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Hey there!

This week marked the first day of the second year of playschool for my oldest boy, Hobbes. Finn is still at home with me, and I am not really sure how happy he is about that. He’s a tortured second child, you know.

Anyway, there are a few things that we did this week, before the big FIRST DAY. One of the main things? A hair cut for Hobbes. This is only his second hair cut. Ever.

Yes, ever.

He was basically bald till age 2, then it came in super slowly. And curly. And I didn’t want to cut it because it was so pretty. Then I didn’t want to cut it because I was afraid that I would cut all the curl out of it. Then I just didn’t want to cut it because it had been four year and, really, four years…a lifetime…whatever.

But I did cut it. On his fourth birthday.

And then I cut it again. On Monday night.

There are steps to haircutting, obviously.

First, you take your “before” shot. Naturally.

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Don’t let that rib cage fool you- that boy can put away his weight in french fries, oatmeal raisin cookies, yogurt AND peanut butter & jelly sandwiches!!

Anyway. Just in case you were worried/wondering.

Next, you take a bath!

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It seems as if Finn is quite pleased with this bath time photo shoot, don’t you think? He just loves to yell “cheese!” when you get out the camera. Please check out all those teeth. That’s just something for another discussion…

Then, you get the actual haircut (which was documented on VIDEO and not in pictures…there’s only so much a girl can do while cutting hair!)…

Ta-Da!

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This is an admittedly ridiculous picture. But was sort of the mood in the bathroom, I think.

So, in case you need a reminder of the DRASTIC CHANGE that occurred during these brief eight minutes…here’s a little side-by-side!

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I know.

Right?

Anyway.

He is my big boy, and he loves me.

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Amen.

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When I was in highschool I wrote a “novel”.

I started it during the summer after my 9th grade year, I think. I added to it for a while, but I know that I finished it before it got cold. I just remember reading it on the picnic table at my grandmother’s house (where we were living at the time) when I finished, meaning it probably wasn’t winter.

I wrote it in a notebook full of looseleaf paper. By hand. With many, many different colors (some sparkly, I’m sure) of ink. I would rewrite pages if they didn’t look right, or if I had to cross anything out.

It was a novel full of teen angst, hard choices, love….when I think about it now, though, it was really a story of a girl who wanted to change something about her life.

And I am not kidding when I say “novel” and not “short story”. If I remember correctly, this thing was well over 400 hand written pages. Perhaps over 500.

I feel as if I must mention, full disclosure and whatnot, that it was also a story of a girl who left a small town to go on tour with a band. Because one of the band members fell in love with her. But along the way, she broke his heart, of course.

I will not mention what band she was traveling with, because…well, because there may be a few of you out there who still think I’m cool. And this would just totally squash that notion. Seriously. Ha! Plus, the band is not actually MENTIONED in the novel, merely alluded to, so really, it could be ANY band.

This novel is in the attic at my mom’s house. I think I need to dig it out.

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I feel like I should start this post off by saying that my brother(s) and I are all best friends now. Really. For true. Moving on…

When I was in highschool I didn’t get along with my middle brother that well. I think that deep, deep down we loved each other, but on the surface there was a lot of yelling and name calling and occasional physical fits of hitting, etc.

Once, on a regular-old-day, my brother unfolded a paperclip, opened my bedroom door and threw it at me like a spear. Or at least that’s how I remember it.

It lodged in my eye. I kid you not. One second I was reading on my bed, the next second I blinked a paperclip out of my eye. Gross.

Right.

So, to add insult to injury (literally), my mom is not an “eye-person”. She says so herself. Like, she doesn’t like to hear about your eye issues and she will not help you get an eyelash out of your eye, etc. Needless to say, she told me I was fine and wouldn’t check it out. I understand now that all mom’s have a thing or two they can’t be bothered with/that gross them out. I keep thinking that whenever a bone gets broken around here that I’ll be no help. The thought of bone sticking out of skin makes me dry heave. I can imagine that this is what my mom feels when she thinks of eyeballs.

Was I fine? Probably. Although, I grew a small bump in my eye (I guess swelling from the “injury”) that I could feel when I blinked for about 3 weeks. And it was red. Eventually my grandmother checked it out (she would look for a second) and then sent me to an eye doctor. I think I got eye drops.

The point being? My brother is a killer shot with a paperclip.

P.S. I am dying from all of this exercise. More on that tomorrow.

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So, in honor of my birthday week (I will turn a-THIRTY a-THREE next Monday!!) I will therapize/storytell of a birthday not-so-long-ago.

About five years ago, I was turning 28 (duh). I was working at a middle school in Durham, North Carolina- teaching those little baby sixth graders some Social Studies. I have always been known to create quite a birthday celebration for myself (ha!) and this year was no exception. Since I was teaching in Durham, which is next-door-neighbors with my home away from home, Chapel Hill, it was perfect to start the celebration immediately after school. Plus, it was a workday the next day (read: no kiddies to teach). So, let the festivities begin, right?!

After school, I headed to my brother’s apartment- luckily he lived in Chapel Hill, so we had a home base. We proceeded to gather a cooler-full of beers, put on bathing suits, and head to the  pool. Quickly joined by brother’s girlfriend (now sister-in-law), my hubs, and a good coworker friend of mine, Emily. Though it proceeded to thunderstorm for a couple of hours, we stayed pool-side, but moved it in to the gazebo. Nothin’ to do but drink. We had high expectations of grilling out, but the rain kinda put a damper on that. So, mostly drinking beers. At some point, we gave up on the pool (the rain had stopped, but it was getting later and we had PLANS!) and headed in to ready ourselves for a “big night out”. This is according to me. I like to dictate the fun on my birthday. Of course.

We headed out. There were many designated stops along the way (most of them stay on my list of “to-do” when we go out in Chapel Hill, still): He’s Not Here (for GIANT blue cups of beer- I think they are 32 oz.- outside on the “patio”), Top of the Hill (for great locally brewed beers), Bub’s (for bad on-tap selections along with great 80’s music blaring from the speakers), Linda’s (we know the owner, plus it’s low-key and fun), Four-Corners (sometimes known as Woody’s, I can’t remember which it was then, for a “famous” birthday cake shot, and more beer, certainly), ending up at Players Retreat (you heard me right- cheezy dance club, well-known for the “holy grail”: some horribly good concoction involving liquor, fruit punch and coors light on top, well-known in my family to cause some throwing up…). So, all in all, it was a great night. We were joined along the way by good friends. I greeted them with hugs, and probably some kisses as the night went on.

The point of this story, you may ask? I met my goal of drinking TWENTY EIGHT BEERS (for 28 years- it rhymes….see?)

(please to remember, some of these were THIRTY TWO OUNCES- I didn’t have the sense to count that as 2 or 3)

The moral of this story? Don’t do that. It makes you feel bad. The end.

Catch me tomorrow for a great wrap up of this week’s exercisin’, some good pics of the beach, and some great plans for the weekend!

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