It Wasn’t a Threat; It was a Promise

You know when I said I was tempted to cut my hair?  Spring Fever?  Phone?  All that?

Believe me.  I hauled off.

Mickey didn’t get a phone.  I got these.


I don’t know if it counts that I bought them from the phone guy’s mom.  I know I have been living in a cave, but do you have any idea how much phones cost?  For shame.  I am right here at home if you need to reach me.

I took the girls out and we painted the town taupe, like we do.

Then something just came over me.  I started up the street, that passes for the main drag here in town, and stopped at every salon that wasn’t a chain.  Do you take walk-ins?  How much is a haircut?  When I found one that answered both questions, I bit.  Y’all, I paid the same as I paid when I was in high school, and they brought me iced tea while I waited.  ICED TEA.

So, tea already in hand, I called the kids in and sat down to wait.

In five or less, I was in the chair looking like this:




The previous week, I had visited the beauty college that has been providing all our services for the last few years.  It took two hours to cut Mickey’s hair.  The evening of the choir concert, it took two full hours to straighten the girls’ hair.  I can do it at home in an hour and a half with shampoo and dry.  They took two on dry hair.  I needed the cut, but realized I just don’t have to do that anymore.  A gal gets to have a hairdresser to call her own.  That is what I was searching for.

In something less than the 2 hours I am pretty sure it would have taken at the cosmetology school, I came away with this:

super ugly pic of me; great pic of my hair


It was shorter than I planned, but by the time I realized what was happening, I already liked it.  And I knew as I sipped the last drop of tea, I would be back

…in 4 to 6 weeks.

Don’t Tempt Me!!!

I am generally not a bare naked blogger, where I let it all hang out about my life circumstances and my joy and pain and medical needs and romantic disappointments escapades.  More and more I find that if I am going to move forward with the blog (and the cheap substitute for desperately needed therapy, it provides) I do have to be a little more candid.

Ima vent.

We used to live in a major city.  Gigantic house, for which we paid practically nothing.  Great relationships.
We now live in what I consider a small city. It considers itself ‘whatever-will-make-you-love-it’. Doesn’t meet the definition of ‘urban’.  We lived here right after Mr. S. graduated college and moved to be nearer to family after the kids came along(learned a lot…like, ‘family’ is ‘who has your back’). Through a series of circumstances, we moved back here in 2006.

Since then.

Dance Camp… My kids excluded from play at “free time” because of skin color.  Teacher’s reply, “Some babies are born yellow; some people turn green when they are seasick. Some people are blue when they are not getting oxygen. So, you just happen to be black.”  Official line to me, “We can’t dictate what is taught in this child’s home.  We are sorry for your daughters’ experience and hope you won’t hold it against us.”

Private School… My kids got put back a grade because of a math placement test.  They consistently had a hundred average and I was asked to speak to my children about slowing down in their work so that they didn’t have so much free time in class. Again, skin color was not a non-issue in class.  (Our fault for having been involved in a cross-cultural church before we moved and the girls really didn’t realize that skin color is a dividing line.  Fortunately, the schools are willing to teach values that are not taught at home.)

The Job… We had been back just about two and a half month, when a mom at the pool, asked me how was my husband liking his job.    As I considered how to answer, I realized hated his job and was trying to be the grown-up and give it a chance.  I told her I would have to ask because I didn’t know.  She looked right in my heart, and was as horrified as I was.  She’s cool that way.

I think there has not been one day that the job has been awesome. My husband’s personality is changed.  I think he is seriously depressed.  He is like a man in chains.  For fifteen of the last twenty months he has taken a 25% cut in salary in order to help the firm survive.  I am trying to teach the children that we need to be grateful Daddy has a job. We would be equally grateful for the ordeal to be over.

Digression, the first: One of the partners said, “People who blog are morons,” when I had been blogging about 9 months.  I did not flip her off tell her she is number one. One day, I will send her a link.

The House…historic.  Flipped by folks who had clearly never lived in a site-built/stick-built single family dwelling.  We were going to renovate/restore it.  WITH WHAT FREAKING TIME WHEN THE JOB DEMANDS HIS SOUL?  ‘Nuff said?  No.  We believed the drug house across the street would be swept away in the gentrification of the area.  But, no.  The non-resident homeowner makes more in a month than anyone is willing to give him for the property.

Digression, the second: We found out that our house was the scene of horrendous child abuse. A little girl used to crawl out on the roof to cry, so they would not hear her.

Why…Had we remained in the other city, we would not have our son*.  That, in itself, is a miracle story.  Miracles are made out of hard work and letting go.  We got the lesson…sometimes what looks like a terrible accident(clearly, you ‘screwed the pooch’ were mistaken.) is really accomplishing God’s design(bringing orphans into families.  Trials make us more mature if we let them).

Last week, our best friends, whom we left behind when we moved, told us they may be moving three hours away.  I failed to rejoice with them. Or even for me.  In my selfishness, all I could see was that they get to start fresh with a clean slate.  They are getting the only thing I want in the world.

What would it take for me to pick up and move?


This post was written due to the very welcome inspiration provided by Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop.  Everyone is welcome to participate.

Mama’s Losin’ It

*or a lot of other really great things like being a doula, the girls success in track,  or my dog.

WW: One of These Days

Just a few weeks ago, my daughters were invited by a group of friends to go to a Masquerade Ball.  Without going into the long part of the story, I’ll just say, I took this…

and this…

Devoted nearly all of my Saturday to this…

and this…

and this is who went to the dance…

Yes, like fairy tale princesses.  Just little girls, really.  Perhaps that is why I didn’t realize the group wasn’t a group together (why would I think anything like that?).

One of these days, ‘boy’, you will realize the princess stood right there and you missed your one chance to ask her to dance while you danced with every other girl in the room.

One of these days, ‘boy’, you will learn that beauty isn’t who looks good with your costume.  Some princesses are not blonds.

One of these days, ‘boy’ your little princess will come home from the ball…

and you will know how I feel right now.

This post is being linked up with Wordful Wednesday; for more photo fun hop over to:

parenting BY dummies


%d bloggers like this: