Thread Away

Today the weather was vacillating between downpour and sunshine so I decided to play it safe and do what every good hairy Mother does with her daughter- go to the local thread bar.

I am obsessed with the perfect arch. I was that girl in high school with the bizarrely over-plucked brows that looked like a pair of sperm squatting on my forehead. After some life experience I took a good look at myself in the mirror and realized that I needed serious professional help. Since then I have been on a constant quest to tame and style my brows. I have had them professionally plucked, waxed, trimmed and recently discovered the world of threading.

Threading is an ancient method of hair removal thought to have originated in Turkey. Threading involves rolling twisted cotton threads over untidy hairlines and plucking out the unwanted hair. Lucky for me there is a fantastic threading bar minutes away from my home.

Lily has probably inherited some of my hairier genes especially since she looks like my midget twin these days. I figured I might as well get her acclimated to the world of hair removal during her formative years. Don't worry I didn't let any of the threads touch her sweet little face. What kind of parent do you think I am? She has to be at least 3 before that happens.

A Grandfatherly Good Time

This post is about a week overdue.

This past weekend we had the pleasure of driving up to the mountains to celebrate my grandfather's 75th Birthday. My grandfather is called by many names- Papa, Tex, Himmy, Jim, James. No matter what he is called my grandfather is one of the most genuine, involved, intense and outgoing people I have ever encountered. In his twilight years, my grandfather has hiked mountains, boogie-boarded with teenagers and driven up and down the entire west coast to be with his grandchildren for special occasions. He also has a knack for conjuring up little diddies for people and leaving phone messages purely of his voice singing special songs. What I respect most about my grandfather is the fearless way that he honestly shares his faith with anyone who will listen. A few weeks ago my sister and her husband prank called by grandfather (yes, we are all grown-ups in our twenties now) and in the midst of my grandfather getting a little bit steamed by the bizarre man calling him he managed to ask, 'do you know our Lord, Jesus Christ?' Who does that during a prank call?! He does.

Papa, I know that you read our blog faithfully and I just wanted to let you know that we value the legacy that you have left for us and the way that you have poured yourself into the lives of your grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The whole gang.

This is Me Today

Ben is back at work and Lil and I were left at home to our own devices today. After ignoring our growing mountain of laundry for the last three weeks I decided to tackle the dirties. Lil is always willing to lend a 'helpful' hand. While sorting out our garments into their respective color piles, I noticed out of my peripheral vision that Lily was trying to put on my pink underwear. She managed to get it half-way up her leg and then decided that it would make a better necklace. I know what you are thinking in the back of your mind... was the ginch clean or dirty? Yuck. I will just leave that to your imagination.

Breakfast with Lil

Lily has gotten into the habit of opening the fridge and grabbing apples whenever she is so inclined (we place them in the bottom drawer for her purposes). After a night of entertaining, our fridge was full of leftovers and and lacking her favorite healthy fruit. While lazily laying in bed this morning, we heard Lil yelling 'Yuck' at the top of her lungs.

We were out of apples.

Turns out 'Yuck, Yuck'  was really 'Kak, kak,' which in Lil language means cake, cookies or muffins.

Enjoying some Boston Cream cake for breakfast

 Lily feels deep remorse for her transgression.

The question is, did she do this, or did we? Did the lack of apples force her to fend for herself, or would she have gone for the cake no matter what?

Grumblings: My Life With the Snorer

I was really excited to move down to California, de-clutter our life and live simpler by renting an apartment/townhouse. I mean who really needs all of that space? It's not a big deal to share walls with one's neighbors, right? WRONG. I recant all of my 'simpler' lifestyle rantings and can't wait to selfishly have four walls all to myself.

Let me elaborate on the situation. The first couple of nights  in our new unit  there was a powerful rainstorm brewing outside. Because we have a Spanish style place, our roof is made up of tile which enhances the sound of pounding rain. We comfortably fell asleep for two nights to the rhythmic rain dancing on our rooftop. Night #3 is when we first became aware of Him...

We entered our bedroom around 11:30pm to retire for the night when we noticed that the entire room was vibrating from a  guttural noise. I was stunned- was it possible to actually hear our next door neighbor snoring? Our unit is dead-quiet during the day, I mean our walls must be a few feet thick and sound-proofed! I have met some serious snorers in my lifetime but this guy took the prize.I have a tendency to over-focus on little noises while I fall asleep so I knew I had to take action to block the tones coming from my shared wall. I turned on the very loud fan in our on-suite bathroom, thinking that it would adequately suffice at blocking out the noise. Nope. I could still hear him. Next, I popped in a pair of earplugs. I was seething with irritability when I realized I could still hear him even with pink foam stuffed into my ear canal. In desperation I threw a pillow over my head and finally found solace. This routine has continued on every night for the last month...

One night my earplugs popped out and the snorer woke me up mid-dream. I was so delirious and vengeful that I got out of my bed and started banging on our shared walls in hopes of letting him know that I was not impressed. My banging efforts did nothing and he continued on with his grunty melody. By this point I got back in bed and started spouting off spiteful things about the man next door. Ben tells me that I said something along the lines of 'I hope he gets in an accident.'  I didn't want for him to die or anything, just end up injured enough to have to sleep for several months in a rehabilitation place. I know that sounds really harsh and hateful, but you know what? It was 2 am and I was feeling aggressive.

The weird thing about all of this is that I have never seen/met the snoring bandit. There is a family of four that live next door- a couple with their two little kids. At least that is what I have been told... I have never actually seen them with my own eyes. I am taking a stab in the dark by assuming that the snores are of male origin but I suppose that I could be off base? Maybe it is my female neighbor that evokes my hatred in the middle of the night? I still do not know what I will do when I meet my neighbors for the first time. " Hi, my name is Sarah. Do you sleep well? Because I don't." Or maybe I will just research some snoring cures and stick the list under their doormat along with a jumbo pack of breathe right strips.

 For now, it is my plot in life to fall asleep to the snores of a man (maybe woman?) who is not my husband.