Hair today, gone tomorrow...

Before... ...After

....more after....

...in the back....

Lilly squeezed me in to her salon between other appointments, and enthusiastically did a great cut. I didn't take pictures; just told her to do something easy, that didn't take hours to fix, didn't make me look like my mother, fit under a cap and grew out nicely. This is what she came up with.

AND, I have to tell this story, because it's just too funny not too...

I stopped at Scott and Traci Glasscocks to pick up some lentil innoculant for my father-in-law. Picked Scott up from the road grader, drove him to the shop, visiting, for a few minutes. He got out to get the innoculant and Traci came up to say hi, quickly.

She said, "Oh! I LIKE it! That's just what I hoped she'd do."

Scott : "OH! You got your hair cut!"

Is it THAT subtle?

I'm still laughing!

Poor Scott....

Insomnia Insanity

This question kept me pretty busy last night, while I was tossing and turning, and wishing I could sleep like my dog can...

If you could have lunch with any three people alive today, who would you lunch with AND (more importantly, in my book) what would you lunch on?

There are no rules, here, so dream big! The lunch could take 4 or 5 hours, if you need it to. And you don't have to cook it, unless that's part of the coolness for you. (I can just see Traci, with Paula Deen, Bobby Flay and Emeril Lagasse, whipping up something in a big ole kitchen...)

Really. Other people think of this stuff, too, right? Please?

What's a pirate's favorite letter of the alphabet?

R!






I know. That's so bad it made ME cringe....welcome to preschool humor. We are really into pirates around here. And last week, at CUPS, Traci wanted a pirate hat template for Ben's birthday. As luck would have it, I can whip those puppies out with my eyes closed, almost. Here we are, buccaneer bouffants and all. Anne took the pictures, and to her credit, they aren't blurry from her laughter...




Also, from last week, the Cupcakes having fun, building towers and impressing each other. Angus is really rather in love with Allison, and she plays him like a trout on the end of a 3 lb. test line....



And Baby Gwennie, with her big eyes and busy hands. We just love that little thing! And she's so good about sharing her toys.




I missed CUPS yesterday, because of the rain, and Anne had the flu bug at her house, again. I did bake and eat some peach turnovers, in commemoration of the group, and drank a great cup of espresso with half and half. We only have two more preschool days, and so are going to have to come up with a plan for Summer CUPS. Ice cream CUPS? Flower CUPS?

Hair we go, again...

#1 #2
#3

#4

#5

I have my biennial haircut, tomorrow, at 2:30 pm, and you, my dear blog readers, are being enlisted for advice. I may totally ignore your comments, but you did such a good job with Madame Serenghetti that I'm starting to trust you with some of my bigger fashion questions.

I need a cut that doesn't take extensive fussing...make that, ANY fussing, but can look like I tried when I actually do. It will go under ball caps, during branding time, have children's hands run through it about 60 times a day, attend professional trainings for SHMASBO, and a family reunion, in July.

Here are some of my options. What do you think?

*And I realize that when it's all said and done, I won't look like Faith, Meg, Jennifer or that cute little brunette. Right?

She DID it!

I can't believe she did it. The Fontologist planted yarrow seeds, despite (and maybe because of) the dire warnings! And then posted a comment on the Friends Don't Let Friends Plant Yarrow post. Can you BELIEVE that?!!! Go read it for yourself. I'm so horrified!

I've been out in the beds, cleaning out dead foliage and seeking signs of greenage. I have plants for give-away. If you want iris, ribbon grass, sidelcea, tarragon, chives, blue fescue, salvia....bring a box and you can have a bunch. And I'll throw in some yarrow, too, if you dare! Every year I give away plants, my friends suspiciously poke in the piles and ask, " Is this one yarrow? No? How about this one?" They are getting smarter about free plants.

And I've been reading Lauren Springer Ogden, once again. She's my gardening guru, horticultural heroine, revered plantswoman. Her Undaunted Garden book is the one with the pages stuck together by drool, and little sticky note markers and underlined passages. Barbara Damrosch was the garden writer I cut my teeth on, and she also commands a lot of respect in my house. Rob Proctor, who co-authored a book with Lauren, is just plain fun, and I'm not sure he's still with Denver Botanical Gardens, but if he is, and I get there, I'm getting his autograph.

Well, I'd better go dump the Kawasaki Mule and shed her, and get some pea and lettuce seeds in the ground before the moisture hits.

She planted yarrow. And I thought we were going to be such good friends....

Pictures from Bookclub

The girls, eating pickle/cream cheese/ham appetizers, drinking homemade raspberry lemonade (lemons squeezed by hand by Mr. Gus Glasscock, thank you very much!), and wine and discussing life since the last meeting.

Clara, with Skylar and Gwennie, the youngest attendees. They were pretty quiet, until we started eating. THEN they decided they were hungry, too!

And it turns out, Skylar really, really loves dirt cake.

And so do I.

Anne, mixing up fruit salad and goofing off for the camera. Beth is industriously slicing onions, tomatos and lettuce.
Traci and Celestia, with Gnarly Head Cab and a great joke!

