famous last words

The Lord has blessed our region with abundant rainfall the past few days, bringing relief to parched land (and fried senses). Temperatures in the 90s are a welcome reprieve from day after day (after day after day, and into the nighttime hours) of daytime highs upwards of 110 degrees.

With all this rain, it's mud season revisited.

Standing at the window watching the rain (for which we are so grateful), the lads can barely contain themselves and their desire to get out there and play in the rain. I can understand that. I also know, though, that the deluged planter boxes with what was our vegetable garden before the heat spell scorched it now thick with mud will prove too tempting to lads who claim they only want to go outside to wash their dirty, dusty trucks. As I was not in a position to clean up a huge muddy mess this morning, their request was denied, with empathy.

They promised they wouldn't get in the mud, which I believe was sincere. Such a promise is no match for the kind of mud we're dealing with, though. It's the stuff of mythical monster truck rallies.

Acknowledging their disappointment but holding my ground, I tried to offer some equally enticing indoor activity ideas, such as putting their clean laundry away.

(I'm a kill-joy, remember, but the elder lad at least did oblige.)

In a last-ditch effort to obtain the elusive permission by promising (again) to stay away from the mud, the elder lad made one final appeal.

"You can trust me. I'm a six-year-old."

Epilogue: The bambini reveled in the soggy sandbox at my beloved's parents' house this afternoon while I went to get a haircut.  When we got home (and with my permission), they practically ran straight from the garage to the back door to their happy little mud hole.  Just as I expected -- and just as it should be, they were soon covered in enough goo to warrant the moniker "mud bugs" when they came in.  They knew to head straight for the laundry room, then the shower. 

And every day the elder lad is growing in trustworthiness, becoming more and more of a "big kid."

just sayin'

I went to the salon this morning for a little spruce up to my neglected mane.  O happy day!  Upon my return, however, there were some mixed reviews.

my beloved: "you look great, Sweetheart!"

younger lad: "why does your hair look like that?"
me: "like what?"

him: "weird."
me: "how?"

him: "like [the two-year-old lass's]."
me: "how should it look?"


him: "curly."  (the lass's is *straight*, and she thinks my hair looks "good".)

Once I came home from the salon all coiffed and curled.    The younger lad said I looked "like a tiger".  That was a compliment coming from him.  I assured him my locks would be back to wavy soon enough...

stay home day

Most days are "work days" for my beloved, and others are "stay home days."  How we relish the latter ones.  On this particular stay home day, we have literally been at home all day.  This is not unusual, as we have deliberately kept from taking on outside commitments and obligations during this brief season of family life, knowing the importance of just being with our bambini.  Settling into this home-based existence has been a challenge for me, because I'm one who likes to be out and about.  With three children in car seats and my ever-growing baby belly, however, getting out is not as easy as it once was.  I still do it nearly every day, as otherwise I get pretty antsy, but not today.

Instead, there was breakfast casserole this morning, haircuts for the lads after they happily cavorted in the muddy dirt box in the backyard as my beloved tended the garden (those are some of the salad greens, mega radishes, and wee little 'maters pictured above), baking a blueberry buckle, book reading, laundry, and Legos, among other things.

It's been a glory day.  I'll be ready to get out tomorrow.

super cuts

In all the hours I spent on the piano bench in the practice room poring over scores learning repertoire and developing dexterity and finger independence by technical exercises, I never envisioned putting these skills to use cutting other people's hair.  I can't even fix my own hair. This does not bode well for my lass.

For a long while now, though, I've been cutting the lads' hair, but this morning my beloved took a seat in the stylist chair (sans booster).  I was kinda nervous, since there's a big difference between a young lad's home haircut and one on a grown man, but I am humbled to say it came out alright (if I do say so myself) with lots of coaching from my beloved as to how the professionals do it.

When my elder lad was a baby, we trimmed his bangs a couple of times, and my beloved even gave him a haircut or two.  Then it grew and grew, and the lad simply wasn't keen on the whole hair-cutting business.  Figuring it was just hair, after all, and not worth a battle just yet, we let it grow out.  Then enough was enough.  One Good Friday I took some scissors and started to trim some off the back while he sat on the back porch at my mother-in-law's house planting some seeds in a pot or something.

"What are you doing, Mama?" he asked me.

"Just trimming," I replied.  But I was pretty hesitant...

My mother-in-law (herself the mother of three boys) told me at the time, "Eventually it'll be no big deal."

"Eventually?!  There isn't going to be an eventually.  This is a one-time deal.  We're going to the barber shop next time." I told her.  I had no intention of repeating this exercise.  Silly me.

When it became apparent that sitting in the barber's chair was not going to happen anytime soon, I checked out some books from the library to learn some techniques, and now I'm pretty well-practiced with scissors (clippers are another story).  We have our routine down: both boys get their hair wet via a dunk in the tub (they hate the spray bottle).  Then they take turns in the chair with the booster seat that we bring into the bathroom and they both watch a video on our little DVD player.  Works pretty well (most of the time).

In thinking about all the skills I have cultivated as a mother since the time my first lad was born, some make more sense than others.  This hair-cutting business is not one of the skills I thought I would develop.  But I have out of necessity, and it's one I'm comfortable making use of when necessary.  I don't plan to be their stylist the rest of their lives, but for now it works for us (just so long as they have a good video to watch).

As for me, I slipped out yesterday to the salon and returned home with my hair cut and coiffed (but not colored, despite a few gray hairs that are making themselves known).  The outing did Mama a world of good, but not quite so much as returning home to the joyous shouts of my bambini saying "Mama, you look pretty!"

God love them.