Uh-Oh

A couple of weeks ago I did this to my hair:

The “I’m trying to grow it out” phase had officially come to a close. It was inevitable. It always happens. I always return to the shorn locks.

I returned from the hair appointment while Asher was having his nap, so when he awoke I was curious to see what his reaction (if any) was going to be.

As he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at my hair – very intently – and then proclaimed, “Uh-oh!”

I responded, “Uh-OH, where did Mama’s hair go?”

“Mama’s heh? Go? Uh-oh.” Hands reached out and tried to twirl some short pieces – “Uh-oh.”

He still, occasionally, will pat my hair and say “Mama’s heh. Go. Uh-oh.”

I can’t really read that – is he trying to tell me something?

I have a love/hate relationship with hair – not just mine, but hair in general. I don’t see the necessity of it?

Perhaps it stems from the known fact that I do not have “nice” hair – whenever I begin the growing out process I become keenly aware of it all over again. Let me share a story with you, which might explain why I don’t have high expectations for my locks.

Rewind 27 or so years ago, when I was a wee lass of 5 and decided to play “hairdresser” with my little sister, who would’ve been about 2 or 3. She had hair to die for. Long and luscious, thick and soft, a little bit of a curl – gorgeous. It’s still like that, by the way.

“Jess – I have an idea! Let’s play ‘hairdresser’!”

“Okay.” A little bit hesitantly, “Just pretend hairdresser, right?”

“Of course. Pretend hairdresser.”

Poor, sweet, innocent girl – probably just so happy that her bossy older sister was being unnaturally kind to her, and actually seemed to want to play with her, she sits down in the prepared chair. I proceed to pull out the very real pair of scissors.

“Those are real.”

“Mmhmm. But don’t worry, I’ll just pretend to use them. K, you just look straight ahead and pretend that you’re now getting your hair cut.”

Ponytail up, devilish grin, and Snip – right at the elastic band.

Still thinking it’s a pretend game, Jessica gleefully runs in to the adjacent room, where our mother is peacefully playing a game of scrabble with our older brother.

“Mommy look! We played hairdresser!”

I can’t recall if I was waiting for the scream that was sure to come or if I ran and hid right away – but the scream came, and that’s all you get from the story. I don’t really remember the particulars after that…Jess, wanna enlighten me?

Poor Jess looked like a cute little boy for quite a long time until her luscious locks grew back in. But Mom had us in pink all the time, so either people thought she was a young cross-dresser or that she had an unfortunate haircut.

Jess as a young lad, 1982

I have been cursed with bad hair ever since that fateful night. But never being one to really care about things like that, I have had fun experimenting through the years.

I don’t think I’ll ever do this again, although it was fun for the shock-value:

Buzz-Cut, 1998

It wasn’t even a dare. I was on tour in China with a musical group in college, and one of my buddies was doing his routine buzz one night and offered to hit me up. Needless to say, the director of our group was none too pleased – the Sinead look didn’t really match the bejeweled costumes.

And it’ll never ever be this long again (although I dearly loved my hippy days):

Senior Year, 1995

And since I tripped down memory lane with those pics – check out this hunk’s golden locks back in the days of humid Hawai’i. I always was a sucker for long hair on guys (yes, Asher will have long golden locks).

Dude? (1999 I think)

ABC – A Bicycle Cantique

Don’t worry, this post is G-rated. My apologies if the last one caught anyone off guard. Nathaniel and I have slowly come to realize that our minds work quite differently from others…and what we find hilarious might not be quite so humorous to someone else?

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Another bicycle anecdote! Can’t help myself – it’s all we do as of late.

For those of you who know this area, it’s pretty hilly. I start off going down Alexander – the first time we sped down the long hill Asher actually made a “Whee” sound. Now he just smiles with glee and doesn’t make a peep. We are going fast and he is living on the edge. Rebel.

But then we have to come up the hill (we usually cruise down to Ft. Apache and then cross over to Gowan where the ascent begins, and doesn’t end until we’re cruising down Cliff Shadows again).

That’s when the chatter begins. It’s like he’s bored to tears that we’re all of a sudden crawling along at a snail’s speed. “What gives?” I imagine him uttering. “What happened to the wind knocking the breath outta me?”

First he’ll whimper, “home? home?” as in, “C’mon, we’re not going home already are we??”

