Why Are You Crying, Mommy?

Last week, while the boys were in the bathtub, Quake holds up the baby shampoo/soap* and says, "Mommy, can Cha-Cha use this soap?"


"Sure. Wait, why?"


"Because I want to wash his hair."


So I helped him wet Cha-Cha's hair, and he went to washing the baby's hair. He's on his knees, massaging the shampoo on Cha-Cha's head, saying, "Does that feel good, Cha?" I only cried a little bit.


*method baby squeaky green hair + body wash in rice milk + mallow - love it! You know I'm cheap so this must be fabulous if I'm willing to pay for it. It doesn't have that cloying baby powder smell, and the lid is a cup

The Hormonal Madness Begins

I did not have bangs this morning when I

woke up. I did not visit a salon between

getting up and now. Yes, it's true. I have

once again started hacking off my own hair.

Come October it will be one year since my

last professional haircut. I avoid going

because it doesn't look horrible, and I have

no idea what I want done with it. Oh, and

I'm cheap.

Recently I took some time to flip through a few of those hairstyle magazines. I found nothing, nothing, nothing, that I liked. I didn't even swoon over any of the styles that would be impossible for me to pull off. Because really, if you can't fall madly in love with a hairstyle that requires genetic engineering to change the thickness and texture of your hair, what can you fall in love with?

I'd been toying with the idea of bangs for at least a few weeks. Then last night I had a dream that I'd already cut them. And, hey! If that isn't a hormonally induced incentive to get snippin' then I don't know what is.

Monkey Man is going to roll his eyes so hard you'll probably be able to hear it in China.

Btw, Quake, having slept with us last night, rolled over this morning and asked, "Can I go to school today?"