Lesson 129: Non-Pin-Worthy Halloween Costumes

Welp. Here are some terrible costumes from over the years. Most of them are not creative, attractive, or well executed. Regardless, they got the job done. 

(Disclaimer: I do think my kids always look pretty cute.)

Happy Halloween from ...

An Irish Rock Star (with a turban made out of a dress).

 A Flower.

A Princess.

The Frog Prince.

A Lion. 

 A House.

 And a Tree and His Woodland Princess. (Be sure to notice Mark's prop.)

I thoroughly apologize for the lack of inspiration!

Lesson Learned: Happy Halloween 2013! (That rhymes.)

Lesson 117: My Kids Eat Dirt

"Y'all, my kids eat dirt. They do. Sometimes they eat dirt." I hastily informed Samara's entire class and their parents on the most recent class field trip.

"They also never wear shoes. Well, unless we are around people, but ... even then it's not a guarantee."

Hudson's binky had fallen under the picnic table while digging into his vanilla yogurt. I viewed his calm demeanor during a chaotic lunch as a triumph, so I just let it go. Later, Samara, his (responsible, caring, perfectly bred) sister retrieved the lost binky and returned it to its rightful owner. He proceeded to immediately stick it in his mouth, still covered with (gasp) dirt.

There were lots of gasps. In fact, so many gasps that I was a caught off guard. So many gasps that I confessed, right then and there. 

I owned up to the dirt eating. Yup, sometimes it happens. In fact, just minutes before the binky episode, I myself had picked up a dirt covered apple off the ground (Hudson's), wiped it off on my jeans, and had bitten right in.

Like mother, like ...

I felt light from the first confession, so I threw in the shoe bit off the cuff. It wasn't relevant to the situation, but somehow seemed appropriate.

No one really responded, but as I gathered my dirt eating, shoeless children to take them to the sand box, a mother kindly offered a wipe for Hudson's yogurt covered face. Without even thinking, I replied, "Oh, he'll be fine. The sand will make such a mess anyway. We'll just take care of it all at once."

What was I doing to myself? Samara'a reputation? Hudson's skin? 

First dirt and now yogurt residue!

In all honesty, I kind of thought that's what moms were supposed to do. I read so many blogs about simplifying that I assumed everyone recognized that messes compound, making it easier to clean the sticky, stinky, and salty once a day ... right before bed time!

Guess not.

The funny thing about the whole ordeal was that my own mothering actions did not cause me to feel pride (for being such a chill mom) or insecurity (for being such a reckless mom).

Rather, I laughed out loud and thought, "We all sure do this parenting thing differently."

As I looked around the tables of sweet, budding children, loved and cherished children (mine included), I thought to myself, "I think that's ok."



Lesson Learned: Maybe all those articles entitled "Overcoming Mommy Competition" are working.



Disclaimer: The parents of Samara's friends were wonderful today. I had a great time on the trip with them all, fun conversation, beautiful weather, and awesome education. This story just made Mark laugh tonight, which is why I blogged about it!

Lesson 102: A Battle in the Kitchen

(For the purposes of understanding the dialogue, my voice will be represented by regular up-and-down writing. If produce is speaking, its voice will be represented by italics.)

________________________________________________________________________

Hey, giant hard green thing! What are you? I've never seen one like you in these parts before.

 Ha! I am a mighty acorn squash! You're scared of me, aren't you? You should be. (Laughing to the cats.) She's too scared to do anything to me. Let's enjoy this nice warm spot on the sill.

Scared of you? Please! You are on my turf!


In fact ... I'll compost your brains out!

Whatch you lookin' at? I ain't scared of you either!

I plan to win the day!

Victory sure is sweet!

Lesson Learned: Trying a new recipe is WAY MORE FUN if I imagine I'm in the middle of a war!

Lesson 71: A New Year, A New Garden

A year ago, I discussed the humble beginnings of Mark and I's gardening career. Our plot looked like this. Well, at least at the beginning of the summer, it did. By the end of the summer, we had burnt everything accept the mint and rosemary.

See, our mint is still killin' it. Awesome.

We never use mint.

