• Sarah’s haircut was a total success! Jana only took a little bit off, and the curls are still there! In fact, her hair is even CURLIER than it was, which makes me pretty stinking happy.
• Jana was even able to give Linnea a haircut. Linnea has a LOT of hair. A LOT. I’m not sure how I can emphasize this for you, but she was one of those toupee babies and never lost any of it. I had to do clippies and ponytails for her before she was 12 months old. A LOT of hair. And she wants to grow it out long, and it just looks terrible because there’s SO much of it. But Jana trimmed it, and shaped it, and it looks so much better than it did!
• Jana also waxed my eyebrows and gave me two blue extensions for vacation. I have always wanted brightly colored hair (it was growing up with Rainbow Bright and SeaWees that did it, I’m positive), but between being a pastor and working for Fashion Emporium: I never did it. I am SERIOUSLY digging it. I tried to talk Nea into getting bright pink, but she wouldn’t do it.
• A HUGE thanks to Jana of Salon Monroe for entertaining the estrogen contingent of Familia Beege yesterday afternoon. If you live in the area and aren’t getting your hair cut there: why the hell not?!
• I got the results of my fasting bloodwork back, and the good news is that I am NOT diabetic! I don’t gots the sugahs! I was worried, given the fact that I’m practically a living, walking, talking pamphlet of risk factors for Type II diabetes. But I’m good. Hooray!
• I’d lost 12 pounds in about 3.5 weeks. Sweeeeeeeeeet.
• My cholesterol is a little wonky. The bad stuff is a smidge high, and the good stuff is about half where they want it to be. The doctor said that the changes I’ve made in my diet will help that, and so would exercise (dammit. I KNEW she was going to say that…).
• We leave for vacation tomorrow. Can you sense a palpable sense of excitement, pulsating from the Pacific Northwest? That would be me and Nea, egging each other on about THE BEACH. M and Sarah will probably make Linnea and I sleep together tonight, because we’ll both be too excited to sleep.
• I have a crap ton of stuff to do to get ready for tomorrow, but slept like crap last night, so I think I’m going to lay down, read some Harry Potter, and see if I doze off.

I’m outta here, lazies and germs (that’s what my favorite science teacher of all time used to call his classes). See you after vacation!!!!

Transcript of another conversation between myself and Linnea.

Linnea: Mama, whenever I look at you, it makes me want to burp.
Mama: Um….OK.

Me and my gas-inducing good looks….

Linnea has been counting down the sleeps until vacation ever since she could fit all the sleeps on one hand. This has led to my being greeted every morning with an ecstatic update on how many more sleeps we have until THE BEACH (emphasis hers, but if I were saying it, I’d emphasize it, too).

Sarah was born with fine, blonde fuzz. It took a long time to grow in (compared to her older sister who was one of those “toupee babies”), and when it did, we were all delighted to see bouncy, sweet ringlets. I have resisted cutting it for over two years now…but it’s getting too long. When it’s wet, it hangs 3/4 of the way down her back–but springs back about 3 inches because of hte curl. But it’s getting too long. She doesn’t like to have it brushed, and when fine hair is that long: it gets tangled, and that makes her not like the whole brushing hair thing even more.

So: today, Sarah goes in for her first haircut. I am heartsick that the curls might be gone forever after today. I put her hair in ponytails, and they turn into little sausage curls. People are always asking me if I curl her hair. I tell them God is her stylist. I will miss those curls everso if they are just a vestiage of her babyhood. But at the same time: I can’t never cut her hair just because I’ll miss the curls. By kindergarten she’d look like a blonde Crystal Gayle. Except curly.

THIS is one of those things they don’t warn you about when it comes to motherhood. Emotional attachment to curls, to itty bitty baby tshirts, to a goofy, toothless grin, to well loved “lovies” that smell like your sleeping child; sweet little outgrown shoes…you get the picture.

For instance: a while back I took the girls to Costco. Sarah was cranky, so (in a rare show of maternal insanity) I let her bring her lovie (which was actually Linnea’s lovie) “Hi Puppy” into the store with her. Sure enough, Hi Puppy fell out of the cart unnoticed at some point. We didn’t realize it until we were done shopping and had gone through checkout and were on our way out the door. So we went back, back-tracked (and naturally, it had been one of those wandery, meandery Costco trips): no Hi Puppy. Nea was in tears, calling out, “Here Hi Puppy! Come here, boy! C’mon! Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Puppy! Here, puppy!” Sarah was helping. And I confess that even *I* was upset that Hi Puppy was gone. We’ve had Hi Puppy a long time. He’s a sweet golden lab, and has given both girls many hours of quality snuggling.

We finally gave up, Linnea (who was sitting in the cart seat) slumped against me, crying quietly. Sarah seemed largely unaffected. As we neared the exit, I spotted Hi Puppy sitting on a concrete pillar next to the receipt checker. I was SO happy! I exclaimed, “You have our puppy!” She smiled, and handed it over, saying, “I hoped whoever loved this puppy would come see me! Here you go!”

All three of us were joyful at the return of Hi Puppy. A stuffed animal. A cheap, Ikea stuffed lab. This is some of what it means to be a mother. Getting all kinds of sloppy sentimental about stuff you could have cared less about before you were a mom.

Two more sleeps…

Scene: The bathroom, in the frantic, Sunday-morning, getting ready for church rush.
Players: Beege (Mama), Linnea (herself)

Linnea (hurrying into the bathroom and lifting her foot waist high while scrabbling at the door frame for balance): Mama, look.

Beege (not giving too much credence to the drama, since Linnea is known to have a flair for the dramatic): What’s up, Buttercup?

Linnea: Look. My foot. It’s green.

Beege (giving said green-markered foot a once over): Why, so it is. What do you suppose that means? Did you and Sarah get into the markers last night?

Linnea: No. I’m not sure how to break this to you, Mom, but I think it means I’m turning into an alien. It’s going to be OK. I’m a little bit sad about it, but I can still be your kid. I’ll just be an alien kid.

Beege: Well, as long as you’re still my kid, I won’t worry about it.

Linnea: OK. Mom? Maybe you could worry just a little.  

Beege: OK. I’ll worry about it a little, but not too much.

Linnea (falling over slightly as she looses her grip on the door frame): Thanks!

Why is the American press so single-minded when it comes to a story? We have a 24-hour news cycle. Surely not ALL 24 hours need to be dedicated to something as mundane as the death of a pop star?

People die. Famous people die. Weird people die. It happens.

But personally? I’d much rather hear about the people who are dying for a voice in Iran, or people who are working to bring understanding in North Korea, or address wrong-doings around the world.

Michael Jackson? Just a man. Just one of many people who will die this week. And one who’s death, in the long run, might end up meaning the least of all of them.

I had to have labwork drawn this morning. Fasting bloodwork, which sucked, because I was hungry. But more than hungry: I wanted my freaking coffee! Now hand it over, before I cut you! (Seriously. I was that crabby about it.)

After two kids, one of which was carried through a high-risk pregnancy, I’m pretty much over my needle phobia. That doesn’t mean I like it. It just means I don’t burst into tears and jerk my arms away from the lab techs and force them to put me in restraints anymore (incidentally: if anyone knows of a way to get over freaking out over the puff of air in your eye glaucoma test at the eye doctors: I’m listening. That thing still makes me curl up in a ball and cry.). I’m used to being a pincusion for medical personnel. (Also, after two children, I’ve pretty much lost any sense of modesty I ever had. I will pop out a breast or stick my feet in stirrups for anyone in a labcoat.)

But there’s always a moment when I think, “Yep. There it is. Unconsciousness, lurking at the edges. Breathe, Beege. Breathe. Breathe in…two, three…out…two, three…don’t keel over, don’t keel over, don’t keel over, don’t–oh, thank freaking Jesus, I’m done!”

I don’t mind seeing blood. I mind seeing my blood, though.  And seeing multiple vials of my life-force, laying there on the lab table, a thick, dark red…oog. I got out there in a hurry.

And beat feet to Starbuck’s.

We purchased some TRULY kick-ass sandcastle buckets. We’ll have round turrets, and square turrets, and big turrets and little turrets, and Nea and Saysa each got their own personal set of: sand scoop, sand rake, and sand sifter (I figure: head all arguments off at the pass, each girl has one of everything). We are SO ready for sandcastle-ing.

Last year’s sandcastle-ing involved Sarah consuming a lot of the building medium. I’m hoping that this year contains less “sand poop”.

The only thing that I’m still looking for is a sweatshirt-type thing for Sarah to wear in case the beach is cold. She might end up wearing one of Nea’s, because I’m having a devil of a time finding sweatshirts in stores in almost-July. Go figure.

This time next week? I’ll be beaching, baby.

I made this sandwich for breakfast this morning. It SOUNDS iffy. It totally does, and I will own that completely.

But in reality? SO not iffy.

I took two pieces of toast, spread some almond butter on them, added some meat candy left over from last night’s BLTs and some sliced banana.

The only critique I have is I should have done a smidge more almond butter, and a skoshe less banana. Otherwise? Damn good.

Today was a good day. It was HOT, so I took the girls outside this morning and they ran through the sprinkler. THEN Mama got the kick-ass idea of turning the slide on their playscape into a waterslide by aiming the sprinkler at the slide, and a riotous good time was had by all. Daddy called mid-riot and suggested we go out for Mexican food for lunch.

Yay! Lunch!

After lunch:

Yay! Bookstore!

After bookstore:

Yay! Naps!

A good day. Even though I had to wash my sheets TWICE. *insert mildly exasperated maternal eyeroll here* I washed my sheets this morning. Not the mattress pad. I washed the mattress pad last week. After nap, the girls were coloring in their room…or so I thought. Turns out? Sarah spent some time decorating the blank white canvas of my mattress pad with vivid blue marker. So, off comes the mattress pad and into the washer.

Meanwhile: Linnea was playing outside. She came in, hot, sweaty, dirty. I was giving her some water when she announced that she had wanted to make a bed outside, but the grass was too prickly, so she took my sheets off the line and made a bed from them. In one of the flowerbeds. So, we go out, collect the sheets, and put them back through the washer and back on the line.

Tonight I will be sleeping on the cleanest sheets ever.

I stayed up way too late last night. First, we had to watch the entire second and part of the third disc of Weeds.  I freaking LOVE that show. I forget how much I like it, until we watch it and I just want to watch the entire damn season in one night (which, I think would be possible, because they’re only 25 minute episodes).

Then: none of your business.

Then: M and I just started talking.  Talking in a way that we haven’t talked in a long time–we talked about me and the church that I so desperately want; we talked about some of the guys he’s working with in the jail and how so many of the problems those guys deal with can find their roots in crap-ass parenting and/or parental rejection; we talked about how cute our babies are; we talked about the art piece I made for him for Father’s Day, and how I thought he should take it to work with him because he doesn’t want pictures of us around where inmates could see them, but he’d like to have something to remind him of his “three golden girls”; we talked about our mothers; we talked about the garden–pretty much anything that entered our heads to talk about. What we didn’t talk about were how the girls had been that day, or what he did, or what I did, or whether it was bath night, or if the girls could watch an episode of “Backyardigans” rather than have storytime before bed, and whose job it was to go and put the fear of God into them so they’d FINALLY stop giggling and playing and go to sleep. Granted, some of that was because we’d talked about all that already, but I’ll take what I can get.

We’re making a concerted effort to be more like husband and wife and less like mommy and daddy, or co-parent, or even Beege and M, two separate entities linked only by mingled genetic material.

I’ve been having a year of mindfulness. And today, I’m so grateful for a night where my beloved and I talked to one another until we fell asleep holding hands.

Life is good.

The Countdown

This time next week, we’ll be on our way to vacation! Seven days, baby. Six sleeps. And then: