A bit of this, a little of that.

Hooooowwwwdy Ho. I am basking in the glow of my smug happiness. With my last post, not only did I get to vent, get affirmation on my feelings, and get a response from my husband, whom tears my heart out with his silence each time I put grueling effort into a good read, but MAIDA COMMENTED ON MY BLOG. (Don't be hate'n playas). In a perfect world, this wouldn't cause me gloat and say in so many words,"Na-nana-nanan-na! " But most if not all of you know the real me, and I have to point out that I just massively rock. That being said, I will be ending my bragging rights now...for a while, anyway. (Okay, I realize the possibility is high that Maida just decided to become part of the Anderson commenters, because a lot of us have said that comments are what make this whole posting-on-our-blogs, worthwhile. But I still have to point out, because I'm THAT person, that my blog is where it all began. BFF Maida!)
Anyway, this was a good week. Not just because of the previous statements, however fabulous they may be, but....just because? I mean, in all honesty, I was still grouchy a few days, and I had my "crying" day on Saturday, and I think I started a bit early on Friday night, but still. All in all, it was better than average. Just the fact that I'm saying this means there is hope for me. Hope for the next drug-free about sevenish months...(cause, you know, I have to feed little Sydney for a while after she comes, and though I don't do it for as long as recommended, I figure she'll have two older siblings to fill her in on how it was still a HUGE sacrifice for the entire family), anyway, that these next months can be overcome. Maybe not entirely happily so, but overcome, just the same. Am I an adult, or what? I'm a giver. That's what I am. Maybe Jeff should paint a mural of me...with one of those otherworldly haloes around my head, while I smile off into the distance. That's how I'm feeling.
To be fair, though, I was a bit pissy on Saturday. Until I got the kitchen, and made the kids get the living room, under control. I took a picture today of what our weekends look like. The kids work all week to try not to be whiney, or fight, or just bratty in general to get "bedtime points". For those of you that don't know what they are, it's just Jeff's and my way of ensuring that we can watch our shows in peace around 9:30pm. Technically, we try to start around 8:30, but realize there will be at least five interruptions of MASS IMPORTANCE before they finally are convinced that should they push our buttons one more time, they will forfeit any bedtime point we were willing to give. In turn, they redeem their bedtime points--they each must have at least four, (one for each night), for an evening of freedom in the living room, where they have full access to the fridge, movies, and bedtime is whenever and wherever they crash. (They just know that Jeff and I still require our time for shows, and that though we are more lenient on Friday nights about their constant interruptions, we still get grouchy after the tenth one. And yes, there is always at least a tenth interruption). Anyway, as you can see, our home quickly turns into a dumping zone when they are allowed their full redemption of bedtime points. It seems that EVERY toy they have in their room makes its way to the living room floor, along with blankets, pillows, snacks, water bottles, etc. It's enough to make me feel like strangling everyone, however, it's also a terriffic bargaining tool, so I have to take the good with the terrible. (Also, I had to take a "tame" picture of the floor, because I'm just too embarrassed of this pigsty to let you all know what kind of squalor we live in during the weekends).
And though we try to give the children some rewards for keeping themselves in check, like all chaos, there are severe downsides. The floors are usually so covered in previous metioned stuff that favorites are often damaged in the mess...because Cole likes to throw stuff, Riley likes to lay on top of everything, and neither of them want to pick up anything unless I'm threatening not to make any breakfast/lunch/dinner/or snacks the next day. So Friday night Riley rushes into our room with one of her Littlest Pet Shop toys. Cole evidently threw it for NO reason, and it's head broke off. I was actually quite impressed with Riley's ability to keep herself together. (Afterall, this time it was her little black spider, and for the record, it is well-loved). The tears were there, her voice was warbly, but she held it in, while Jeff inspected the damage, and told her, "I'll see what I can do". Now this is always amazing to me...because I grew up in a house where Mom was overjoyed to throw all our crap away, and I completely picked up on it. The kids now know that if they show me anything that is slightly damaged, my reply will either be, "then toss it"(my foremost and favorite), or "just wait
till your dad gets home and ask him". Which always works better on both Riley and Cole. Lately it's kind of gotten to the point that if Jeff isn't here, they'll show me the damage for a little bit of sympathy, and then tell me that they're "just going to wait until Dad gets home, and he'll probably fix it."
I usually look at their damaged stuff and think to myself, "yeah right. That's never getting fixed". But Jeff always impresses me. He's the guy that used to sew, actually sew Riley's rubber Polly Pocket clothes after they'd been torn by her jamming their little sharp feet in too hard. Eight stitches into a Polly Pockety rubber bathing suit top is no small feat, I will attest. I tried it once, and got so mad that I had Riley crying and me swearing while tearing Polly's shawl in half because it was just too difficult. (I was even on my meds at the time--yes, it's true).
So I looked on while Riley was showing us what I thought was the end of her little black spider, and was surprised when Jeff promised he'd fix it the next day. Sure enough, I heard the drill going in the afternoon, and thought he was making some home improvements. But at a closer look, found that he was fixing Riley's toy. And apparently, he'd made the same alterations to a transformer earlier this week, for Cole. Crazy enough, they just don't bounch back when you twist their little machine arms all the way around. (So take that, all my in-laws that are making major home rennovations. My husband puts his extra time and energies into working on my children's endless supply of toys).
You may ask why I posted that entire story, but this is my life, so take it or leave it. I also wanted to point out, in my skewed way, how much I think of Jeff. How just in these little, trivial things I see how much he loves my babies and me. So I have to kind of brag about it, because I'm a braggart, and I enjoy it so much. (Just in case you hadn't noticed).

