Nora Ephron, Britney Spears, and Me

Perhaps I've just been wistful about Nora Ephron this summer–and how she felt badly about her neck. But I don't think so. I've been particularly neurotic this week about a defining feature of mine. And I suspect a good many of us women share the same affliction from time to time. And since I haven’t blogged in awhile, I thought I’d make my re-entry to the blogosphere with a confession.

It’s about my hair. I feel badly about my hair.

I don’t like it. I can hardly think of anything else lately. And I’m really, really embarrassed to admit how much of my time this consumes me–given the triviality of the subject matter.

I wasn’t blessed with beautiful locks. My mother has made that known to me for as long as I could remember. Mousy texture. Unexceptional in color. And now that I’ve crossed over to the forties, it’s not getting any lovelier despite my recommended dosage of Biotin.

With that said, I have a dear friend who is my hair stylist whom I love to pieces despite her ability to slay me at Words with Friends. She covers my gray so brilliantly, and despite my repeated attempts with Sun-In and Loreal, I can’t compete. I'm usually pleased with how she cuts it, but every once in awhile I get antsy. I just don’t know how I want it. All I know is I yearn for change, but I can’t quite articulate what I want. So, she’ll start snipping away. And she'll work some style magic; I leave the salon with an adorable do. Then I wake up the next morning. After a shower and a hair dry, I'm befuddled. I start working on my hair and suddenly my tresses have become a rubik’s cube. I get frustrated. The cube isn't coming together. So just like the kids who pulled the stickers off the cube to rearrange the colors, I grab a scissors and start snipping strands of hair myself. Yeah, it usually doesn’t work out so well.

Lately, I had been doing quite a bit of chopping at my hair, so I decided to schedule a pedicure and a haircut with a different stylist. Maybe she’d give me a fresh perspective. Well, I must admit, I felt like I was betraying my friend. But in away, I also felt like I was giving my friend a break because I was starting to think that maybe I’m not the easiest customer in the world. Just maybe.

Back in the days when Mom did my hair.

Anyway, as my new stylist cut, cut, cut, my hair, I tried not to widen my eyes, because it seemed…a bit short. Awfully short. But I trusted her—she is so very stylish herself. And then, of course, she styled it adorably–as all those hair people so effortlessly do. So, I left happy; albeit feeling guilty.

Then I awoke the next day. And showered. And dried my hair. And as you can guess, I was faced with another damn rubic's cube.

I took those scissors and started whacking even more. It looks fairly ridiculous now. But there’s not much I can do. My hubby’s going to kill me if he hears another word about my hair. I can’t go back to my faithful friend. Heck, I cheated on her. And the other stylist? I’m too embarrassed to tell her that I was just messing around with some scissors.

I totally get why Britney Spears shaved her head.

Your Turn

Countless ballgames. Alex's birthday–along with her adventures in Drivers Ed. Completing Charles Dicken’s ambitious Great Expectations. I’ve had a plethora of blog material, yet my blog has sat idle. (I have scribbled a few lines here and there on my never-ending project, aka, my novel.) But the true reason that I have failed to commit to my writing goals? Words with Friends. While I downloaded the game ages ago, I never really played. Now, that I've got a few games going with my dearest of friends (and kids), I find myself somewhat...ADDICTED. I'm sneaking peeks at breakfast. On my lunch hour. After work. Then! I'm calling my friends terrible names when they place those 45 point words. Will our friendships survive? Who came up with the name Words with "friends" anyway?


I knew I had a problem when I was a few minutes late to Cole's ballgame tonight because I was coming up with a stupid word. (It was only worth nine points.) Guess what? I missed his only homerun of the season. Okay, perhaps I need to learn this word: PRIORITY.


Now, here are some kids who know how to put their iPods away and play in the sand.

Baseball Romance

The running joke in our family is that my husband's mistress is named "Lily". We can't decide if she was borne from Blazing Saddle's character Lilly Von Schtupp or The Who's peppy song "Pictures of Lily." Doesn't matter really.

I decided today that with 85 percent of our life consumed with America's favorite pastime, that Lily is real. She's called baseball.

Almost symbolically, a stargazer bloomed this weekend-a very pretty lily!

What to do?

Until next season...

My friend, Diane, has the lexicon of a motivational speaker. She was reminding me the other day, “Remember, it’s the journey—not the destination.” I try to think that way. I really do. But at this time of year, I can't help but feel a tremendous amount of satisfaction when I see a few activities getting crossed off on the list. 

• Piano lessons
• Soccer
• Lessons/practice after school
• Graduation parties
• SCHOOL
• Getting the kids to bed before the news. Okay, before Chelsea Handler.

 We’re down to baseball and driver’s ed.

