I'm craving...

...this outfit today. I'm still really enjoying yellow, only instead of pairing it with black, I want it with white and kelly green. The painted-stripe tank is one of the few items I think I have to have from J. Crew's spring line. The watercolor effect is really quite beautiful in person. And as always, I'm coveting a Kate Spade bag. You should really check out the lining. Pure perfection!

{Click the image for credits.}

The Saga of My Hair

Note: it should be stated that the nameless hairdresser featured in this post is both beautiful and talented. I've seen her other clients and they all have lovely tresses. It's obvious that she can do hair. Just not mine, apparently.

A few months ago, my husband exchanged services with a hairdresser. Seeing as J has no use for a cut and color, I became the beneficiary of the exchange. 

It all started out well. She came to my home {no need for a babysitter! Bonus!} and I filled her in on my hair preferences: partial {very fine} weave, level 10 bleach, cool tones, and a bob cut. "We can just put level 10 blonde haircolor in, and it'll be less harsh than bleach," she advised. She got to work. I read a Domino magazine. 

The result was slightly blotchy and more red than I was accustomed to. She graciously came back a week later to fix one of the larger blotches near my temple that prevented me from tucking my hair behind my ear. We agreed to use bleach the next time, since the haircolor seemed to turn out far too warm.

Fast forward several weeks. This time when she arrived, I had detailed photos of what I wanted. "See the blonde on Reese Witherspoon?" I pointed out, "That's more of what I have in mind." I wanted to go lighter for the holidays, but it had to be that cool/white blonde. She reassured me that she could do that. We chatted happily while she folded my hair into foils. When my head looked like tin antennae, she set the timer, packed her things, and said, "Just wash your hair out when the timer goes off." 

I was taken aback. "You're not staying?" I asked,  "What about the bleach?" 

"If the strands look orange, just let it process a little longer," she replied. "They should look kind of pink and blonde. I mixed some blonde haircolor highlights in there, too. It'll add some depth. But that can't over-process. You'll be just fine." I was acutely conscious of the fact that she'd already spent the entire morning working on my hair, and that I'd had her come back a second time after the first appointment, so I was hesitant to push the matter. She left with a wave and an admonition of, "Don't leave it in too long! You don't want white hair!"

Um. Great.

I checked and re-checked the foils. Is it too orange? Is it too white? It won't stay pink, will it? Curses, I have no idea what I'm doing! When the timer went off, I washed out my hair and crossed my fingers. 

Result: brassy as Joy Behr.

I was too shy to call and have her come back again {how high maintenance would that make me look?} so a friend loaned me some purple shampoo that helped tone the warmth down a little. I made it through Christmas without any odd looks.

When I could no longer ignore my roots, I called for another appointment. "Let's just take it back to natural," I said. "We can weave in some darker blonde pieces to match my roots, and for the lighter weave, just use bleach. Obviously, the haircolor always pulls far too red and orange." No problem.

Again, hours of foils. When at last I felt like a metal Medusa, she set the timer and packed. "Please stay," I begged. "I'm just worried about the bleach. I need someone to make sure I'm pulling it out at the right time." She showered me with reassurances and platitudes. I started to feel bad about taking up her entire Saturday. And then she left. 

J poked his head in the shower whilst I was lathering my hair with shampoo. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively. 

"Yes!" I snapped, and then felt guilty as I watched his face fall. "Sorry," I offered lamely. "I just can't relax until I see what my hair looks like." 

"I'd say it looks kind of striped," he said, taking a gander at my hair as I turned off the water and started to towel off. When I looked alarmed, he was quick to say, "I'm sure it's what you were going for. Don't judge it until you've dried it."

It was striped, all right. The bleached parts looked almost white. The darker blonde was more of a grey with a green tint to it. The rest of the strands contrasted sharply, all brassy and warm. I felt seasick just looking at it. "What the.... I can't... Oh my--!" I couldn't even complete a sentence as I blow dried, combed, and attempted to find a style that would cover the majority of the green blotches. 

J came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.  "I'm sure it can be fixed," he said soothingly. "Just not today. Do you really want to let it ruin your weekend?" Grudgingly, I admitted that I did not. 

So, I bought a hat. I wore it to church, where I received compliments galore. J coached my on keeping my chin raised. "You have to own it!" he said, "You're wearing a hat because it's stylish, not because you're hiding. Don't allow yourself to tell anyone a sob story. Just say thank you when they mention your hat." It was great advice. 

In the end, only my friend who previously loaned me the purple shampoo saw through me. She cornered me in the hallway and instantly demanded, "What did you do to your hair?!" When I confessed, she informed my other dear friend, who happens to also be a hair stylist. We found a secluded spot where I cringed and showed her my seaweed locks. "It can be fixed," she stated confidently.