Before the herbs were scorched, I'd say we got our money's worth of spicing from them.

So, this year ... we are moving on to bigger and better things.

Of course, when I say we, I mean Mark. My role in this year's gardening adventure has been minimal at best.

Through a series of gardening conversations at seminary, Mark has gotten some exciting ideas planted in his brain. (Did you see what I did there with the verb "planted"?) Turns out future pastors love to garden. Let's hope they have lots of furtile soil to sow in, am I right?

Here's what Mark is attempting this summer.

It's a raised garden. He found the cinder blocks and wooden poles around our property (which I realize is kind of strange) and bought top soil, the wire, and plants from Lowe's.

Please don't judge his store bought plants. He is a full-time student and pastoral intern and dad and husband! This man does not have time for seeds. Maybe next year?

He laid old baby sheets before pouring the soil to protect from weeds and has been watering a whole lot. He is expecting to begin harvesting mid-June, I believe. Harvesting is the proper term, right?

Look at that face. That's a face of optimism. He really believes that this concrete jungle, I mean garden, is going to yield a watermelon. One whole watermelon.

Hey, I'm all for it. Minimal work on my part. A little lost money if it flops. Fresh fruits and veggies if it succeeds.

Win / Slight Loss / Win.

Go for it, Mark!

If something grows, I'll be sure to post a picture. If nothing grows, let's all agree to pretend like this post never happened.

You got that?

Lesson Learned: Turns out we haven't learned out gardening lesson quite yet, and we are (Mark is) at it again. If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again?

Lesson 68: Cleaning Under the Fridge

Did you read the title of this post?

All I can say is, YUCK!

If you've been reading this blog since the beginning, you may remember that cleaning is not my specialty. Not only do I not enjoy doing it, I do not always know what I'm supposed to do. You could say I Don't Have A Clue.

Recently I purchased Mrs. Meyer's  All Purpose Cleaning Supplies and Bathroom Cleaner, Lemon Verbena Scent. I chose this brand, because my mother-in-law uses it. One way to attain wisdom is to imitate others.

It's also made with natural ingredients so hopefully it's safer for babies. Mark, being the amazing husband that is, would bleach our kitchen floors, and I would sit (yes, just sat and watched), fearful that my children were going to keel over at any second from the fumes.
 
Inspired by my friend, Jessica, over at The Abundant Wife, I spent the morning scrubbing my kitchen and bathroom baseboards, really digging out the grime that has built up over, I don't know, the last two years.

I kept returning to the surface under the refridgerator and thinking, "Ugh, I really need to get at that, but not today."

However, eventually the knowledge of the layer of solid crustiness grew to be too much. My mind couldn't take it anymore.

Mark popped in for ten minutes between a meeting at church and heading up to Charlotte, so in that time I put him to work moving the fridge to the side.

I'll be honest. I expected to be grossed out, but nothing could have prepared me for what was living under our food storage unit in actuality. I started to take a picture to provide you with a visual, but Mark expressed great disgust at this idea. He did not see a need for documentation.

I kind of feel like it could have served as a reminder to move the thing more often. Anyway ...

Ever the optimist, I set to work with my Meyer's spray. Naturally, Mark suggested bleach, and I sent him out the door, my mothering protective instinct kicking in.

Y'all. A spray bottle and a rag was not enough. I had to incorporate the use of a tool. A real tool, as in from the tool box, tool. A metal, scrapper, five-in-one thing with a special grip handle. After an incredible amount of spraying and digging, I succeeded at ridding the most inconspicuous place in my house of its long-lingering sludge.

Accomplishment.

Tomorrow's task: Moving the stove. I am not excited.

Lesson Learned: This post may include some slight exaggerations. But not many. Move your fridge.

Lesson 67: Climbing Croagh Patrick Pregnant

When I was 3 and a half months pregnant with Samara, my husband made me climb Croagh Patrick in Westport, Ireland.

I was not thrilled.

Tradition has it that St. Patrick spent forty days and forty nights fasting and praying on top of this mountain. Sound familiar?

Apparently, at the end of his fast, St. Patrick succeeded in ridding Ireland of snakes. Thank you, Paddy!