"Secrets, secrets...they're no fun. Secrets, secrets...could hurt someone". --an antecedent taught to me by Kassie Sanders in the eighth grade.

Okay, most of you that read my blog have a signifigant other. So I feel that you have a clue as to what I feel for Jeff. He's my best friend, he's my confidant. Also, he's a lot of other things that I won't mention, because that's just something you don't write for all relatives/friends to read about. Anyhoo, I wanted to know what your opinions are on this.
I had an event in my life where I was "sworn to secrecy". Now, the person that did it may or may not ever feel that he or she can ever trust me again, but I have to put this out there....I acted in ignorance, apparently. Or Not?
So, despite that I took the oath that I WOULD NOT TELL ANYONE, I told this secret to Jeff. In all honesty, I didn't think that for a second, this would be wrong. Yeah, occasionally I start stories around certain people with, "Don't tell Jeff this, but....", for the most part though, if it did made it back to Jeff, somehow, I wouldn't be overly surprised.
Bah, now I'm all over the place. But I had to get you to see that I'm not just completely untrustworthy, just questioning what the definition of that truly is. Does that even make sense?
I told Jeff because of the reasons I have listed before, and the fact that except for when I'm pregnant, I just feel like he's a more manly extension of me. (Pregnancy changes this for obvious reasons, and those of you that have seen me lately, will know what I'm talking about). But when I talked to him about not telling anyone else, he asked me why, and I told him, "because it was a secret". So then he says, "So why did you tell me?"
Why indeed. This is where my whole theory is questioned. He then proceeds to tell me that he's been sworn to secrecy about something for the past two weeks, and hasn't told me, so.... And just like that, I am PISSED.
For those of you that know Jeff, you should also know that this turn of events would be completely opposite if the tables were turned. If I admitted that I'd been keeping a secret from him, not only would he be hurt that I didn't tell him, but he would not be above implementing various forms of torture on me, to get the entire story...no matter how small, or unimportant. So for those of you that wait with baited breath, wondering whether or not I got the full scoop, I did. I simply reminded him of what he'd do if I had merely said the same words to him. (And, for the record, it wasn't that interesting). My point is, though, don't other couples do this? I guess I just figured that's the way it is....Jeff is my link to the "outside" world. "Outside", in it's simplest form meaning, "Not Entirely About Riley and Cole, and What I Did at The House All Day". So if I've got something to talk about, something I thought was funny, or something that I heard, or some sort of idea that may have just popped in and then popped out, further supporting my hypothesis of mental instability, I'm going to tell him about it. I know Jeff, and I know that he's not going to tell everyone as soon as I'm out of earshot...but someone please, is my view of this completely skewed?
So I just need to know how OTHER couples do this. Do you keep stuff from your spouse? Just little or big stuff? (Note: This doesn't include stuff that you forget to tell your spouse, or stuff so trivial that you just don't think about it again until something that triggers your memory....I mean, SECRETS). Am I just a whiny, insecure baby that thinks if Jeff keeps anything from me, that something is "off" with us? Now that I write that, I see how lame that makes me, but...it's the way I feel. Cole actually came down to get a water bottle for bed, and overheard me asking Jeff why he would keep a secret from me? And didn't say anything about what we were talking about, just took his water and went back to his and Riley's room.
The next night, however, Kelli and Kyle watched the kids while Jeff and I went to Dark Knight....(we hadn't been to a movie together since our anniversary in January, so thanks Kelli and Kyle for making that possible). When we got home, Kelli told me that Cole had said something weird to her, and with Cole, this is not only totally possible, but expected, so I asked her what is was. She said that he came up to her and said, "Do you keep secrets from Kyle?" I kind laughed and told her our entire ordeal...(BUT NOT THE SECRETS)!
So this is my question for you all: "Do you keep secrets from: (Insert signifigant other here)?