And fix it she did! After a week of wearing a hat, I sat in her kitchen and spent a few hours getting tin-foiled yet again. The result is blonde, cool toned, and utterly natural. I am both relieved and grateful. 

Moral of the story: I am a vain, vain creature and will probably cry when I start to go grey. In the meantime, I'm stocking up on hats.

{Edit: No, she will not be coloring my hair again. I'll probably have her cut it, though. She's done a great job with the cuts. And although this post sounded kinda melodramatic, I actually found the experience to be quite funny once I got over the initial shock. :)}

Weekend Plans

I'm officially registered to run the marathon this Saturday. In an effort to prepare myself for the uphill portion, I've been doing incline drills on the treadmill. Granted, I wish I'd had more than a few weeks to condition myself in this manner, but as it stands, I think I'm as ready as I'm going to get. For now, I rest, drink lots of fluids, and pray that this cold I've been fighting doesn't get any worse. Easy, compared to ignoring the butterflies in my stomach.....

Feeling February

It's grey and overcast. I find myself dwelling on Marta's pretty hanging hearts, and craving something similar. Perhaps a larger version of these cut from vintage books of poetry. While I'm thinking of Valentines, here are a few additional Valentine's Day finds from Etsy:

This Rene Magritte-esq "This is not a valentine" card is both beautiful and simple.Unfortunately, if your sweetheart is unfamiliar with Art History {like mine} he probably won't get it. 

I can't help but like this. It'd work for friends, too.

Little Brown Pen does it again! These printable card/gift tags are sweet and to the point.

This almost makes me wish J had a beard. Almost.

I guess I'm drawn to Valentines Cards that convey feeling without being sappy. This one does that perfectly.

And so does this. :)

And the nominees are....

The nominees for the 81st Annual Academy Awards have been announced. Time to start beefing up on all of the pertinent films in preparation of filling out your ballot on Oscar night! It's no surprise to see Heath Ledger's name on the list-- he did a phenomenal job, and I'b be absolutely shocked if he didn't win for Best Supporting Actor. But I have mixed feelings about the number of nominations that "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" received. Granted, it was nominated despite lacking an R rating. And visually, it was very interesting to watch. But I felt that they could have done more with it. It was good, it just wasn't that good. However, it follows the formula for success, so what do I know?

Eye Candy

I am not typically a pink kinda girl, but these images by stylist Selina Lake are exquisite. I find myself longing for spring, ready to fill my house with growing things, antique finds, and splashes of feminine color. Found via Desire to Inspire.

I love all the combined textures: white tile, enamel, mercury glass and silver all softened with pink flowers. Lovely.

And honestly, add a good book, chocolate and a lover and this would be heaven.

I'd like to visit a room like that. The dessert looks wonderful, too.

Film Anarchy

I was raised to appreciate the art of film. My mother is a writer and director, my brother is an independent film maker, and I ended up marrying a cinematographer. The rest of us are critics, discussing film the way some discuss politics. The Oscars are our election day.

So when Jared and I stopped seeing R rated movies over four years ago, you can imagine that it was not a decision we made lightly. Some of the most beautiful cinematography we've ever seen was in R rated films. Invariably, the most thoughtful, moving, and sober scripts are penned as R. Almost every movie nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards is rated R. 

But we couldn't deny that there was always a reason for the rating. We were tired of the swearing and the scenes that made us uncomfortable or nauseated. We were weary of watching a film, loving it, and then not being able to wholeheartedly recommend it to others. We hated the fact that Hollywood discounted our complaints as prudish, self--righteous and old fashioned. They just saw the money we willingly forked out for a ticket, and continued to produce the same. Our actions spoke louder than words.

So we boycotted R rated films.

For a brief time, we rented edited movies from various rental sources before the studios sued them out of business. {They allow content to be edited out for television and airlines, why not families? This still perplexes me.} J even worked for one such company for a short time. Though I appreciated the service he rendered for the benefit of others, I hated knowing he was watching the worst parts of a movie over and over... It was a relief when he quit {not to mention the pay was terrible.}

Now there's ClearPlay. We haven't tried it yet, but it sounds like the perfect have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too device. Unfortunately, using it means renting R rated movies again {and lesser ratings that we wouldn't see in theaters due to filthy content}.  Which gives money to the studios. Which tells them that we approve of what they're doing. Which we don't. 

So I'm torn.

We have a friend who goes to the movies every weekend. He buys a ticket for a movie he considers worthy of his financial support, and continues to buy it week after week, no matter which film he actually sees. He refuses to spend money on a film until it has his seal of approval. He calls it Film Anarchy.  

If only we could all be Film Anarchists. Maybe then Hollywood would get the message.