Every year pilgrims climb this mountain barefoot, and sometimes on their knees.

I climbed it while wearing shoes ... very, very slowly.

Coming down was even slower. Those rocks were dangerous!

The view from the top was pretty amazing. Man, Ireland is beautiful.

I sure love this country.

And miss it.

Happy St. Patricks Day!

Lesson Learned:  I will always be an Irish girl at heart.

Lesson 60: Oh Motherhood

I'm a pretty cas (as in casual) mom. Not much ruffles my maternal feathers, and yet, the thought of an impending solo flight with one of my chickies has been known to cause short, rapid heart flutters.

Why a mother would ever want to spend the duration of any time with her child confined to her lap surrounded by a host of strangers, in the air, is beyond me. Unfortunately, as the old saying goes, you can't always get what you want, and the reality is an hour flight is way shorter than a seven hour car ride.

The joy of child flight traveling begins at the security check. Almost without fail, your sweet child has fallen asleep in the car on the way to the airport. Snug in their seat, lost in lala-land, your baby is a picture of an angel. However, car seat covers and dirty diapers are typical hideouts for suspicious substances. Thus, after a momma removes her boots and coat, empties her pockets, finds a safe place to stow her id and boarding pass, and displays her ziploc of 3 ounce liquids, she then must awaken sweet, sleeping baby, balance groggy baby on her hip, add baby's car seat to the conveyor belt, fold up baby's stroller with one hand (as you do not want baby to touch the germ-infested floor), lift stroller monstrosity to the conveyor belt ... and do all of this without showing the least indication of irritation or frustration.

Because after-all, modern mom's are never bothered by anything.

The pass through takes all of three seconds, and mom and baby find themselves of the other side of the scanner ready to reorganize everything back to its proper place. This is super fun when the security guard decides to take extra precautions with checking the car seat, requiring the balancing of baby to last longer, even as the next person in line's items are shot out crowding yours and causing a scene.

Deep breath.

Find your gate.

Lesson 52: Momma Black Market

Driven by Walgreens around 6 o'clock lately? Seen a line of overtly "momish" cars complete with car-seated backseats lined up, though no one entering the store to shop? Wondering what is going on?

You have no idea.

This is where the momma's come to haggle and hustle, show their wares, and score some deals!

This is our watering hole.

What in the world am I talking about?

Lesson 51: A Really Gross Lunch

Remember the meal calendar?

Well, it's been going splendid. See, look at all these stickers I've (mostly Mark has) received. (I showed this to a friend and she thought the stickers were tracking Samara's potty training progress. No, no. They were for me and the successful completion of a scheduled meal!)

As you can tell, we're doing a really good job. You are right if you are thinking we deserve a star.

However, we have encountered one slight glitch. I had hoped that once we had got into the discipline of sticking to the meal calendar, we would be able to tackle new recipes without breaking stride. Oh, the recipe calls for broccoli rabe and gnocchi. No big deal, we'll just add it to the grocery list and whip up the meal in no time. (Authoritative laugh.)

Lesson 26: You Can't Take What, Where?

The folks of my generation learned from Ben Stiller's mistake. "You can't say "bomb" on an airplane."

But what about tape measure?

Have you ever heard that a tape measure is also a potentially dangerous device to take on a flight with you?

The guards at the UAE airport certainly think so. So emphatically do they believe that a tape measure is a flying hazard, that they forced a poor, innocent girl (me) to throw hers into the trash can upon entering their country.

Have you ever had to throw out your tape measure at an airport?

Well, if you have, then I am sure my reaction will come as no surprise to. That's right, I cried my eyes out.

Lesson 23: A Princess Party, Oh My!

Once upon a time ... in the mountains of Virginia, a blonde-haired boy and a blue-eyed girl fell in love. Eventually, this love turned into marriage, and well, you can guess what happened next.

It is appropriate to begin this post with the traditional fairy tale formula, because you see, it is a story that demonstrates how even the doubtiest of doubters can be won over by everyone's favorite fairy tale character, the princess.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When we received news that it was a baby "girl" in my belly just over three years ago, I promptly informed my husband Mark that I intended for us to raise just that, a girl.

