Wednesday, July 27, 2011

The Battle of the Mullet

Mullets. I talk about them on this blog almost as much as I talk about pig-tails. Since Day 1 I feel like I've been on the war path with Mullets. Born with a "Party in the Back" attitude, Grace has been plagued by the Mullet. 
It took me three months of business bald in the front, 1987 party in the back before I couldn't take it anymore and subjected Grace to her first haircut.
With trimmed locks, I thought "My work here is done." and we moved on. A new a beautiful even head of hair was just around the corner, or so I thought.
 The Mullet didn't give up. It laid low and struck around 18 months.
Bound and determined to show the 80s who was boss I wielded some scissors and took action. The results were exactly what I hoped and in an act of triumph I dusted my hands of the mullet. "Be gone, you are not welcome here!"
It was obvious that I didn't mind cutting my child's hair. I had no attachment to baby hairs, especially ones that grow at different rates. But, that was just my preference, and to be honest I think I was in the minority.

Recently, I have felt like Grace's hair was getting longer in the back. It started to look poofy and bulky. I kept telling myself that I would trim it and from that point on let her hair grow as it wanted. Some days I thought it looked fine. I would go back and forth.
Yesterday I felt like throwing caution to the wind. Why the heck not? I grabbed the hair cutting scissors that came with Aaron's buzzer thing, got Grace down to her diaper and started cutting her hair in the bathtub. My scissors hesitated before I made the first cut. It looked like a lot, I wasn't confident or completely sure. I took a deep breath and snipped. There was no turning back. I held the hair between my fingers, like all the hair dressers I'd ever seen cut my hair, and cut away. I slipped into some parallel universe of cutting hair where there were no regrets and no qualms about how much hair was being cut. I checked things out, fed Grace lunch, and put her down for a nap. I still felt good about everything. When she woke up, reality seeped in real slow and inside I began to panic. Her hair wasn't just trimmed a little, It. Was. Short. Really really truly short.
I reasoned with myself that it wasn't as bad as I thought. That now it would finally grow in the same length. The justifications were lame and totally useless. I had turned my little girl into a mini toddler-version of Justin Bieber and I knew it.
When I saw the above picture of her in the purple jammies the day before I cut her hair, I wanted to cry. Cry big crocodile tears. Her golden locks didn't look poofy or bulky or mullet-y, it looked cute, and adorable and girly. A huge mistake was made and I had no one to blame but myself. I laid awake for about 2 hours last night freaking out about it. What have I done? Although I wanted to hide everything and pretend that it never, ever, happened, maybe even tape some of the stray hair back on, I knew I couldn't. I'd post pictures of Grace, take her to church, and people would wonder, why on Earth did she do that. My response? Because I'm an idiot.

I officially announce this as my retirement from General in the Mullet Battle militia. I will not take another snip. She will just have to look like Rapunzel for the rest of her life.

As with everything, Grace remains un-phased and couldn't care less if she tried. Which makes me a little less mopey and down on the situation. For now, I'll wait for those little hairs to grow back.
In the meantime, please send happy hair growing thoughts to Texas. My sanity needs them.

Monday, July 25, 2011

We're Not Brilliant, That's For Sure

It's two in the afternoon and I'm already sipping on my third Diet Dr. Pepper. I'm tired. So tired.

Aaron and I had the not so brilliant idea of purging our closest at 11:45 last night. I'm not sure what struck us in that moment, but we were motivated and wanting to work. We pulled shirts off of hangers, sweaters out of piles, and shoes covered in dust off of the floor. We joked about all the clothes that we had hung onto, clothes that were obviously out of style and were only cool when we were in high school. I finally parted with a skirt that I purchased in 2002, my sophomore year in high school. I even remember the day that I found it, tried it on, and bought it. The sales lady told me I could dress it up, or dress it down, and it was perfect for every occasion. I wore it a few times and through the years vowed to find something equally as awesome to go with the skirt. I never found anything, my almost 10 year mission had to come to an end, I hesitantly tossed it in the "donate" pile. We scrounged through drawers and more than once we both said "Oh, this was in here?"

