Haircut

Above is Rachel's preschool picture that was taken a bit before the end of the year. Yep, that's my baby. Well, over a year and a half ago my baby decided that she wanted to get her hair cut short. At that time her hair was still very curly and I couldn't bear to cut off the long ringlets. I pretty much told her that I really, really, really wanted her to wait until the curls were gone (or almost gone) before making the chop. (Both my sister and I had curly hair until 4 or 5 and I could tell Rachel's curls were relaxing so I assumed her hair would do the same as ours did.) She agreed to wait and enjoy her "princess hair." She has revisited the hair cut issue many times and we continued to put it on hold. Well, back in May we took Steve and Matt for haircuts. I don't really recall why we all went, but we did. While we waited for the boys' cuts, Rachel decided that she really was ready for the big cut. Steve was immediately on board. He asked me if I was ready. I figured I'd never really be ready, so why not go for the gold.

Here's the obligatory back view of that long hair. We really hadn't planned the haircut or I would have done a little more to it -- it was looking a little on the stringy side. When it was wet, it about reached her waist. Our cute friend who did the haircut put it in a pony tail and made the first big cut. Rach didn't even flinch. I did alright, too. :)

Rachel was as happy as a clam! I wondered if she'd have a moment of shock or even remorse -- nope! Not even close. Look at that smile.

Rachel LOVES her short hair. It is so much easier to brush (which is the best part according to her), it's cooler, and it's so stinking cute. It took me a minute to get used to it, because I think she looks so much older now, but I love it, too. Darling haircut for my darling girl.

Memorial Day

I love the musical Les Miserables. I have seen it three times and would love to see it another three. Every aspect of the show is moving and inspiring. The question is who do you relate to? Are you Val Jean, running from your past or are you Javert, trying to live the letter of the law and having lost all human compassion. Who is right and who is wrong? Les Miserables brings me a lot of comfort and healing. I can, in some way, relate to every character.

I have been doing some reflecting as of late. Maybe it is because we are about to celebrate Memorial Day. I have lost a lot of friends, family, associates, etc.. due to health, self inflicted, accident, age or war. I often wonder what life would be like if I was in the car that night with my friend or why didn't God give me the cancer instead. I feel guilty, at times, for they are gone, but yet I live. I appreciate what I have and I make for damn sure that I work hard so nothing is in vain. So again, as we approach this time of remembering our losses and the emotions that it brings, I am again reminded of Les Miserables. There is a small scene where Marius is in the room where all his friends laughed, played, planned the revolution. After the attacks at the barricade he is deeply troubled; troubled due to the fact that he lost all his friends. He takes one moment and reflects on their lives. He, in essence, has his Memorial Day. You see, he feels guilty that he lives, and yet his friends are gone. He questions their sacrifice, all the while questioning himself. He sings "Empty chairs at empty tables" and I think this is the best song ever written for someone who is suffering from survivors guilt or someone who is still morning a loss. The words are comforting, healing, and honest. Marius comes to terms with his loss, copes and moves forward. I am grateful for that small, but powerful scene demonstrated so beautifully the emotions we go through with a loss.

I would ask anyone who reads this post, to take a moment, reflect on your loss, honor the dead and listen to this song which I have provided and have your own private Memorial Day.

Some Stuff

Last night I sat down to catch up a little. I did a big ol' post -- then lost the whole thing! Darn Blogger! I was ornery. So, It's a new day and I'm feeling a little less snarky, so I'm going to attempt to summon the muses and try again.

Matthew turned 12 in January. He definitely was ready to "graduate" from Primary and enter the Young Men's program at church. It wasn't until the end of February that we were able to figure out family schedules and have his ordination, but it was a very cool day and he was surrounded by lots of supportive family. Of course, I have only a couple of pictures of the lunch we had afterwards, but it was a lot of fun and it meant a lot to us to have all of our Utah family make the trek north to support our boy.

The picture below is from the Matt's first Sunday as a Deacon and able to pass the sacrament in Church. I only teared up a little. :) We sure are proud of Matthew and the choices he's making. What a good kid.


One evening after Steve got off work, we all went bowling. The girls were especially fond of the footwear. It was a blast and we definitely learned something about ourselves: we totally stink at bowling. It was a great ab workout, though, for all the laughing we did!

Little-known fact: Steve took a bowling class in college. It was for PE credit.

Another little-known fact: Steve very nearly failed a bowling class in college.