Our goal was that this little girl would one day grow up to be nothing other than a woman. Clearly, girls and women take on a variety of roles these days, so by this, I simply mean a woman, who is kind, loving, generous, caring, and so on. Most importantly, a woman who is humble.

What this information was meant to impart was that my goal was to raise a girl, not a diva, a rock star, a brat (as in the Bratz brand), or ... a princess.

I took all the usual precautions. Samara got a yellow, teal, and white nursery, not pink or purple. She wore button-up onesies most of her first year, not the beautiful, intricately smocked hand-me-downs my mother passed on to me. Most importantly, I adamantly refused to refer to her as a princess, whether she was one week old or 2 and half years.

Thus, you can understand my amazement when 6 months ago, Samara said matter-of-factly, "Mama, I'm a princess."

Lesson 20: Great Expectations ... and Amusement Parks

I began watching the movie Great Expectations, with Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke, at a sleepover in eighth grade. I have foggy visions from the movie of beautiful scenery, lush greenery, an old romantic house, dewy glass, musty, luxurious upholstery, and mysterious characters. These images of a sweet, fantasy world are engraved in my mind,

I have no idea if this description of Great Expectations is accurate. The sleepover was so long ago. Also, unfortunately, we turned it on in the morning, and I had to leave before the movie was over. The pictures in my mind are so pleasant that I have never sought out to watch the end. I am fearful that at this point, my expectations are too great.

Yesterday, I took my 3-year old to an amusement park, Hershey Park.

Growing up twenty minutes from Hershey, Pennsylvania aka "The Sweetest Place on Earth" means that I have made innumerable visits to its renowned amusement park in my day.

If you know nothing about Hershey Park, I'll give you a brief history. It is located right next to the historical chocolate factory founded by the enterprising Milton Hershey. It is home of the first roller coaster with a loop in America ... the Super Duper Looper. This blue thrill ride is now one of eleven incredibly fun roller coasters.

In the old days (think teenage years and a pre-baby stomach), roller coasters were the only reason for going to an amusement park. The day was only successful if every decent ride got ridden at least once, and the best ride (the newest) was conquered at least twice.

Occasionally, with meticulous planning and an endurance that could last 10 hours, these park expectations were met and the day was declared great! However, other days were spent amid mass amounts of "tourists" in scorching heat with long, insufferable lines.

You all know what I'm talking about.

As a season ticket holder to Hershey Park for three years, I have had my fair share of great park days. Some of my best memories of home are wrapped up in this park. Thus, you can understand my desire for my daughter to love the park as much as I do. This is fertile soil for great expectations to grow in!

Yet, miraculously, becoming a parent has totally changed my amusement park expectations.

A quick example of this. When I was eighteen, my dad, brother Jordan, and I journeyed to Upper Sandusky, Ohio for a "college visit to Ohio State" and a day at Cedar Point. We arrived at the park as the sun was rising, waited outside for the gates to open and then sprinted with the other early birds to the Millennium Force to experience one of the most exhilarating rides of my life.

Yesterday, we casually strolled in, admired the sweet faux German shops, and snapped Samara's picture next to the sign that indicated that she was a "Hershey Kiss Rider."

My one goal for the day was getting Samara to take her first carousel ride ... and we succeeded. Though she refused to actually sit on a horse, I happily endured her clenched fingers around my neck inside a carriage. Everything after this was a bonus!

This everything included a trip through Zoo America with Uncle Tyler, a spin in the Lady Bug Cups (in which we actually got a smile), playful splashing and swimming in the Wave Pool, and yummy soft serve ice cream with rainbow jimmies. The day concluded with a tour of Chocolate World's simulation of making a chocolate bar.

(Chocolate World only got put on the agenda, because we killed our electric key in the wave pool and daddy was trying to figure out how to best tow our car. Thankfully, we were so Hershey Park Happy that even this killed key couldn't kill our joy.)

Who knew amusement parks had so many options for fun other than roller coasters?

There was no pressure, no agenda, no set of prefabricated expectations. And you know what? The day was great.