I respond, “Just chill Asher babe – remember it’s not the destination but the journey.” Yeah, I actually said that.

As the hill gets more steep and my pedaling slows down even more, Asher starts trying to help my legs along. Little hands reach down and pat my legs, willing them to move faster. Not helpful to the one whose legs are burning. I redirect his hands to the handlebars.

“Ho-hum, when are we gonna go FAST again?” Little hands start moving towards the gears…”DON’T touch those…” and they quickly move away.

Desperately needing his attention diverted as I’m working my butt off (that’s the hope anyway) and about to pass out from the heat and the hill, I implore, “Hey Asher (pant pant), Mama (pant) needs a (pant) song (pant pant)…can you (pant) sing (pant pant pant) Mama (pant) a song?”

Good idea! Little hands now tapping the beat on his seat, I am willed up the hill to the sweet sound of Asher’s “ABC” rendition – sung at the top of his voice:

EE BEE EE BEE EE BEE EE, EE BEE EE BEE EEBEEEEBEEEE. EE BEE EE, EE BEE EE, EE BEE EE, EE BEE EE. EE BEE EE BEE EE BEE EE, EE BEE EE BEE EE BEE EE!!!!!

So proud of himself, and I’ve made it up the hill – we are quite the team.

Saying the actual letters can come at anytime, right? – my boy sings the “ABC’s” with perfect intonation! That’s music to my ears.

Asher’s new favorite(s)

**It’s been a while again, hasn’t it? I’m a dud. Playing catch up very soon.**

Lately, our daily routine begins when Asher wakes up by shouting or singing from his bedroom. There’s no sleeping through the noise, so Nathaniel goes to fetch him and dumps him on the floor in our room for him to roam (ie: destroy) while we try our best to sleep a little bit more.

Within minutes he is up on our bed trying to lift our lazy heads with his little hands and demanding that we put his “helmee” on and take him for a “byesicle” ride, after we give him his “otmee” and “applesee” of course.

Asher has a habit of repeating whatever words he knows to try and get our attention in the early hours of the morning, or any time of the day for that matter. Frequently this is what we’ll hear, as he climbs over our heads and pulls the blankets off our cold feet (recite the following aloud, in quick succession, letting your voice rise on the second syllable – and you’ll get a feel of what it’s like to be Asher!):

OTMEE? APPLESEE? APPLESEE? OTMEE? MAMBO? POHTRY? JEWS? JEWS? JEWS? PUSSY? HELMEE? BYESICLE? BYESICLE? HELMEE?

translation: Oatmeal? Applesauce? Applesauce? Oatmeal? Mambo? Poetry? Juice? Juice? Juice? Pussy (as in cat, you dirty beggers) Helmet? Bicycle? Bicycle? Helmet?

OK, some explanations may be in order. First off, Pussy. I know, what the heck, right? Of all the words in the 20 minute poetry video he watches, the poem about the Owl and the Pussycat is what he remembers the most. Although he conveniently drops the “cat” off the Pussy, and says it in public as loud as he can, over and over again like a broken record. And he says it with perfect diction. No messing about, no wondering what he said. He said Pussy.

Mambo is the name of a dance, didn’t you know? Asher does. And he boogies in the living room (uncontrollable hip and leg movements, sort of spastic-like) asking, over and over, “mambo? mambo? mambo?” then he giggles and will fall to the floor feigning laughter. It’s really quite the sight.

He loves orange juice in the morning, so he prances about shouting “Jews! Jews! Jews!” This kid makes us howl sometimes, I tell ya!

Anyway, back to the reason for the post: Our new favorite thing to do!

Every morning after breakfast, Asher don’s his new “helmee…”

…and begs to go for a “byesicle” ride:

Seriously, the best purchase we’ve made for this young lad thus far. Asher has been obsessed with bicycles and motorcycles for a while now, and I’ve been yearning to get back on my bike.

So I started the research – the trailers seemed lame to me (Asher gets to stare at the road and gets dust and rocks kicked up in his face? Nice.), and the seats that attached to the back of the bike seemed a tad unsafe – not to  mention, once again, boring for Asher, and then I came across this contraption!

He sits up front, has the lay of the land, and we can swap it quickly between both our bikes! All I can say, is that he absolutely LOVES bike rides. In fact, about 3 minutes after we get back from the SECOND ride of the day, he’s off again wondering when we’ll be cruising the streets and hills of our neighborhood. Good times.

