susan hayward photography

Summer Fun with Kids

Though it snowed here in Utah this morning, summer really is just around the corner, and I'm still not ready. But thanks to all of you who commented on my plea for summer fun ideas, things are looking a little better. You had some terrific tips and wonderful suggestions. I thought I'd post them all here, along with some things I've thought of, too.

Letterboxing and geocaching: I'm not sure what these are, exactly. But I'm curious. From what I gather it's a scavenger hunt type of thing. And maybe there's cash involved? Here's a link: letterboxing.org.

Water parks: As long as I can just watch, not actually wear a bathing suit in public and fling myself down a Plexiglas tube, I'm okay with this one. 

Backyard: Oh, yeah. I forgot about that one. We have a large back yard, with a swing set and a sand box (which my youngest claims to be infested with spiders. Okay, so we had some brown recluse spider problems last year, but we called Spider Man and he killed them all. At least, that's what he told me when I handed him the check.) The point is, sometimes good old fashioned fun in the back yard is better than the big trip to the art museum that your kids will moan and groan about it anyway (I know from experience). And it's close and free, and you can lock the doors to the house if you don't want the kids to come back in too soon. While they're out, you can catch a nap or hide the video games. You know, summer fun for mom.

Frisbee Golf: Our family loves to play frisbee golf. (Real golf takes too long and we'd rather spend our money on other things, like milk shakes and pizza.) There are a few parks around Salt Lake that have a frisbee golf course, and I believe there's one on the campus of Utah Valley University, but my husband has come up with one that encompasses our front and back yard. It involves a lot of trees, a swing set obstacle, a mailbox, and a cat. Don't worry, the cat is not a goal, she just likes to follow us while we play.

7-11: Hear me out on this one. I'm not a big proponent of that convenience store, 7-11, but there is one day a year that I'm a fan. On July 11 every summer you can get a free slurpee at any location. One year we set out on a All-City Slurpee Tour. We topped out at five, as I recall. Even the kids were clutching their guts and moaning, "I can't take it anymore." Great fun, that. Start early, though. Lots of people are hip to this one. And when they run out, you're out of luck. 

For the little tots: Summer's not too different from all the other days of the year for little ones, but with the warmer weather, they get to go outside a lot more. Think playdoh, shaving cream art and homemade popsicles, all of which are better outside. Give your little ones an old paint brush and a bucket of water and let them "paint" the sidewalk. Sidewalk chalk is always a hit, too.   

Family Fun: Hang out with cousins you don't get to see all the time. Go to the park or get together for a barbecue, or just run through the sprinklers in your back yard. 

Camp out in your back yard: My older kids and husband camp with the scouts every month, but the younger kiddo and I are always left at home. I'm thinking we'll borrow a tent and camp in our back yard one of these summer nights. 

S'mores: My sister's kids like to make roasted marshmallows over candle flames, but I'm thinking a little bigger this year. I'm working on convincing my dude that we need one of those nifty bonfire in your backyard things. One of the kids suggested digging a hole in the back yard for summer fires, but sadly the Dude vetoed that one. Here's a tip: To make s'mores easier, buy fudge striped cookies instead of graham crackers and chocolate squares. They're a lot less messy and taste just as good when you stick a roasted marshmallow between two of them. 

Beach/Mountain Wienie Roast: If you live near the ocean, head out for an evening bonfire. If you live near the mountains, head up the canyon for an evening under the stars. Bring along a package of hot dogs, some buns, a bag of chips, and some marshmallows. Oh, and binoculars might come in handy too. 

Brainstorm: Shannon suggested buying a poster board and brainstorming with the kids what they'd like to do for fun. Then try to cross off as many activities as you can. That way you'll have an on-going list of ideas, and the kids will have a visual reminder that they got to do a ton of fun stuff, despite what they may think.  On this note, take a look at this funny blog post suggested by Shelby: http://heymaughans.blogspot.com/2009/09/just-sittin-around.html

Use Coupons: Gocitykids.com has calendars of activities around town, and Utah Kids Club offers good deals for families for only $6 a month. (Think B1G1Free on kids' meals). Add to that an Entertainment Book, and you could do a lot of fun stuff on the cheap.