And yet, they came from the same ingredients...

For the past couple of days I have been contemplating the differences between Riley and Cole. They both are my funny, smart, loving, and beautiful children, but they are so DIFFERENT. I remember while I was pregnant with Cole, imagining how he and Riley would be at this age...they would do everything the same--they would both be quiet and demure, and thoughtful and sharing...because that was how Riley was. She was such a good girl and she could entertain herself forever. She still is, but I just remember watching her, and thinking that I was going to have the perfect children, all the way around. That because I was a completely successful mother, Riley was so fabulous.
Then Cole came. He was a different baby--where Riley had been girly and quiet, he was loud and wiggly and peed everywhere. Riley liked to snuggle with Jeff, and Cole liked to snuggle with me. Instead of sleeping at night, for almost three years, Cole decided to take four to five hour naps during the day, and then wake up two or three times a night. Riley slept through the night after two weeks of her birth, with little naps dispersed throughout the day. Cole was impatient and would be screaming mad if he didn't get his way. Riley would just be told no, and deal. With a smile. She had her meltdowns, but I remember two or three of those a YEAR, and then she'd get over it. Cole's were two or three a week. I was doing everything the same, but they were so completely different. That being said, it sounds like I have only warm fuzzies for Riley and impatience for Cole. That's where things get weird. I love Riley, I love Cole...I love both my babies the absolute same. But they are different kinds of love. Cole is so physical...he has been since he's been tiny. He wouldn't need me the entire time but I had to be there, just so he could come up and touch me in twenty minute intervals. This is the only way he'd be perfectly satisfied. But it had to be ME. Riley was more like that to Jeff...and though when I first had her it broke my heart, I understood and appreciated the relationship that she had with Jeff. She knew that the sun rose and set for her, her dad made sure of it, and it was with that confidence, she was completely content. Riley and I have this peaceful existence. She comes to me when or if she needs stuff, she shares, she loves me and knows I love her. But we do have our riffs. She and I are a lot alike. We can read each other so well, that we know if the other is just being overly dramatic, or in real need.
Cole, on the other hand, is my alien baby. He comes up with these wild stories, and he's loud and he's stubborn and he is constantly moving. He's bossy--bossier than Riley. And Riley is the best BIG sister ever, and I know, because I was the oldest of four. Where she just looks at me and laughs about Coles antics, (or on occasion, tattles), I used to pinch, punch, slap and squeeze my siblings. Surprisingly enough, I never won any "oldest of the year" awards or anything. And if I were Cole's older sister, according to how I used to be, I wouldn't be nearly as patient as Riley constantly is. (Right Lora? right Muff?)
Anyway, my long awaited point is: How will this baby be?
Dim wittedly, I was surprised at Riley and Cole's differences. But now I suspect Sydney will be an entirely different entity, as well. How will she be? A mix of both Riley and Cole? She's going to be the baby...so she'll most likely be spoiled, and a bit on the bratty side. But I don't know what to expect at all. I know she'll be massively loved; Riley and Cole can't wait for her, and you all know that I'm ready for her to get here, like, now. Jeff feels the same as I do...I think it's also a bit daunting to him to see me visibly get fatter each and every day. (He's nice about it, of course. He has felt my pregnant wrath a couple of times since our marriage, and has found that being on my bandwagon is the safest place for him to reside).
But I'm excited to find out about Sydney. I think this is one of the best parts of parenthood, being able to laugh and scratch my head at my children's actions. I'm really grateful that Jeff is with me...that he's my partner in everything. That he loves our little ones just as much if not more, than I do. So I'll just wait...impatiently, for sure, but just wait until I can meet her myself. Any thoughts or ideas? And if so, no mentioning the possibility of her being an impossible child or stuff like that. Cause, remember the mentioning of my pregnancy wrath? It's real.

What FUN looks like.

We had told Riley when we first went to get our ultra sound of Sydney, that whomever was right about the baby being either boy or girl, would get ice cream. Our way of incorporating gambling into our everyday family life. Since we all just knew it was a girl, we were all happy to find that we were in store for a cool, refreshing treat. After the ultrasound itself, because we are big spenders and it was a treat for all, we ate lunch at Arby's, and Jeff got a shake to share with the kids. Riley said that that couldn't count as the special ice cream treat, so we said that we'd all go out on another day. Seemingly how my upcoming ultrasound is next week, officially making it a month since we promised the ice cream outing, we decided to go to Coldstone, to make good on our bet.
On a side note, I am now OFFICIALLY halfway there. 5 months and whatnot. (Happy Kass?) Anyway, Riley and Cole both try daily to see if they can still fit their arms around my stomach. Cole hasn't been able to do it since last month, and today, Riley told me quite loudly in the Walmart line, that I've grown a lot. Because last time she tried to put her arms around me she could grab her wrists easily. And now she can only grab her hands. Yay.
Also, Cole chose that time to start singing the song, "La Cu-caratcha". Only he's heard it on cartoons, and doesn't really know the word, only the tune...so it ended up sounding like, "La-La crotcha! La la crotcha!", for as long and as loud as he could possibly stretch it out. Basically, I was insulted and embarrassed simultaneously while I stood there, just wanting to pay for my stuff. Good days.
Back to the original story. Coldstone. You'd think that ice cream would bring out the best in others, right? I would. I'm usually happy about eating ice cream. Riley was happy about it. She knows the flavors she likes-chocolate, and she sticks with it. She's simple and no fuss. She enjoyed our family outing. But Jeff was in a bad mood...and apparently I was in a bad mood, (I was enlightened by Jeff), so we all sat there, eating in silence, with an occasional comment. If you'll remember back to one of my posts before the ultra-sound, Riley telling the doctor that she wanted a sister, because then they can go get ice cream together, and then Cole patiently and with no offense, telling the doctor that he doesn't like ice cream, when the doctor asked why you can't eat it with brothers. Well, this is more proof of Cole's aversion to what makes me so happy. (And just so you know, even though HE knows and I know that he doesn't like ice cream, that all changes when we get it. He conveniently forgets, and there's no talking him out of getting it, too. Even when substitutions are mentioned). First, he chose the flavor, Cotton candy. Now, while both my children love the actual stuff, they both dislike the cotton candy flavored items on the market: i.e., suckers, candies, drinks, etc. I don't blame them, and I tried to explain to Cole that he didn't want cotton candy ice cream. That he'd just think it was gross. Well, I had no sway over his decision, because the ice cream was blue...so obviously, it was going to be Delicious. I have a bone to pick with whoever the person was that decided to make blue stuff for kids and market it to the masses. For some reason, blue candies, yogurts, drinks, suckers...everything, screams to kids. It's a nice color, and therefore, they think that they are gonna love it. But the opposite happens. They taste it, they cringe, and say they are full. This happened with the ice cream that Cole himself had chosen. This is his face when he was told to suck it up, and eat it, cause we wouldn't allow him to waste. As you can see, for the first few seconds, he was really trying to hold himself together, and then he lost all emotional control. Luckily it wasn't a full-blown fit, because after some tears and panic, Cole decided it would just be faster to take the five bites left that hadn't turned into blue syrup, and it all worked out. But not before everyone in the shop saw what kind of parents we are to our children. The kind that make their kids eat the gross ice cream, because they picked it out; even though we told them they were making a huge mistake, and yet they still begged and insisted. Maybe if I were a better person, I'd feel more remorseful about that. But obviously, I'm just not that great, because Cole's ability to be stubborn is beyond me. He will argue for HOURS. And I just don't have the patience to endure it, so I really relish when he "learns his lesson". Like right here where you can see the tears, and the fact that he is NOT enjoying his so-called treat. ("And yet, you're having another kid?", you ask. It's a fair question, and FYI, I constantly ask myself the same thing...I just am thankful that they are so far apart, and then when the baby actually comes, I won't be pregnant anymore).
After that, we headed for home, where I came directly to my computer to post about the aforementioned gloriousness, and Jeff and the kids turned to Sponge Bob.
And that was our family night. It was nice and had all the usual elements: tears, argument, some whines and whimpers...and Ice cream. Obviously you can see that we are a family that cares. You're jealous, aren't you?

