Cue the choir...

My hair and eyebrow maintenance issues have been covered here at the Nirvana for my long suffering (but dear) readers.

It has been a long and winding road. A road of horridity. A road of crapicity. A road that has left me unwilling to subject myself to regular maintenance due to the feeling of impending doom...

Monday I looked in the mirror and it was clear that something had to be done. Quite frankly, anything.

I called a salon that had just opened up in town. I figured the less Holly history someone has the better.

Of course they were closed on Monday (see how far out of the self maintenance loop I am?) but they cheerfully (yes...cheerfully) returned my call Tuesday morning and set me up for an appointment that afternoon.

I walked in. The receptionist was warm and friendly. I was taken back to the chair and I saw it.

I saw it...

They had tiled the walls with the most amazing tile I recently saw this very tile at the tile showroom. Ever since that showroom moment I have been mentally figuring out how to sell our current house and build a new house around that very tile. Hi tile of glory, I am home.

A lovely person did my color. She listened to me. *gasp* She made suggestions. *gasp* We had free-flowing conversation. *gasp*

The whole time I get to gaze at the tile of glory.

Another lovely person did my haircut. She listened to me. *gasp* She made suggestions. *gasp* We had free-flowing conversation. *gasp*

The whole time I get to gaze at the tile of glory.

She then waxed my eyebrows. I had no input here. I am a brow moron. She took over in a as-gently-as-this-is-going-to-go-down kinda way. *gasp...little tear...* We had free-flowing conversation. *gasp...little tear...*

And if I could see through the pain I could have gazed at the tile of glory.

Oh, oh, oh! I forgot a really good part. While I was in those foil thingys that you have to wait 20 minutes to do whatever they lead me over to a COMPUTER THAT WAS CONNECTED TO THE WORLD WIDE WEB and I leisurely visited many of you.

I know. I know. This is WAY TO GOOD TO BE TRUE. But wait, there is more...

I stop to pay at the front desk and this is posted, "We do NOT accept gratuities. We are professionals".

At this point my hair and brows could look like crap...

You had me at the tile.

But in another stroke of amazingness, my hair and brows look fabulous.

I will get someone to take a picture of me today just to prove it.

And then I am going back to take a picture of that tile...

This potluck stinks...

Happy Monday to you
Happy Monday to you
Happy Monday dear reader
Happy Monday to you!


I am so excited about today's potluck. I have food! Left-overs, but yummy. I have cranberry and almond pasta salad with faux chicken. Not any faux chicken, but certified veggie Fri-Chik out of the can. Mmmmmm. You can't get that from just any grocery store. I am also serving oodles of fresh fruit with marshmallow fluff and cream cheese dip. Mmmmm. Seriously people we are only going first class here.

I have written about how all God's creatures seem to congregate around my house. Well last night was a first. This sweet creature arrived:



Huh? Is it a kitty? Is it a puppy? An armadillo wearing a fur coat?
Nope. That my friends is a skunk. A skunk curled up comfortably sleeping between my house and a very large digger toy.

Not any skunk, but the skunk that went through the dog door, ate dog food, sprayed the area and then went out to sleep on my back porch a mere 6 inches from where I took the picture through the glass door.

Hello? Are these creatures NOT reading my blog. Because I think I recently posted a lengthy list of what happened to PREVIOUS creatures who dared tread on Holly soil.

Let's just say that he won't be making that mistake again. Animal control came out and extracted him. Tomorrow we will find out if he has rabies. Oh goody! If he does then I will chronicle the 90 day house arrest my animals get to endure because they are NOT REGISTERED in my town. They have shots, but I didn't fill out the proper paperwork which I am sure is going to lead to all sorts of fines. Fun stuff here at the Nirvana.

I promise the faux chicken is not skunk meat.



Regular potatoes and a VERY small watermelon.

Really now, does it get much better then the "What's in Holly's fruit bowl" segment?

Next time I go to Starbucks I am going to order this:
Venti, soy Chai tea latte in a cup that's center of gravity is not at its rim, has a tight fitting lid, a cozy that doesn't rest on the bottom of the cup and can't be easily crushed by my bare hand in the act of being carried.

Crazy me. Wanting to actually consume my $4+ drink instead of wear it. BRING BACK THE OLD CUPS STARBUCKS.

Today the cat threw up in the living room. Rhett walked through it. Rhett had major tantrum when I removed his shoes to clean them (don't ask. He is so attached to his shoes he wears them to bed...yes, with his PJs). I finally got him calm, cleaned his shoes and then started in on the carpet.

Ryan walks through and asks what all the commotion is about. Rhett says, "kitty puked". *stop a minute...where did he learn that?*

Ryan says, "what is puked?" *whoa..not from Ryan!*

If you missed my road trip extravaganza, please click here.

