8 month old dreadlocks

I never get on my computer anymore. It sits folded up neatly on the entertainment center shelf underneath the tv most days- and if its not there, then its probably resting on the ottoman opposite of the couch, waiting patiently for me for met to come over, open it up, and show it some love. I've just gotten so used to a life without the internet- social networking isn't really my thing, and maybe it never has been? Or maybe it was, but for the wrong reasons. But you know what? Now that I rarely do it, I'm not missing a thing. I could probably write a whole post on this in itself, but I'll save that for another day...

I got an email recently, asking about my dreadlocks. A friendly reader had remembered the article I wrote back in October, where I spilled my hearts feelings about "my beautiful", and posted a few pictures of what would someday turn into dreadlocks. This reader wanted to know if I had stuck with it- and if I had, how were things going- or had I given up?

Well some days, mostly in the beginning, I certainly felt like giving up. "What am I doing?!" I wondered, as I slowly transitioned from the normal color/cut/style routine, into my new "I wash my hair once a week and will never brush it again" routine. I felt like every time I left the house, people were staring at me. There were months, where I couldn't bare to leave the house without some sort of wrap or headscarf covering them, and they were almost always tied into a knot of some sort.

And then one day, I just, went for it. No wrap. No pony holders. Just my hair, in all of its tangly messy cave woman existence, resting down near my shoulders. ...and thats how I went to the store with my family.

I didn't think much about it, at first, because when you're walking around with 3 kids and a shopping list longer than The Bible, the top priority is usually to keep the baby from throwing cans of organic corn at strangers, and not to forget the toilet paper (because the commissary isn't open on Mondays, and we're out of paper towels too). It wasn't until somewhere around the bulk rice that I felt eyes on me, and in that moment, even though I felt noticed... I felt okay. And we made it through the trip, and we got home safely, and in the end, I had survived my first trip out of the house with my naked dreads.

My dreads aren't perfect. They weren't professionally done. My friend Alexis and I did them over the course of a few days at each others houses, while watching Labrynth and Dirty Dancing, with a backcomb and a whole lotta knotting. Her arms must have been killing her. I know my butt was from sitting on the floor that whole time. As time went on, hairs pulled out of place, dreads came undone, hair from this dread fused to that dread... things got messy. And at first I hated it. I wanted them all to look uniform, nice and tidy. But the more lumps and bumps they got, the more character each one took on, and the more I relaxed.

And now, here I am, 8 months later. I love my dreads. I love their quirks. I love their personality. I love that I never have to brush my hair. I love that I can throw my hair up into a knot on the top of my head and leave it there for days. I love that if I put my hair in pigtails I look like I belong in a rave circa 1997 (I never do that, the one time I did I felt ridiculous).

But most of all: I love that I've learned how to get comfortable with myself.

I'm not in many pictures- I'm usually the one taking them, but- on my 28th birthday a few weeks ago, Christopher snapped a picture of me sharing my birthday breakfast cake with the littlest one, and for the first time, I saw what I looked like from a totally different perspective. At first I was taken back, "who is that hippie in the photo?". And I must have stared at it for several minutes, maybe even hours. I don't know about you guys, but- I just don't look at myself that often. I almost never wear makeup, we don't even have a full length mirror in the house... I just never see myself. So in a way, when seeing this photo, I was seeing myself for the first time.

So maybe its not the most flattering picture (Christopher has no idea about my angle preferences, but really, whos husband does?), but-its real. Me on a Saturday morning at the park, feeding my baby a bit of homemade gluten free chocolate birthday cake, rockin' my dreads.

I've come a long ways.

And while I've got you here, want to see a picture of the eclipse from a few weeks ago?

Pretty neat, right? We gathered with a group of people behind the base library where they had a telescope and projection screen set up, and one of the librarians let me borrow his zoom lens (I strictly use my 28mm wide angle). It temporarily burned my eyes until I switched it to the LCD screen, so I was seeing spots for awhile, but I managed to get a pretty good shot.