Aaron had t-shirts and shorts from a phase where we tried to "change" his style in college. I almost laughed when he dug those up from the depths of our dresser.

We filled three trash bags up with clothes and shoes. While I enjoyed seeing my closest become more organized and de-cluttering my life, part of me was having a serious panic attack. I went all crazy "What-Not-to-Wear" on my closet and although the only stuff in there is what I actually wear, all of my back ups, and just-in-case outfits, and maybe-these-shoes-will-come-back-in-style kicks are gone. The screaming reality that my closest is almost bare only goes to prove that I need a wardrobe update and I need it fast.

And despite my head spinning last night. "Where to start? How much to budget? What is even in style anymore? When did I get so uncool?" I hit the pillow with full force around two a.m. and slept like I had a Masters degree in exhaustion.

Grace chose this morning to wake up an hour early. So the overuse of DDP was absolutely necessary. Now, does anyone want to take me shopping?

Saturday, July 23, 2011

It's a Date

As mentioned before, the heat is crazy hot sometimes. Although I strongly dislike sweating as if I ran a marathon despite only walking to my car, my bold declarations of holing myself up at home became weak. I got a raging case of cabin fever. There are only so many activities, and episodes of Diego, and "Pincess" movies that Grace and I can watch before both of our brains turn to mush. We wanted out no matter how hot.

So today we called Aaron and asked him out. "Hey stud, you wanna go out on a date with us?" We needed a night on the town and wanted our favorite man to take us there.

One bath, one shower, two dresses, and two hair styles later we were ready.

Since I pick our Friday-Night-Eat-Out location 100% of the time, I told Aaron it was his call, it being his date and all.

We cruised around and enjoyed the A/C

And were entertained by the comedic stylings of Grace herself.

And Aaron decided Mexican was the best way to go, after checking "Do you have a wait?" and them responding "Absolutely not." We were in.

It was interesting to be on a date at a place with dim lighting and cloth napkins that didn't have Chick-Fil-A written on them, all while Grace sitting next to us in a high chair. We talked in hushed tones and pretended like we totally get dressed every weekend and go out as a family to places that don't have drive-thrus. It was fun.

We got home, tucked the little one in bed, and chatted over frozen yogurt while reminiscing about when we first met and got to know each other. It was just what the doctor ordered.

Cabin fever? Cured.
Have a happy weekend.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

What Goes Around Comes Around

A few weeks back I read a blog post written by one of my favorite people, Diana. I'd publish a link with her name but her awesome blog is privatized. Since you are unable to blog-stalk her (as I totally would) I'll give you a brief description. Diana and I met through our blogs while living in Provo. Our husbands were both offered jobs at the same office in California. We went on a double blind date to meet each other (and our husbands), and our friendship was born. Since meeting in Utah and hanging out in California, our paths have split and we find ourselves in different states. I place the blame on Diana, since she moved first. But, she had a good reason. Her daughter was a little over one when Diana learned that she was pregnant with twins. She would be having three babies under the age of two. She and her husband gave it some serious thought and decided they needed to be near family. They are now living a crazy, albeit totally awesome, life juggling three girls under three, a house, and a new job. Her blog is fascinating.

Now that you're familiar with Diana, onto the story. She posted about an incident that occurred with her 2 year old daughter. She walked in after nap time to find the room covered in, for lack of a better word, number two. She chronicled her horror and the cleaning process, and how ultimately it got her daughter to stop using a pacifier. As I read, I scrunched my nose and whispered under my breath "oh. my. gosh." and perhaps a few times I mentally dry heaved. I thought, "Poor Diana." and thanked my lucky stars that Grace hadn't done that.

Grace has recently entered the pants/diaper removal phase. A couple of days ago she removed her diaper  after she woke up and peed all over her bed and blanket. No big deal, thats what the washer is for, right? So the next day before her nap, I thought I would outsmart my Houdini child and put her in a onesie with snaps on the bottom. I mentally patted myself on the back because "there is no way she could get out of this." She chit chatted at the beginning of her nap, as per usual, and gradually fell silent. I assumed my little angel child was sleeping and went about my normal nap-time business. I heard more chit chat about half way through her nap. Never a good sign.