The best is when he puts his hands on the handlebars and pretends to change gears – and then he’ll whip his big helmet head around while we’re riding and say “HI MAMA!” and give me a kiss. Tender, no? Couldn’t do that with him sitting on the ground in a trailer.

Mothers.

She is my first, great love. She was a wonderful, rare woman - you do not know; as strong, and steadfast, and generous as the sun. She could be as swift as a white whiplash, and as kind and gentle as warm rain, and as steadfast as the irreducible earth beneath us. - D. H. Lawrence

When I think of mothers, I get a bit choked up. Those that know me may know that it doesn’t take much for me to get emotional, but when I stop to think about all that a mother is asked to do and to give up, in exchange for an unforeseen reward, I just can’t help it.

I think of all the mothers in my life. Grandmothers, mother, spouse, mother in law, sisters, sisters in law, cousins, friends who are mothers, colleagues and associates. All have had an impact on me. Sometimes when I’m in a huge crowd, I think to myself – “every single person I can see right now was at some point inside their mother. Through great pain and endurance all these people came in to the world.” Next time you’re in a crowded place, give that some thought. It’s sort of impossible to wrap your brain around.

While I’m ever grateful for my own mother, I’m starting to see first hand the sacrifice a woman makes to be a mother, and I’m left completely humbled. Felicity is one of the most talented and brilliant women I have ever known. Her capacity to enrich the lives of those she’s around, continually boggles my mind. Two + years ago, she made the decision to put a potential career and recognition for her talents on hold. For who knows how long. I cannot (it is not possible to) empathize or comprehend what type of compassion this requires – to put everything you know and desire, on hold.

To the mother I see in action every day, I have a few thoughts.

1. You are amazing at what you do – however new and “green” you might feel.

2. The talents you have nurtured for 32 years are naturally distilling on the mind of our wee boy through your example (and lets hope genetically!).

3. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again; after being with you during Asher’s birth, you are my total hero and my heart grew 2 sizes that day. Seriously. What the heck.

4. You never get a break. We’re pretty good at sharing the load, but at the end of the day, there is no end of the day for you.

5. Thanks. Thanks for all you do to foster imagination, laughter, creativity, sympathy, kindness, and a caring mind for our little man.

6. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think: I don’t know how she does it…cause I know I couldn’t do it. You blow my mind.

7. Thanks. Can’t say that enough.

8. Love your guts. Happy mothers day, even though every other day is your day too.

And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see -- or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read. - Alice Walker

California Dreamin’ (part III)

Third & final day: Exploring Hermosa Beach

Hermosa Beach - the "village"

Our final day (Easter Sunday) started off with a quick “good bye” visit to Hil & Josh at their cute place (I wish I had pics of them and their pad). It was great seeing them and Gwen (their furry companion). Asher loved Gwen – he thought it was great fun to feed her pretzels and pieces of her dog food. I’m not sure what Gwen thought of Asher – but it was fun to see them interact!

We headed up PCH again, this time to Hermosa Beach – a hip little college town. It had a very cool vibe – very laid back. The pier had the surfer’s walk of fame on it and the ocean was filled with surfers. It was the warmest day of the 3 and many people were out enjoying the warm breeze.

We started off with snacks on the pier.

Then proceeded down to the beach to watch the action in the water.

This weathered guy gave Asher a greeting as he passed him by - one that would make his Auntie Jess proud: "Hey little surfer dude."

Asher loves his Papa!

Fortunately for me, he loves his Mama too - despite her bad attitude sometimes.

And that’s it! We couldn’t stay for too long, just enough to get our last fill of the sea air. We gulped it in deeply – it has to last us until our next trip to the oceanside!

It was good to get away. The whole drive home we bemoaned the fact that we hadn’t done it sooner. And then we made a pact (on that long drive home – actually the drive from hell, but I don’t want to ruin the nice memories I’m creating here) that we go to the coast once every month from here on out. Living in Vegas started to not sound so bad anymore.

Two weeks later, the letter from Boston came…and now we get to live right beside the ocean! Okay, not the same deal – those Atlantic waters don’t quite beckon like the Pacific ones do…but it’s still the ocean & it will be much more accessible. And there will always be trips to Cali when N is filming his latest and greatest doc on autism (if those Hollywood moneybags ever cough up the dough).