Discussion (HA!) and dinner.

We had grilled burgers, potato salad, fruit salad, chips, dirt cake and the previously mentioned beverages. Yum!

We really needed about 3 more hours to actually discuss the book in depth. Get a bunch of mothers in a room and start discussing everyday tasks and worship....it could take a while.

I appreciated the input from the bookclub members that had kids that had flown the coop, and they lived to tell about it. And it was good to hear that EVERYONE has a household chore they hate. Turns out, Beth doesn't like to cook, but she'll clean bathrooms, no problem. I love to cook, and hate to clean bathrooms. If we lived 50 miles closer to each other, she'd come have lunch at my house, with the kids, and clean my bathrooms. Everyone wins! (In our dreams...)

Wayland said, before leaving with the kids, that he was going to call every 15 minutes throughout the evening, so we had a plan. We were going to turn up the music, laugh loudly, clink glasses, holler for someone...

It was the perfect plan.

He didn't call once.

Drats.

Thelma missed bookclub this time, and we missed her. It's funny; it's like a little family, but without all the hangups! So, when one member is missing, it's very noticable. Particularly Thelma, who brings a lot of generosity to the discussions, and laughter, AND good food...

Next meeting is at Traci's, and we're reading "Riding the Bus With My Sister".

And eating.

And laughing.

And relaxing.

Quotidian

Once again, I find myself dovetailing a post of the Fontologist. We live hundreds of miles apart, have no communication, save the computer and notecards loaded with seeds, (not yarrow) and yet seem to have VERY similar, eerily similar thought processes. And once again, she beat me to the punch on a topic that I've been struggling with. (I HATE to be the follower-upper! It's so...secondary. Kind of like the drum after a joke. Badda-BUM!)

This month, for bookclub, we read The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and Woman's Work. The word "quotidian" according to Webster's means "occurring every day; belonging to every day; commonplace, ordinary" . Well, THAT sounds applicable to my life! Here's a quote from the book that sums it up pretty well:

Our daily tasks, whether we perceive them as drudgery or essential, life-supporting work, do not define who we are as women or as human beings. But they have a considerable spiritual import, and their significance for Christian theology, the way they come together in the fabric of faith, is not often appreciated. But it is the daily tasks, daily acts of love and worship that serve to remind us that the religion is not strictly an intellectual pursuit, and these days it is easy to lose sight of that as, like our society itself, churches are becoming more politicized and polarized. Christian faith is a way of life, not an impregnable fortress made up of ideas; not a philosophy; not a grocery list of beliefs.

Being a stay at home mom, just getting out of bed to face another peas-in-the-fish-bowl moment or mop-the-floor-for-the-4th-time-today thing can be daunting and less than inspiring. A book that challenges me to think of these things as worship, sort of irritated me, at first. Like my cousin Beth said at bookclub, "It's something you need to hear at least once a year, even though you don't want to hear it at all." Drats.

AND I recalled a felt banner that hung in the sanctuary of the little church I grew up in, that gently reminded us to "Bloom where you are planted." Those cheery little homespun platitudes, that are almost ALWAYS right, nag at me, and as I look around, I think to myself, "Well, I'm planted in some dirt, that's for sure. And water from the toilet. A little sunshine and voila! I have all the ingredients to bloom." But sometimes even the humor of the situation doesn't help.

Nearly all of my friends are in the same boat. Do I matter, anymore, except to get the food on and the underwear washed? (Yes, it's that time, AGAIN in my home...) Am I just a mommy-blob? Will I ever know the words to songs NOT recorded by Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber? Am I making a difference? Am I still interesting/funny/pretty/smart? Will I ever be, again?

The truth is, (and this is hard to admit) it's not about me.
Dang.

And IF I'd just get over myself, I'd be a lot happier and probably bloom.
Really.

I've been reading The Message version of the Bible, just for a shake-up, and this morning, I got a pretty good shaking.

Psalm 143:7-10 says:

Hurry with your answer, God!
I'm nearly at the end of my rope.
Don't turn away; don't ignore me!
That would be certain death.
If you wake me each morning with the sound of your loving voice,
I'll go to sleep each night trusting in you.
Point out the road I must travel;
I'm all ears, all eyes before you.
Save me from my enemies, God-
you're my only hope!
Teach me how to please you,
because you're my God.
Lead me by your blessed Spirit
into cleared and level pastureland.

Dang.

Conundrum

Here's my problem....this week. And if you are drinking a beverage, right now, you'd probably better swallow and put it down before reading on. (Anne)

I have pimples on my wrinkles. SOB!

Now, this is a beauty dilemma thus far unaddressed by any women's magazine, product manufacturer, or radio talk show, from what I can tell. I've done extensive research since this hit, and came up empty handed.

All I can figure out is that when I was spending so much time outside, sweating in my scotch cap and silk scarf, it caused the breakout. That, and the stress of the sick kids and life, and that infamous dental excursion with Country Wife...