Side Note: Samara did take a thirty minute nap. During this time, she hung with Pop and I took a turn on the Sidewinder and Fahrenheit, an oldie and a newbie in Hershey Park's roller coaster repertoire. I did have high expectations for these. Rest assured, these are still great!


Lesson Learned: In fun, yet potentially stressful situations, lower expectations can often make for a more successful day!

Lesson 15: A Lesson from My Dad

How stereotypical to write a post about my dad on Father's Day. But, you must understand, my dad has never been much of a presents guy. In fact, the happiest I remember him ever being from a gift was when my brother and I purchased him a plain, white mug for Christmas. Total cost: $2. Great price, great purpose, great present.

However, my dad likes my blog. He may be my biggest fan. Whenever we talk on the phone he brings up my latest post and tells me what he thought about it and what comments he would have posted if he could figure out how to do so.

Thus, I figure a blog post devoted to my dad would be a great gift for a man who has never needed anything as long as I've known him. (After all, with three sons, he has a steady supply of hand-me-down sneakers, and who needs more than one sweater anyway).

 Logistically, the sheer amount of time a child spends with her parents equals a massive amount of content as far as life lessons are concerned. Thus, today, I will focus on just one genre of lessons learned, Fatherly Lessons in Humor.

Ya'll, humor is important! Though I've known many funny people in my life, during these past three years of being a parent, I have discovered that the majority of my humor comes from my dad.

The realization hit me suddenly one day when I was lying around dreaming of future deals I'll make with my daughter. I'll say something along the lines of, "Hey Samara, I'll trade you 10 pennies for 3 dimes. It's a good deal. You'll be getting more, because 10 is more than 3." I found myself laughing out loud at how irritated this interaction will make her ... and I thought of my dad.

This led to a series of memories. A generic one includes an image of his face with his thumb in his mouth, blowing up his cheeks and his eyes bulging out of his head. Still makes me laugh.

A more specific one is from the week of my wedding. He and I were practicing for our big moment , the one where we head down the aisle for him to give me away. With every three steps forward, he'd grab my arm and launch us three hops back in true Three Stooges fashion. It was hilarious. I'm pretty sure my younger brothers sat nearby watching laughing like this.

In order to take a memory and turn it into a full-blown lesson, one must reflect a bit and so I started to. What did Larry, Curly, Moe, Bill Cosby, and my dad all have in common? They are able to make people laugh, but they do so at their own expense. 

In all my years of laughing at my dad, I can never remember him making fun of other people, being rude, swearing, or telling inappropriate jokes. His humor was hilarious, but totally G-rated. This is awesome! This is exactly the type of funny I want to be with my kids.

Kids, and people in general, do not like to be laughed at. They do not like to be made fun of. It's absolutely genius to be a person who directs all the blows at yourself. Are you really going to offend yourself?

This kind of humor also requires more creativity. Anyone can swear a lot or tell dirty jokes, but to be clean and make someone laugh involves clever word plays, puns, a lighthearted view of a situation and so on. It means being able to see humor in the simplest, most mundane situations.

It's the kind of funny that makes a huge traffic jam a joy or a long line at an amusement park a memory. It's the kind of funny that can be repeated in front of any audience, old, young, holy, or otherwise.

I did not realize it growing up, but understanding this type of humor is most certainly a gift! It is the type of thing that enables a person to break the tension in almost any awkward situation. It is something that makes your kids like you (even respect you) during those teenage years when they really want to hate you. It is a kind of funny that brings smiles years later.

Thus, I want to thank my dad today for teaching me the art of laughter. It is something that runs through the memories of my childhood, and something that will continue to bring joy in my own family as I teach my children to laugh at his same old jokes. Because they are still funny.

Lesson Learned: If someone sticks out their hand and says, "hit my fist," beware. You're probably going to get bonked on the head!

Lesson 14: A Weekend with Teenagers

There is nothing quite like a weekend with six crazy teenage girls to remind myself just how young I am and how old I've become. Last week, my two friends and I led a retreat for our youth group girls to the beautiful Appalachian Mountains in Boone, North Carolina.