Skunks, small watermelon, puking cats, crappy cups, a link to floating sandwiches and faux meat...

Park place...

This week marked the last day of school and the start of summer...

What am I going to do with three boys?

Go to the park.
Here are pictures from 3 of the 5 parks we visited this week...










Self-shadow portrait of Rhett and I holding hands on Mother's Day...


Go see more pictures at Lotus' place.

This clue leads to my next adventure...

I posted the next episode of Holly's Animated Life over at Fussy's place. Please come visit me!

P.S. This episode was written as a request from my brother Fred.


If you are looking for more episodes of Holly's animated life, please click here.

Worth noting...

In honor of Mrs. Fussypants' delivery of her 5th boy. (Yes, you read that correctly...FIVE ), I present the following:


*Please note that I can't be certain that she dresses all her boys in matching outfits.
**Please note that I can't be certain that her husband dresses in coordination with the boys.
***Please note that under the swaddling blanket the littlest Fussypant/Smartypant addition does match the other boys.
****Please note that Fussy is wearing skinny jeans home from the hospital because you can do that when you are a stick figure.

Karla is hosting Fussy's Fight the Frump this week at her place.

Now all around the room in one big line...

I exposed one of my areas of motherhood ignorance yesterday.

Several of you caught it. Hey thanks...I have been feeling inadequate in this area since Ryan was born.

I was reminded of my cluelessness in this area recently when reading Manic Mommy's job description. I read this list thinking, "I am doing OK in every area except for this one".

I have read parenting books. I have researched. I have spent hours in thought. Still, no answer.

So I offer up to you, wise and dear readers, my burning question of motherhood:

Does it really matter what weight pajama you dress your child in if you keep your house at exactly the same temperature year around?

*gasp*

*ahem*

*avert your eyes*

Yes, I have just admitted that I have no idea whether the boys should be in footy fleece or shorts and t-shirts.

No book has addressed this. The only reference they make is something like...just dress your baby in one more layer then you are wearing.

FINE! But I sleep in shorts and a camisole and under two blankets.

Since babies can't sleep with blankets, do my blanket layers count? So would that be 2 layers or 4?

What if I throw off one blanket during the night? Should I rush in and strip a layer off of him? So would that be 1 layer or 5?

What if I start the ceiling fan in the room during the night? Should I turn on his fan and add a layer (or not) or leave the fan off and subtract a layer? So would that be sleeping naked or packed so tightly into multiple pajama layers that the poor child can't bend his arm to place thumb in mouth?

I live in Texas. During the summer it is hot. But we don't like the house to be hot so we run the air conditioner. Texas winters are mild. But we have very thin blood and run the heater if needed. So really the temperature is the same every night.

To prove my schizophrenia on this issue I took the above picture tonight (see the Stars Hockey in the background?) where Ryan is warm and cozy from head to foot and Rhett is sporting shorty wife beaters. How did I get here?

Oh, did I mention that Ryan won't wear anything else and Rhett will scream unmercifully if his "orange jammies" are dirty. That is my thought process. My parenting book will be in stores soon...

***
Please note that the title is from one of the greatest pajama resources of all time, Sandra Boynton's Pajama Time. I can't leave you hanging so let me finish so you can get on with your day:

Now all around the room in one big line,
wearing our pajamas and looking so fine.
It's Pajama Time!

Hop in the bed. Turn out the light.
You can have a party in your dreams tonight.
IT'S PAJAMA TIME!
(Hush, Hush)
It's Pajama Time!
(Hush, Hush)
it's pajama time.
(shhhhhhhhhhhhh.)

Because the chicken suit was at the cleaners...

The Nirvana bedtime routine is predictable. The boys eat dinner, get a bath and brush their teeth. They get to watch a show on TV if the previous three steps have gone smoothly.

It is my goal to choose something calm and unlikely to induce nightmares when choosing that show. For several years we got away with just turning on "The Goodnight Show" on Sprout. Recently, a rebellion of the older two boys has ensued with accusations of that show being "for babies", "boring" and the worst offense in my house, "for girls". Oh the horror.

To squash the rebellious masses, blog-Stedman has purchased some DVDs that have made the boys squeal in delight. They are relatively calm and don't seem to cause nightmares so count me in.

Last night the show had been set on the TV and blog-Stedman and I were downstairs eating dinner when Rhett(2) came down for a wardrobe adjustment:


It appeared that his police belt was too big and kept falling down around his ankles. I fixed the problem by punching an extra hole in the flimsy belt.


Life at two was great again. He wants to make sure you note the one driving glove and his "camera". Don't try to tell him they are binoculars. I am just warning you. He returned upstairs to the TV.

A bit later I went up to check on the boys. I hear hysterical laughter. I walk in to them watching this:


(the episode where Gilligan accidentally has an plastic explosive tooth filling)

I turn to see this:


This:


And this: