hair

Sunday Sundries

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Today my brother told me about how he was on a walk earlier today and got stopped by some missionaries. He told them he grew up Mormon, so he knows their angle.

They asked why he stopped going to church.

They asked him if he still believes in God.

Those are not topics he’s going to talk to just anybody about.

Those are topics even I can barely broach with him.

I mean, people exercise their faith/philosophies very differently. And it sounded like those missionaries were trying pretty hard to get my brother to open up. And it would be one thing if he actually wanted to talk, but it sounded like one those situations that, no matter their efforts, because he didn’t want to talk, they weren’t getting further in that conversation. You know?

Today I only rinsed some of the conditioner from my hair during my shower. And now? My hair feels so silky! I just worry it’ll look and feel greasy tomorrow.

A few weeks ago I got my pixie cut cleaned up at a chain salon. As the stylist snipped, hair rained on the black cape. Not just my dark-brown-almost-black hair, but a bunch of grey, too. The question is: Do I call those lighter hairs grey (definitely with an E) or silver? I mean, I’ve dyed my hair silver in the past, and it has looked rad. And I’ve definitely earned mine, so.

I’ve started a nightly face cleansing routine. Pores and wrinkles and age spots in my face; the slightest crèping in my neck and décolletage. In my 20s and through my 30s I didn’t really wash my face at night. I guess I let the oils in my skin do all the work, and only occasionally my skin would break out and I’d call it yet another puberty. But now, it seems my skin is actually starting to dry out. If I can’t control my silvering hair, then I should be able to regularly clean my face, right? Besides, after washing and moisturizing, I like how soft my face feels.

So, there’s that.

A Successful Day

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Today our family went to the dentist. And it was probably the best Z has ever done in her few years’ experience of biannual unpleasant visits to someone who went to school for years to learn how to probe teeth. We were proud of her. But: she has a cavity, and she has another appointment to have it filled. We don’t know how she will handle this. All her other teeth look great, though.

Oh! I also made the bed this morning! And passing by the bedroom a few times today, I looked in and saw a made bed and felt a little less stressed out. It’s also very nice slipping into a bed without having to tug at sheets to make sure my whole body is covered.

Back in December my cabin fever compelled me to cut off all my hair. It’s been slowly growing back, and now it is in the middle of an awkward mullet-like phase. I have two cowlicks at the base of my skull, which keeps the hair from lying flat against my neck. It just sort of half-fluffs out. So I’m sort of in the middle of willing my hair to grow faster so that the mullet-thing will calm down. I’ve pinned and clipped my hair down at the neck. It’s long enough to tie back into a ponytail, if the pony was tiny. Another month, and maybe it won’t be as bad.

Vain, perhaps. But I never said I wasn’t.

Selfies with My Hats

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I like hats. There’s not much more to be said. It’s fun how different each hat makes me look. With my hair at a weird in-between/awkward length, I’ve been depending on hats a lot lately.

The slide shows below are categorized. I dug around the house looking for some of these. This should be all of them. If others pop up, I probably won’t post them. Or maybe when my hair is long again I’ll post more.

If you like hats or are deciding whether to like hats, maybe this post will be helpful. Maybe not. Whatever works for you.

Flat caps

Running/Active caps with bills

Winter hats

Wide-brimmed hats

Fedoras

At 30 Seconds

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This is not the first time she’s done this, but it’s the first time she’s done it in front of the camera. She did it twice in a row two days ago, but she was VERY ANGRY while doing so. Like, totally ticked off. Never mind doing it in front of the camera. And she did it for her father yesterday morning, but the camera again wasn’t out. So here’s Little Zinger’s debut of her upcoming mobility. It’s bittersweet imagining her rolling onto her back into the sunset already. Pardon the ESPN in the background, though news of the NBA draft maybe helped her.

 

 

Six Weeks: Photos

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This is not a letter, just a bunch of photos from the past week that I’m sure nobody cares about…

Watchin’ television with Dad:

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Strollin’ along:

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Nappin’:

 

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Showin’ off random cuteness:

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Smilin’ for today’s photos, which makes being up with her from 12:40 to 3:00 this morning totally worth it. By the afternoon, you can’t even tell that there were moments when both of us cried because neither of us slept:

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Holy moly, this child.

Reilly says that if you take my features (eyes, nose, mouth, hair) and place them on a baby-sized Reillyhead (forehead and cheeks), you get the ever-adorable Zinger.

What do you think?

 

One Month (?!)

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What the HECK, Zinger.

Two weeks ago when the doctor measured you, you were in the 94th percentile of babies for your height. Neither your father nor I can claim in good conscience that you take after us in that regard.

Also, you have mostly outgrown your newborn clothes. You can squeeze into the 0-3 months clothes, but we’ve broken out the 3-6 months clothes and have started to give your small clothes away already.

You can already scoot on your tummy. You can stand with our help. You look so much more grown up than when you were born.

I do not understand this. You’re only a month old.

Last week at your weighing, we hoped that you had finally gained enough to reach your birth weight. Well, guess what: You outshot that by eight whole ounces. Half a pound. I must admit that we did get a little zealous during the week leading up to this weighing. I pumped and we supplemented about half the feedings and crossed our fingers that it would be enough. It was more than enough. We are very proud of you.

Daddy and Zinger are so beautiful!

Your umbilical cord stump finally fell out, so your father and I gave you your very first non-sponge bath last Saturday. You liked the warm water spraying on you, and you seemed sad when the bath was over, because all of a sudden you felt cold so we rushed to dry you off and put on cute pajamas and prepare your outfit for Sunday.

Baby-bathwater situation?

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Oh my heck this kid.

You received a baby blessing at church Sunday morning. I kept a prayer in my heart all last week and maybe I cried for most of sacrament meeting. Seriously, the opening hymn (which might as well have been the “Barney” theme song because I was emotional to begin with so it didn’t matter what the song was) set off the waterworks. And I didn’t bring tissues, so I just wiped tears with the back of my hand. Your dad did such a wonderful job. He blessed you with the ability to make good choices and understand and apply important gospel principles to your life. He blessed you with the ability to empathize and be a good friend. A decent human being with a caring soul. He blessed you to recognize the love your family has for you.

You already manifest these qualities. When you and your dad came back to the pew where the family sat, your dad passed you to me so I could hold you. You saw tears and love in my face and you calmed me with your deep, expressive, sort of bluish-brown eyes. Your countenance told me you understood everything your father declared to you.

The fam.

You may have had a blessing placed upon you, but we — your family — are the ones who are truly blessed.

So cute.

My favorite time of the day with you is the early morning. I bring you from your room to our bed and feed you and cuddle you until you fall back asleep. Your dad kisses you on the cheek when he leaves for work. It’s the sweetest thing. The other morning I nestled you and your little arm stretched across across my chest as you slept. I had read a chapter from the scriptures to you. I listened to you breathe, I smelled your skin and hair. Our moments — the ones I wish could last forever — are mornings like this.

You may have already noticed, but we are surrounded by people who love us. Family, friends, potential friends. Lola has helped a lot. A couple weeks ago I shared some early experiences of new-motherhood, and we received an outpouring of empathy and support. For those moms who need a little boost, read this blog post. I told some classmates about your birth, and one woman acknowledged that I had undergone major surgery and trauma. That really meant a lot. It’s wonderful that people are willing to help us in any way they can. You understand this best as a baby who’s so dependent on others; I’m slowly realizing as your mother who only wants to make you happy, that we do not have to do anything alone. You eagerly accept help and are grateful, so I want to thank everyone who has reached out.

I can't stand it.

 

Zinger, you have already taught me so much; you are forever an example to me. I want to be able to tell you to stop growing up so fast, but I fear it’s too late for that. Your father and I will enjoy every moment with you anyway.

Inconceivable cuteness

We’ve basked in the last four weeks with you. We’re excited to see what the coming months bring.

Love, Mom

Stimuli – Three Weeks

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Dear Little Zinger,

I don’t know when you’ll start reading these letters. For all I know, you’re getting up between your night feedings and staring at this screen sharing its soft glow with your already-beaming angelic little face. If you really do this, I would not be the least bit surprised.

Three weeks, little girl. It’s no wonder you or I don’t want to sleep: we don’t want to miss a single moment. The minutes pass so quickly and often blur the memories. After a while we might forget these early stages. Such is the nature of time and why I write you these letters.

We are observing some things about you, and we need to have a talk. Don’t worry, none of it’s bad at all. Well, most of it isn’t bad.

Quiet Mobile

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Today I removed the music box from your mobile. You would watch the mobile go round and round for a few minutes before freaking out. I figured it might be the music. Now in place of the ever-violent and traumatic “Rock-a-bye, Baby” in an accidentally minor key is the low hum of the little wind-up motor. It’s a lot better. I mean, if you want a decent dark melody for a music box, people should at least consider “Danse Macabre” by Saint-Saëns. That playing over a crib with a sleeping infant doesn’t seem nearly as demented as “Rock-a-bye, Baby.”

Next, let’s talk about visual stimulation. I’ve searched the internet for fun little things that might help you develop your vision. I know you’re not crazy about this. Every time I try showing it to you, you’re like, “Meh.” I’ve tried it with and without the sound, and let me just say it’s so much worse with the sound. If you want your ears to bleed, make sure to turn on the volume:

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As far as having something to look at, this always calms you down. Which, of course it does:

Of course.

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We enter this room of books, and you see all the spines in their various sizes and colors. You get quiet — almost reverent — and your eyes get big and almost twinkly. Your dad and I read titles to you and wonder which ones you’ll read first, if you’re not already reading. For all we know, you sneak into this room between your night feedings, take a book from the shelves, crawl with a flashlight into a corner and devour all the words, even though you have your own shelf in your room of board books and classic picture books. We love that you love books. But it would be okay if you didn’t.