Alright, so not many pictures this time around (not compared to my usual posts, at least), I just don't feel up to sharing my entire life the way that I used to, but- we've got some really exciting things going on right now, and maybe I'll come around and share some of those soon? Thanks for sticking with me, reader friends. I hope you enjoy the read as much as I enjoy stopping by for a good type :)

Back For A Little Catching Up

I didn't disappear from my previously abandoned and very unorganized typing dashboard on purpose, see what happened was- my oldest was playing a serious game of "I'm gonna jump from here, to there", and mistook my laptop for a giant fluffy brown couch cushion. Aaaand the screen broke in half. So that sucked. ...but it didn't suck that bad, ya know?

 Christopher wanted to repair/replace my broken means of communication and virtually all things social right away, but I waved my hand in front of his face and said "no no dear, don't rush". A break would be nice? Actually, a break would be reeeeal nice. A guilt free break. And it was. Nice.

That is, until Easter rolled around and my camera's memory was all filled up, and I had no way to download or edit photos, so I couldn't take any new photos of my kids hopping around like little bunnies collecting pastel plastic eggs with homemade peanut butter cups smeared from one end of their smile to the other. Then I realized that maybe my vacation from all things internet/photography/social, was probably over. We went ahead and got a new computer on order, it arrived a few weeks after that, Christopher set it up a few days after that, and then today I finally got around to uploading and editing the clutter of photographs that I had been collecting in digital piles behind the scenes.

 I don't even know where to start.

The kids have been up to their ears in homemade shaving cream shower paints. Have you ever smelt half a can of Barbasol smeared across a steamy tiled bathroom, mixing with the sounds of delighted squeals? Well- its about the opposite of awesome.I made the paint, delivered, and then slipped in and out to take a quick set of photos, then abandoning the entire upstairs for about 24 hours until the smell of musty/freshly shaven old man had dissipated.

 I love my kids. I love when they're happy. But shaving cream has been banned from our house, for eternity. And thats that.

 While I'm stretched out comfortably on the couch, feet propped up nicely onto the ottoman, typing away- spiderman is frozen on the tv in a really awkward scene of an old lady with a look of terror on her face, the baby is sleeping upstairs in her crib underneath the ceiling fan which must never ever be turned off or the entire household will drown in a lake of my sweat, and the rest of the bunch is out back blowing up a volcano dinosaur water park that we picked up at Target yesterday for $30.

Not even May yet, and its been in the hundreds for days. Okay so maybe only a few days, but I guess the dread in my tone is because I know that once the hundreds are here, they're here to stay. We took the kids outside right after their chocolate oatmeal breakfast this morning, to break in a new box of cheapy sidewalk chalk that I had dumped out for them into an old basket- something that we've been without since we moved here 3 months ago. The chalk, not the basket.

They drew pictures of the ocean, and pictures of Mama's with babies in their bellies.

And then they all chased butterflies across the grass, and took turns poking at a beetle who had been half eaten by a bird, was somehow miraculously twitching as if his headless body were still alive. ...was it? I don't even want to know.

Speaking of butterflies: they've been abundant here. The other morning as we walked out the backdoor for our morning walk, we were overcome with flutter from every direction. I'm not sure I've ever seen so many butterflies in my life?

 I don't know much about butterflies, other than the general they-start-out-as-caterpillars thing, but... their wings don't generally just fall off do they? Because its not like I was going around playing "he loves me, he loves me not" with all of the monarchs in the neighborhood, we just happened to look down and there was a wing lying on the cement between the water table and the stroller wheel. So naturally I bent over and picked it up, and it kind of floated from one area of the house to the other for awhile, eventually landing on Eleanore's chai tea saucer? She didn't eat it, though I bet she would have if I would offered her money to do so, haha.

The kids all have their own designated couch blankets, for movie watching. And even if its the temperature of the inside of an oven in the house, they still think they absolutely need to have them. Nobody can touch anybody elses blanket, by the way, or theres big trouble to be had. See there, how Charlie's foot is touching Evelyn's "gween banky?", well... watch out son, because in about 5 seconds, you're about to vocally attacked by a toddlersaurus who will surely show no mercy.

