Not Your Ordinary Day at the Salon

                                            

In 2009 my life would forever change. I became a blonde!  Though I like to think of myself as youthfully minded while not matching my chronoligical age in as many ways as I can, my hair at the time just did not reflect this. I noticed the first of many grey hairs before the age of 30. So, since I did not wish to be of salt and pepper at the age of 40, I stepped out and made this bold move. It was a very exciting time.

Of course in making this decision  it would mean I would have to commit. Just because I color my hair doesn't mean anyone has to know about it (with the exception of those who already knew me as the ex-brunette beforehand). In any event, I was willing to invest a little more in my hair care needs and visit the salon for the upkeep as often as necessary.

Across the board, most salons are all alike pretty much. Hair styling stations with the many reflections throughout of the many mirrors, sinks, the array of hair care products and very colorful people working there. Another thing I've noticed is that they are also very well lit. With this being the case, I see more wrinkles in those mirrors, my teeth don't look as white and I look fat in those smocks. I look around and the stylists seem as though they are best friends with their clients while engaging in endless small talk. I used to feel a bit awkward as I do not have a gift for small talk but since I came to the realization that I am an introvert this does not bother me as much. I am also fortunate enough to have a stylist that understands this. Though we do converse somewhat, it's still nice to not be under any obligation.

With all these elements aside, I enjoy the salon. My favorite part is when the stylist is finally done wrapping my hair in foil and I have 20 minutes of solitude. Sometimes I even get a five minute bonus if my hair is not ready yet. I also don't mind staring at the ceiling with my head over a sink while my stylist massages my scalp with whatever it is she uses that always smells good and makes my hair so smooth. Ahh...and now the hair dryer. Once again, I don't have to converse. My imagination runs wild!

Salons can be very interesting places. Now that I visit more often for longer sittings, something is bound to happen at some point that will get my attention. People have different reasons why they visit salons. Everyone seems to have their own needs for whatever their hair requires with their own story. It could be a prom date or a wedding do, the "chop it all off" before and after, or maybe a new look all together like I once did.

But today, the inevitable finally occured........as well as the unthinkable.

I arrived at the salon at approximatlely 10:15 this morning. As I made my way to my stylists station, the neighboring stylist's client arrived a few minutes later. Her hair was 50 inches long. It hit the floor once she was seated. The stylist began to work and at times had to stand a good few feet away just to work on the ends of this woman's very long hair. I marveled at it. Everyone did. I, as well as any of the stylists had never seen anything quite like it. She had not had a haircut since 2005.

At the time, I didn't really know why she was there. But it soon became evident. She had gone to sleep one night and woke up the next morning unable to brush her hair. It had tangled so badly during the night, it was more than she was able to care for the next day.

At first, it seemed like it just needed to be brushed a little more than usual. The next thing I noticed, there were 3 stylist collectievly working on the task. What might have seemed simple became grueling. As 45 minutes became 60 then 90, the job continued. While I was being soothed by scalp massages and the theraputic aroma of hair product, this woman was in agony. Strand after strand was combed and pulled from the top of her head to the bottom. She fought back the tears as did I. I envied this woman at first as I have never been able to grow my hair past my bra strap. Now, I tried not to watch as she continued to go through hell. It was 12:45PM. I was done before she was.

As I was checking out the two behind the counter were bickering as they were trying to figure out the new computer system. As I waited, I thought about the woman and hoped she was ok.

10 minutes later, I went back to tip my stylist. When I saw the woman again, her hair looked almost fully restored. As I walked away, her stylist from a distance said "Thank you for your business." I walked back, hugged the woman from behind and kissed the back of her head. I think I heard her smile.


If anyone knows, it's me....sometimes you just need a hug.

Little Black Dress

Sunday: Had one of those moments where I though my life was over after I backed
into a Mercedes Benz at the park with Emma. But my life continued.

Monday: I had to use a toothbrush that came from the kid's dentist office.
Deidre took mine off of the sink. I know it's here somewhere.

Tuesday: Laurel now has a new favorite shirt. It's pink with a cat that says
"Boo!" on it. She insists on wearing it daily in spite of what is spilled on it
or what she found in the back yard.

Wednesday: Survived the school fund raiser at Chik-fil-a after twice climbing up
the play structure to get Deidre while people around me were saying "It'll be
okay, mom!"

Did I mention that I backed into a Mercedes. Oh, wait, yes, yes I did.

Thursday: Continuosly picked up Deidre's raisins off the floor at the endodontist while a root canal procedure was being explained to me. 

Friday: Waited until noon to take a shower for the carpet cleaners to arrive
with the hopes that the cleaning equipment would still work after cleaning my
floor. They didn't show up.

Friday night: Gonna wear this and smile!


