Husbandly Hair

This post will be written by a person of a female gender.  That is a no-brainer, because the menfolk don't normally discuss hair.  They wash hair (not shampoo), grow hair, comb hair (and brush), get hair cut, and even colored.  Oh, and sometimes they do wear hair (like the kind of hair that is removable and then replaceable).  They do look at hair, and mention it to their buddies (Hey, Buddy, didja get your ears lowered?  Nice haircut.)  They don't discuss hair.  But I shall.

I cut my husband's hair.  He doesn't mind (I think I would mind if he cut my hair).  He says that as long as it doesn't look ridiculous, he doesn't mind whatever I do.  He did get a buzz cut once (admittedly, it was accidental.  It was just after we were married and I hadn't realized that his hair was, um, thinner than the luscious locks of my boys.), but most of the time it's been a pretty standard short 'do.

The last few months, however, I let it grow out.  Whenever he said he'd like a haircut, I'd just trim around the edges and let the rest of it grow.  I was curious about how his hair would look when it was longer.  Right now I'm kicking myself for not getting a picture, because I thought it did look pretty nice.  It was just too hot for the summer, so tonight I cut it off.

He got somewhat alarmed when long locks of hair started drifting down over his shoulders, and my scissors were still snipping away.  After his shower, he casually commented that I had given him a military cut (it's not that short!).  But it is short, and quite a difference from what he had before.  A woman would have been livid.  But my man?  He just remarked on how much shampoo he had just saved in the shower.  I like that guy.

(And I like his hair just a trifle longer than how I cut it.)

Soft and Fuzzy

We went to a family barbecue at "Unca Munk's" house.  Their home is large, lovely, and beautifully decorated.  David and Eddie were enthralled with the floor-to-twenty-foot-ceiling bookcases, complete with sliding library ladder.  "Mom!  We've got to have one of these!"  Right.  With our eight-foot-ceilings.  I can just see it now, the mayhem that would ensue with all our boys and a library ladder.  I'll have bad dreams tonight about Tarzan-like swinging, things slamming into the walls, and dangerous falls from precarious heights.  I don't think so, my dears.  Sorry.

Ben and Chris had a great time playing "Oh yeah, watch this!" on the in-ground trampoline.  They didn't break anything.  The twins and Angel spent most of their time on the wooden playset and swings.  Georgie was enamored with the waterfalls that he could see but couldn't get to.  It was almost Tantalus-ish.

Freddie fell in love with a little turtle statue.  Every time he would run past the rock garden, he would hunt it down, calling, "Toe-toe?  Toe-toe"  When he found it, he would affectionately pat its colorful resin head.  After a while, he couldn't stand the separation any more, and gently picked up the turtle, holding it against his chest.  When I explained that we needed to leave the turtle in the rocks, he sadly placed his beloved pet back on the ground, patted its head, bent over, and gave it a kiss.

And Angel's favorite part?  The toilet tissue.  When she was in the bathroom, she pulled out some tissue to use.  She held it in her hands for a long time, then reverently whispered, "It's so soft."  She stroked her cheek with it and delightedly exclaimed, "And it's fuzzy!" 

Soft and fuzzy.  Would that I were so easily delighted.
(James 3:17)

What A Crock (Pot) Granola

Gorgeous granola from SmittenFoodie at Food Buzz

I love granola.  I like it plain, snitched out of the container.  I love it warm and soft, smooshed into balls.  I love it over ice cream or mixed into yogurt.  I love it with milk for breakfast.  I love it made into cookies or granola bars.  We eat a lot of oatmeal during the winter, but summer is too hot and granola is perfect.  Trent makes good granola, and we practically inhale it.  I don't, because I usually burn it.

I had heard of granola recipes cooked in a crock pot.  Stephanie at Crockpot365 said,

"This is one of the only times I haven't burnt granola, and my kids have been eating it non-stop since the first batch came out of the crock. I'm going to go have some more right now."

