Personal Yom Kippur

I love the idea of Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. Not being Jewish, I'm not completely versed with how it works, but my understanding is this: Once a year, each person makes good with everyone they have offended or been offended by. I've been thinking this holiday season about the mistakes I have made in my past, and the people I wish I could contact and repair things with. I'm going to use this blog post as an open letter. I wish I could really make things right.

To the person whose truck my van door scraped in the Wal-Mart parking lot: I'm so very, very sorry. The wind caught my door and blew it open. The scrape wasn't very big, and I wanted to write a note, but I didn't have a paper or pen in my car. I went inside to borrow a pen and paper to write a note to put on your windshield, but when I got back, you were already gone. Forgive me for being relieved that I wouldn't actually have to face you.

To every boy I ever dated: I was the world's worst girlfriend, and I'm so sorry. I was mean when I should have been kind. I teased when I should have been sympathetic. I was so concerned about not appearing "easy" that I hardly showed affection. I can't believe any of you stuck with me for any amount of time. I would tell my brothers to dump any girl that treated them like I treated you as quickly as they could. Please forgive me. (As a side note to John: Thank you for sticking it out. Why you did, I'll never know, but I really appreciate it, and after a brief stint as "World's Worst Wife", I'm making a much better showing, wouldn't you say?)

To Mr. Boyle, my sixth grade teacher: I lied to you when I said that my homework was in the other classroom. It wasn't. I hadn't done it. I think you knew this, but I want to come clean anyway. Thank you for letting it not be a big deal.

To the boy (whom I shall not name) that I slapped VERY hard five times across the face on a band bus trip: You were out of line, but I was much more violent that was necessary.

To another guy (whose last name I do not remember) who took me on a date and then scared me while playing tag at a playground: You were right. Slapping (again) was an overreaction. I'm sorry.

To my cousins from Taft, California/Henderson, Nevada: I would like to apologize for all those wild lies I told every time I came to visit. Every. Single. Time. It's true that they were a lot more interesting than reality, but they were still not even close. Sorry.

To the bookclub in Toledo, Ohio: Sorry for all my outrageousness every month. My opinions did not need to be expressed so loudly, so absolutely, nor at such short intervals. I should not have interrupted every time someone else dared to open their mouth. Thank you for still welcoming me when I came back for a baby shower.

I'm absolutely full of apologies today. Do you need one? Who else have I offended?

Chicago

There is a commuter train from the South Bend Airport that runs into downtown Chicago. Two kids can ride free per paid adult ticket, so, considering gasoline, parking, and toll, it's probably cheaper to ride the train. And it's so much more fun. Especially considering the paper cups and water spigot right there next to the seats. Nothing could be better. (Or more convenient, considering the bathroom is right next to the water, and it only takes 10,000 trips to take care of the 10,000 cups of water. Thank you, Sara!)
The South Shore Line terminates at Randolph Street-conveniently across Michigan Avenue (I think) from Millenium Park, home of the World's Largest Metal Jelly Bean.
I wonder how often they have to polish that thing to keep it so shiny.
We wandered up Michigan Avenue, delighting in all the Christmas decorations, and sure that we (being still on Indiana time) would beat the crowds to delicious Giordano's Pizza. Unfortunately, even before 5:00, there was an hour-and-a-half wait for dinner. Way too long. (There was also an unfortunate contact between Mimi's chin and the sidewalk. With all the screaming and the blood, it was relatively easy to get through the crowds and to the bathroom to clean her up. This is when having a doctor in the family is really handy--the determination was made that no stitches were necessary.)

Bella was, as usual, in the Moby Wrap (all you moms with babies out there--you really need to get yourself one of these). She loved to look up at the overhead Christmas lights on the trees lining the Mile. With her cute little Boden bear jacket sticking out of the top of my coat, several passersby commented on her cuteness.
One woman stopped me, and with a smile on her face (so I thought she was going to tell me how adorable my baby was) said, "You really shouldn't keep your baby with her neck hyperextended like that. It's bad for her. I know because I work in Peds." I was taken entirely by surprise. What do you say to unsolicited advice? I wanted to say, "She's holding her own head like that because she wants to look at the lights. She's perfectly capable of holding it up, if she decides to." Or "Mind your own business, Miss Noseypants." Or "Hmm. . . I must have missed the news alarm about the horrible epidemic of babies who have been paralyzed by looking up too much." However, I simply said "Oh" and moved on.
The trip was capped by a visit to the Disney Store, a place of delights heretofore unknown to my amazed children. The only low point was the nausea of poor Joe, Sara's husband, who was sick the entire day, but hid it very well.And riding home on the train was ten times better than braving Chicago traffic and driving home so very late. I'm definitely going to do that again.

Thanksgiving Highlights

You all know, I'm sure, the feast-or-famine nature of blogging. Either you have nothing to blog about because life has been so normal and unexciting or there is too much to blog about and not enough time blog it in.* (I have to say, I love blogging normal life. Mostly because then it entails just talking about myself. Which I love to do. Yap, yap, yap. Me, me, me. I get overwhelmed when I get behind on blogging actual events, which makes me procrastinate the blogging that much more.)
Anyway, after that ssoliloquy, I would like to share my Thanksgiving, which was a lovely one. Our dear friends, the Soelbergs of Fishers, Indiana, fame, came up to share our 4th Thanksgiving together. It was delightful. The girls began the morning by thoroughly bundling to play outside. Olivia and Libby had fairly conventional winter-play outfits, but Jenna and Mimi went the "no-pants-but-three-pairs-of-socks-or-tights" route. Whatever else you have to say, it is stylish.The Wheeler family also graced us wtih their presence for our feast. (Providing the mashed potatoes and pies--both essential and absolutely delicious!). It was my first time with a kids' table. That felt like a milestone in my life.Mimi ate all this and came back for seconds. That child can eat.

It was a fantastic feast, even if my gravy was too salty. (I hereby speak never to be in charge of the gravy again.) The rolls were soft and delicious (thank you, Sara), the turkey worked out (Thank you, Martha Stewart!), and the company was fabulous (Thank you, everyone.)
Growing up in Monticello, the Black Friday shopping was almost nonexistent. And I really think that I enjoy my family's day-after-Thanksgiving tradition of sledding down the ski road more than I like braving the crowds to get a good deal. In fact, the sledding would win hands down if it weren't for one little sale. Jo-Ann's flannel. For the past four years Sara and I have been fabric shopping at 6 a.m., jealously guarding our heaping cart of flannel (which is always used by the next year, so I don't feel the tiniest bit guilty). (I put this picture on for memory sake. For vanity's sake, I would burn it and any computer it had ever appeared on.)
I have felt a little conspicuous, laughing and piling and laughing some more. After this year, however, I will never feel conspicuous again. This woman (in the glasses--the other is her daughter) was the queen of the flannel. Both of those carts are hers, plus the stack to the right. It was truly inspirational, and this picture was taken as proof to John that there are people that would put my fabric stash to shame. (She makes and sells rag quilts.) She was the epitome of all the nice people you meet while fabric shopping. She smiled and giggled and talked about her grandkids and asked what we were making, and I felt like even if I couldn't interact with my grandma over Thanksgiving, at least I talked to someone almost as sweet.
I'm done, but as a preview to my next post--a shot of the inside of the South Shore Line train. So much fun.

*I often wonder, "If it wasn't blogged, did it really happen?" I find myself wanting to record everything we do, even to the point of wanting to do things simply to blog about them. It's a sickness.

Haircut

Here we go. Thank you all for indulging my need for drama over haircuts. I appreciated the input, and last Tuesday, I just went for it. There is a wonderful girl in the other ward here in South Bend who will come to your house and cut your hair. Can you believe it? Is that service or what? And because I can never do anything all by myself, I invited two friends who had expressed interest in also getting their hair cut to join me. Here I am, as the Holder of the Babies, while Kelly got her hair cut.
Here is Kelly, with Chantel cutting her hair. I think the two side buns look is a good one for you, Kelly. Somehow I didn't get a picture of her finished product, but she looked stunning for her Thanksgiving trip to Seattle.
Here I am, with my hair all bundled to be chopped for Locks of Love. You know, it's a strange feeling every time they cut off my ponytail and lay it on the counter next to me. Almost like my arm is lying there (without the pain, of course). Very strange.


Here she is, finishing things up. Chantel was willing to use a blow dryer and a flat iron to do my hair. I am willing to comb it and style it with a little product. I think I may even like how I do it better. Then Tracy got her hair cut. Here she is before. Here she is during. Tracy went for a chin length bob with a-line layers. Very cute, but again, somehow I missed the finished product.
And to show my lack of pride, I am posting these pictures of how I look after I style my hair.
Side shot.

Now, I'm always willing to give any haircut a shot. Hair grows back, and really, what difference does it make? However, I think I will like this cut better when my bangs are a little longer, and when it stays better in position like my muse, Jesse Kelly-Landes. I especially like that little "flip" thing her sideburns do. Nothing a month of grow out can't help, right?

Seven Things

The haircut is pending. I still haven't decided, but it looks like the votes are mostly for "a".

My cousin Andrea tagged me, so here goes--

7 things I can do:
1. Sew little girls' dresses like a champ. Dresses for grown women are much more hit-or-miss.
2. Run down the stairs, across the living room, and slide in my wool socks from one end of the dining room to the other. This never fails to impress my children.
3. Nurse a baby while blog-surfing.
4. Play the piano.
5. Make a week's worth of groceries stretch for two weeks. (Yes, I really hate grocery shopping that much.)
6. Sing all the words to "Happy Little Working Song" from Enchanted. :)
7. Survive three months in a row of John on call. (It's done, behind me, and I'll never have to do it again. . . knock on wood.)

7 things I can't do:
1. Sleep well when John is not home.
2. Remember to get the library videos back on time.
3. Stop talking about myself.
4. Go back and finish a project I got frustrated with and set aside.
5. Use Superglue without gluing all my fingers together
6. Follow a recipe without changing something.
7. Write un-punctuated and un-capitalized text messages on my cellphone.

7 things that attracted me to John:
1. His steadiness and ability to stay calm in a catastrophe
2. His eyes
3. His smile
4. His kindness
5. His steadfastness in the gospel
6. His desire to serve those in need
7. His sense of humor

7 things I often say:
1. Apparently. . .
2. Yes, it IS fair.
3. Do you think that was good choice?
4. Is that how we speak to our mom (or sister or friend)?
5. Try again, but use your cheerful voice.
6. Don't you tease me.
7. I'm done.

7 People I admire:
(This is the hardest question--how do you narrow it to 7?)
1. John (he really NEVER gets mad--how does he do it? And can you believe he stuck with me through my entire "World's Worst Girlfriend" and "World's Worst Fiance" stages?)
2. My mom
3. My dad
4. Brother Black (my high school seminary teacher)
5. My grandparents (all of them, because if I list them separately, I run out of slots)
6. The creative genius behind the idea of blogs
7. My brother Pete for making it out of the MHS class of 2006 alive

7 Favorite Foods:
1. Alfredo chicken pizza
2. Spinach and strawberry salad
3. Chocolate cookies with peanut butter chips
4. Twix
5. Spinach pie
6. Waffles with strawberries and whipped cream
7. Roasted asparagus or cauliflower

7 People I tag:
1. Amy DeWaal
2. Kelly Galbraith
3. Kellie Story
4. April Born
5. Nissan Alicia Lucio Garcia de la Rosa McCandlish
6. Martha Taylor
7. Bonnie Wheeler

(I've seen this tag around, and I hope I didn't tag someone who has already been tagged. Or not tag someone who would like to be tagged. This is more stressful than it should be.)

Speaking of Hair

When I'm pregnant, my hair grows long and thick. I have way more hair than I usually have, and it grows so quickly that I never keep it short. However, there is a point postpartum, where all that hair betrays me and begins to fall out in enormous gobs while I am washing it. The good news is that this usually coincides with the same point where my newborn discovers the joy of pulling my long hair anytime her tight little fist is in the same general vicinity as my head. (Roughly speaking, about 90% of her waking hours.)
So, it's time for a haircut. I usually donate the 10 or so inches of extra to Locks of Love, so I'm going short--quite short. I want some input. Here is what I look like now. Do you have any idea how hard it is to take a good picture of yourself? Either you aim wrong. . .
. . . or your eyebrows raise involuntarily. . .
. . . or your tongue sticks in your cheek with the frustration of it all.
That was just a refresher, for all of you who haven't seen me in a while. (And who am I kidding. How often is my hair actually down? Once a week, on Sunday. Most of the time it's in a ponytail or a pen-bun. So the pictures above were taken on a good day--a good hair day. Ignore the crazy wrinkles and bulges of my shirt. Definitely not a good shirt day.)

Here are my options:
(A)
Isn't that a cute little pixie cut? But that girl, Jesse Kelly-Landes, whoever she may be, has such a cute little pixie face to pull it off. Could I pull it off?

(B) Ignore the stain on my magazine cutting, please. She doesn't really have an enormous dog-spot birthmark.
John calls this look the "disheveled vagrant", but it looks easy to do. So easy, in fact, that I might actually do it every morning.

(C)
Do I have this texture of hair? No. Do I have this color of hair? No. Do I have this incredibly fabulous sweater? No. Somehow, I still like the haircut. But it's probably not an option for me.

(D) What list of short cuts would be complete without Katie "I'm-from-Toledo, too" Holmes?
Really, this is probably the most realistic of the options (cut and color-wise, I mean. The whole stylist-on-call/personal shopper/crazy movie-star husband/rich-rich-rich thing is probably out of my league.) But I feel a little cliche taking a picture of Katie Holmes to a stylist and asking for "this look."

(E)
I have, if you can't tell from the wrinkles, been carrying this picture around in my folder of ideas for a while. I love this haircut. Doesn't she look cute?

Are all these cuts exactly the same? Pretty much. I could go with some sort of chin-length bob. (But I must admit to being TERRIBLE with a round brush. I've really never been able to learn that skill. There are some people out there--Lyndsay Peterson and Becca Larsen, I'm talking to you--who always have perfectly round-brushed bobs. How do you do it? Is it a skill you are born with or can it realistically be learned?) What do you think? Give me the haircut you vote for, and if you have any other ideas, please tell them to me. I need some help.

Bibliography:
a) Tease ( a book about remaking t-shirts)
b) Glamour, October 2008
c) Knitpicks catalog, Fall 2008
d) Glamour, October 2008
e) Playtex Hip Hammock advertisement, circa 2005

Overheard

Tonight, as the girls were clearing their stuff out of the van (slowly but surely), Mimi said this:
"Don't worry, Liv. Dad says we're dinking around, but that's impossible. Just ignore him."