When I opened the door the smell hit me first, and then I saw it. Diaper on one side, child with open onesie on the other, and more brown than I had ever seen out in the open. I stopped dead in my tracks, my mouth gaped open and I stood there with my hands on my cheeks and my eyes darting everywhere trying to make sense of what I saw. I have no idea how long I stood there. It could have been 10 minutes, or an hour. When I came to, I walked out of the room and grabbed my phone. I dialed Aaron's number and when I heard his voice I said. "Aaron, it's everywhere. It's all over. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. I don't know whether to laugh or cry." his response, "Then you should laugh." I plucked my number two covered child and put her in the bathtub. While I basically scrubbed the first layer of her skin off, I talked to her about how being curious and trying new things is fun and interesting, but that there are boundaries to what should be explored and what should be left well enough alone. I distinctly remember saying the phrase "Poop belongs in your diaper or the potty, it does not belong anywhere else."

I'll spare you the gory pictures and share with you just one. The same type of picture Diana shared when this happened to her. Thankfully my camera battery was dead and the phone camera picture quality isn't the best so you can't really see too much detail. I found her pacifier after moving her crib away from the wall, and threw it away shortly thereafter.

 I dried Grace off, got her a snack, plopped her high chair in front of a movie and cleaned my little heart out. Laundry was first.
And then scrubbing, wiping, bagging, spraying, magic eraser-ing, sanitizing, and everything just short of burning it in a bonfire.
I thought to myself, what comes around really does go around. And today out of sheer necessity I actually taped my child's diaper so the only way to get her out of it was to use scissors. I could not handle another poop filled day. Although potty training is filled with all sorts of this cleaning, I'm getting pretty close to kissing diapers goodbye.

Monday, July 18, 2011



As we met people after moving to Texas one of their initial questions was "When did you move here." We spouted off our answer, which was mid-October, and almost immediately they would respond, "Oh, so you haven't experienced a summer here, huh?" I asked around to see what I could expect during the summer. Some responses caught me off guard. "You just don't go outside." or "It's like winter where its too cold to leave your house, but instead of too cold, it's too hot."

Phrases like that struck serious fear in my heart. I tried to talk myself down, like maybe it wouldn't be that bad. I survived being 9 months pregnant during the hottest month of the year in California with no air conditioning. I could get through this too, right?
Boy, was I wrong. A while back I missed running a few errands in the morning and told myself that I would run them in the afternoon. I made calls, set up appointments, and Grace and I were out the door by 4:00pm. As per usual, I started to sweat the minute I opened my front door. When I got down to my car the sun hit me with serious force, and I swear my body temperature doubled. As I opened my car door a gust of heat and humidity smacked me in the face. The increase in temperature was obvious. Grace gripped my shoulder tightly while she said "Mommy, hot hot." I forced my extremely reluctant toddler into her seat urging her to comply so I could quickly, and safely, start the car and get the A/C going. I eased myself into my seat and once I shut the door I felt like I was suffocating, as if the pressure of the heat was forcing the air out of my lungs and replacing it with sticky humid oxygen-less air. We sweated profusely on the ride to each destination. I almost cried getting out of the car each time knowing that we would have to get back in and repeat the process over. I vowed that I would never, ever, do that again.
Now I grocery shop at 8:30am, making sure to get home by 11:30am. I don't leave the house, unless I absolutely have to, in the afternoon. My sweat glands just can't handle it.
My friend Jamie and I had the brilliant idea to take our girls to the fountains at 10:30 in the morning. On my way there I saw a sign stating that it was already 102 degrees outside. After being at the beach for a week, the last thing I wanted was to be cooped up at home. I gritted my teeth and vowed to make the best of it. Our girls ran and splashed and loved every moment. Jamie and I huddled in the shade of a small whimpy tree and I mulled over in my mind of how strange it would be if I stripped naked and ran through the fountains all crazy like. Heat makes my pride take a back seat. After an hour, and after our clothes had officially melted into our skin, we called it a day. I consider myself officially humbled. You really don't mess with this Texas heat (pun semi intended).