Antelope Island: Located on the Great Salt Lake, this island is home to antelope and buffalo roaming free (well, behind the fences anyway). You can camp here, ride bikes, or hike. Bring your bug spray, though. And don't go in the middle or end of summer, as the mosquitoes and freakishly large flies will send you home screaming. Also, it kind of smells bad. Kind of like the tuna cannery I once went to with my church youth group. Only tuna fish don't live in the Great Salt Lake--but brine shrimp do. 

Sports: Recreation centers offer team sports as well as Just-for-Fun sports programs. Just be careful what time of day you sign your kid up for. If you think your kids will enjoy running around the park when the temperature hovers around 105, you're in for a big surprise. Better to do the outdoor sports thing in the early summer, or if later in the summer, in the early part of the day. 

Swimming: In past summers, we've joined the recreation center pool. This year some of my kids don't want to swim, so we'll probably go a few times a week instead.  

For all you moms slathering down your kids with sun screen, don't forget to put some on yourself, too. As I've recently discovered, when you reach a certain age those cute little brown spots on your face can no longer be called freckles. They're age spots, and the sun just makes them darker. Swimming does involve wearing a bathing suit in public, which as you know I'm morally opposed to, but it's not so bad if you can find one with attached shorts (still on the look out for a replacement for mine). 

Camping and Hiking: In addition to church or scout camps, you can go camping and hiking as a family. If you're getting antsy to sleep out in nature, Christy suggested Moab is good place to go in the early summer, before it gets too hot down south. She also wrote that her family tye-dyes shirts to match so they can easily spot each other when they're out hiking. This would also be great for a day at Disneyland, or any crowded place where you can lose a kid. Brilliant! 

Two book suggestions for those of you hikers with kiddoes: Sixty Hikes within Sixty Miles of Salt Lake City and Hiking in Utah with Children. 

Festivals: Look in the paper or online for art festivals, ethnic festivals, or music festivals. In June Park City holds a huge art festival, and local communities have some too.  

Movies: Our dollar theater offers a summer movie club for kids that works out to be pretty cheap. As I recall, you pay ten bucks per kid and get to see a different movie each week all summer long. They're not new releases, or course, but they're all kid friendly. I really like going to the movies. And I really hate paying full price.  

Library: With free books, music and movies for the borrowing, story times, activities for teenagers, book groups, and family entertainment, who doesn't love the library? Our county library system has a summer reading program that involves prizes. I don't know about yours, but my kids love prizes. And I love that they're reading. 

Projects: Build a tree house (if you've got a good tree with strong branches), a bird house, or a bird feeder. Family Fun Magazine has tons of woodworking projects for both parents and kids on their website. If you and your kids are the more crafty sort, try your hand at collages, murals, or jewelry making. Or have your kids write a blog, start a book group, or organize a writing group. Sewing makes me break out in a rash, but I wouldn't mind learning how to do it better. And my kids should at least learn how to sew on a button, because I won't always be around to glue it back on for them, you know? 

When I was a kid, my mom created a notebook full of summer projects and skills. She assigned points to each project and paid us accordingly. She included typing, quilting, cooking, and sewing, among other things. One of the bigger projects involved cooking dinner for a week. She helped us make a menu, gave us money for groceries and helped us with the shopping. We were then in charge of all of the cooking and post-dinner clean-up. It was a useful experience, though according to my mom, none of us ever asked to do it again! I plan on carrying on this tradition with my kids, with a no frozen burrito, frozen pizza, or corn dog stipulation. And I want dessert every night. 

Also, remind your kids they can do SERVICE projects around the neighborhood for new moms, or tired moms, or the elderly. You know, without pay. Just to be nice. (Thanks, Michelle for that one.)