I've been leading youth trips since I was 18, if you count the three summers as a camp counselor, which I do. Many of those campers are grown and married now, which is weird! My first set of youth group kids are in the engaged stage of life, also weird! My second set of youth clubbers (this is the Irish batch), are all caught up in the university (college here in the states).

I've lost track of the number of sugar-filled late-nights I've spent fighting over spoons and laughing hysterically.

Though the snacks and the games remain the same, the kids have changed over the last ten years, and so have I. This past weekend was a reminder of how much so!

Signs I've Still Got It: I'm Young

1. I can still start and sustain an entire dance party.
2. I can still eat as many brownies as anyone else ... and a whole bag of licorice nibs as well.
3. I know enough of the Top 40 Hits to rock out with everyone in the car on the way up. (Though I don't know that I want to admit this.)

Signs I'm Out of It: Getting Old

1. Though I own a Vera Bradley weekend bag (like the rest of the girls), I decided my L.L. Bean boat bag was a more practical choice.
2. I wanted to sleep in my own room.
3. I was (perhaps overly) fascinated by the fixtures and bead board in the bathroom and the incredible butcher block in the kitchen.
4. I thought that Freddie Krueger was a nightmare from Elm Street, not a comedian like they informed me he is.
5. When an episode of Friends came on (without sound), I was able to tell the girls the entire plot-line of the episode. (It was the one with Phoebe's grandma's cookie recipe). They didn't know who Phoebe was.
6. During a game of Catchphrase, I was the only one in the room who knew that Bob Barker was the original host of the Price Is Right, other than Shelly, and she's older than me.
7. I brought my four month old son. I have a son. Enough said.
8. I left my daughter at home. I have two kids.

Despite the fact that the age gap continues to grow between myself and the girls in our youth group, I can say with earnestness, that regardless of age, our little group was able to find common ground in the Scriptures.

We studied the book of Proverbs over the course of the weekend, and it truly was awesome to see the girls get excited about understanding the Word of God and growing in their wisdom and knowledge of it.

I kind of feel like I'm writing this blog as an ongoing study of Proverbs. Proverbs are all about assessing life situations, attaining wisdom, and learning from mistakes. They are about growing up and making choices. They are about seeking to live a life that is full of wisdom rather than folly, righteousness rather than wickedness, productivity rather than laziness, and peace rather than strife. Ultimately, they are about living a life that brings glory to God!

Though I won't go into this further now, I hope to continually reference Proverbs throughout this blog. How can I possibly hope to "get a clue" apart from the guidance and direction contained in the Bible?

I'll end with two Proverbs related to age.

Proverbs 20:29: "The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old."

Proverbs 16:31: "Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life."

Sunday morning after the retreat, I spotted a white sucker in my head and pulled it out. Does this just prove I've been spending too much time with teenagers ... or am I on my way?

Lesson Learned: Even if generations of teenagers change, the truth of the Word of God remains the same.

Lesson 8: The Story of My Hair

Exactly two months after delivering my son, I got a hair cut for the first time in 2 ½ years. That is not an exaggeration, in fact, it could be an under-representation. This is ridiculous. Even my dad, who insists on getting his haircuts in Afghanistan for $2, could not believe this. He said something along the lines of “Katherine, what have you been doing these past two years that you haven’t been able to spare a minute for a haircut?” Hmm, let me think … raising a little girl, moving twice, being pregnant, giving birth, and completing two-thirds of my seminary degree to list a few major time swallowers.

This particular haircut was so fun. I was home in Harrisburg for a wedding with just the baby. I had already lost most of my pregnancy weight, bought a new dress, and just needed the finishing touch of a new haircut (and eye waxing). When the hairdresser was finished, I felt refreshed, rejuvenated, lighter. With six inches gone, you could barely tell the difference.

Looking at my new styled, healthy hair (that I flipped around for the whole day irritating my family) caused me to pause and reflect on significant haircuts in the past. I began to see a pattern developing. Indulge me a little as I tell you "The Story of My Hair."

I began to take control of my own hair at age 4.