Evelyn has a thing for birds. On cool mornings I open up the back door, close the screen, and she just stands there mesmerized by all of the chirping and hopping about. "Boodee!" she shouts, with a finger outstretched in their direction. And she shouts it over and over again, until I repeat the word back to her in approval.

And Eleanore, who feels like she needs to use her baby voice whenever shes talking to her almost-two-year-old little sister, likes to play copycat and join in. Especially when she catches me gushing over how adorable whatever it is, is. And even though it sometimes annoys me that she does things like that for attention, its still pretty adorable to see sisters, side by side, ooh'ing and aaah'ing over the morning flock of hungry boodees, and all things nature like. Fine fine, use your baby voice until your whine turns into a whisper for all I care, just so long as nobody is fighting or crying- be precious all morning.

In other news: this guy is finally potty trained! I remember back when Eleanore was a baby, I probably did several posts on potty training- the trials and tribulations. With Charlie it was more like taking care of business. One day we just decided, no more diapers. He had been ready for quite a long time, but because of various setbacks and maybe a little bit of laziness on our part, we just never got around to laying the law down. We started on a Saturday, and by Monday he was good to go.

We still have some issues in the poop department (because everyone loves talking and reading about poop), but for the most part, all systems are go. We can successfully leave the house, for a month or more now, without any accidents. Except for maybe if hes parallel playing with a new friend at the park, and forgets to kink the hose. Anyways- rock on little Charlie. Diapers are lame.

Plus, he looks mega cute in his big boy underwear, right?? I won't make this a habit I promise, haha.

Eleanore had been asking me for some time, to cut all of her hair off. I said I would, and then I avoided it. Its not that I didn't want her to look like a boy, which the other girls at the park sometimes mistake her for, I just didn't want her to be unhappy with how it looked or felt. But after her consistent nagging, I finally said "alright lady, your wish is my command", busted out the clippers- the same ones that I use to cut her Daddy's and Brother's hair- sat her down in a dirty kitchen chair, seat still covered with dried leftover lunch rice, flipped the switch, and let her have it.

The initial shock was... shocking.

My little girl looks like a boy. No, she doesn't, she looks like an angel. An angelic little boy? No- wait- her face!! Look at her gorgeous face. I can actually see her face. She has ears! Gorgeous little pixie ears! I love it. Its beautiful. And then I told her 100 times that day (and maybe that many times or more, for quite a few days), because the words came to mind every time I looked at her, that "Eleanore you are so beautiful. The most beautiful girl that I've ever seen".

Shes such a little tomboy- much happier building things with wood or digging in the dirt, than playing dress up or with dolls. She passes the Barbie aisle at the store as if it doesn't exist. Man when I was her age- there was nothing other than the Barbie aisle. Barbie was my everything. But not for this girl- she loves to help her Daddy build things, she loves to get her hands dirty.

Art is her favorite. Art of any kind. Coloring, painting, chalking, scribbling on the shopping list, decorating wood scraps with whatever remains of the finger paints that we almost never use. We try to have art time once a day, but lately I've been slacking. Art is kind of a way of life for her. ...too bad her sister likes the way that art tastes. Crayons that get left out, get eaten. And pictures that don't get hung up, end up being chewed up and swallowed.

Oh. The red hair. The blue eyes. The fair skin. The pouty lips. The stare. This little one just keeps on growing, up up and up.

"Kitty Bomby outside!" she yelled at lunch time from the tippy top of her raised high chair as she spotted the cat in the back yard. Christopher and I both laughed at the adorable clearness of her perfectly constructed toddler sentence. Its hard to imagine that shes the same age that Eleanore was when we became pregnant with Charlie, and our family began to grow. I'm constantly comparing her age to Elie's. Not in a rivalry sort of way, but more for nostalgia's sake.

 These kids.
 Man.

I love everything about them.

 So there we have it. We're a bit caught up, right? With the exception a few minor yet very major life details. Maybe now I can clear my camera and get back into the documentary swing of things? But first I have to go swipe the always magically reappearing and ever so obnoxious electronic snowman snow globe from my sons hands, before I hear "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" another time, and explode with Christmas rage.

 Charlie. Back away from the snow globe.