Grandma Camp: I heard about this a long time ago and have fantasized about it ever since. If you live close to your mother or in-laws, ask them to teach your kids how to make cookies or embroider or whatever, kind of like a summer day camp. It could be one day, a whole week, or if you're lucky, one day a week all summer. My sister suggested that if you don't live close to a grandma, perhaps you could divvy up camp days with a friend. Or maybe you know someone the grandmotherly age who would be willing to teach your kids something in exchange for some weeding or lawn mowing. 

Unplug Your Kids: When I was complaining about my kids being glued to the Wii for hours on end, my mother sent me an advertisement for a website devoted to getting kids outside for at least an hour a day. This reminded me of a news report I watched about tweenagers addicted to video games in Korea. They showed Korean kids about my boys' ages, zoning out in front of their computers, playing some online game that involved interacting with other players' characters. They'd play for hours--sometimes literally all day and all night. Their parents were so worried about their emotional and intellectual detachment from the family that they sent them to rehab clinics for video game addicts. And what do you think they did at these clinics? They jumped rope. They climbed trees. They played. Like little kids. Or at least like little kids used to play.

Anyway, the website is greenhour.org. If you're looking for suggestions of things to do outside, this is the place.  

Learn: Start a nature journal and go on a nature hike or walk, learn about birds and go bird watching, learn about animals and go to the zoo or a farm. Go on field trips that involve getting to know people in your community. On my street, there's a helicopter pilot, an air traffic controller, a nurse, a musician, and an older couple with an inordinate amount of bikes in their garage, which leads me to believe they know a bit about cycling. All of these people would probably be at least willing to talk to my kids about what they do, and if we're lucky we might be able to see where they work as well. 

Read: Keep your kids reading this summer and they'll do better in school next year. Bribe them if you have to. My kids love to have me read aloud to them every night (even the older ones!), and I must admit it's my favorite part of the day too. We like authors Roald Dahl, Beverly Cleary, and Mary Pope Osbourne. James Herriot and Jean Craighead Jones is good for middle schoolers. If you're going on a car-trip, check out some books on CD from the library. We like the Harry Potter books (can't beat Jim Dale's narration) most of all, but we've also enjoyed Kate DiCamillo stories. For those interested in wilderness survival, Hatchet is not only an excellent read, but a gripping tale listened to on CD as well.   

If you have a reluctant reader, try setting up a reading tent or nook either inside or outside your house. Stock it with a blanket, a litte battery-operated lamp, and a pillow. Or, if your child likes to play teacher, suggest she read to some stuffed animals or younger siblings. Offer points for books and a prizes to redeem. Reading may be too solitary for some kids, or a power struggle with the parent in charge of making sure the reading gets done. If that's the case, maybe it's time for your spouse to be the reading buddy. Sometimes if my kids get to read to their dad, they're more willing to do so. And if he'll read to them, they'll come running without any fuss. 

Schedules: My mother-in-law told me that when she was a child, she always had to do some chores before she could go out to play. I'd like to do that in my house, but my kids pitch a fit when I mention it, probably because they've seen me ignore the dirty dishes in the sink to slip on over to the library for a couple of hours instead. But this summer I'm determined to do things differently. I have already started talking to myself about this, repeating daily, I will not be the kitchen slave scrubbing thirty five dirty cups every day. I will not be the sock meister, picking up socks all over the house. I hereby declare that I will not get stuck in the kitchen making snacks and meals all day and all night. (My mother always said, "I'm not running a restaurant!" which was annoying when I was a kid and wanted pizza when she had made cabbage burgers. But now I get it. I really get it.) 

This brings up the idea of having a schedule for all those lazy summer days, not a rigid one mind you, because we are talking about summer vacation, after all. But it's a good idea to have a general theme for each day of the week. My sister-in-law Julie's schedule looks so very practical and so very fun, that I thought it would be a good idea to repost her comment here:

This is what I do, and my kids are 12 and 15.

1 day a week for groceries and chore stuff. One or both children is required to come with me.

1 day a week for basic shopping or appointments like hair cuts, dentist, getting shoes, etc.

1 day a week we go to the park or outside- preferably with friends.

1 day we have a field trip to a museum or fun zone of some kind. I use coupons, and find ideas in the Utah Mama's Handbook www.utahmama.com

1 day for library day.