I poured through the Mary Kay catalog, that incidentally is sold by my step-sister Cari Mae. (Isn't that a great name for a Mary Kay lady? And it's her REAL name! And she's a walking ad for the company, let me tell you. I have the misguided idea that if I buy the products, somehow they will somehow transform me into HER! It never works. I'm still me, with lots of cool lipgloss.)

The only thing I've come up with is the "Age-fighting creme". It doesn't say what age it's fighting, so that may work for skin that can't make up it's mind. You think? It sounds a bit militant, for a skin care product, but at this point I'm starting to get a bit desperate. We are running out of turtleneck weather, you see. And I can't wear a turtleneck up to my hairline! Well, I could, but that's beyond daisy-ness. It's just kinda creepy.

Do you have any tips? (Maybe I phrased that wrong. This is a disaster. Do you have immediate assistance to share with me?) I'm willing to try home-remedies, like honey wheat-germ masks, or egg white concoctions. I'm willing to order Elizabeth Arden or Mary Kay, if you have a guaranteed, honest-to-goodness-it-worked-for-my-pimply-wrinkled-skin story. I'm willing to drink water, green tea, or pomegranate juice. (I'm NOT, however, going to do a toe-of-newt, hair-of-dog, thing. I'm pretty sure I've already been exposed to toe-of-newt, hair-of-dog and so far, in my house, it hasn't done a thing for any of us. Except the dog and the newt.)

Cohagen Easter

Here's where we go to worship on Easter Sunday. It's usually cold and windy, and sometimes wet. But most years, the sunrise is spectacular. This year, the sun crept in, behind clouds, and it was a damp morning for singing "The Old Rugged Cross" with the neighbors. Some of the folks who got up at an insane hour for worship.

I like the stocking caps, barn coats, cowboy hats, blankets and rosy cheeks.

The littlest attendee....Angus didn't think much of sitting on a hill for church, but he liked the music, and sang out loudly! Sweet, to hear little voices, praising God....
(Dad made it up the hill with most of his coffee. The rest was on his jeans!)

If you scroll back up to the picture of the rocky hill, look at the highest point. That's where Maggie went, immediately, then needed rescuing by her mother. She's not afraid of heights. I am. Next year, I'm going to hold the boy and Daddy is going to save the girl.

Maggie leads the way, down, followed by Daddy and Angus, and Grandma Celestia in the red coat. We were in a hurry to get to the gym, where breakfast and coffee awaits!

This morning, the menu consisted of:

Cinnamon twists

Breakfast burritos

Cherry coffeecake

3 kinds of kuchen

Link sausage

Breakfast casserole

Coffee and juice

Luke 24:1-8 The Message-

At the crack of dawn on Sunday, the women came to the tomb carrying the burial spices they had prepared. They found the entrance stone rolled back from the tomb, so they walked in. But once inside, they couldn't find the body of the Master, Jesus.

They were puzzled, wondering what to make of this. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, two men, light cascading over them, stood there. The women were awestruck and bowed down in worship. The men said, "Why are you looking for the Living One in a cemetary? He is not here, but raised up. Remember how He told you when you were still back in Galilee that He had to be handed over to sinners, be killed on a cross, and in three days rise up?" Then they remembered Jesus' words.

Daisy

Meet Daisy, our little bum calf! I love this picture of her, because she just got done eating and she has milk foam on her little chin, and you can tell, she's casing the Mom to see if there might be more, hidden somewhere in the barn coat...

Maggie chose her name, but I especially like it because in our family, it has special significance. When I was first married and trying to fit in on the ranch, I had a rough time. There's the Pluhar way and the wrong way, and I always did things the wrong way. And Pluhars were very generous about my blunders, but I could still tell that I wasn't quite getting it. One day, after a particularlly rough day, I told Wayland that I felt like a daisy in a field of lawnmowers!

Ever since then, if someone is a daisy, it means they march to the beat of their own drum, and are a little odd, in a good way. When Maggie was born, we could tell right away that she was a daisy. I'm still a daisy, although I've learned how to fit in a little better. My friend Vickie, is the daisiest of daisies, and takes daisy-hood to a new level, altogether. When we get together, there's no telling what might happen!

So, Miss Daisy-the-calf, so far, is living up to her name, and I've been enjoying her immensely. She's eating milk crumbles, along with two bottles a day, and I've caught her muching on chopped hay. She greets me with her tongue curled out, and when I leave, she makes little moos and follows me. We're going to be good friends, I can tell.

So for everyone who has thoughtfully enquired of my bum, she's doing well, and hopefully will move to my house sometime this week.

Dye job...

I don't know why this cartoon struck me as so funny!

Maybe because I need a dye job in the worst way, and it reminds me to perhaps be a little more subtle...
We dyed Easter eggs Saturday afternoon, on the picnic table, in (are you ready for this?) 60 degree weather!!
Angus dyed the same 3 eggs, 15 times. He's very thorough.

Aren't they pretty? Just love the colors against the white paper towel.

"And this one is mine. And this one is mine..."

"Where did it go?"

I LOVE Easter colors!

This was the most relaxed egg dying I've ever done with kids.

And afterward, they stayed outside and played on the playground in their underwear.

And we ate supper on the deck with Daddy.