So after I get caught up on laundry, which should take approximately three weeks, I still need to whittle my to-do list, which isn't quite so consumed with maternal-like duties like those above. Let's see, what to do?

• Finish reading that Charles Dickens novel…the crazy-ambitious read that I happened to suggest for book club?
• Pound away on my manuscript now that my amazing editor has given me a college semester's worth of commentary? How many times can I rewrite this book? It's too embarrassing to admit.
•  Or, dig in my garden to create an impossible botanical oasis I’m certain not to accomplish?

Holy buckets! Apparently I forgot it's summer. I'm watching Idol. And Neil Diamond is performing Sweet Caroline! See ya.

Courage, Smourage

So we're leaving for church last Sunday and I'm quickly taking the dog's bed outside for the day. Even though we're pressed to walk into church just a lick before the bells ring, I'm stopped in my tracks. Lo and behold, a serpentine guest is curled before me. I drop the bed and get myself back onto the car with lightning speed.

"Kids! Go put Percy's bed on the porch."

Of course, they knew something was up. And since we were on our way to church, I felt obligated to tell the truth. (Anyone catching the biblical themes in my story?) Anyway, my little cowards wouldn't do it. So, I bucked up. And when I ran back out, I saw something more disturbing. The snake slithered into a hole positioned in the midst of my flower bed.

Not good. So much for living without fear, huh?(See prior posts.)

Well, tonight I finally made it out to the scary bed to pull a few weeds. Although a bit jumpy, I was able to get some fresh air for once. With my trusty terrier by my side in case of a reptile attack. Pretty brave, heh? I must admit, it was quite worth the adventure.

My irises...only a few inches from the snake's lair.

That Courage Thing Again! Gheesh!

I'm outside reading when Cole pokes his head up from an earth worm inspection. "Do you know that small insects often die from fear?"


No, I was not aware. But I found the information particularly relevant. Bugs should take heed. And sometimes, methinks, I should as well.


Courageous Actions?

• My 14-year old daughter's trip to NYC with her vocal group. Sans her parents. (The night before the flight, it seriously occurred to me that I could prohibit her from going...)
• My son's participation in soccer and baseball. Translation? His awareness that a ball could hit him in the face.
• My dog's fearless barks at the unknown. Every single night. For hours. And hours.
• My hubby who mows a lawn with known serpents slithering amidst the boundaries of our yard.
• My mother's retirement from a government job...and the opening of her OWN boutique.
• My dad's support of the boutique...despite the endeavor being something he doesn't fully comprehend or relate to. (Why should a motorcycle guy find dresses lovely? And onesies precious?)

I'm surrounded by bravery. Lately I seem to be letting personal goals evaporate. Why? Fear. Fear of failure. Fear of disappointing others. Fear of not getting everything done... I can't blame anyone but myself, though I'd like to. So enough of this anxiety already! Enough apathy! Embrace my inner courage!

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear."

two of my brave peeps

three of my brave peeps

be the change you wish to see in the world

Like my new treasure? I'm still trying to figure out where to put the canvas. In the meantime, I'll keep it on my messy dining room. And try to absorb Gandhi's wise words.

After today's soccer game, our entire family went grocery shopping. (Any of you moms cringing at the idea of a family load tagging along?) It actually began quite lovely when my husband handed off a charitable donation to the local Boy Scout troupe for the food pantry. Good Karma. But when I saw the tribe lingering around the donuts, I knew we were in for a ride. I harshly waved them off the pile of pastries. Then we had our share of tiffs for the next hour. You see, I'm determined to reduce the amount of sugar we eat.

A friend of mine, who happens to be winning a battle with breast cancer, told me about research she's done on the correlation between sugar and cancer. It got me to thinking. Am I poisoning my kids? Every time I let them have another cupcake or Twinkie? Is it just one more step to their doom? Even if it's not cancer, certainly diabetes is a consideration. What kind of mother am I? Really? If I love my family, I'd teach them about healthier alternatives. It's easy to become lazy when you're in a constant state of drive, drive, drive. (Does anyone else agree that April rivals December in terms busYness?) I remember my best friend once telling me that she let her young daughter eat Cheetos once for breakfast. It was just one of those mornings. We've all been there. But it seems, I'm there too frequently. Giving in to Cheetos at breakfast, that is. Now It's time to toughen up. Feed my family right. Teach them how to eat. I need a mantra! Oh, I got it! "Long Live my Family."

It might take a little more work to wash the grapes, cut the apples, sauté some veggies, or even slice up some cheeses. But I think I can find some value in the activity...much more than opening a gooey wrapper.

If you're interested in reading more about the toxicity of sugar, take a look at this article from The New York Times Is Sugar Toxic? I found it thought-provoking.  And I know how I can make a small change in the world.