snip, snip

I like shaggy hair on my little men.

I figure they've got their whole grown-up existence to wear a fade. Not everyone agrees with me on this point, though. Apparently, the woman who "trimmed" their hair yesterday doesn't like long hair on boys.

They have school pictures today, so I thought it was a good excuse for a little trim & reshaping of the boys' locks. I should have turned around & run for the hills when the stylist loudly exclaimed about the length of their hair & how desperately they needed a haircut as soon as we walked in the shop.

I didn't.

I put my sweet, shaggy-haired Thing 1 into her chair and told her I was looking for a trim, maybe an inch and to make it lie properly again. She started at the back. Things were looking pretty good. Then she grabbed the front of his hair and told him to hold still while she "got all of that hair out of his face."

And gave my son eyebrow-length bangs.

After she finished chopping off his golden tresses, she dusted him off and informed him that he now had "a long, boy's haircut."

Since I hadn't managed to save his brother, I decided to sacrifice Thing 2's hair as well. I helped him into the chair, took a deep breath, and told her to give him "the same." His ended up even shorter somehow.

She was quite friendly, chatting with me about the twins as she hacked at their hair. She asked if they were identical & commented that Thing 2 seemed smaller. I replied that he was about an inch shorter, plus the shoes he had picked to wear that day were flatter (Thing 1 had on regular tennis shoes, Thing 2 was wearing loafers).

Her response: Well, you don't want them in high heels when they've got long hair.

Um. Pretty sure Lightning McQueen sneakers are nowhere near ladies shoes.

I have become convinced that this woman thought it was her personal duty to make sure my little men had haircuts that conformed to her standards of acceptable for boys. Can a hairstylist be a political activist?

Here they are, still handsome as ever, but not looking at all like themselves...just in time for school pictures.

P.S. In case you are wondering, W has been pretty vocal about preferring his hair long, like it was before. N thought his was okay at first and then realized that he couldn't chew on it anymore, so he changed his mind.

how we spent our Easter break...

here's a brief photo safari of some of the things we did over Easter break.

we made "palm" branches and shouted "hosanna!"

we mailed some filled eggs to far-away friends

we made jelly bean prayer jars

we made our very own dogwood centerpiece

we had a modified seder meal

we "painted" sugar cookies

we decorated crazy eggs

If we were still living in Spain, we would be enjoying one more day of holiday: Easter Monday. We are celebrating by gloriously doing NOTHING.

Mommy, WOW! I'm a big kid now!

One day about 2 weeks ago I accidentally potty trained Shorty.

He knew what the potty was and knew if he used it he'd get stickers on his chart and M&Ms in his tummy. He knew that he'd get to wear his super-cool Thomas underpants if he started to use the potty as more than just a place to sit while he brushed his teeth.

However, the tiny man was not really interested in giving it a go...and I was not interested in a big fight. You can read about my fights with his brothers here and here and here and here.

One Thursday, we went to watch the Brothers swim and then collect them from school. This usually takes 45 minutes. Naturally, I didn't bring a clean diaper. Also naturally, Shorty pooped 2 minutes after we arrived. I took him into the restroom, cleaned him up, rummaged through the emergency clothes kept at the school, and found a pair of underpants. We put them on, and I instructed him to keep his pants dry, promising that he could wear his Thomas underpants when we got home if he did.

That was that, my friends. He's been clean and dry ever since. There was a day of minor rebellion this past week after we discovered that Daddy had eaten all the M&Ms, but we pushed through. Now I officially have a house full of big boys.

And I would say that somebody is a little excited about wearing Thomas the Tank Engine on his hiney.

Who Knew?

A few weeks back I was having a particularly rough day with the boys. They were being wild and disobedient. And it was cold and damp enough outside that we couldn't just open the doors and run like mad or head to the park. What I needed was chocolate a dose of sanity, so I headed out the door to pay too much money for coffee and cookies and muffins for the four of us. Well, coffee only for one of us, but you get the picture.

At this point in time, I was beyond frustrated. I had used up my "sweet and patient" voice & even run through all of the "angry mama" voice that I had.

I had moved on to "resigned to their misbehavior and too tired to really care anymore."

So, as the boys were whining and complaining and not listening to me in the coffee shop, I would sigh and say things like

• *sigh* I can't understand you when you are whining, so you had better try again.
• *sigh* It doesn't matter how much you complain about it, you aren't getting another cookie.
• *sigh* Will you please just sit your bottom down like a big boy?
• *sigh* No, you may not show me how to do a somersault right now.

All the while, thoughts of how irritating my children were being were running through my head, as well as calculations for how early I thought I could get them into bed that night.

As we were packing up to leave, not one, but TWO different tables full of people complimented me on how PATIENT and KIND I was being with my children, adding how rare it was to see such loving parenting when kids are misbehaving in public.

*gulp* uh, thanks. 

Good thing they couldn't hear my internal monologue. Particularly the parts where I thought about just leaving the kids there for a few hours.

Apparently, my "too tired to care" voice comes across as "caring." Who knew?

Things I Love about the New House or Less is More

Is it sick to say that I'm downright giddy about cutting our square footage in half?

the buffet in the dining room

Over the last few years, the houses we've lived in have gotten slowly bigger. An extra bedroom here, an office there. Before I knew it, we had nearly tripled the size of the townhouse we started out in. And had acquired enough stuff to fill all of that space.

Sure, we had plenty enough room at the last house for my parents, my mother-in-law, my brother, and my brother- and sister-in-law to all come and have a bed to sleep on, each in a different room of the house, without batting an eye or doing any shuffling of our normal sleeping arrangements. But can I tell you how often all of those people came to visit at the same time?

Not once.

i love the little details that go into things like heating ducts

So for the vast majority of the time, we had several rooms full of furniture that we never even touched. A sofa I never sat on. Beds that were never slept in. Empty dresser drawers. Stuff. Sitting there. Collecting dust.

claw-foot tub

Even rooms that seemed "practical" when we were moving in (the play room, for example) really became a place to throw stuff and shut the door every night on nights that I didn't feel like cleaning. The space didn't bring more family together, it allowed me to shut the door on family when I didn't want to deal with them.

Not that I would ever send my kids to the playroom and shut the door.

Never.

detail of the buffet glass

So here I am, sitting in a house that is significantly smaller than anyplace we've lived in recently. And I love it. I love the charm that is built into a home that was constructed roughly a century ago. I love that this house was built by the man who founded the little village (neighborhood, now) where we live in order to provide housing for his employees. I love that supposedly he brought much of the wood down from the Chicago World's Fair rather than allowing it to be thrown away (we may be walking on the very stage Nikola Tesla stood on, for all I know).

dining room: bay window, corner cupboard, chandelier

I love that my family is here with me as I type this, crawling all over me, rather than in some other corner of the house. I love the forced togetherness that the smaller space requires. I love that I can't be as selfish with how I spend my time. I don't have a choice about being engaged in my children's play, for they are playing right here with me.

You know what? We have two bedrooms and one bathroom for 5 people, and so far there hasn't been a moment when we have truly needed any more. In fact, we feel like we have a lot of space.

I guess we just like being together.

come and have some coffee with me on my porch