                                         

                                           

Carrot Picnic

I'm not what you would call the "conventional" type. I have never really ever been afraid to do my own thing.

I'm gonna let you in on a few secrets. I take bubble baths by candlelight, I have a rocking chair at my desk, I sleep until 10 am sometimes and I love my non-9-to-5 job. Additionally, I sometimes just don't feel like sitting at a table for lunch. There are certain areas in my house that are just more comfortable. My rocking chair converts just fine to a lounge chair in my bedroom in front of the TV where I spend my lunch watching reruns of The Brady Bunch (besides this, I watch very little TV). It's something I've done since I was a kid and simply just can't explain.

Now that the older kids are in school and it's just me and Deidre, she often brings her lunch plate up to the bedroom to join me. It would be pointless to send her back down to the table as she would be back upstairs with her plate again the second I turned around. So I got a blanket, laid it out on the floor, turned on her favorite show and had a picnic right there in the bedroom.

She had a two quarters of a ham sandwich and I had a hot dog left over from the night before (I am the only one who eats the leftovers). We both had baby carrots on our plates. She ate her carrots and the next thing I realized, mine had disappeared from my plate. Since she had probably had her fill of carrots, she began to feed the remainder of my own to me. Up on her little knees, her tiny hand with the carrot was right in front of me. She smiled and laughed as I pulled it away with my teeth. As I chewed, she offered another which I took also as well as a third one after that. My mouth grew fuller with carrot bits as she kept them coming. She offered another while growing eager waiting for me to swallow. "Eat it." she said smiling, as I was unable to open my mouth. I took it anyway as I just could not say no.

10 minutes prior, I had no idea I would have this experience. One I will not too soon forget. It started with just a blanket.



                          


                               

Minivan

In 2005 we did the unthinkable. It was something I promised myself I would never
do. When we were given word that baby number 3 was soon to arrive, the
unthinkable became the inevitable. In September of that year, we welcomed a new
2005 Toyota Sienna to dwell amongst us. It was shiny, red, clean, scratch and
dent-free with only 11 miles on it.

Our little Christmas present named Emma arrived on Dec.21st....the whole reason
for this crossover so to speak.

Nine years later, the only thing about it that is still the same is that it is
still red.... Oh, and might I add, PAID FOR!

It still runs great in spite of scooter scratches from kids who didn't realize the
concept of permanent damage at the time, numerous tire replacements, a new
radiator, and maybe a few french fries under the seats. It has been featured on
Google maps on the corner of Sever and Tab Roberts roads in Lawrenceville, GA as
well as on the photo from that traffic violation when I made a left turn on red
in the intersection in Snellville, GA. I handed the photo along with my penalty to
woman at the bureau. She took my payment and handed the photo back to me and
informed me in a very friendly manner that  I could keep it. I thought about how
 it would make such great material for my scrapbook. Inevitably, minivans
sometimes make mistakes.

As my minivan has matured, so had Emma. Since it is hard to give all my kids the
individual attention I should be giving them, I have to set aside a special
weekend for each of them for one on one time. It was Emma's turn and she had
informed me she was ready to get her ears pierced.

We had the joy of spending this very special bonding time as she picked out her
earrings with feelings of excitement and a bit of anxiety. She toughed it out and
cleaned her ears 6 different times when she got home.

After frozen cookies and cream in the food court she decided she wanted to go to the
park. When we arrived at the park there was a large birthday party taking place
in the pavilion. There were about 100 guests, a DJ, bubbles blowing from a
bubble blower and a ginormous spread of decorative cake pops. I thought for sure
that Justin Bieber was going to show up at any moment. Since we weren't invited
we kept our distance and enjoyed the early fall temperature, blue skies and the
sun at less of an angle. After a nauseating attempt as an adult on the swings, I
decided to locate a bench close by. Emma joined me.

Of all of my children, I remember the sound of Emma's whimper the most. Out of the
5, I would have to say that she is the most discontent which carried through into
her early childhood years. Because of this, I had to work very had to teach her
to develop a strong sense of independence. She had to learn to solve her own
problems, help herself when she needed things, and do more for herself on her own .....
surprisingly, I succeeded. Since she doesn't need me as much, I miss her
sometimes. Our bonding time together suddenly became of much greater value.

As we were relishing in the great pleasure of the afternoon, a woman with a parrot
sitting on her shoulder was walking towards us. I was greatly hoping she would
stop at our bench to cap off this perfect afternoon. The birds name was Ms. Miles
and could have easily starred as a lead role in the movie "Rio." Ms Miles ruffled her
feathers for us, ate a peanut, and made wild bird noises. It was adorable. We
thought it was entertainment for the party but it wasn't, she was there simply to
enjoy the lovely weather as we were.

We decided it was time to go home after the perfect afternoon. However, we were
not prepared for what was to come next.

