White knuckles

I must admit I had so much fun writing Friday's post, Time to Let Go. Reading all the link ups for Writing On Edge that day was also a blast. It's amazing how much meaning can fit into 140 characters.

I know I left those who visited hanging because I didn't explain what I was referring to. It was interesting reading what everyone guessed. Many guesses were for a child's first ride on a roller coaster. Since I am a coaster fanatic, that wasn't it. Only one person guessed correctly, and that was CDG from Move Over Mary Poppins.

There were also many guesses that my tweet post was a parenting metaphor. In a way, this was true. Those who guessed that make me want to write a completely different post about letting my children go as they grow, especially with today being their first day back at school (hallelujah!!). Perhaps I'll save that idea for another time.

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I don't remember having many fears as a young child. My mom always tells me the story of her and I going to the World's Fair in New Orleans when I was a few years old. My uncle, who happened to be afraid of heights, took me on the monstrous ferris wheel. Me bobbing around checking out all the sights from that height certainly didn't do anything to calm his nerves.

A few years later, this all changed. My mom met my dad and the three of us started doing things as a family. This included going to a local carnival. My dad loved to take me on the ferris wheel. From the carnival at my school, you could see my Grandma's house from the top. If him and I were lucky enough to get stopped at the very top, he would distract me by pointing out my Grandma's house. As I would look to find it, he would start to rock the car we were sitting in. I quickly grew to hate ferris wheels.

Now that I am grown with my own children, I love to take them to carnivals. However, I rarely take them on the ferris wheel unless I absolutely have to. I have had operators ask me if they need to stop the ride because my white knuckles gripping the safety bar match the color of my face.


Last week was the annual carnival at the church by our house. I took the kids up earlier in the week to check out the flea market and play a few games. Later in the week, the husband joined us. The kids wanted to ride the ferris wheel and he knows it's his job to go on that ride with them.

While we were there, we ran into my friend J, her kids, and another friend of theirs. The next 2 hours were spent watching our kids bebop between all the rides and games. Our boys, who are 5 and 6, kept asking to ride the ferris wheel. J feels the same way about that ride as I do, so we did everything we could to distract them. Finally we couldn't take anymore of their begging.

Our girls and another friend they ran into proclaimed they were riding that horrible ride together. J and I decided to let our boys ride with the other friend who was already in our group. He is older than our boys so we knew they would all be fine. It was us who were worried.

We watched our boys stand in line, proudly holding their little red tickets. As I watched them board the ride, I felt my heart jump into my throat. My knuckles turned white around the prizes I was holding as I watched them go up, up, all the way to the top. Our boys peered over the edge to try and find us below. I wanted to scream out "Sit down and hold on!"

Down, down they came and I realized it was time for me to let go.

My son is 6, but he is still the baby. As much as I miss the days when he (and his sister) crawled around the house, I know that I need to let them go and watch them grow.

Those were the days. Maybe?

Liz at a belle, a bean, & a chicago dog is doing a meme of sorts. We all remember how incredibly awesome we looked in high school - crazy clothes, wild hair. Ya, good times!

I love sharing old pictures because sometimes they're good for a laugh. I had to get in touch with a friend of mine. She is the queen of all picture circa the high school days. Also? My mom can't seem to find my actual senior pictures. I even went through her boxes of old pictures myself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say my brother is loved more than me. Thanks, mom! (love you)



I would love to lie and tell you that this is my senior prom picture because I think it's a great picture. Other than the "hold you date just so" pose, of course.

But my actual senior prom photo is this....

We looked so thrilled, don't we? And yes, that is a tie-dye shirt my boyfriend (now husband) has on under his jacket. It wouldn't have looked so bad if he wore a tie that didn't have some nature scene on it. Owls, I think.

I'm still not sure why, but I was hell bent on wearing one of my mom's old dresses. I loved the color. I loved the way it felt on me. What I did not love was how I stood out compared to my friend's dresses!

No one told me short was the *the* style in '97!

Before you start wondering what kind of crazy looking hotel our dance was in, we were on a boat.


