So, I think I may have to rescind my recent post regarding the telephone poles in Tucson overshadowing the glory of nature seeing how the weeds in my side yard are capable of partially concealing small children and completely swallowing a chihuahua.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Tips on Love, By: TJ
The lessons we could all learn from a five-year-old about Love...
Yeah...9 is definitely TOO young, T. Wait until twenty-NINE. Or, thirty-NINE. Please.
Great idea on the date thing...much cheaper than dinner and a movie (especially since paying a babysitter for that 4 hours can set you back close to what it costs to have, say, ELECTRICITY in your house for an entire month?!?!). Definitely more fun. Will you go on a date with me? Will my tush still fit down the slide? I might get stuck. Maybe we should just stick to running around. Or, walking. Really fast walking. Yeah, that's more my speed. What's that you say? I'm a boring date? Hmphf.
"How do you fall in love"?!?!? "How do you make someone fall in love with you"?!?!? Does anyone know the answers to two of life's most challenging questions? Apparently preschoolers do. Need marriage counseling? Talk to someone in the four-and-five-year-old crowd. It might be worth your while.
And, my favorite: "Love is...that you appreciate somebody." All you need is love, love, love is all you need. Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love. All you need is love. All you need is love.
(now you're singing it too, aren't you?)
My little lovebug - gotta love him!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Not Exactly What I Had In Mind When I Decided To Have Children...
Let me start off by apologizing. I have committed a major parening faux pas and for the very first time in my blog history - which has spanned a whole 1o months if you've been counting. Which I know you have. I am sure this here blog is read by at least tens of people every two years - oh, yeah, back to the "first-time-in-Candace's-blog-history-moment." To get the full effect of what went wrong when I decided to have children, I must include a "naughty" word. A "wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap" word. Sorry. But, it has to be done. I am just here to report the facts. And if a curse word is part of the evidence, then so be it.
Ok, content warning now out of the way. I am (still) so not getting the Mom of the Year Award. Ever.
So, let's set the scene: Loving Grandmother outside with her incredibely cute but sometimes ill-behaved grandchildren. They are doing the "green-hour" thing and are outside in Granny's yard watering plants and working on the lovely backyard fountain. A beautiful spring day in sunny Tucson. Can you picture it?
Said grandson is working diligently on the task at hand - cleaning out the fountain, wondering how much money he'll be able to talk said grandmother out of today. He has probably already asked her at least 17 times how much money he'll be making. He charges by the minute.
Said-granddaughter is doing the same - working that is. Or, more likely, just standing there trying to look busy and pretty at the same time, but really just plotting her next attempt to completely eradicate any and all attempts her mother has made to raise a well-mannered, gracious little girl. Don't worry, it won't take long. She's a mastermind at working out these evil schemes of hers in a matter of milliseconds. In fact, I think she came pre-programmed with an arsenal of them at birth.
"Granny," she says "this is a f---ing man's job!"
Oh, no...there it is. Seriously, when will she understand that feminist remarks like that are just not tolerated in this household? And how dare she call her grandmother "Granny." What was she thinking?!?!?
And I really do have a hard time understanding her pronuncitation of the the "---" sound. It kind of sounded like "uck" when everyone knows that hyphens really make an "ountain" sound. Come on, how could I have failed in teaching her that basic skill? I am afraid that speech class is in her very near future. That, and a bar of soap. In the mouth. For at least a minute. For Daddy and Mama.
Ok, content warning now out of the way. I am (still) so not getting the Mom of the Year Award. Ever.
So, let's set the scene: Loving Grandmother outside with her incredibely cute but sometimes ill-behaved grandchildren. They are doing the "green-hour" thing and are outside in Granny's yard watering plants and working on the lovely backyard fountain. A beautiful spring day in sunny Tucson. Can you picture it?
Said grandson is working diligently on the task at hand - cleaning out the fountain, wondering how much money he'll be able to talk said grandmother out of today. He has probably already asked her at least 17 times how much money he'll be making. He charges by the minute.
Said-granddaughter is doing the same - working that is. Or, more likely, just standing there trying to look busy and pretty at the same time, but really just plotting her next attempt to completely eradicate any and all attempts her mother has made to raise a well-mannered, gracious little girl. Don't worry, it won't take long. She's a mastermind at working out these evil schemes of hers in a matter of milliseconds. In fact, I think she came pre-programmed with an arsenal of them at birth.
"Granny," she says "this is a f---ing man's job!"
Oh, no...there it is. Seriously, when will she understand that feminist remarks like that are just not tolerated in this household? And how dare she call her grandmother "Granny." What was she thinking?!?!?
And I really do have a hard time understanding her pronuncitation of the the "---" sound. It kind of sounded like "uck" when everyone knows that hyphens really make an "ountain" sound. Come on, how could I have failed in teaching her that basic skill? I am afraid that speech class is in her very near future. That, and a bar of soap. In the mouth. For at least a minute. For Daddy and Mama.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Can't See The Forest For The Trees
Or, as our motto here in Tucson states: "Can't See The Beauty of Nature For All The Telephone Poles."
Telephone poles and telephone lines are one of my biggest pet peeves when it comes to living in Tucson. That, and the infinite number of potholes in our city streets. And the fact that no matter where you are trying to drive to in this town - whether it be just 4.8 miles away or in excess of 30, it still takes you 45 minutes, nonetheless. I know - it's baffling. I grew up in Tucson and still don't get it.
Oh, and the fact that you can start out on a street by one name, drive due east, and the name changes on you 3 times (really, who are the geniuses that came up with this one?!?!?). And what about those streets that abrubtly end, without warning, and then just randomly reappear 1/2 a mile away? Or, the four-lane divided streets that are traveled by maybe 10 cars per day, when there are still the ancient two-laners with no middle turn lane that are traveled by hundreds each hour. Do you see a theme to my Tucson gripes? I LOVE driving in this town!
Let's get back to those telephone poles. I meant to post these photos a few months back when I took them. And, yes, these are actual pictures, not Photoshop-ed to add the snow. It does occasionally snow here, for all you non-Tucsonans!
See, there's the snow. And the big, heavy clouds. And, look, the beginnings of a rainbow. Oh, isn't it all just so beautiful?
But, wait...
Telephone poles and telephone lines are one of my biggest pet peeves when it comes to living in Tucson. That, and the infinite number of potholes in our city streets. And the fact that no matter where you are trying to drive to in this town - whether it be just 4.8 miles away or in excess of 30, it still takes you 45 minutes, nonetheless. I know - it's baffling. I grew up in Tucson and still don't get it.
Oh, and the fact that you can start out on a street by one name, drive due east, and the name changes on you 3 times (really, who are the geniuses that came up with this one?!?!?). And what about those streets that abrubtly end, without warning, and then just randomly reappear 1/2 a mile away? Or, the four-lane divided streets that are traveled by maybe 10 cars per day, when there are still the ancient two-laners with no middle turn lane that are traveled by hundreds each hour. Do you see a theme to my Tucson gripes? I LOVE driving in this town!
Let's get back to those telephone poles. I meant to post these photos a few months back when I took them. And, yes, these are actual pictures, not Photoshop-ed to add the snow. It does occasionally snow here, for all you non-Tucsonans!
See, there's the snow. And the big, heavy clouds. And, look, the beginnings of a rainbow. Oh, isn't it all just so beautiful?
But, wait...
...there are those pesky telephone poles that I promised you. (I'll let you in on a little secret about the first three photos: I said that I didn't Photoshop the snow in, but you can be dang sure that I will most certainly crop those big ol' matchsticks out of my shots!)
It's weird, there is this profound concept of burying power lines so that they don't clutter up the streets and skyline, or detract from a city's beauty. I suppose they just haven't heard of that in Tucson yet. You know we are still a "small town," afterall. And by "small town," what we really mean is several hundreds of thousands of people, dontcha' know. With lots and lots of eco-friendly wanna-be's who want us to ride our bikes to work and go green by turning all of our electricty off for one hour on one night of the year, but yet don't mind looking at a majestic, snow-capped desert mountain through a cage of telephone lines. Weird.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
If Only You Knew What A Pain It Really Is
I was reading my friend Jesusita's blog this evening in which one of her posts reminded me that we both belong to an exclusive club: The Order of the Natural Curl. Oh, I know that all of you straight-hairs are saying: "I wish my hair would do that," "It must be so nice to have curly hair, mine just lies there," blah, blah, blah, I've heard it all...