PS...why is it that as a parent, when you actually TRY to go out of your way to do something nice for your little ones, does it always blow up in your face? You feel guilty about not doing enough for them, and then when you actually take the time to let them have some fun, it seems like nothing works out? If anyone has the answer, please, let me know. Because seriously.

Cole says....

I was mad at Cole because he spilled Gatorade on his carpet. He went to look for a rag and the Woolite carpet cleaner we use. Riley found it first, and started cleaning the carpet, so Cole found some of my Lysol that we use for severe stink, which, sometimes happens at our house. He wanted to get it off of my armoire and so he used a trick he's seen his dad do, throw the rag to knock it down. (Something that pisses me off, however Jeff swears that it's a time-proven system). I came up in time to watch the Lysol crash to the floor, and said, "Cole, that's Lysol, it doesn't clean carpet, it makes smells go away". He looks at me and says, "I know, I need to spray your baffroom". No one had set foot in my bathroom for the past few hours, and so I said, "Don't worry about it, go clean your room". In his arguing-until-he-is-decided-right attitude, he looks at me calmly and says, "I'm gonna go spray your baffroom, because it smells like a dirty pig to me". I tried to hide my smile and said, fine go spray it. He goes in, sprays for like, two minutes and comes out gagging. "You're welcome, mom." He says as he's going out of my room. I tell him thanks, and I hear him tell Riley, "I fink I almost fro'd up in Mom's baffroom." She asked him why and he told her, "Because the spray I was spraying in her baffroom. It must be stinky poop smells".


For all of you that are wondering; Yes. When looking for a bathroom spray that will neutralize my smelly family, I ALWAYS go for the brand that boasts, "stinky poop smells".

Happy Fourth of July!

It was a good one. I woke up at 11:00, because my kiddies tried their hardest to let me sleep in, and then it was time to get up and bake brownies that I really had planned on no one eating...because that's just what happens when I make stuff for any potluck that I happen to be invited to. I always feel obligated to bring something because it's for absolute sure that I'll eat what's there. But my stuff, the fruits of my labor, remain lonely and untouched. Not this year, no. (FYI, my pictures this post are also fruits of my labor...only in different ways. They are much more enjoyed by all). My brownies were devoured, and I mean, completely gone. It's the first time in the ten years that I've been part of this family, and don't worry, I made a rousing speech to the Anderson's, saying just that. It was an occasion to be commemorated, much like the independence part. Anyway, Riley and Cole and I got there about 4:30, and the eating was scheduled to start about fivish. Seemingly how my children don't really think that food is all that fun and exciting, (a reason that, if I hadn't been there, giving birth to them, I'd seriously wonder where they came from), both Riley and Cole jumped in the pool and Cole didn't emerge until three hours later, while Riley was in there for two additional hours after Cole petered out. By then all the food had been put away and eaten, (Oh, and I couldn't give him one of my brownies, because they were ALL GONE..in case you missed that part). But Cole and Riley both were content with some Dorito crumbs and strawberries. This has to be the reason that my children are skinny. It doesn't come from my side of the family, that's obvious.
Anyway, I got to visit with sisters-in-law, and my mother-in-law and father-in-law. It's weird, because I don't feel like they are "in-laws", and for that, I'm truly grateful. I just always say that, to specify who's who. I get this really ridiculously happy zing when I see/hear my sisters-in-law refer to me as simply, their sister, and yet, even though I want to do the same thing, I have severe issues with it. I wonder if this is because I have both step sisters and step brothers and yet, they aren't but acquaintances to me...And that's not to be said in a rude way, even though I did...but we just don't have any type of closeness. I like them, but I'll never actually feel close to them, or like we are friends, not the way I do around Jeff's family. Does that make sense? Anyway, long, awkward story short, the Andersons (& those lucky enough to marry them), are really important to me, and totally considered my close family. So it's really a fun time for all of us when we get together.
Fireworks were provided by the usual suspects, and for that, I say a loud thanks. My mother-in-law and father-in-law worked the grill, ensuring meaty deliciousness for all...it was a good time. So thanks to all that made it possible for me to eat a lot, the kids to swim, and Jeff and I to have fabulous conversation and laughs. And don't forget that my brownies were eaten. Every one.

