Haircuts are from Hell

My oldest is four years old and down right HATES having his hair cut. I can do a pretty decent job with the hair trimmers and it saves me $10-12, but he throws such a fit, it's almost worth it to bring him somewhere and save myself the aggravation. Several months ago before the move I gave in and brought him to Super Cuts. I thought the stylist would be in tears by the end of it, he was such a pain. He complained that she was pulling his hair, he would cower and cry and say that she had pinched him with the trimmers. He would get out of the chair and try to slink away. He was a pain. This is all a show of course. I think Super Cuts would definitely be out of business if the trimmers pinched all the customers. He likes the look and feel of a fresh buzz, but cannot deal with the process. The problem is that he has a veritable forrest growing on his noggin and it gets downright bushy.

Rob and I have been noticing that wee beast's hair was in need of a trim of some kind, too. He has long blonde wisps that curl when he's hot or out of the bath. I love those little curly curls... sigh. But, the time had come to trim, and that is just what I did. Wee beast was first and was so enraptured with the entire process he sat like a little angel on the toilet seat and let me buzz him. Presto, he was done. Next came big beast. Not so easy. After all the tears and sweat and complaining, the boy's hair was done and the bathroom looked like a Wookie exploded in it.

I sure hope he grows out of these hair cut catastrophes. I try to put them off as long as possible, but every few months I have to suck it up and cut. Pictures coming soon.

Teeny Tiny Toad

I'm sorry. I should've known that by squealing with delight and pointing you out, your morning might get a jolt of terror. I, as a human, was only trying to teach my 4-year-old about nature and the lovely fact that here in our very own backyard we could find a dime-sized frog hopping about. Little did I know that the next 30 minutes of your life would be spent squeezed in and out of a grimy, pudgy little paw, only to be dropped to safety three feet down and then grabbed back up into hand hell. I realize now that you probably wanted desperately to get away from these giagantic looming faces above you, one with a booger river and dirt smeared from eye to chin, one with cherry red cheeks and a twinkle in his eyes. You finally made your gettaway under our deck stairs, much to the dismay of cherry cheeks. I sighed with relief, though, little froggy friend, for I did not need to add frog funeral to my day's to-do list. I'm sure you have quite the story to tell your little frog family and so does my little cherry cheeks. You added an enormous amount of excitement to our day and it's but 10:12am!

Moles, wherefore art thou, Moles?

Argh, MOLES! I discovered in Maine a few weeks before we left that we had moles. I never saw a trace of them last year, but all of the sudden there were tunnels all over the place and fresh mounds of dirt here and there. I thought to myself, phew, so glad we're moving and I don't have to deal with THIS headache. Hah, I thought, I will let someone else deal with the problem! We moved, and have a georgous big hilly yard behind the house the kids were itching to play in. So, we headed out to play right off the bat and I was walking about, taking it all in, assessing the lawn, the trees and shrubs. Something caught my eye.... it was... a mole tunnel. DAMN I thought! They followed us to Massachusetts! The next time I think I've escaped an obstacle, I should give myself a healthy wack of reality. I don't know, though, I think I will just try to cohabitate with the mole family we share a yard with. I certainly don't feel like trapping anything and they were here first... Why make a mountain out of a mole hill?? Oh, I just HAD to use that!!!

Freshed Baked Cookies, Crooked Fingers and a Freezer Full of Dog Hair

Well, we've moved. Sound the trumpets. It's offically over. The packing, Rob's three-hour weekend commutes home from work, the house buying/selling crappola and all that jazz. We are settling in here in Massachusetts and there are many great things about this place. On the day our belongings were delivered, our lovely neighbors (and Max's new best friend) came over with freshly baked cookies to welcome us. I've always wanted someone to do that! I was so impressed and delighted and they've turned out to be a very sweet family. Max has a new playmate now and he is outside all the time with her. We have a great big deck that overlooks a great big field with a great big hill that Max loves to ride his new bike down. Fun, fun!

This house came with headaches, too, though and we are dealing with them as they become apparent. First and foremost, this place was filthy. The previous owner had three dogs and a strong distaste for cleaning. The dog smell overwhelmed us that first day and encouraged my very own Rob to sprinkle several cans of carpet freshener about the place and vacuum. I think I may have actually shed a few tears of pride. But we dealt. Then I decided to take on the task of cleaning the kitchen so that I could unpack some important things like coffee, mugs and sugar. That turned into a very horrible job as the cupboards were all covered in their fair share of dog fur and smell. I finally got them scrubbed inside and out and went through about six rolls of shelf liner paper and was able to put things in them. Then, I needed to clean the frige. People.... if there is one place you wouldn't expect to see dog fur, it's in the freezer. But, low and behold, there, among the dirty filth was fluff after fluff of fur. Then I cleaned behind the stove and fridge and somewhere in there Rob and I took turns cleaning the inside of the oven. I have to admit something to America....... I had never cleaned an oven before. I took one look at the can of Easy Off and shuddered with fear. But, it made one hell of a clean oven! As for the kitchen floor, I will sum it up to this, three different kinds of cleaning products, five hours, and two pair of hands with crooked, gnarled fingers later, I actually feel safe walking barefoot on our kitchen floor. Phew.

I know, it sounds like we moved into a crack house or something. It's nothing that extreme, but filth really doesn't describe it closely enough. I'm fairly certain that a forty doesn't belong under the bathroom sink, so that may or may not explain some of the issues.

Even so, the house is surely coming together. We made our maiden voyage to the local Home Depot for odds and ends and it's beginning to come together. Nothing beats having internet connection and t.v. though. I almost hugged the Direct T.V. guy when he showed up this morning!

So, if you were wondering how things were, now you know. But don't worry... you know me well enough by now don't you? If someone's going to clean this place right, it really ought to be me!! When you come for a visit, you can rest assured that there will be no trace of dog hair!