black skin!"

And there you have it. I hesitated to record this for all to see because I don't want my son to appear racist. But I think it's pretty cool that Jackson assumed babies come out whatever color they happen to be. I know he made the comment because he just wants his sister to look like him.

I am also devoting this to Jackson because very soon he will be able to read this blog on his own and the days of telling funny stories about your kids that might be embarrassing to them but since they're to little to understand you can get away with it are soon going to be over for us around here.

So here's another one. After a long and exhausting evening I declared "everyone to the tub!" because I'm sure it had been a while and I figured containment was priceless, even if it did mean me leaning over my belly to wash people. I discovered Cash was dirty so I had to haul him back out of the bathroom (which he hates of course because he thinks he's not going to get to bathe) and then back into the bath, holding his (heavy) naked body at arms length so as not to get any dirty booty germs on myself. Whew. Which was exactly how I was feeling. Tired, frustrated and hoping for some peace and quiet bath playing. I then am forced to try and answer another question from Jackson: "Mom, why doesn't the water go into my body through the hole at the end of my penis?" If anyone wants to try and explain this to a five and a half year old who doesn't really listen to the answers anyway, please feel free. I wish now that I had said, "I don't have a penis, let's ask Dad" but instead I tried to give some sort of "that's not how those muscles work" explanation. Looking back, now I really hope he wasn't listening and never remembers the conversation.

We have been painting still and have finally finished. Jackson coined a new phrase in my opinion, when he walked into where I was rolling and said, "Wow, Mom! SO much wow!" It was quite encouraging.

Jackson is good like that. He knows me. He knows me really well, actually. For someone who seems to not pay much attention. Tonight I sat down on the couch and took off my glasses and began to rub my eyes, sighing heavily. Jackson said, "I know what's wrong Mom. You're frustrated because you're tired and Dad's not coming home until late and you have all these kids crawling all over you." Well said, Jackson. Today I drug a protesting Cash out of the bathroom by one arm and loudly told Libby to get out of there so I could close the door. She began to cry as well and Jackson says, "Mom, that's what happens when you don't take care of your kids." I hope to be able to use that one on him some day.



Tonight we went to the mall to meet our friends the Lehman's and eat dinner. It was quite an experience. It always is. But tonight I just felt like we could have locked our family in a cage and sold tickets for others to watch our craziness. Here are some numbers I recorded in my mind:

24- number of chicken nuggets our family ate
3- number of people we saw who we knew besides the Lehman's (I only include this because the number of times I looked in the mirror before we left or made any effort to "fix" myself was, of course, ZERO)
12- approximate number of times I made Cash stay seated in his high chair or stroller
12- approximate number of times Cash screamed really loud
5- number of free Chick-fil-A coupons our kids won playing games (it pays to eat badly, unfortunately)
6 trillion- my estimate of the number of dust particles my (still crawling) 15 month old child picked up off the floor of the food court and bookstore
600 trillion- number of germs we probably came in contact with
25- number of feet of toilet paper I used courtesy of Barnes & Nobles
2- number of children who pooped all over themselves
9- number of times I felt it necessary to pump the soap when washing my hands
1- number of pairs of poopy underwear I left in the trash at the mall
2- about the number of times I mentally patted myself on the back for being a mommy problem solving genius (I have to do this "I am my family's super hero" personal encouragement for myself or I can't get through the day)
4 or 5- number of people Libby hit with her helium balloon
4- number of people I washed from head to toe as soon as we got home (everyone but Jimmy, he does shower on his own)
90- number of minutes we spent eating, running, peeing, pooping, crawling, talking, and getting dirty at the mall

And here's the kicker:
3- total number of baby wipes I had left to make it through this entire experience

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! I promise we are not doing drugs or drinking. We are high on life and hormones. Well, I'm probably the only one with raging hormones. Thank goodness. It's where I draw my super powers from. I am crazy hormone raged baby wipe-less mommy. Let's see.. one more number.

25,000- approximate number of baby wipes I'll need before this train comes to a stop at the next station in life.