The grade for the class was hugely based on attendance. That was one problem. Steve was carrying a very heavy class load that semester and frankly, bowling did not merit the first spot on his list of priorities. The other problem was that the instructor was a former bowling pro who took himself (and his mullet) a little too seriously. One of Steve's friends signed up for the class with him and bailed after the second class because the guy was such a cocky son of a gun. Go figure. Steve found it so much easier and so much more pleasant to just go bowling on his own time (on his own tab), save the receipt, and turn it in as proof that he went -- thus constituting a "make up" class. So, we spent a small fortune and he did, indeed, end up passing the bowling class. It's pretty funny, though, to hear about his days as the student of a professional bowler. You ought to ask him about it sometime -- and about "shaking hands with the headpin."

So Steve started his first turn telling Matt that he took a bowling class in college. (Maybe an attempt at intimidation?) He followed that up with a little smack talk about how he was going to kick everyone else's cans. He then proceeded to roll his first ball, got it stuck on his fingers, stepped too far onto the lane, and slipped - falling flat on his hind end! He jumped up so fast and immediately did the scan to see if anyone noticed. Thankfully, the bowling alley was pretty empty, so he had a little laugh at himself. I exhibited some AMAZING self-control, made sure he was okay, and only chuckled a little. I have to admit, though, that we got home that night and I replayed the whole thing in my mind and laughed until I cried. Then I called my sister and told her. Laughed til I was felt sick. (I'm actually giggling a little as I write this. Such a supportive wife.) So Dang Funny!

The weekend before St Patrick's Day, we made a quick jaunt to Salt Lake to the annual St Patty's parade. I love that everyone claims to be Irish on St Patrick's day! I mean, we really do have Irish roots on both sides of our family and I realize that tons of people do, but even the Lopez family is Irish on St Patrick's day. Awesome! So, if we are all bleeding Irish blood, then we're all brothers. The parade was just one big family party!

For the record, the kids were proudly wearing their green, but it was hidden by their jackets. :)

On St Patrick's Day the kids woke up to find Leprechuan confetti and (chocolate) gold everywhere. That tricky guy even colored our milk and toilet water green.

Rachel had a fun St Patty's party at preschool. Here she is complete with shamrock headband and green lips from a big green sucker.

Also in March, we were able to attend Matthew's first piano recital. He's taken piano lessons for several years now, but it was his first recital experience. He was a bit nervous, but did a great job.

He played beautifully and made his Mama proud. :)

Happy Birthday!

Last month my baby turned 3. I really, truly don't know how that happened. I know I share too much about how time is my mortal enemy and zipping away from me way too fast, but my baby is 3, Folks! :)
We had a lot of fun celebrating the big 3. Because Bailey's birthday was on Sunday this year, we decided to take her out for her b-day dinner the night before. She chose Golden Corral of the big celebration as her favorite foods are "meat, cheese, and jell0." To her absolute delight, she discovered that the Corral has a cotton candy machine. What?? Anyway, when you're the birthday girl, you get to choose whatever dessert you want, so Bailey chose the cotton candy. (She has a totally phoney smile on her face, but I had to share a shot of the prized treat.)

I decorated after Bailey went to bed so that when she woke up, she'd be surprised with streamers and balloons. I found this cute little banner at the trusty dollar store and hung it up. It had seriously been up on the wall for at least 20 minutes and I noticed nothing wrong. Matt walked into the room, took one look, and started laughing. He actually had to point out to me that Birthday was spelled wrong. 2 A's. oops. Not so trusty, Dollar Store.

It really doesn't take a lot to impress a 3 year old, but Bailey had a super fun day. Our family called from all over to wish her a happy day. She acted like each phone call was a wonderful surprise.

We gave her our gifts and spent the morning together.

Later in the day we went to Ogden to celebrate with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Bailey adores our extended famiy and loved her party. My sister and mom made her a little baby doll highchair complete with matching bibs and burpcloths. Bailey was in heaven!

Months prior to her birthday, Bailey decided that she wanted a Minnie Mouse birthday cake.

This little girl is constant. Whenever anyone asked her what she wanted for her b-day, all she would say is, "a meemie mouse cake." When we, at first, planned on spending Bailey's birthday alone here at home, I figured I'd make the cake and even if it looked pathetic, it wouldn't matter. We'd be the only ones to see and Bailey would be happy with anything remotely resembling Minnie. Then we decided to do the family party on her actual b-day. Problem. I can make a cake and convice a 3 year old that it's Minnie Mouse. The whole family would be a tougher crowd. -- In fairness, I really don't think anyone would have made too much fun of me, but I was not too confident in my cake making skills. So, my uber-talented sister swooped in and saved the day by asking if she could make the cake for her BFF Bailey. It was darling! There is a glare on the tinfoil in this picture, but it really did look fantastic! Thanks, Beck!! Bailey was one happy birthday girl!

What a fun day! It was wonderful to celebrate with people we love. We are so grateful for this little girl! Bailey is a gift and blessing to our little family. She had such a tough first couple of years due to illness and other weird things, but she is such a sweet little gal in spite of it all. Everyone just loves Bailey. She has such an infectious laugh and smile and such a silly, sweet disposition. She definitely has a little kick in her and can have a good, strong will too. She is a snuggler and little helper. We love our little Bailey dearly and are so grateful she's ours!!