That takes up either the morning or the afternoon. I also have each child choose a recipe to make for the week, and they aren't allowed to just make desserts. They have to make a main dish, a breakfast and a snack before they can make dessert.

We also have a craft project a week. This has changed some with my children getting older, and it has turned into bigger projects like sewing something. I'm toying with the idea of starting a dollhouse this summer.

That should be enough for now. My head is stuffed full of ideas and I don't think anything more will fit in there. If I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Same goes to you. If something occurs to you, shoot me an email ([email protected]) or comment on this post. Because we're all in this together. And if our kids don't want to do any of these fun things, maybe we could start a Mother's Summer Fun Support Group. No kids allowed. And no frozen burritos.  

Dear Mom

  

Dear Mom,

Today I watched a friend's child for a couple hours and learned a few things. First, she finds her father's toes frightening for some reason. Also, she told me "I like my mom better than anyone else in the whole world." I tackled the mom thing first. "You like your mommy best of all because you spend the most time with her," I told her. That made me realize that although I've railed against being a stay-at-home mom for the past twelve years, there's no one else I'd rather be liked by than my own children. Some friendships fade after some time. But a relationship with your kids lasts forever. Let's just cross our fingers that my kids will always love me, even when they can't stand to be seen with me.  

My friend's child thought about this for a minute, then said, "Yeah, but I still don't like my Dad's toes." This made me think of David Sedaris comparing his mother's toes to Fritos. It also made me think about your advice to get a pedicure, which I've never tried for fear of scaring the manicurist. After all, my feet have elicited such comments as, "Ew, gross!" and "What's wrong with your feet?" and "What is that?" (said with hand covering mouth as if in the early stages of vomiting, while pointing at my bunions, those large bulbous thingies next to my big toes.) I try to keep my feet at least partially hidden at all times. But I suppose if handling people's feet is your job, you must keep such comments to yourself. 

Luckily, I was able to cut her off at the next conversational pass, in which she was explaining why she refuses to kiss her mom goodbye, the woman she said a few minutes earlier was her favorite person in the whole world. "It's sooo embarrassing," this four year-old said in dramatic tones. 

On the way over, I had seen a dead bumblebee on the sidewalk and made a mental note to show it to her on the return trip to my house. It had rained all morning and the bee body was soaked, yet still fluffy, and the colors were brilliant. I told her that I had a surprise for her. But when she found out it was just a dead bug, she said something that sounded like, "Humph," and began chattering again. 

"No, look at it," I said, pointing with my shoe. She fell silent and leaned closer to the bee. I enjoyed the brief conversational reprieve, the smell of rain and worms, the sound of the birds singing in the trees. She had just started to tell me that someone in her family turned into a monster on a regular basis, which she attributed to some DNA cross wiring. As I am not a scientific person, I had no desire to get into the details of DNA, which are mostly a mystery to me, other than the fact that bunions can be inherited, along with an insatiable appetite for sweets. But also, I think we can inherit good things, like the ability to bake said sweets, and the emotional strength to withstand a lifetime of foot taunting. 

I showed her the bee's legs. "Look at how its legs are curled," I said. The bee lay on its back, its shiny legs curled under its dark face, like a dog begging for scraps. I rolled the bee over with my shoe (a part of me feared it wasn't actually dead, and given the opportunity would make a literal beeline for me) and the little girl drew back, placed her hand on my shoulder and whispered, "Oh." The bee looked almost cuddly with its fuzzy yellow and black stripes all puffed up. He was a little on the chubby side, too. But with that enormous black head, slightly ominous too. The closer we got to him, the more we could imagine him springing back to life. How could anything with colors like that be dead? I wondered aloud. 

It was a good afternoon, filled with baking brownies, listening to children's music about dinosaurs and doodle bugs, and painting pictures of trees with watercolors. You know, stuff you did with us when we were kids, and stuff my kids will no longer do with me. I had not realized how quiet the house had become without little ones, and how empty. I am surprised to find myself feeling this way, seeing as how I had ached to be alone when I was going bonkers with babies. But it turns out that being alone can get a little lonely. Who knew?    