I went through a lot of different looks in those four years. My freshman year started with crazy patterns accompanied by sky-high ponytails held in place with a scrunchie and teased bangs.

The middle years were full of ponytails held back with the first thing I could grab in the morning, rock hard bangs curled under, only covering half of my forehead, and clothes any color that resembled black.

In my senior year, my mom jumped for joy when I slashed her grocery bill by abandoning hair spray. But the black clothing? That stayed with me for many more years.

My year book picture.

Looking at some of these pictures, I'm not sure if I miss how I looked in those days or not.

What's inside my dirty blond head

How do you know if you've done enough?

How do you know if you've done too much?

How do you know if you care too much?


These are some of the questions floating around in my little dirty blond head. I know some people wonder if it's even possible to care too much. Sometimes I'd beg to differ.


I care about people I meet, whether it's on- or offline. When they are in a rough place, I want to jump in and do what I can to help. When they are happy, I want to share in their joy.

Most days I am happy with those I surround myself with. No, they may not know all my secrets and all things I have been through in my life, but part of that is just who I am. Many things I choose not to talk about freely. However that doesn't mean if a certain subject were to arise I would run away and hide.


But then there are those days. Those moments where I wonder if I give more than I receive.

People who I thought were close to me? The relationship feels fractured. Yet I still continue to give. If I open my mouth or walk away, I will be seen as ungrateful, selfish. Possibly jealous. For now all I can do is hope that no one gets hurt in the end. This is not a situation I want to pick the pieces up from.


Sometimes when I have things figured out, I get smacked in the face. I don't know which way is up or which way is down. Who's words do I trust? Do I play the naive card? It's most likely the best route to take, but is it the best?


No one tells you how many questions life can hold. And there is no one out there who can give you the right answer. Perhaps I need to change more than just my dirty blond hair? Or perhaps things are sometimes better left untouched.

A Mom Sexy Conundrum

Lately I've been at a crossroads.

I used to have a love-hate relationship with my hair. More times than not, it was hate. When I got it cut a few weeks, I feel back in love with my hair. Straight, curly? It didn't matter. I loved either way. An added bonus of my haircut was the color. It seemed that cutting off a few inches really brought out the blond highlights the sun gave me over the summer.

I loved my hair.

But the more I played with my hair, the more I saw things I didn't love. And that would be the color gray. I ran straight to the box of hair color I have stashed in the bathroom, but then I stopped. I really loved the blond and wanted to hold onto it as long as I could. And the few strands of gray? They were part of who I am.

To accept who I am,
flaws and all,
is how to embrace my inner Mom Sexy.

I am no longer hanging out by the pool, nor am I outside as much as I was during the summer. This cold weather just sucks. Because of those facts, I've noticed the blond tint in my hair is fading. The mousy, boring brown is slowly making a come back.

Brown is boring! As much as I would love to continue to embrace my Mom Sexy, gray hair and all, I am beginning to cave to the voice. The voice coming from my bathroom. The voice whispering to remind me that red heads are fun.

As much as I would love to be happy with who I am and how I look, I really think this brown has to go.

Watch out red, here I come!

A revelation of sorts

I had a moment.

One of those moments that make you say "Holy shit! What the hell happened?"

It may not have been Earth shattering, but it was a moment.






For quite some time I've been walking around like this...

Ok, maybe not exactly like that. Plain and simple, it is a pain in my ass to straighten my hair. Throw in some humid days or some rainy days and it just doesn't work. So I resort to the infamous ponytail.

I rarely get my hair cut. I do believe it was last August I got a trim. Last August as in 2009 and trim as in 4+ inches. When I do it, I gotta go all out or it's just not right.

Earlier this week I was inspired. Maybe it had something to do with this post. I needed a change. And change is what I got!

Honestly, I didn't realize how much curl my hair has. And the blond, what the hell? Who knew?! I guess all that swimming did my hair some good. At least when it comes to color. I think I'm sticking with the lighter hair. Finding out if blonds really do have more fun could just be the change I need.

Hopefully I don't wait until next August to have this revelation again!