Fruition

My first tomato. Our first tomato. The boys have been watching it for weeks.

The Haircut Store

This is how I remember it. I was 4 or 5 and I decided I wanted a pixie haircut. My mom took me to her beauty parlor (because that's what they were called) and I emerged with a prematurely fashionable boy cut. I remember standing up in the backseat to look at myself in the rear view mirror and feeling a combination of regret and potential.

Now I'm not sure if this is actually how or when it happened because I seem to remember having long hair in first grade. But I suppose that was the first of a lifetime of short hairstyles.

So fast forward to present day. I was reading a blog the other day on children's photography and saw the most precious haircut on a little girl of 7 or 8. And like I often do, I acted prematurely. I called my stylist Victor and made an appointment for Abby. No Cool Cuts For Kids. This is a cut for a stylist.

And then I showed the photo to Bryon. "Absolutely not," he said. "Boy hair. I like her hair now." And it's true. She is working a sweet little flapper bob.

But Abby was very excited about going to the haircut store so we kept our appointment at the salon (today's beauty parlor).

The result?

Crimes of the Heart

It may be his age, but Sam is turning out to be a very perceptive and sensitive kid. At times it can make him seem kind of fragile and sad. You can tell his expanding mind is trying hard to wrap itself around some of life's ... peculiarities.

Last night on the way from the bathroom to bed, he asked me, "What happens to prisoners when they are let out of jail."

"Well, I'd like to believe they are able to go on and have lives like ours - families, jobs."

(Maybe I should've left it at that.)

"But for some people, it's harder. They may end up back in jail. And, depending on the crime, some prisoners aren't let out of jail."

"What crime?"

(See, should've left well enough alone.)

"If a crime is especially heinous or violent, a person may be sentenced to life in jail. Or, in some states, a person may be executed for a crime."

"If you kill someone?"

"Yes. But there are different types of murder. If someone broke into our house and was hurting our family and I shot that person, I would probably be punished differently than someone who just walked onto the street corner and started shooting people."

And without skipping a beat, Sam asked:

"Do you ever worry about Jake?"

I had to laugh. I mean we were talking about homicide and his thoughts jumped to Jake, who I admit has a temper and a streak of stubborn any mule would envy.

"Sam, Jake may always be the kind of person who is quick to anger, but I don't worry about him hurting anyone."

"He'll be like that old man in the movie (Nebbercracker in Monster House) that yells at the kids to stay off his lawn."

"Yep, maybe." And then I thought I'd better try to end on a positive note, so I added, "But whatever happens we'll deal with it together and whatever person he turns out to be, we'll love him."

Better You Than Me

Sunday night our generous neighbor Cathey Ann offered to watch the kids so Bryon and I could go out for a nice dinner. We went to a neighborhood restaurant where we most likely wouldn't take the kids - at least not all three of them at once. (Small doses, small doses.) But because it was Father's Day there were lots of dads and grandpas eating with their families.

The table to our right had one set of grandparents, two sets of parents and several children - all attractive, well behaved, enjoying the evening. But in the 40 minutes it took for Bryon and I to order and eat, they still didn't have their food and as anyone with small kids can tell you, that, my friends, is the witching hour. A "grown-up" restaurant with no coloring books, TVs, fish tanks or fodder for a distracting game of I Spy.

As we were finishing our dinner, a lone guitarist set up in one corner and started playing soft, folksy music. About the same time one of the parents at the table next to us got up with one of the young kids, a dark-haired boy of probably 2. As they negotiated the space between the tables and around the guitarist the little boy karate-kicked, literally, the glass of water the guitarist had sitting on his soundboard behind him. Crash, hiss, splash. No more music.

Now I have to bring this up because we have been that family. We have knocked over a Christmas tree in our local hamburger joint, sending shiny balls rolling across the restaurant. We have been asked to leave a hotel. We have been told to keep a better eye on our kids while we were scarfing down as much food as we could before getting up to chase them out of the restaurant's kitchen.

Shortly after the Karate Kid incident, the entire table ordered a round of alcohol. They weren't showing it, but I can imagine how they might have been feeling. And here is what I learned: no one in the restaurant was giving them the stink eye. The management didn't ask them to leave. The musician didn't freak out - although he was perturbed. In other words, the world didn't come to an end. In fact most people probably didn't even notice.

I hope they can look back and laugh as I do on some of our interesting evenings out. But then again, I haven't had to replace a fried soundboard. Yet.

Phineas and Ferb

This is our cat Phineas, the one we compulsively purchased at PetSmart in February, and his new friend Ferb. No, we did not make another visit to PetSmart. Actually, our generous and equally cat crazy neighbor was given a kitten that looks a lot like Phineas and she let the kids name it Ferb.

And Phineas is crazy about that kitten. He plays with it, grooms it, cuddles with it, naps curled against it. Phineas and Ferb have play dates, which none of us minds because Ferb is a darn cute kitten. I would have long away brought home a dozen kittens if I knew how entertaining they are and how much the kids would play with them.

Needless to say Abigail is crazy about him too. She talks to him like a baby, carries him in a pink box that is decorated like a cat. And when she gets a chance she gets in on the cuddling too.

Little Drummer Boy

Sam recently started taking guitar lessons. He been asking patiently for awhile and I kept promising so when summer rolled around and we had fewer evening and weekend commitments, we signed him up. Problem was, the first time we toured "the studio" Jake was in awe. He wanted to be a drummer. And truthfully, the whole set up is probably more Jake's style. So ... he's taking drum lessons.

And he is very much living the part, don't you think?

Renewal

Nearly every night, after the flurry that is dinner, baths, bedtime, I stop and wish that I had taken time to blog. I intended this to be a record of days for the kids, for me, for my mom. And I like to flatter myself and think that maybe one day the kids will read these entries and get a little insight into who I was, besides their nagging mother. But lately I haven't made the effort.

When I started this blog it seemed I had an abundance of things to write about. I still do, I suppose. It's just that those early milestones have evolved into bittersweet friendships, puppy love, academics, music lessons, reading logs and family vacations.

So starting tomorrow I'm renewing my effort to blog. I'd like to say I will find something in each and every day that is worthy of recording. But I know other things can get in the way. Sometimes those are worth recording as well.

(See you tomorrow.)

Carefree

Grandma Fran took this photo of Abby over the weekend. I love this photograph because it is so very much Abby. She wasn't posing for the camera or goofing for her brothers. She was alone in the pool relaxing. This is the kid who gives likes to give spontaneous kisses and loves kittens. The kid I bribe with lollipops to wear anything besides a dress. The kid who has started saying "Amazing!" when she sees something she likes. I think she's amazing.