After almost two years of crazy, eyes shut tight, forced smiles my girl finally finally smiled for reals in front of the camera. A smile so cute and genuine that I had to wipe my heart off of the floor because it melted right there on the spot. Had the camera been pointed at me you would have seen a look of shock, awe, pride, and its-about-friggin'-time. I just love her.
 I blame her lack of smiling ability on her father.
 Okay maybe I won't blame him, he is actually extremely handsome.


I'm currently in a reading mood. I cycle between reading, watching shows on netflix, and dinking around on my computer. As I said before, I'm currently stuck in the reading section. This has been fueled by My mom and I making a Kindle Swap, where we read the books the other has bought for their Kindle. This past week I've read "Heaven is for Real" by Todd Burpo and "Black Heels to Tractor Wheels" by Ree Drummond (the Pioneer Woman). Both were very good but I am slightly (read: completely) obsessed with Ree Drummond's book, which is a true story of how she met and married her husband. I highly recommended it. Had life not gotten all in the way and such, I would have blown through that sucker in less than a day.


As evidenced here and here, I am quite fond of putting Grace's hair into pig-tails. Now she has enough hair that we have taken the piggies north.
A severe amount of mousse was used, and they fell out later in the day causing a pig-tail induced mullet, but before that happened they were wonderful and I couldn't stop staring at how cute sister friend looked with them in.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Isn't It About Time?

It's been almost twelve months exactly since I've changed my blog header. I figured the blog was way overdue. In case you forgot what it looked like, here she is (minus the writing... I can't find the copy my sister sent me).

We stood there as residents of California. Our baby was 10 months old, bald in the front and very brown haired in the back.

Now we are residents of Texas. Our baby is no longer a baby, but is so close to two it brings tears to my eyes and her hair is blond and wavy.
Image and text courtesy of Ashby Hatch Photography

These past twelve months have been a whirlwind. Lots of change, and change of plans. We've hit bumps in the road, said goodbye to ones we've loved, and welcomed new members into the family. It's been good, and even though I sometimes don't want to admit it, the change has been good too. It has forced me to grow and stretch and get over my-bad-self. And standing in the same sand one year later was refreshing, because we're growing up, and making it work. So, folks, cheers to a great 12 months, bring on 12 more.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Ocean is my Only Medication

Do you look forward to the Beach Trip Recap Post as much as I look forward to the actual vacation? No? Well, you should.

We boarded our flight on Friday morning, with the appropriate reading materials.

 Then packed and piled into cars for the drive down.
I soaked up every tree, every blade of grass, and every speck of green along the way to fuel my inner Virginian who misses these trees so very much.
 We made the necessary pit stops along the way. Honey Cinnamon Almonds? I can't even begin to describe how delicious they were. Two cans were purchased both are now gone.
 We made it to our destination and the vacation officially began. Grace is a huge fan of Uncle RyRy.
 Our view was obstructed by new beach house decor.
 We chatted
 I played around with my camera
 We frolicked in the sand before family pictures.
 We got rained out during family pictures
 We saw the most incredible rainbow
 And I finally got a picture of a sunset (take that Day 12)
 Ashby getting her crazy rainbow picture
 We lounged by the pool
 We read our little hearts out
 Kindles in full force
 The babies were happy and contained. I love my Lily.
 Beach umbrellas were rocked
 Good times were had
 Poppy was given a rapper name: P. Pops Anonymous, 
 Coozies (no I don't really know how to spell that) were purchased and loved
 Cousins were reunited
 And requested a funny face picture
 Lulu modeled
 Sand made its way everywhere
 We splashed in the pool
and walked through the sand
 And before we knew it, the week was over and we were driving north again.
Mr. Nutter was also there. Sister friend has a serious Mr. Nutter addiction.
 After a short nights rest we found ourselves at the airport
 With a ridiculous amount of carry on luggage
 and traveling essentials
 And we flew, on the wings of love, back to the lonestar state.

My mind on a permanent vacation
The ocean is my only medication
Wishing my condition ain't ever gonna go away
--Zac Brown Band "Knee Deep"