Category Archives: can you take it again? cuz i blinked

Stepping Outside of His Comfort Zone

Centerfold by Hayden


Hayden came to me this morning, and said, “Mom, I want to try something different.” Of course, his statement piqued my curiosity, so I asked him to clarify what he meant by “different”.  He replied, “I want to do something risque. Something outside of my comfort zone.”  Okay. I was not in the least bit opposed to fulfilling his request. However, given where we live, I knew it would be a little tricky. So we got to work.

The outfit was my idea. I just didn’t feel he needed to do a full nude this early in his portfolio. And the modesty patch was for, well… you know. You’re welcome.


Disclaimer: Please disregard the paint paraphernalia that T regularly leaves out, along with the dead pansies I have yet to discard (which is another post altogether).


Picture Day is an evil plot to destroy parenthood as we know it.

Today is Picture Day and I’m ready to scream and commit murder/death/kill. Over hair. Seriously.

My daughter is no girlie-girl. She is definitely more of a tomboy. But I’m usually fairly successful in making a compromise with her so that she at least looks somewhat like a girl. Except with her hair. I can barely get her to comb her hair, let alone *do* anything with it. If she had her way, she would always wear a hat. But she doesn’t always get her way. I win on occasion, picking my battles carefully. I’m sorry, but I want to have *some* pictures/memories where I can say “There’s my beautiful little GIRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLL!”

So this morning the husband tells Ashley to get ready for school so that I can do her hair. And we get the bi-annual *tongue click-foot stomp-sigh-“Noooooo!”*. We’ll see/hear it again in the spring when it comes time for those pictures. Can’t wait. Her response always helps our mood *so* much and at that point we’re all GETREADYFORSCHOOLRIGHTNOW!

Have I told you that I’ve always wanted to be a motivational speaker? No? Well, that’s good, cuz I don’t.

After Ashley gets dressed, she comes in my bathroom. And it begins. I’m having a mental discussion with her hair begging it to help me find an appropriate style that won’t be too difficult to do. Ok, let’s see. I know…I’ll comb this part down. Yes. Wet it a little so it lays right. That’s good. Ashley, will you please stand up straight and stop tilting your head. Thank you. Now I’ll take this small part and wave it back. Hmmm… Maybe. Maybe if I put in a clip to hold it in place? Ye…no. That clip won’t hold. Ashley…PLEASE. *sigh* I don’t have another clip. The few small clips I have won’t match her outfit! WHY DON’T I HAVE ANY OTHER CLIPS? Oh, wait, I found one. Whew! Ok, so let me grab that piece again and wave it back. Slide in the clip. Crap! There’s a piece sticking up. Ok, take the clip back out. Comb it back down. Let’s try this again. Wave that piece back. And slide in the clip. Almost there. And check her wispy bangs. And ohmyfuckingGODAshley! Can you PLEASE just hold still for 5 minutes so I can make you look like you weren’t rolling around in the planter this morning?

These few and far between styling sessions ALWAYS end the same way. I’m pissed off and she’s in tears. Over hair. Seriously. Can I tell you how much I’m looking forward to puberty?

And so *I* end up late for work looking like the walking dead. Cuz after all that? I don’t give a flyingfartinspace what *I* look like today.

P.S. I’ll have to ask my Mom if she had to go through this crap with me on Picture Days. I’m thinking no, but that could be early dementia setting in (I have CRS – Can’t Remember Shit) or from the bender I (think I) was on last night.