My-Not-So-Sordid Past

Impressionable Kids

February 25, 2008

The girls have been into paper dolls lately. Almost every day, a piece of paper is thrust at me with the command, “I need a Mommy, a Daddy, a little boy and a little girl”, or “five little girls in ballet clothes”.

It takes me just a few minutes to complete my job. I’ve been drawing these dolls since I was eight. My sister and I used to sit in our family room and draw a family of dolls along with clothing, beds and pets. Once every thing was created, colored, cut out and ready to play, we got bored with them.

Here I am, a few decades later, still drawing dolls. And, despite having almost no artistic talent whatsoever, my girls think that I am the Doll Master.

The other day, as I started another one of my familiar drawings (head shaped like a funnel, skinny arms, mom dressed like a Puritan), Jilly breathed, “You are the BEST draw-er ever, Mommy”.

Big sister Belly looked over and commented, “Yeah, but she isn’t as good as Monet, though”.

My work:
Monet’s work:

Double Dog Dare You

February 23, 2008

Alpha DogMa made a comment to my last post that sounded almost like a dare. She wrote, “The only way these photos could be better is if you had glasses. Because bad late 80s hair PLUS bad late 80s eyeglasses makes for liquid-snorted-out-of-your-nose laughter.”

Well, here ya go:

And also, a good ol‘ prom photo from the early 80’s:

Just don’t bring up the “blue eyeshadow” photos, cause those I ain’t sharin’.

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For those who came here for an update on the kiddos, here is a story for you:

I ordered this neat book called See Inside Ancient Rome. It’s a picture book that features different scenes from Rome’s glory days. There are several flaps that you can lift on each page which shows you behind a door or curtain, or tells you an interesting little fact about the scene.

Two pages are dedicated to Rome’s public baths. On these pages is a scene of the interior of a bath house filled with little naked cartoon men. There are men in the hot pools, men in the steam room and men lifting weights outside. It is all very modest, save for some cute little cartoon bums.

Belly was fascinated with this section of the book and asked a bunch of questions (“where are the women?”; “why can’t we go to something like this?”; “aren’t they embarassed?”). We giggled at the little cartoon bums.

Then, peering closer at the pages, she asked, “Where are the peanuts*?”

Wha–wha-what???

“Um, dear, I’m sure Usborne books has made sure that no peanuts show. See this guy is holding a dumbbell in front of his, uh, peanuts. This guy is sitting. This guy has turned his back.”

She looked up at me, grabbed the book out of my hands and muttered, “I’m going to find the peanuts”.

*I have sanitized this retelling of the story so that I don’t end up with a bunch of weird Google searchers looking for, um, peanuts.

Filed Under: Fairly Odd Kids, Fairly Odd Me, Homeschooling, My-Not-So-Sordid Past 7 Comments

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow, Part I

February 20, 2008

Back when I read fashion magazines, I remember seeing a monthly column in InStyle which featured a photographic time line of a particular celebrity. For instance, if the magazine was focusing on Brooke Shields, they would have a head shot from her Pretty Baby days, her Calvin Klein Jeans days, a photo from her years at Princeton and so on, up until the present. There would be references to her eyebrows, her mane of hair and her face which looks better every year.

I’m no celebrity, but as I look back at photos of myself, I am struck by one thought: “What the heck is wrong with me? Why can’t I find a style and stick with it?”

I often tell people that I change my hair because, unlike getting a tattoo, it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t permanent and it doesn’t put me anywhere near a needle.

Since hitting adulthood, there have been the “Bleached Blonde Days”; there has been “Super Short” and “Pretty Long”. There were perms that left me poodle-like. Hair has been colored blonde, brown, red and orange. I never got the nerve up to try pink or black, although I have considered it.

I don’t think I’ve ever cried over a bad color or hair cut. My mantra is “Hair Grows”. It also helps that I’m not a celebrity and, therefore, no one is critiquing my poor judgment.

But, I will now let you, my dear readers, walk with me down memory lane. Over the next few weeks, I’ll publish a few photos from different periods in my adult life. Be kind.

The first set of photos is, regrettably, from the “Bleached Blonde, Big Hair” period.

I call this first photo “Come Fly With Me” due to the huge wings of hair fanning out from the sides of my face: This second photo is my college portrait—can you see the perfect curling-iron curl on the side of my head? Finally, check out the “bleached into oblivion” look. My sister should be pleased that I have covered up her photo since she went through an unfortunate phase of “fluffy mall hair”. Stay tuned for the next installment in this series which will showcase my “poodle ‘do (or don’t)”, the in-between days and the gradual darkening of my white-blonde head.