So this has been the rainiest March in California history. There were only a handful of days this month when it didn’t rain at least a little bit.
And for some reason I’m not sick of it yet. I like rainy days. They make me super lazy. Like I just want to sit and home, wearing something warm, and create or read or watch TV as I let the house go to pot. I love driving in rain. I really love using windshield wipers. I think it’s so fun for some reason. And if I find a big puddle to drive through (like the one at the end of our street) I’m in heaven. I’ll drive around the blocks several times just so we can splash in that puddle.
Fun stuff.
People have been complaining that I’ve been too quiet.
That’s because I have a secret.
No, it’s not scrapbook related.
Ok. It’s not really a secret. I’ve just been super busy. I’m going official, photography-wise. I know, I’ve been semi-official for a while now. But this time, it’s totally for real. I actually bought a business license and business cards and all that and I’m working on my website. So that’s what’s been keeping me busy. I expect to have it up in less than a week. And of course you’ll be the first to know. 
I kind of forgot you were here. Not that it’s been a super long time since I posted, but for some reason I kind of forgot about you. What the heck are you good for, anyway? I mean, you did nothing to fix my hair. Thanks to Melissa, I finally have a good haircut. Albeit about 7 inches shorter than it was a couple weeks ago. So much for the "trim." Oh…you want to see it, do you, Blog? Ok. Here you go.
And this is with bedhead. Melissa is THAT good. Please forgive the grimace. I hate getting my picture taken. Especially by myself. Really. Not. Fun.
Oh…and did you notice? I learned how to make brushes of my very own. Fun stuff. Dave likes the one with Franklin, but I think it looks weird as a brush.
In other news… (haaa!! As if you thought any of that was really news…) I was super lazy today. It was raining. I couldn’t move. Wasted most of the day. Except for a couple hours where I got so sick of the mess that we cleaned up. Which kind of makes me feel justified in wasting the rest of the day. But still. I mean, Franklin is out of diapers. Out. Well, I think we might have a backup one in the car. I really needed to go to the grocery store, but didn’t. Hope he doesn’t poop during the night.
Which brings me to the fact that the boy has been pooping on the potty now for about 4 days. WHERE DID THIS KID COME FROM?! Seriously…potty-training himself? Who does that? He does, apparently. You know, I always though Franklin sounded like the name of a genius…must be true.
And this, folks, is how I aced English. I can write about anything for any length of time. I can turn a sentence into a ten-page paper. Some people call it B.S. I call it… well, I don’t call it anything. I just keep writing until I get to the alloted amount of words. There is no maximum amount of words for this blog (I don’t think) but I’m not going to test that out right now. Maybe someday, but I’ve got TV to be watched. So I’m getting out of here. Nice talking to you, Blog.
Another bad haircut. I started a blog entry when I was in Utah going through all of my hair disasters. There have been many…And it was way too long so I ended up deleting the post.
There’s been lots of stuff. Lice (just once). A perm that gave me a chemical burn and blisters all over my neck…I still have white spots on my neck from that. Permed hair that was NEVER brushed on the underneath layer, I don’t think you can even image the mess that was. Perms that (once I learned to brush my hair) never made it because I didn’t know what "scrunching" was. A beauty school haircut disaster in which the girl cutting my hair kept saying oops, cut herself, bled into my hair, and finally chopped about 6 inches off my long hair, unevenly…that one made me so upset I cried. Alot. Or how about the highlights I gave myself one time, I ended up looking like a skunk and ended up having to dye my hair about 5 different times that summer. The haircut I paid a lot for, thinking the more you pay the better they do, and ended up with the "Carol Brady"…a flip, with a really long ugly layer underneath for another bonus flip. Not cute. Especially on me.
Here’s a glimpse of the latest haircut disaster. Note the bangs. Notice I have about 3 different lengths going on there from very short to fairly long. I don’t even know what to do with bangs that short. Let them grow, I guess. But that’s not the worst part. My hair used to be long. Almost reaching the bra strap. Now, it’s chin length in the front, shoulder length in the back. Getting a decent self-portrait proved impossible. Let’s just say I’m no kellicrowe who can take a picture of her bedhead and look adorable and has only ONE chin at any given time.
Let me just leave you with a word of advice. Don’t get a haircut the day before a sibling’s wedding. Especially at a place were the people barely graduated beauty school. And if the person cutting your hair decides to tell you about all of her adventures as a meth addict, take that as a clue to leave. And if said person decides she likes you enough to get creative and give you her best haircut ever, RUN.
It’s only hair, right? It grows back. Keep reminding me of that. Tonight I’m getting it fixed, hopefully. So that I can feel like an adult and not a little girl (Sophia) whose mom gave her a haircut. Though I must say, I did a WAY better job on Sophie’s hair. And I didn’t go to beauty school. Heck…let’s show off that adorable haircut…
This is with bedhead and no styling product. Talent, baby. That’s what this is. Maybe I should cut my OWN hair. Hardy har.
This kid. Seven years old today. Impossible to take a decent picture of sometimes.
He’s amazing. Wonderful. Incredible. I’m so lucky to be a part of his life.
Cool thing. Every year, starting the day he was born, we had the first flower of the year, a daffodil, bloom on his birthday. It always felt so special, like nature was giving me an extra blessing on this day. Like somehow Nature was celebrating along with us at what a cool thing he is.
So today, some friends dropped by, and for no particular reason, gave me these:
I think that is so cool. Such an awesome coincidence. Because daffodils will always remind me of Matthew. Of how special he is. Of how even nature celebrates his presence.
I’m back home. Finally. Not that it wasn’t lovely, but my trip was a day longer than I’d planned. Because I’m an idiot. I booked my flight, went there, had a lovely time, showed up at the airport Sunday night as planned, and learned that my flight was actually booked for Monday night. I have no idea how that happened or why I never noticed I’d booked the wrong day. I had a lovely extra day as well, lunching with my sister and sisters-in-law and playing games, just felt bad for Dave who couldn’t miss another day of work and was left scrambling on Sunday night to find arrangements for someone to take Sophia on Monday. As if he hadn’t had his hands full enough all weekend. Still, he did fine. I had a great time. Jeff and Lindsay are beyond adorable. The wedding was awesome.
Now if I can just erase from my memory the end of the flight there, where we experienced some crazy turbulance that was more like a roller-coaster about to fall out of the sky, in which many people got sick (including Franklin, twice), and the bad haircut I got (twice), as well as my idiotic mistake, I think it might’ve been the perfect weekend.
I’m leaving very early in the morning to go to Utah. Thanks to these folks: Jeff and Lindsay.
Jeff’s my widdle brudder. I’m so looking forward to the wedding and all the other stuff that comes with it. When I was out there at Christmas, I had the honor of taking their pictures (twice, actually, because he cut his shaggy hair after the first set and decided to go with a little more clean-cut look). This one is the one they sent out with their announcements. It feels so cool that I got to be a little part of it!
Here are a few more that I liked.
And my favorite:
See you guys soon!! And by the way. I ended up deciding to bring Franklin. I think that will make Dave’s job much easier and fun for me too. Because I just like the little guy. Hopefully he makes himself likable on the trip.
Californians are an interesting bunch. I’ve lived here for 5 years now and I’ve noticed some things. Of course if I said anything to real Californians (like my husband) they would totally disagree. So let’s just chalk this up to another one of Shannon’s Totally Stupid Theories.
There’s just something different about them. And they know it. When I was in college and I’d be with a Californian and they’d meet another Californians, there’d be an immediate click there. We all knew they were better. And cooler. And we all agreed. (right…) I noticed the same thing about Texans. Texans and Californias both seem to have a certain amount of state pride.
I think it’s the weather’s fault. Since the weather is almost always fairly nice, they get used to it. Things are predictable around here. (Except for the occasional earthquake…) And even when the weather isn’t nice, they pretend like it is. The wardrobe doesn’t change according to the weather. Californians dress the same year-round. The only thing that changes is how quickly they move between the car and their destination. It’s been raining like crazy here. Seriously, flooding. And I’ve only seen a couple umbrellas. It’s like we think we can outrun the rain on the way to Target. Jackets are practically non-existent. We prefer to freeze our buns off in a long-sleeve t-shirt than actually put on something warm and be comfortable. It’s weird. I’ve been colder here than I ever was growing up in a place that actually experienced winter and snow.
K…pretty senseless rambling here. Just got to thinking, is all. And I mean no offense to Californians. Because my kids are, and my husband is, my friends are, and I’m becoming one. You don’t see me with jackets or umbrellas, even though I insist the kids at least take their jackets to school so the teachers don’t file charges against me.
Franklin peed on the potty today. Granted, it was only about 3 drops, but I’m going to allow myself a little pride anyway. No good reason, really, because I’m not that excited for him to get potty trained. I guess I think it’s cool because he’s so little. He must be a genius or something. And I don’t want emails telling me how your kid was potty trained at 14 months. I know…he’s not Super Boy. But I like to think he is. 
Ok…if you want to tell me about your super child that was potty trained before he/she could talk, that would be interesting. But I’m still not going to stop thinking he’s a genius and ALMOST Super Boy.
I’m not really planning on encouraging this type of behavior, by the way. I prefer my kids in diapers. I know…what kind of mom discourages potty training?! But diapers are just so much more preferable to me than public restrooms and accidents and poor wiping. I don’t really care if my kid is the first one to get potty trained…though I think would care if he were last. Whatever the case, I thought his little accomplishment warranted at least a shout-out to cyberspace, a little potty party for the little dude.
Say the word "Afghanistan" and you’ve totally lost my attention. I know the world’s biggest problem with Americans is that they only care about themselves. They don’t pay attention to what is going on in other countries, the world’s problems are not their problems and Americans seem oblivious to foreign policy. I’m totally guilty. Compared to the rest of the world I’m living in absolute luxury, and I don’t feel there’s a lot I can do about problems elsewhere. I feel powerless in my OWN life sometimes, let alone the life of someone who lives across the world.
I was watching the news at the gym a few weeks ago and they were showing people whose lives were devastated by the earthquake in Pakistan. Children left orphans, living in refugee camps. They showed a little toddler boy with an eye infection so bad he was about to go blind, he was being cared for by his older sister (who, herself was probably about 8). And for once, it effected me. Because the little boy looked exactly like Franklin. Same age, same dark hair, same crusted-shut eyes that Franklin had woken up with that morning. It was just surreal to see an image like that. Thinking how it would be if it was MY children that had survived an earthquake and had to fend for themselves, Shelby carrying the burden for her baby brother like I saw on the screen. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, because for once their plight became REAL to me. The tragedy of it all wasn’t across the world, suddenly. It could happen here. I wonder if Americans would have more empathy if they looked more like the people being hit by tsunami’s or earthquakes or civil unrest. But then again, I know so many of us feel bad when we see stuff like that, but feel so powerless to do anything about it, so eventually we have to look the other way because there’s not much else to do. It’s so sad…
Anyway, what got me started on this… I just read an awesome book. It’s called The Kite Runner. It’s set in Afghanistan. A place so foreign to me, but familiar by the time I finished the book. Part of it also takes place here in the Bay Area. In San Jose, even. So it really felt real. Like I might see one of the people in Target or at the gas station. Kabul isn’t a word on the news, a place on a map, it’s real to me now. And while it talked about politics, the Taliban, war (and the atrocities that come along with it), the story took me through it gently. I now understand why the Taliban is so oppressive. It wasn’t the government of choice for most people. It doesn’t allow any freedoms. Even cheering at a soccer game can get someone in trouble. But it wasn’t about the Taliban. It was about a relationship between friends and family. About the way people love each other and treat each other. Stuff I could in some way relate to and be totally interested in, but also took me down a road that normally I would have to turn myself off to because it is so foreign, so ugly, so hard to understand.
Anyway…I really enjoyed my last read. It only took me a couple days because I couldn’t put it down. And while I still feel like I can’t do much about things that happen so far away from me, I could at least give the suffering the courtesy of my empathy instead of my apathy. To at least realize that we’re all humans. And we all generally want the same things. And sitting here in my plush life, I could appreciate what I’ve got. That bad things could happen. That bad things DO happen in this world. And to be extremely grateful that they haven’t, that I have peace and security and freedom and happiness. And THAT is what makes me one of the most fortunate people in the whole world. Thank God.
by Shannon Montez
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