Finally, Zingster, we need to talk to you about your squirminess. You’re no longer an inert mass of cuteness. You’re a dynamic, sprawling, limby bundle of joy. Your eyes are more intent. You turn your head and stretch your arms. You smile more and kick those strong legs. But what’s curious is the way you grab a handful of your own beautiful, dark hair and PULL. And naturally it hurts and makes you cry. I wondered if you were trying to make yourself cry: an early experiment in manipulation. You’ve done this several times, and maybe that’s all it took for you to associate the action with the pain and stop the behavior. In case you forget, do NOT pull your own hair. At least pull mine. Or someone’s I don’t like. Or wait for a sibling to come along, since you can’t pull your dad’s hair. Unless he grows it out, which he probably won’t.

It’s fascinating and terrifying how quickly you’re learning and growing, and I wonder if your father and I can keep up.

That’s all part of the ride, though.

We love the ride.

Read this and believe it: We love you.

I cannot stand the cuteness.

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Love, Mom

Another Book I’m Reading

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Gulp: Adventures on the Alimentary Canal, by Mary Roach

I just started reading this, and asterisks twinkle sporadically throughout the text. Because the content is so interesting and the style is so quirky, it’s actually quite hard to not look toward the bottom of the page to see what the asterisks mean.

So far, the book is about eating. Later on, I’m sure the book will also be about pooping, because that’s a part of the “adventures” in the title. I’m currently in a chapter about how organs are very, very nutritious and American culture grimaces at the thought of eating narwhal skin, for example.

But, footnotes. Chapter 3–entitled “Liver and Opinions”–describes an experiment where scientists served children 16- to 29-months different things to taste, for “until kids are around two, you can get them to try pretty much anything.” Among the lowest-accepted items was human hair. An asterisk bedazzled the word hair, so I rushed to read the corresponding footnote and now I have to share it with you. If you’re squeamish, I suggest you ignore it, but if you can detach, here you go:

Compulsive hair-eaters wind up with trichobezoars–human hairballs. The biggest ones extend from stomach into intestine and look like otters or big hairy turds and require removal by stunned surgeons who run for their cameras and publish the pictures in medical journal articles about “Rapunzel Syndrome.” Bonus points for reading this footnote on April 27, National Hairball Awareness Day.

I read that last sentence and felt I’d missed out on serious bonus points. Still, I feel that I shouldn’t be giving myself so much credit for reading a book with so much  gross-out potential, because it’s actually a lot of fun to read. If you’re in the mood for some fun science writing and need a break from dense literature (like I do), check out this book.

Back to reading before dinner.

Mammal Matters

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What I’ll miss: Furry poofy chair
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It came in a cube-shaped box, early 2004. I sheathed it with its furry coat, then I sat on it and kneaded the foam to a plumpy-round, sitworthy form. It has endured over five years of sitting, jumping, lying, napping, rabbit-resting, child-wrestling, cuddling, reading; what have you. Two to three adults have sat on it at the same time. Maybe four. Zillions of children. It more than filled the measure of its creation. Also, truth be known, I never washed it. It had collected a lot of dust and hair. It was crusty and matted in some places. Its time had come. I’d always called it “furry poofy chair,” others had also called it “gorilla.” My chest tightened a bit as I left it in the basement a couple days ago.

What I won’t miss:
Furry poofy chair’s tendency to collect all the dust and hair in the apartment. Also, every NYC apartment’s tendency to collect all the dust and hair in the city. If you live here, you totally know what I mean.

All Right Then

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So, I delivered my talk at church this morning. I think it went all right. I cried and stuff. I mean, considering I used a lot of what I’ve posted on this blog as material for the talk, people seemed to respond positively. That makes me glad.

Also, someone who really intimidates me and whose approval I’ve always wanted approached me and said that I wrote the talk and presented it well.  He said some other stuff, but I was rather shocked and surprised that he was talking to me, so I forgot what it was. We talked about teaching a little bit. I thanked him for his kindness. He thanked me. He. Hee.

It might have helped that I looked pretty cute. Not tooting my own horn. Just an observation.

The boat party last night was fun. I mean, I had a good time because I couldn’t get over voluntarily confining myself on a boat for three hours with hundreds of other church singles. There were lots of people to meet, lots of people to avoid. The music was great. The weather and the scenery were amazing. Sitting in a corner, telling stories. Fidgeting. Enjoying great company. Watching people kinda sorta fall in love. Hilarious.

Today is a glorious day. Enjoy it. 75 degrees, sunshine. Seriously.

Oh, I curled my hair last night. A friend of mine actually did it. She used a flat iron and turned my board-straight hair into a bouncy mane of springy ringlets. I didn’t take pictures, but other people did.

I thought it might be nice to have cute, curly hair for my talk this morning. But after three hours on a boat, surrounded by water and the wind rushing through my hair, and after sleeping on it, and after looking in the mirror, I decided to pull my hair back. Yeah, there was no way I was going to subject my fellow churchgoers to that. It kind of looked like a small beast was attacking my head. Maybe a cross between a tasmanian devil and a poodle. Yes.

Got a priesthood blessing today. All I gotta say is, Wow.

Nap time!