Fa-Rick

So I said I wouldn't complain about pregnancy anymore, and actually, I've done pretty well. Sure, it's been a little under a week, but ask Jeff...this amount of time can be considered in the "roll" category, as in, "I'm on a roll." Stoically dealing and accepting stuff just isn't my way, and yet, here I am. I'm okay with me. Someone should really get me something nice to commemorate this fantastic anomaly.
Now for the downside...because there always is one. I'm reluctantly guessing that all of you remember the big to-do I made about my hair...and how I was going to have something done with it. I didn't exactly know what, but it was going to be fabulous, and make me the envy of Utah Valley. Guess what? Instead of instantaneous possible fame or traffic-stopping beauty, I got a mullet. Now, traffic-stopping, maybe. However, as far as solving my not-wanting-to-go-anywhere, or alleviating my "insecurities" dilemma; not so much. (A personal note: In addition to my new atrocious hair, my brother-in-law caught me at Walmart the next day in sweats...not that that's too unusual for me, but my sweats were bright orange, my shirt bright blue, and my flip-flops bright purple...Have I just given up? Don't I remember the rants I've had previously about Riley's choice of clothing? The answer is NO. It was a Tuesday afternoon, I was there just to get some quick fixes and had to run into him, and my entire church ward, and my neighbors. I just had to specify in case someone else saw me, and was too appalled and/or worried to say anything. I'm okay, I just got severely caught). The question of my sanity aside, lets get back to my hair. Here's how it was before:


I think that for me, it's the novelty of just having long hair. It's not like it actually looks good. I mean, I can make it that way, with my curling iron, or my flat iron...but it always involves a lot of ironing, and then a lot of time, and I'm just too lazy. It's hair, for goodness sakes. So, in a ponytail it goes, or a bun, or braids...and then it looks like something that took me two seconds, because it did. Also, as I get older, my hair has gotten this wispy effect, and unless I use a lot of product, which I hate, especially in summer, it just doesn't appear smooth anymore. So I am well aware that it's not the dream hair that every little girl desires--the Rapunzel locks that are magnificent and flowy. Anyway, about my haircut. I went to Walmart "Smartstyle", expecting a miracle. I don't know what's more ironic, going to walmart for a hairdo, or expecting a miracle, but that's what I did, so I'm admitting that mistake, right there. I also always try to "scout" for the person that I want to do my hair...namely, the person whose hair is passable to cute and therefore, still has some link as to what's stylish. I zoned in on a cute girl that looked right out of hair school, and waited for her to get done with the guy that was fruitlessly flirting with her. But no. Out comes an older, and I know how terrible this makes me sound, obviously pregnant woman, with a not very cute 'do, and this is my stylist. This shouldn't surprise me, because in the lot of my life, this is status quo.
So she begins to ask me what I want. I tell her to remove five inches, tiny, minuscule, to no layers, and I wanted to try having bangs...as every other time I've chickened out. Then she begins. I get lulled into a false sense of security as she takes small, even snippets from my hair. We converse. We groan about the burden of children, and work, and womanhood, and all that stuff that amazingly enough, women, complete strangers, can dish about for hours. Then she's ready to do my bangs. She asks what way I wear my part, and I tell her I don't really have a way, but I want my bangs to swoop this way, and I show her with my hands. She says she's got it, and starts to work. Her first chop is like....I am reminded of trying to cut my own hair as a kid. It's just this blunt snip of scissors, and then there is no hair where there once was. I panic, yet remain quiet, because I don't know how to cut hair, and I don't want to cause unnecessary stress. An extremely long and painful process later, I had a mullet. She asked me how I liked it, and shocked, I said, "fine". While in my head I was just trying to will myself not to cry. And that was that. I went home, took a nap, showed the appalling results to Jeff and Kelli, because she happened to be there, and witness me get a bit teary-eyed about my situation. Jeff convinced me to do something I always do, wash my hair and try to style it myself. Without the obvious blunt frontal snips showing, I can manage. I'm still not overjoyed by any means, but it will grow until I can figure out what to do. There are always ponytails, right? Jeff likes them, so life is still livable. He says that no matter what I do, he still loves me...However, he also knows I'm crazy and obsess about everything. So this just may be a survival mechanism for him. BTW I told you my nose grows when I get pregnant. Why is this, does anyone know? It usually goes back down, but why does it happen in the first place? I'll probably dye my hair later this week, too. Darker. I know, I know. Will I ever learn? This is why I wish I could cut hair myself. That way, when and if I hate it, I can chalk it up to me being an idiot. Oh, and for those of you that loved my really short hair days, thanks. I appreciate the ideas. But I'm too much of a chicken, and the grow-out process is too much of a b!#@h. So baby steps for me for right now. (Also, with the nose, the jowls, and the belly? I'd be even more out of proportion than I already am....YOU know what I mean).