As snowpocalipse2011 starts… I bring you the polar opposite*- the beach… in January… in California.
*For the record I checked with some snowbound friends before posting these photos. They unanimously agreed they’d appreciate a change of scenery. You can blame them if you don’t.
Last Thursday I had an appointment to get a hair cut. It was the first in over 8 months, so despite the family crisis I went through with it.
In the middle of fielding calls from M, my mom, my friend who was heading out of town, and my sisters wanting to know what was going on I flipped through style books and I came across a picture I kept going back to again and again. It was the style I had back when M and I lived in Paris, a couple lifetimes ago. It was a style that belonged to a younger more carefree version of myself. It was the style I all of a sudden desperately wanted to have again.
I went in for a trim and I came out with short hair.
But inside I’m definitely still the same as I was with long hair.
The silly, nutty person you all know and love.
M took these pictures and he’s frustrated that they don’t show the new ‘do properly, but I really didn’t like the other ones he took, so it’s the best you’re going to get tonight. Sorry!
New review and giveaway up at The Lemonade Stand. If you have young kids and love books you don’t want to miss this one!
Sometimes when I watch my children play I’m struck by how insanely beautiful they are. Yes, I know every mom thinks her kids are gorgeous so I try to be objective, I look hard at them, I try to pretend they aren’t mine, and then I still think they’re stunning.
I’ve thought this for a long time, but I haven’t ever said it. Who goes around saying, “Aren’t my kids beautiful?” No, people tell you your daughters are pretty, you smile, say thanks, and change the conversation. That’s the right thing to do in polite society.
And then there’s the whole superstition thing. You’re not supposed to call attention to your children’s looks in case the wrong attention should be drawn. And while I don’t give any truck to that kind of old wives’ tale, I do find myself gripped by the terrible fear that maybe my children look like angels because they are destined to become angels way before their time. It’s my deepest darkest fear, that someone so perfect can’t possibly be allowed to live long.
So I stick with the polite thing and I downplay people’s compliments. I don’t go around telling people I think my children are breathtakingly stunning. And yet, sometimes I take pictures that I can’t stop looking at, which is really an issue when they’re the background on my phone. And I want to go around showing people so I can bask in their delight and comments about my babies. And sometimes I do, because who cares about convention and superstition when you have babies like this to show off?
Originally posted on It’s my life…