As you can see here, age 3, my mother could not be trusted with the task. She can hardly be blamed, enduring curly hair her entire life. Thus, a daughter with fine, straight hair was an obvious challenge. Sometime around the taking of this photo, I declared with characteristic confidence that I was "growing my bangs out," a big step for a preschooler. That's what I did, and I have never looked back.

The next major event took place in third grade. Third grade was a bad year for my hair! It began the night before school picture day. I decided I needed silky, smooth hair for my photo and reasoned that Vaseline could best produce the desired results. I applied a large amount of the petroleum jelly, massaging thoroughly through, rinsed, and went to bed excited to see the outcome in the morning. As you can imagine, I woke up to soaking wet hair ... that was completely dry. Awful! My mom and I washed my hair five times that morning, but to no avail. It was a greasy mess and there was nothing to do. 

Actually, there was more to do. You see, in third grade, I was really in ponytails, but dreaded the bumps that came from using a comb. Thus, before the picture was shot, I first used some water in the bathroom to smooth the bumps out and then proceeded to seal it all with a layer of hair spray. I cannot even describe to you the horror of this picture, which was completed with a gap in my mouth where teeth should have been and a maroon turtleneck that totally washed me out. It was the year my mom decided to frame the school pictures and hang them up the stairs in the foyer. Awesome. 

Third grade was also the year I rocked a perm. Not. A. Good. Idea. 

Fast forward. Junior high or high school were uneventful, apart from summers spent soaking it with lemons in hopes of attaining "natural highlights." Also noteworthy, in my group of friends, length was everything. We spent numerous afternoons comparing the lengths of our hair. (This fact actually made Mark groan out loud). 

College is when things began to get interesting. It remained long until I realized that my high school boyfriend really was history. Gasp! Time for a change? Time to move on? Time for a haircut! I experienced the first signs of relief the second the scissors chopped. Above my chin it went. Unfortunately, in February, my skin was quite peaked, and the overall effect was not good. When I called my older brother crying, "I cut my hair and I look so ugly," his compassionate response was, "seriously, and you called me. Katherine, I don't care. I have to go." Haha, older brothers. It looked something like this, though this picture is a bit later and thankfully I am a little tan.

I regained my cool and except for the time I attempted dreads, college proceeded with ease. By the time I graduated it was back to its glorious length. See how confident I look. I'm a senior, dating an awesome guy (Mark), ready to take on the world. Thus, long hair.

 Yet, after graduation the real awkwardness of life sets in. Within a year, Mark and I had broken up and I moved to Ireland. New phase? New place? Chop!

Look at my young, single, Euro-haircut. Super cool.

Unfortunately, Mark and I got back together five months later with a ceremony looming in the near future, which meant no time to make my lifelong dream of having really long hair at my wedding a reality. I willed it to grow faster, but on the big day, it looked like this. (Sidenote: It was not unfortunate that Mark and I got back together. That was great. It was unfortunate that my hair was short.)

The week after our wedding, we moved to Lugano, Switzerland for four months to work as RAs for a study abroad program. It was a paid European honeymoon! However, shortly after, it finally hit me that I was married. Seriously, married? For-ev-er? I freaked out. Can you guess what happened next?

This chop was especially devastating, because, two weeks later, the pregnancy test came back positive! Not only was my body going to look really weird, but my hair did too! I'm going to show you a post-pregnant picture now. It is not cute! I know this. I blame most of it on the cushing (a lot of water retention), but the hair did not help the situation!

The delivery of my daughter was whirlwind, but when things slowed down a bit, a good friend treated me to a haircut. She was hoping to help me regain a bit of normalcy. This cut on 10.10.09 would be my last until a few weeks ago. Here is what 32 months of non-stop growing will to do to a person. (Please ignore the morning cowlick on the left side of the picture).

And so, we arrive at the present.

As I sat in the chair that day, I pondered the cause of my two year haircut hiatus. In reviewing my history, I noticed a cycle. Most of my haircuts came when I needed a tangible way to cope with a change in my life. Break-up ... chop ... moving ... chop ... marriage ... chop! Baby ... no chop?

Perhaps, once I became a parent there was no longer a place for me to be so emotional and eradicate. It was now my time to be rational, calculating, slow to react, less easily frazzled. I wonder if I was reverting back to my high school definition of beauty which equaled long hair. I know that I had bigger priorities for my precious spare time, including decorating my house. Who knew haircuts could have such a psychological dimension? Regardless, as of now, the plan is to get my next haircut sometime before 2015.

I'm curious, has this caused you to consider what your hair history says about you?

Lesson Learned: My hair dresser told me never to braid my hair wet. It can cause all sorts of breakage.

Lesson 3: Manageable Home Gardening ... One Plant at a Time

It is thoroughly impressive to me to see people my own age posting pictures of pristine gardens, full of bountiful produce and beautiful vegetation. It seems everyone is trying their hand at the gardening thing, thinking to themselves, I too can grow enough spinach to last my family the summer. Last summer, Mark and I got into the craze as well … we filled one pot with four different kinds of flowers and bought a $4 tomato plant. We enjoyed these plants on our sun-filled back porch exactly one week. After that, we left for vacation and returned to witness the brown remnants of their previous glory.

In fact, as a couple we are notorious for killing plants. The bamboo plant Mark gave me for our first anniversary, dead. The tall, palm looking thing for my first mother’s day, dead. The mum to our house an autumn glow, which I was assured could be planted, dead. The white orchid Mark bought me for our third anniversary, dead. Well, and I’ve already told you about our tomato plant. Do you get the picture? We try, we really do. We continue to buy plants to brighten our home, and we continue to kill them. It's suggested that couples keep a plant before they try a dog, and that they definitely try a dog, before they try for a kid. We somehow got the order backwards, kids first, and thankfully, they have managed to survive ...  unlike our plants. (No dog yet, or maybe ever).

Alas, as more and more people post pictures of their sprouting vegetables, we are again convinced that we can make it in the gardening world and have decided to try one more time. This summer we have planted herbs. Four simple little plants: basil, cilantro, rosemary, and parsley. We purchased each at Lowe’s for $4. We chose these four, because they are ones we’d heard a lot about before, though honestly, I wasn’t sure how we would practically use them all.

Since bringing them home two weeks ago, we’ve learned a few things. Though the tags indicate that they can take full sun, this is not true for the basil, cilantro, and parsley. All three have turned brown from an extended stay on the back porch, which receives our morning sun. My mother-in-law informed me they need morning shade and afternoon sun. They have since been moved to the front porch in hopes of preventing them from falling prey to our killing curse. The rosemary is hearty enough to stay in the back.

I have also learned what each of these herbs is actually used for. Basil was the easiest for me. I knew to put it on a salad with fresh tomatoes, mozzarella, olive oil, and pepper. Delicious! If we don’t branch out at all with this herb this summer, owning it is worth it just for these occasional salads. Cilantro is for Mexican, who knew? A lot of people actually, but this is new information to me. We plan on improving our fajitas, guacamole, and tacos with this herb. Rosemary went on London Broil last night, and we're almost certain we were able to taste it.  It can also go on pork and in certain chicken dishes. Finally, the parsley be used in Italian, though we forgot to use it on Wednesday's meal, even after discussing it. With these general parameters, we hope to expand our  recipe collection by purposefully seeking ones that include our herbs.

Here’s our conclusion on the matter. Buying any of these herbs fresh in the grocery store will cost $2.60 (Food Lion), so if each herb is used only twice this summer, we’ve still broken even. Also, Lowe’s has a great return policy for dead plants, so if our notorious plant killing trend continues, our investments are insured. Finally, we’re hoping that owning these herbs will encourage us to be a bit more creative in our cooking. We do not have the time to make elaborate meals, so we stick mainly to grilling something delicious, with various fresh fruit and vegetables, and something a little heavier (brown rice, couscous, wheat pasta, sweet potato) on the side. Hopefully, these herbs will provide quick natural flavor to our relatively plain dishes.

I'm curious to know how you use these herbs in your cooking ... let me know!

Lesson Learned: It is possible and profitable to have a summer garden, even if it includes only four herbs.