Happy Birthday, Bailey! We love you!!

For Therapy...

This picture is a self-portrait. It's entitled "Sad, Screaming Rachel." I've decided to post it -- just in case something happens to the hard copy before Rachel's adolescence. You know, before she can take it to her therapist to help explain her childhood. Flashback: We've been enjoying a mellow evening. It's nearly time for the bedtime routine to commence. Dad strolls past the girls' bedroom, notices the pink explosion, and calls the girls to clean their room before bed. Little girls not only DON'T come running, but Dad has to call several times -- becoming a little less than nice by the last call. They are finally in the bedroom and Dad mistakenly thinks that the deal is sealed. Dad leaves room. Girls leave room. (Repeat a few times.) With patience wearing thin, Dad explains to the little ladies that having toys is a privilege and if the toys are not taken care of, they will be taken away. Rachel chooses a very poor time to try out a little bit of sass on her papa. Dad disappears downstairs only to reappear with a big black garbage bag. He proceeds to pick up toys and toss them in the bag. All you-know-what breaks loose! I am watching and begin to understand "weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth." Fast forward 15 minutes. Rachel and Bailey are starting to catch their breath. Swollen eyes and hiccups. They've wheeled and dealed with their daddy. He's agreed not to throw the toys away but put them in an undisclosed time-out location until they are earned back. The girls are so exhausted from their complete break-down that they fall asleep before their little heads hit the pillows. The next day Rachel sits down at the dining room table with paper and markers. She creates this masterpiece.

Kindergarten-- almost!

Last month we registered Rachel for Kindergarten. I can say that all nice-and-calm like right now. Wait until August, though and I'll probably be singing a different tune. I cannot even begin to fathom how my baby got old enough to go to school. It happened with Matt and I vowed that I wouldn't let it happen again. :) She is SO excited! She is also so ready. When we went in for the registration and screening she went right with the teacher who was doing the testing and she did an awesome job! We were so proud of her. She can't wait until school starts! I know she'll love it!

Drat!

One night I was reading in bed. My bed-mate was already snoozy snoring so I was using my handy dollar store clip-on reading light. It's the kind of light that is just barely light enough to see; sort of. So I hit the end of my book and glanced at the picture of the author on inside of the back cover. I took a double take. Then a triple. My nose was practically pressed against the book trying to see in my dim dollar light. By George, I'd just finished reading my second book by this same author only to realize I knew her! I went to junior high school with her, but had obviously lost track of her and didn't know her married name. The next day I headed to the library and got more books by her. I had enjoyed the two books I'd already read and she was such a nice girl in junior high.

So, I enjoyed some of her books more than others, but overall, liked my old chum's writing. There was one book that has stuck with me and caused a great deal of thought, though. It's not so much the story line or anything, but a quirky habit of the main character. This woman (whose name I can't even recall) experienced life, tragedy, miracles, success, you name it. This is the clincher - you ready? When the life, tragedy, and stress hit, she had a peculiar way of handling it. Really ready? She washed dishes!! Seriously folks, she filled the sink with hot, soapy water and washed the spaghetti sauce off stoneware. She'd stick her arms elbows-deep into the comforting suds and think. She'd think, pray, cry, laugh -- a regular catharsis. Her dishwasher sat brand new and unused as she hand-washed amid epiphany.

This talented author described the suds and warm water in such a way that I believed her...almost.

I have thought about this over and over -- mostly when I'm washing dishes. I've come to the conclusion that I must be doing it wrong. I don't enjoy it, for one. Also, I don't feel calmed, comforted, or cathartic. Mostly I just feel like I need to hurry and get it over with 'cause I don't like touching used food.

In an effort to make this whole thing work for me, I went to the store and bought some new dish soap. Palmolive. I remember having that kind at my kitchen sink when I was a kid. I quite enjoy the smell and thought that perhaps it would make me all nostalgic and comfort-y. All it really did was make me remember the time I washed cupcake tins with it and didn't get all the soap washed out before I baked in them. Blueberry muffins that tasted like Palmolive. Yuck.

I tried so hard. I looked at my list of things I would like to do when I feel upset or stressed. Drink Diet Coke, eat chocolate, read a book and hide from the world... nope, no dish washing. Nothing, in fact, that is at all productive or effective in cleaning my house. Drat.

I was feeling kind of bad about myself, but then started wondering if this lady and her dishwashing-therapy was even for real. Perhaps nobody does that and it was just for the story. You know, like literary license. I thought about emailing the author to voice my concern, but decided not to. After all, I did like her books and she was such a nice girl in junior high.