If only you were able to experience for just one month the wonder of naturally curly hair. You might not be so sure about committing to a lifetime worth of an extremely limited range of hairstyles (two, maybe three) . And always having to buy just the right shampoo and conditioner to "accentuate the curl" (read: tame, control, beat into submission). And the styling products that are not too heavy or oily or dry, and are able to give some hold, but don't make your hair crunchy or fluffy. If it's a mousse or gel - I run away. Fast. Serums and creams are my good friends - whoever invented these gems definitely deserves an award of some kind.
Oh, and frizz - definitely NOT a curly girl's best friend.
Please don't get me wrong...I am absolutely sure that I could NOT do the straight hair thing everyday. I do, or rather, have learned to love my curly hair - it has kind of physically defined me for many years. Although I will on occasion spend the 3 + hours to blow my hair out straight - just to have it start kinking up 30 minutes later, because, hey, I have nothing better to do with my time.
I guess the best part of natural curl is that with the wonders of humidity and frizz, it is pretty easy to blame the weather for a bad hair day, and women actually believe you. I mean, how can a straight-hair possibly question a curly-hair about the validity of such statement?
I must admit that, for the most part, curly hair is easy. Easy as in trying to hold a grasshopper easy. But, once you learn that it has a mind of its own and it (and only it) is in control and will ALWAYS win, you've got it made. That kind of easy.
Very easy. Until you need to get it cut. I think the number one rule of The Order of the Natural Curl is: Thou shalt not allow a stylist to touch your hair unless they are licensed, bonded, and insured and have a magic wand that can be used to replace the 2-inches of wet hair that was cut and now that it is dry appears more like 10-inches were removed.
I speak from experience - I have had one stylist cut my hair since I was 12. Not for the past twelve years, but since I was TWELVE! As I have moved around Arizona, I have found it necessary to find back-ups, but not without a thorough background check and a strict interview involving lots of questions like: Do you know who Bozo the clown is? Well, don't make me look like Bozo. Seriously, do you really know who Bozo is? Do you have a picture of him in your mind? What are your credentials? Is your hair naturally curly? What about your sister's hair - is hers? What about your great-great-grandmother - did she have naturally curly hair? Have you ever been sued for making someone look like Bozo? Do you own a magic wand?
Curly hair: it's not all it's cracked up to be.
If only you were able to experience for just one month the wonder of naturally curly hair. You might not be so sure about committing to a lifetime worth of an extremely limited range of hairstyles (two, maybe three) . And always having to buy just the right shampoo and conditioner to "accentuate the curl" (read: tame, control, beat into submission). And the styling products that are not too heavy or oily or dry, and are able to give some hold, but don't make your hair crunchy or fluffy. If it's a mousse or gel - I run away. Fast. Serums and creams are my good friends - whoever invented these gems definitely deserves an award of some kind.
Oh, and frizz - definitely NOT a curly girl's best friend.
Please don't get me wrong...I am absolutely sure that I could NOT do the straight hair thing everyday. I do, or rather, have learned to love my curly hair - it has kind of physically defined me for many years. Although I will on occasion spend the 3 + hours to blow my hair out straight - just to have it start kinking up 30 minutes later, because, hey, I have nothing better to do with my time.
I guess the best part of natural curl is that with the wonders of humidity and frizz, it is pretty easy to blame the weather for a bad hair day, and women actually believe you. I mean, how can a straight-hair possibly question a curly-hair about the validity of such statement?
I must admit that, for the most part, curly hair is easy. Easy as in trying to hold a grasshopper easy. But, once you learn that it has a mind of its own and it (and only it) is in control and will ALWAYS win, you've got it made. That kind of easy.
Very easy. Until you need to get it cut. I think the number one rule of The Order of the Natural Curl is: Thou shalt not allow a stylist to touch your hair unless they are licensed, bonded, and insured and have a magic wand that can be used to replace the 2-inches of wet hair that was cut and now that it is dry appears more like 10-inches were removed.
I speak from experience - I have had one stylist cut my hair since I was 12. Not for the past twelve years, but since I was TWELVE! As I have moved around Arizona, I have found it necessary to find back-ups, but not without a thorough background check and a strict interview involving lots of questions like: Do you know who Bozo the clown is? Well, don't make me look like Bozo. Seriously, do you really know who Bozo is? Do you have a picture of him in your mind? What are your credentials? Is your hair naturally curly? What about your sister's hair - is hers? What about your great-great-grandmother - did she have naturally curly hair? Have you ever been sued for making someone look like Bozo? Do you own a magic wand?
Curly hair: it's not all it's cracked up to be.
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