{image}

The 44th President

We're spending the morning watching the inauguration. When Little Miss C heard that it was to take place at the Capitol in Washington, she exclaimed, "I've been there! I walked there with Grandpa and ate Cheetos and had lunch in the cafeteria!" I had to explain that this was the one in Washington DC, not Washington State. 

As part of her homeschooling assignment, Little Miss C will be writing a letter to our new President. As we sit in front of the TV, she has filled the time with questions about Presidency and {numerous} comments on what the women are wearing. She says Michelle Obama looks 'pretty and sparkly.' Trust my daughter to notice the fashion!

1 + 1 = 3

My brother and his wife had their firstborn yesterday. He took us all by surprise, arriving a full month early.

I am taken aback by the emotions that have flooded me upon hearing the news. I'm so proud of both of them. For being faithful. For having a natural birth. For being parents. I'm longing to hold their tiny boy {just 4 pounds 13 oz} and smell that lovely, warm, newborn scent. And I'm surprisingly anxious, knowing as I do that this disarmingly small human being brings with him monumental changes. I wish I was there to help. To hold. To let them get some sleep. 

I love you both. No-- I love you three. :)

Thank You!

For my birthday, my family bought me a one year membership in the Pretty Little Things Club. I received my first package this week! It was pretty. It was little. It was birthday themed! How perfect is that? Between Pretty Little Things, Etsy, and Netflix, checking the mail has become something I anticipate with glee. And I am fully converted to the idea of extending my birthday throughout the whole year. I must think of a way to do something similar for those I love, but somehow I don't see a cheese-of-the-month club holding the same appeal....

Marathon Struggle

Several weeks ago, I sat down at the computer determined to register for the marathon. It was the last day that I could sign up before the price was raised, yet again. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to hit 'submit'. I hesitated for a long moment, then slowly shut the laptop. I just couldn't do it.

The marathon is sponsored by PF Chang's. The course is nice and flat, weaves through scenic downtown, and is lined with cheering spectators and live bands. There are finisher's medals, a party that lasts into the night, fame and glory, all that jazz. It's perfect. Except that it's on Sunday. 

Saturday marathons are hard to come by. Most are in Utah, which would be a bit of a trip for me. When I first looked into it, I found a few closer to home, but they're brutal. One requires adapting to elevation, then I'd have to run through mud and hills and February snow. I've read of seasoned marathoners finishing broken and defeated. It's not exactly what I'd pictured for my first attempt. The other is about an hour and a half away. It's uphill for 13 miles, then downhill for the rest of the way. Both uphill and down are extremely punishing on the legs. They sounded so painful, I told myself that my best bet would be to run the PF Chang's race. 

Only, I couldn't make myself register for it. I sat there for months, watching as the fees crept higher and higher. Jared suggested that I was gun shy, more afraid of committing to the race than fearful of breaking the Sabbath. I thought maybe there was something to that.

So one morning, I went for a long run and contemplated it all. I thought about how scary the Saturday marathons are. I thought about the fact that I'm far less likely to complete them, let alone do well. They're much more solitary. No bands. No crowds. No medals. They don't have nearly as much glory. As soon as that word entered my thoughts, the phrase "Let the glory be thine" floated into my head, and in an instant, it became clear to me what I was choosing between. I had been willing to run on a Sunday if it meant that MY goals, MY wishes, MY glory would be accomplished. And this life isn't supposed to be about my will. It didn't matter that I'd kept the Sabbath every other week of my life. It's easy to keep the Sabbath when there's nothing better to do. This time it would involve sacrifice. This time it would be meaningful. 

So I'm running Saturday, January 31st. It's uphill for 13 miles, then downhill for 13, and none of my training thus far has prepared me for it. There is a good chance that I will pay $100 and travel hours away, just to collapse in a heap on the side of the road without crossing the finish line. But I figure that at least this way, I can spend the entire 26.2 miles praying for help and not feel like a hypocrite. And I am no longer ashamed to have my children there, cheering me on. 

I may fail, but I'll fail on a Saturday. And I'm at peace with that. 

{photo via}

Birthday Boy

E is 4 years old today. We had a little party for him on Saturday, and had him invite friends and cousins. 

He asked for a Speed Racer birthday, so we decorated in black, white and red. 

The kids painted their own wooden race-car to take home. {Just $1 for an all inclusive kit at Michaels, but it turned out I had to glue each one together beforehand. 16 tiny wooden pieces for each car!!}

They played 'pin Speed Racer onto the Mach 5'. Little Miss C drew Speed and Racer X for me. I was very impressed.

After smashing the car-shaped pinata, E opened his presents. He was completely spoiled, and now owns one of everything ever made with wheels. Including a Spiderman bike that we found on Craigslist for cheap. Watching him teeter along on training wheels made me all emotional. How I wish he could stay this young forever!