When it comes to backing out of parking lots, I am a bit obsessive about looking where
I am going. Today, on this particular occasion, maybe a little less so as I would
back into a Mercedes Benz. Not that there's ever a good time for a minivan to
make a mistake, but needless to say, my mood was quickly vanquished as the timing
was significantly off.

Though my car was more scratched up that the Mercedes, the scratches on my car
would just simply blend in to the ones that already existed. Though minimal, I'm
sure the owner of the Benz would notice his. Many things ran through my mind.
With impending medical bills, I couldn't face a lawsuit. Cameras would catch me
if I left the scene and I would be arrested. Emma saw the whole thing. The
scratches wouldn't have been as bad if only it wasn't a Mercedes! Ohhh, life was so
much better 5 minutes ago!

Once I was able to calm down, the best thing for me to do was to just leave a note on
the windshield which was what I did. It read:

Hi,

I backed into your car
and left a few scratches.
I feel really bad about
it. Please feel free
to contact me if necessary.

Samantha


No one called.






                                                                                                                                                                                                           

                            

Prayer, Photography and Gas Prices

I prayed two prayers today. First of all, that God would make a photographer out

of me. Not necessarily a good photographer but at least someone who can operate

a camera and have that prompt that makes me think "I must get a picture of

that." as I swiftly grab my camera.

Up until now, my photography has kind of sucked. Anyone who has seen my photos

on my Facebook would probably agree. Some of my photos are too blurry, the

lighting is all wrong and I have cut off many heads. Also, not to mention the

fact that with the large tribe of kids I have, it is pathetic that I don't shoot

pictures as often as I should.

Now that I am a writer, it makes sense that I would have pictures to go along

with my stories. Since I have started writing, I am now starting to experience

those "prompts" which lead me to want to grab my camera to spontaneosly capture

the glimps and quite possibly throw a few more words together to go along with

it.

Mike has a nice Fuji camera but the camera on my phone works okay. Sadly, I also

have a phone thats ready to die and does not hold a charge for more than a day.

As long as I'm prepared, I don't mind doing things on the cheap and keeping

things simple.

My second prayer has had to do with the gas prices these days. In 2008 to be

exact, gas prices were about what they have been lately....more than we should

be paying and leaving us filling our tanks only half way at the pumps (not that

this helps anything but at least we THINK we being more conservative). At the

time, I had just started a new job which required 60 mile round trip commute.

The gas prices miraculously dropped below $2.00 immediatly after I started. I

don't usually get that lucky. In 2010, I got pregnant with Deidre, left that job

and gas prices soared again.

It is now 2014 and I recently started another new teaching job which requires

another longer commute. You may be wondering what gas prices have to do with

cameras and taking pictures. It's rather simple. It "prompted" me to take a

picture of something I have not see in a while. 2010 to be exact.

Praying this continues.

Hospitals, the "Never a Dull Moments" and...Codfish??

It was an ordinary week. Maybe even just a little busier as one of my main concerns was how I was going to work my lesson schedule around choir practice at my church that week.

Pizza Casserole

Every married couple at some point in life makes one very important decision - When to have kids.

For me, I was in no hurry. It was a big decision and I didn't think I was mature enough for the resposibilty compared to other moms I knew. I still haven't really changed much in this respect.
After a few years, we decided it was time. We gave birth to our first born in January 1999.

When Rebecca was about 3, we discovered that she had a mind of her own, but we had concerns. After a series of evaluations, it was determined that she had a mild form of autism. Though measures had to be taken to secure proper arrangements and we would not observe normal development patters, this news, for some reason, never bothered me.

We faced many challenges as her speech was delayed, she was not always in the most suitable learning environment, and doesn't connect socially for someone her age. But, one thing holds true. She knows who she is and we let her be that person.

Over the years, she has been passionate about many things. The first thing I remember was the color red. She cried at the Special Olympics when she was handed the first place ribbon instead of the
red second place one for the 50-yard dash. She loved the movie Toy Story and wore the Buzz Lightyear light up shoes that I had to special order online to get the right size. Lastly, I have more Dale Earnhart Jr. paraphanaglia than I know what to do with now that she no longer likes NASCAR.

Through the many phases that we would see, pizza was something that was always consistent. One afternoon, Rebecca had informed me of a mac and cheese cook off the youth group was having at church. She enthusiastically reminded me for 7 straight days that she wanted to enter and made me promise not to forget.

We thought that if both mac and cheese and pizza were combined, the odds would be in our favor. Rebecca did all the work as she cooked noodles, stired in sauce and baked for 30 minutes at 350 degrees. With my pot holders, a casserole dish in hand and a trip
across the parking lot, the games would begin.

When I returned two hours later, I noticed something in her hand as she walked to the car. It wasn't my pot holders which she left behind. She had informed me that she would be treating us to dinner
at The Olive Garden. Unmistakably, she had won the cook-off.

Her pizza mac and cheese is now a regular item on our menu. Though she wants it often, we have it every few weeks or so as we do not want to tire of it. Last week, she informed me that it had been long enough since the last time as I was planning the weekly meals.
She mentioned it throughout the week and made sure I added all the ingrediants to the grocery list.

I left that afternoon to go teach like always. When I came home, she had the table set, the oven heated and the water boiling. I didn't have to cook that night.

Autism doesn't bother me.

Volleyball. Again.

There was a crisp chill in the October air today as the early fall leaves were
beginning to contrast against the crystal clear blue sky. Today was Saturday and
and as Summer had finally past, new goodbye's were also on the horizon.

I realized I had learned a few things about being a mom of a child in athletics.
As a piano teacher, I hear a lot about the numerous sports events that sometimes
conflict with my students lesson times. Though this is frustrating for me at times,
I can now identify a bit more with them.

I overhear conversations about playoffs, home or away game schedules and final
scores. Up until now, I could not identify or contribute to these conversations.
Truthfully, I could have cared less.

However, I discovered that living through the journey of being a parent of an
athlete brought me where I never thought it would. It was a combination of thrill,
heartache, exuberance and anxiety. There were the many celebrations over the
victories and comfort was needed after the upsets.

Since high school, I have attended football games, basketball games and even track
meets that I myself participated in where my parents cheered me on. During these
games, I never once considered the fact that there was a parent in the grand
stands holding their breaths as their first born son ran with the ball to first
down and feeling proud that there son had advanced the team. Never once did I
consider the tears of that mom as she saw her daughter who hit the ground after
the ball only to remain on the ground with an injury. Nor did I consider that some
of these parents sacrificed their work schedules and business trips just to be
there to watch their children play. For the first time, we were those parents.

Today, Madeline played volleyball. I saw her play on the court in her blue
uniform, knee pads and very long ponytail with a striped bow. It was a long day as
the tournament included 4 different schools that her team would compete against.
Before the final match they huddled up for their last chant of camaraderie before
playing against an undefeated team. It would be their last game of the season. As
I watched them play I thought about how she always needed two back packs, how my
heart would pound when the ball was headed in her direction and our bonding
experiences as we would hit the drive thru after practice. I remembered the
excitement in our home when she found out she made the team after a long wait on
the night after tryouts and I think there's even an onion left from the fund
raiser.

Her team showed fatigue as the opposing team was intimidating. The final was 25-
12 of which one of the scores was Madi's. A felt a tear in my eye as the last
point was scored. Not because of the loss but that Madi's first volleyball season
was over and her team was second place in Gwinnett county.

                                                                       My Madi

                                                                               #11

Bonfire

                              

I have been told that if kids aren't messy there is probably something wrong with them. I really hope that's true.

If it is, in my case, I have 5 perfectly normal kids. They love to play, eat, cut, color, spill, pee, and kick their shoes off as they please....all of which creates an aftermath that sends me the reminder that I am indeed a parent.

Since I have been having babies between 1999 and 2011, I have learned a few things on the subject of cleaning up.

It's a typical day in our household. The kids are in school while my youngest is home watching Blues Clues. The bills have to be paid, the pantry is empty, no dinner plans yet and then I walk into the living room. Now there are some parents out there who would gasp as they walk into a sea of toys, granola bar wrappers, empty glasses, crayons, paper scraps and socks....even the potty! Well, that should also be my reaction with the added responsibility of reminding my children that their allowance depends on the truth that the issue must be taken care of once they return from school.

As time passes through the day and the kids have been home a while, it's time to break the news. Now if I was a kid and my mom told me to clean the living room in the catastrohic state being as it is, I would probably hit the wii myself after picking up a pair of sock and
maybe one toy.

There was a time where after useless reminders and empty threats, I would become exhausted only to end up doing the job myself. Through experience, I realized that cleaning a mess of this magnitude is very overwhelming. Even I would question where I was supposed to start....until one day, I found a solution!

Since there are usually so many different items that are to be put away in so many different places, the easiest thing to do would be to collect ALL the items and create one big pile in the middle of the room and that's what we did. So the floor is now clear with one large pile in the middle of the room. The thought of lighting it all on fire came to mind but I wouldn't want to traumatize anyone.

So now that half the job is complete and everything is in one place right in front of us helps make it easy to sort and assign a destination to each child. Emma gets the shoes, Laurel gets the toys, and Deidre gets the trash. Keep it up, mission accomplished!

Maybe, just maybe, someday my house may be as tidy as the family's across the street with just 2 kids. I just don't get that worked up it. If you have kids, you have messes. It's just what kids do.