It's night time as I write this. I have opened the window so I can hear the birds and, if I'm lucky, a bit of rain, too. But the rain has stopped and it's quiet, save the deep breathing of my husband next to me and an occasional sleep-muttering from the boys' room. And then the rain starts.  It begins so suddenly and thoroughly, that at first I think it must be the wind. Quite often canyon winds sweep through our neighborhood trees, sounding a lot like God shuffling an enormous deck of cards. Sometimes when the wind blows like this, I close my eyes and pretend that I'm out camping. There's a vague memory floating around in my head of being a little girl in Colorado on a family camp out and waking up in a green canvas tent. The morning air is crisp and cold and clean and somewhere nearby I can hear water gurgling over rocks. A breeze shimmies through the trees as I peek through the tent door. I think it sounds like the tissue paper Santa always puts in our gift boxes. I see you at the picnic table, pulling food out of a cooler for breakfast. You wear a sweatshirt zipped to the top with the hood pulled over your black wavy hair. Your dark eyes are frowzy at the edges when you look at me, and then they get all crinkly as you smile and say, "Morning, Susie." At that moment, I realize that I love you better than anyone else in the whole world. And at this moment, some thirty-three years later, I realize that I still do. 

Love,

Pumpkin

In the Middle of the Road

 

Dear Person Who Yelled at Me From Your Car (Which was a silver sedan, as I recall):

This morning as I was out jogging, minding my own business, you shrieked, "Get out of the middle of the road!" I did not have my ipod with me; I heard you perfectly fine. You did not need to yell. In fact, had you stopped, we could have had a nice conversation about WHY I was running in the middle of the road in the "storage lane" as they call it here in Utah. Perhaps you are not like me and do not have hip and joint pain and require a level surface upon which to run. The next time you drive down this particular road, notice how sloped the sides of the street are to allow for rain and snow to drip down into the gutter. That slope is murder on the legs, let me tell you. It makes your body work harder on one side, as if one leg were shorter. Also, with one leg doing more work, your hip starts to slip, causing throbbing pain.  So I run down the middle, where, as far as I recall from driver's education classes, cars are not allowed to linger. And I run against traffic so I can see what or who is coming. That's why I saw you coming. But I didn't expect the shrill cry of verbal phlegm launched from the safety of your speeding car. You startled me. No, you rattled me. After the initial shock, I began to fume, calling you things that I cannot repeat here. But that fuming fueled the rest of my run. Which happened to be in the middle of the next road. 

What I'm trying to say here is shame on you. Your behavior was right on par with the beer-bellied-Harley-driving-long-haired dude that yelled, "Run faster!" at me when I was jogging while seven months pregnant with my third child. Believe you me, it was really hard to resist flipping him off. But it's hard to outrun a motorcycle, especially when you're lugging around a child in your uterus. 

If you would like to discuss this matter further, you know where to find me. I'll be the one in the middle of the road.  

Sincerely, 

An Innocent Jogger with Bad Joints

P.S.

I also heard you call me an idiot as you drove off, which was a very cowardly thing to do.  I hope that was your cell phone I found in the middle of the road a few steps later, which I kicked down the storm drain. (Just kidding. I did see a cell phone, but I didn't kick it. Although I did wish it was yours. This prompted a long discussion with God and a few apologies on my part. He told me that you were there to teach me a lesson in patience. He also said that if you keep it up, you might mess up your final judgment, which I assume means that you will have to repeat seventh grade for the rest of the eternity.) 

How Many More Days?

I just looked at the calendar and noticed how close we are to the end of school. THE END I tell you. The end of a peaceful, quiet house and the beginning of chaos. Kids home all day long, moaning, "I'm bored" every five minutes while I try to get something important done, like read a book. I've been known to resort to cleaning just to have some time alone (because what kid wants to clean at all, let alone in the summer?) And you know how much I love cleaning. 

So I'm going to make a plan. I want to create a summer activities list for my kids, much like one my mother made for me back when I was young and annoying. But I can't find the notebook she made for me, and my sister has misplaced hers too. I've asked my mother to make a list of what she can remember, and my sister has given me a few ideas as well. Yet I know I will need more. My kids have Wii Brains, which means they have the attention span of sand fleas. Aside from moving to the woods or a third world country, my only other option is to come up with stuff that is appealing to a thirteen-year-old, an eleven-year-old, and an eight-year-old--and to me, since I'll be doing most of it with them. 

This is where you come in, dear readers. Any ideas?

Happy Mother's Day!

You know, this is one of those times I'm glad to be a mother. I could get all sappy about how much I love my children and how happy I am to be their mother. And that would be true. It was a joyous day when my ovaries kicked in and the first occupant moved into my uterus. But that's not what Mother's Day is really about for me. It's more about relaxing without guilt. Getting my way without argument. Not cooking. Not cleaning. Going where I want and when. Come to think of it, this is kind of like reverting to my pre-mother status, back when selfish was acceptable and even expected. Back when my biggest worry was what to wear the next day. 

My wish for you is an equally rewarding weekend. Also, I hope your family will do the dishes accumulating in the kitchen sink today instead of waiting for you to do them on Monday, when you are no longer the Queen Mother, just "Hey Mom!" Now if you'll excuse me, there's an electric blanket and a good book calling my name, which doesn't start or end with an "M" at the moment. But it does begin with "Your Highness." And with that I say, Cheers to Motherhood and Ovations to Ovaries. 

   

  

Would You Believe I'm in The Witness Protection Program?

So many of you gave me some great suggestions and sympathy for the hair fiasco, and I say thank you. You are my tribe, and I plan on smoking a peace pipe in your honor tonight as I sit in my tepee, where my husband has banished me and Bellatrix. (Just kidding. I'm sitting in my office while my husband watches Seinfeld in the other room. But in many ways, this office is like my tepee. Also, I'm not smoking anything, though you might see some smoke coming out of my ears and flames flickering at my nostrils.) 

When I squirted the tube of liquid death all over my head (aka hair dye) I was supposed to end up with my real hair color, you see, or as close to it as I remember it being after years and years of coloring. This was supposed to transform me to the "college student Susan" from the early Nineties. But this is not me now, or then. I have never had black hair. And no matter what my husband says, this is BLACK, not dark brown. 

I started getting mad about it the other night. "Why can't you like me the way that I am?" I asked my husband, wagging my finger at him. He had no response to that. After all, I dyed my hair for him, not me. Whenever I told him that I was going to just let my hair go grey as it wanted to, he responded by pumping his fist in the air and saying, "Fight! Fight! Fight it, Babe!", as in, Try to look young as long as possible. Even if you're not twenty-two anymore. So I did try to fight. And I was defeated.

So thanks to all of you who could commiserate. My sister Laura told me to wash with certain shampoos to make it fade faster. And that has worked somewhat. Instead of deep black, my hair has settled comfortably into a murky grey-ish black. My other sister Mary assured me that I look just fine. Mary is overly optimistic, though, not to mention way nicer than I am. Also, she tells me that my hair has never been mousy brown, which is not true. (And I can tell you, if there was a box of hair dye labeled "mousy brown" I would have snatched it right up.) 

Other friends emailed me with tales of relatives who dyed their hair and then, when it grew out a bit ended up with a white streak through it, "kind of like a skunk." This made me glad that I don't have the skunk thing going on. YET. The same friend reminded me that it will grow out eventually. And when I'm a grandmother, grey hair is not only acceptable, it's a badge of honor. I wonder if I can be a foster grandmother at thirty-eight?  

But some friends have already gone grey, like Melanie, who told me she's been letting her hair do its grey thing since she was thirty. To her I say, Rock on, sister. I've seen recent pictures, and I can tell you she's beautiful.  

I'll admit that before I did this to my hair I was starting to look like Janice Joplin with my frizzy fried split ends and tired, limp locks. It was time for a hair cut, and I did manage to squeeze that into my day before I ruined everything. Yet, now that I no longer look like a hippie chick, my appearance has not improved. I still go to bed every night thinking that when I wake up, my hair will look much better. And when I stumble to the bathroom every morning and flick on the light, it's Bellatrix in the mirror, not me. I have to stifle a scream. Then I have to repent for the swear words that come to mind as I lean closer to myself and look for any change in hair hue.

The situation is intolerable. I do not drink, and never have. But this is one of those times when that little habit might have come in handy. As it is, I've been chugging mugs of stiff hot chocolate all week long. However, there's only so much chocolate I can consume without breaking out, so I've resolved to do something. I have decided to take my friend Michelle's advice and call a professional. When I told my husband this, he said, "Why?" 

I stared at him then. "Are you blind?" I asked, pointing to my hair. "I hate this." 

My husband looked at me and my hair, which for the fourth day in a row has been in a pony tail. "I like it," he said. There's no way this can be better than dark brown mixed with grey. I'm sorry, but I'm not that gullible. His statement was clearly a defensive move. Strike before being struck. Admit no fault and take no blame. 

If I had a green pepper at that moment, I would have launched it at his head. But as I usually do this when I'm pregnant, it might have sent him the wrong message. Instead of "I'm sorry, dear" he would have said, "When are you due?" As it was, I didn't say a thing, just trudged up the stairs muttering to myself. 

Stephanie Nielson

I've heard of the NieNie dialogues, and read a lot of See Jane Enjoy It, but I've never watched a story about the creator of this incredible blog devoted to the joys of motherhood. You probably have all seen it, but I thought I'd post it here in case you haven't. (And thanks to my friend Chizuko for telling me about it on Facebook!) Besides, it's a good reason to spend a few minutes on LDS.org as opposed to, say, MSNBC or some other such nonsense.

Incidentally, it was good to hear from a woman who sees her role as a mother from a divine perspective. Nielson has a genuine sense of purpose in her mothering. She doesn't see herself as the free housekeeper and chauffeur. She's a mother "who enriches and teaches," which she views as a priviledge. "To me," Nielson says, "beauty and motherhood are the same thing." I could learn a lot from this woman. 

 

Bad Hair Day

My husband has been begging me to dye my hair for months now. I've been able to put him off with complaints of no time, no money, no wanna, but finally yesterday I gave in and did the deed. To save money, I bought some L'Oreal stuff at the grocery store, despite my record of two disastrous self-coloring jobs over the years, one of which occurred around Halloween, which was fortunate, considering I gave myself orange hair. It made for a good costume, but when the day after Halloween rolled around, the party was over and ghoulish was no longer in. 

I've had professionals color my hair since the Carrot Top Debacle, but I have to be honest here. I simply don't like getting my hair done. I despise sitting in front of a mirror for longer than ten minutes, and no matter where I go, my hair never looks like it did when I was in my early twenties, before my first child gave me grey hair. Had I known then how things would turn out now, I would have enjoyed my hair a lot more. I would not have complained that it was too frizzy, or too long, or too brown. If I had known that in my late thirties I would be battling coarse shoots of grey that look a little too much like cat whiskers, I would have built a shrine to my hair in all of my college apartments. I would have lit candles and prayed to the gods of mousy brown hair and thanked them for the color, however dull it may have seemed. At least when I looked in the mirror back then I recognized myself. Now, when I look in the mirror I see someone trying to battle the inevitable. 

So now my hair is not brown, as it was supposed to have been. It's what my husband calls "dark brown," but which I call "black." Not jet black, but black-ish. Today I spent hours washing it in various shampoos women on the internet advised me would surely lighten things up. But alas, when I emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam and wiped the mirror with my pruney fingers, my hair looked the same. That is to say, like Morticia Adams. My best bet, the internet women advised, is to wait it out for a couple of months until the color fades a bit and try again. Until then, I am to wear my hair in a pony tail and try not to scare anyone. On the up side, I could call this a mid-life crisis, a yearning to look like a Goth or a Mod. But somehow, when even my cat looks at me askance, as if checking to make sure she's sidling up to the right person, this doesn't make me feel better.