A Year of Slow Cooking at Crockpot 365

So I gathered my oats and nuts and honey and all the other good stuff, mixed it up in my big trusty crock, vented the lid, and stirred it every half hour.  The house smelled wonderful.  The kids were dying for oatmeal cookies.  It got done late, just before bed.  Ben had some for a midnight snack, even though it was still hot.  I left the vented lid on, figured it would cool through the night, and went to bed.  I was pretty pleased with myself for doing such a good job, and looking forward to a yummy, easy, good-for-you breakfast.

(Things don't always turn out like you want them to, do they?)  The bad news:  I forgot to TURN OFF the crock.  The very bad news:  I burnt the granola, and the kitchen reeks.  The very, very bad news: I had actually made TWO batches, and burnt them both!  The very, very, very bad news: I think I way have ruined two wonderfully useful crocks.

All the nasty-smelling oaty mess went to feed my brother-in-law's chickens.  I scrubbed for a long time, and still didn't get the green crock clean enough to use.  

(Bad words!)

Coco...Nuts

I made chocolate pudding for lunch today.  I mean, for a snack after lunch - if you finished your lunch.  No, we don't have pudding FOR lunch.  Not even chocolate.  It was a hit.  What a surprise.  I don't make snacks or goodies very much, so when I do it's an extra treat.  I eat too much when I make them, that's why.  I have no self-control, so the only way I can avoid eating them is to avoid making them.

I ate a moderate amount of the chocolate pudding, but was successful in convincing myself that it wasn't enough.  This evening after dinner, I made another tiny batch for myself.  All for me. It feels more wicked and decadent that way, doesn't it?  And I threw in some coconut, because I like it.

I took it to my room, and have been nibbling on it ever since.  I hid it away when it was time to put the kids to bed.  David disappeared outside, Chris and Eddie were in the shower after their haircuts, the twins were running wild, and Angel wouldn't let me brush her teeth.  Exasperating.  Especially when I tried to brush her teeth, only to find her mouth full of something she was eating.  What...  coconut.  She held tight to the toy airplane she had been playing with.  Its cargo bay was full of, and spilling out, shredded coconut.  Trent cleaned it up, only to find another stash in the refrigerator.  And another one, in a toy house under the table.  Now there are sweet white shreds of coconut all over the floor, and strewn about the toys.  I guess I left the bag open, and out on the counter.  I'm busted.  Shame on me.  But I like it so...

Nuts.

Fire(works)

I looked out my front window recently, and saw this:

It looked like a house in our neighborhood was on fire.  As it turns out, the fire was much bigger than that.

The mountains near our home were engulfed in a rapidly-moving wildfire.  During the day, the huge, rolling smoke clouds make me stop and look, and hope that all the people are ok.

At night, the bursts of flames licking over the ridges make me catch my breath in frightened awe.

Tonight, we saw the fire of man juxtaposed against Mother Nature's fire.  Hers won.  Wow.

Happy Independence Day!

Today, as we celebrate our freedom and our amazing country, I'm cooped up in a tiny little hospital room.  No, I'm not the patient - just part of the support group for a family member who just had surgery.  But it gives me some time to sit and think.  Quiet thinking is such a lovely treat for me.  It doesn't happen very often at my house.

In years past, we've celebrated the Fourth of July with family barbecues, going to an early-morning hot air balloon launch, watching the parade, and taking mid-day naps to steel us up for the later-night fireworks displays.

This year, Trent has to work.  Ben has to work.  Alec had a bike race.  I'm in the hospital.  We have local wildfires burning out of control, so no fireworks for the kids.  So the other kids are at home, watching the parade on tv.  It's an awful lot cooler that way.  Sometimes, we have to change our plans.  We'll just make different plans.  And tonight, maybe we'll throw a party with star-spangled waffles.  Unconventional, I know, but it does kind of sound like fun.  And fun doesn't have to be regularly scripted.

Thoughts Worth Thinking

(Photo by Serg Bezrukoff.  Quote from my sage mother, but I don't know if she originated it.  Either way, it's worth thinking!)