Watchful

As our children grow older, J and I have started to ponder more on the boundaries and freedoms we set for them. I was raised knowing all of the millions of ways disaster could befall me. My mother was protective and cautious, and to her credit we all emerged from childhood unscathed. J was raised with more..... liberties. He and his friends wandered their neighborhood freely and had hours of unsupervised time with which to set fire to ant hills {and nearly his younger brother.} 

I'm confidant that a happy medium exists. In fact, I'm a bit enchanted by the Free Range Kids movement, but achieving it has been more difficult than I counted on. 

For example: J and I have been debating over what age we feel comfortable leaving the children at home while I go running. Little Miss C is almost 8. I can remember being home alone at 8, but my father was right outside in the milking barn. My brothers were all practically the same age as I was. We didn't have to be responsible for a baby. Granted, it would be less than an hour, but so much could happen in an hour. I'm haunted by thoughts of the house burning down, the baby drowning, or someone choking. 

I want them to learn to be safe, responsible, and capable adults. But I'd settle for them living long enough to be adults.

Perhaps I'm more like my mother than I thought. 

They Were Just Like Us

As a gift to his parents for Christmas, Jared edited together old footage from the year after they were first married. I am amazed at how much I've enjoyed this glimpse of their lives as young newlyweds. It's so rare that we are able to see our parent's as anything other than parents, but this video really brought their 'young' personalities to life for me. I can't help but identify with them in ways I never have before.

It was particularly interesting to see how many his mother's mannerisms were exactly the same, only she was a brunette and wore such stylin' clothes! And his father! I never realized that Jared and his brothers got so much of their squirrely-ness from him. I find that endearing.

If only we had film footage of all our ancestors! I can only imagine how enlightening that would be. 

John W Golden

I am so taken with John W. Golden's retro style prints. I would love to have his entire Space and Robots line in the boy's room, and his By Order of the Management signs make me smile. See more in his Etsy shop.

Paying it Forward

My brother and his family came to visit over the Christmas holiday. We were all sitting around breakfast one morning when the subject of bears came up. "Wouldn't it be cool if you could see a bear in real life?" Little Miss C asked, eyes wide. 

"Mark and I have seen bears in person," I replied, referring to our family trip to Yellowstone when I was a teenager. 

She laughed uproariously, "Did they eat you?" 

"Actually, we used to have a younger brother," Mark and I replied in perfect unison. {Which only goes to show that we are, in fact, my father's offspring.}

 "Yeah, his little legs were too short and he couldn't run fast enough." I deadpanned. I could see the indecision playing all over Little Miss C's face. I almost never joke with her, but Mark almost always does. She couldn't decide whether to believe us or not. 

"Actually," Mark said, "you have to pay a toll to see the bears. A human toll." He paused for dramatic effect. "Larry -- that was his name-- was the one we picked to feed to the bears."

That was a bit much. Her suspicion gained dominance and she started to smile, "No you didn't!"

Jared jumped in at this point. "When we go to see the bears, I think we should feed L to them." 

Instantly, her face changed. She became alarmed. "NO! He's just a baby!"

Jared plowed on, oblivious to my eyes which were silently imploring him not to go one step beyond, "Oh, L's had a good life. And it would be worth it. The bears are so cool." 

"But I love him!" Little Miss C insisted tremulously, then burst into tears.

I gathered her into my arms and consoled her with the truth. I never had a younger brother named Larry. We weren't going to feed L to the bears. The park rangers would never let anyone get devoured. As I stroked her hair and let her sob into my shoulder, I looked over her head at Mark and we both recited, "It's all fun and games until someone starts crying." 

Just like mom used to.

Hopefully, she'll look back on this and find it bizarrely heartwarming, the way I look back on my own childhood-torture. And then she'll do her part to scar the next generation. :)

Out of the Ordinary

These vases remind me of my mom. Simple and elegant, with just a touch of whimsy. {She would call it kitsch.} Found here, here and here.

Occasion of Note

It's my birthday today. I'm grateful to cross this particular milestone feeling happy and contented with my age, health, and life in general. I know things are not always this calm, this lovely. So I'm off to soak it up while I can, fortifying myself for whatever the future may hold. Hope your day is rosy as well. 

{The beautiful banner made out of vintage french newsmagazines can be found here.}

Starting Fresh

After successfully achieving so many of my 2008 goals, I'm excited to pen a fresh list for 2009. Here are a few resolutions I have in mind: 

• Run a Marathon {this month!}
• Wear color
• Entertain- host an Oscar Party, Dinner Party and Halloween Party
• Fill the walls with art
• Stay out of debt and contribute more to savings
• Romance! Get a babysitter and go out on a date monthly
• Fold laundry immediately after washing it
• Attend the Temple {bimonthly}
• Whisper
• Set up separate boy/girl bedrooms by August
• Remember this

Whatever your goals, I wish you success in this New Year. {image via}