Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.

Playgroup has been trying to plan a trip to Winterthur for the last 2 months, but I swear every Monday and Tuesday this spring has been rainy and thunderstormy. And yes. Thunderstormy is a word. Back to my story, though. The first Tuesday in June was finally nice! So Ms. Amy and I packed the kids up and hauled a$$ to Delaware. We spent the day exploring a beautiful new garden. We climbed trees, played tag, poked frogs with sticks, picked wild flowers, and rode on a tram to boot! After we tooled around outside, Ms. Amy suggested heading to a room full of antiques that the Museum encourages little ones to play with. I think the Salad could have carted those glass dishes and cast irons pots from table to stone fireplace all day. It was getting late, though, and I know our good behaviour is finite. So we ended our day on a happy note. Kinda.

We got stuck in traffic on our way home. Which wouldn't have been an issue, as I had doled our snacks and books for the ride. However, about 20 minutes in, A started screaming crazily that there was a "bug with a lot of legs stuck into her skin!" Then silence.

Me: "A? Is everything OK?"

A: "Yes, Mommy. I pulled it off."

Me: "And then what, babydoll?"

A: "I threw it at your seat."

Me: "Oh, OK."

For the next 20 minutes, I imagined a tick burrowing it's way into my shoulder. I couldn't wait to get home and do the tick check on all of us. I needn't have worried, though. Our hairdresser/barber found and removed that pesky tick from A's hair the next afternoon.

Mr. Matthew at Great Clips got a big tip that day . . . a big tip.

Love?

It would be awkward to address the 35 day break I took from blogging.  It wasn't intentional.  It just kind of . . . . happened.  So I'm diving right in.

In May, the Salad helped a friend celebrate his birthday at a bounce house. I put M in shorts and a short sleeved shirt. He was so excited when he saw that he was wearing both shorts and short sleeves. Our spring weather has been inconsistent. We could wear a bathing suit one day and a winter coat the next. Anyway, he got a plastic burn on his arm going down a giant slide. On our way home, as he lamented the lost skin on his elbow, he made sure I knew it was my fault for not having properly covered up his body with long sleeved clothing. "It's because you gave me this short sleeved shirt, Mom! But don't worry. I still love you." It made me wonder if his love for me is so tenuous that it hinges on me picking out appropriate-for-every-situation clothing. Am I walking such a fine line? Could I so easily fall from his favor for getting the minutiae incorrect? All I know is, I better be dang sure I keep his favorite cereal in stock.

There you go, buddy, all covered up.  Happy?