BDBC updates and a confession.

Check it: when it comes to blogging or snuggling with my girl, guess who always wins? Anyway, that's why we're lacking BDBC updates around here. I would say I'm sorry but I'm totally not. Harper's recently started smiling and it's all I can do to look away from her sweet face.

Days 2 and 3 updates: I got treats! and cards! and pizza!

...and tonight, I'm running away for a pedicure and (wait for it) ... crazy hair experiments.

That's right, I've lost my damn mind and I'm going to force my stylist do something like this tonight:

source

Yes, I'm (almost) 31 and I'm getting purple highlights. 1) Because I can. 2) Because I've always wanted to. and 3) Because if I hate them or they are terribly embarrassing I can hide in my house with Harper until I return to work in February. It's fine.

If I manage to shower and put on a speck of makeup tomorrow, you might get pictures. 

In unrelated news, since puppy chow is basically just cereal and peanut butter, it's TOTALLY acceptable to eat for breakfast, right? Mmmmmkk then.

7 month itch.

So I'm getting to that point in pregnancy when I'm pretty much over it. Over the swelling. Over the hunger. Over the sleeplessness. Over the heartburn. Over the ninja kicks. Over. It.

And yet, there's nothing I can do to change anything about the above. But there IS something I can do about my hair. Hair and shoes. That's pretty much the only thing I have any control over as related to my person at this moment through October. And since we're all friends here we know that I'm teetering on the edge of even being able to wear shoes. Because Kim Kardashian called me and wants her feet back.

As such, I'm probably about to do something both a) drastic and 2) that I'll regret.Odds are high I will call my dear, sweet hair ninja Jenny over lunch and book myself a little appointment and I will come home as a blonde or with some terrible ombre or even worse...BANGS.

I'm on the cliff and there's no sense in talking me out of it. Because it's either that or I go out and get some maternity skinny jeans and we ALL know how that oxymoron ends.

Jenny, oh Jenny? I'm coming for you!

29 is NOT the new 30.

Newsflash: It's 2012. The year I will turn the dirty thirty. (In related news, everyone on earth is invited to come to Mexico with us for my birthday. Had originally considered Vega$, but then I decided 30 would be much better spent in an all-inclusive resort, drunk at the swim up bar vs. getting arrested in Vega$. Stay tuned for more info on that...and friends, start saving your pennies now!)

As I continue to age gracefully, I've been noticing all these strange things happening around me. Like, for instance, my hair is REALLY getting gray. I've been gray "patchy" since I was 13 (thanks for those genes, Dad), but have mostly gotten away with using Clairol Root Touch Up every couple months or so. But now? Holy hell. I'm about 2 months from becoming Helen Mirren.

Don't see it? Allow me to zoom in for you.

That's 2 weeks of growth. TWO. I'm about to go broke buying root touch up. Should anyone from Clairol be reading this particular rant, I'm wiiiiiiiiide open for sponsorship. Allow me to be your charity case.

Please also note the forehead wrinkles. I can't even discuss those right now.

In summary: I'm considering shaving my head. Or just going all Helen Mirren on you. I think I could rock both.

The Big Reveal.

After a long year-or-two-ish of growing out my hair, I bit the bullet on Thursday of last week and made the big CHOP, donating over 9 inches to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths program. I'm super glad I did it, if for no other reason than my blow dry time has been reduced by at least 80%? Oh, and to the woman that might someday wear my hair? You're welcome for those religious bi-weekly deep conditioning treatments. We should get coffee sometime.

Le progression:

Not Today.

No choppy choppy of le hair tonight*. Work hopped in the front seat and pamper-me-salon-time has been relocated somewhere near the trunk. Maybe even falling out the back like rusty tin cans on a "Just Married" car.

Rescheduled for next Thursday. Lock it in with a Sharpie.

*To be perfectly clear, I did NOT chicken out. There was honestly a meeting I couldn't get out of. I have alibis.

Hot Off The Press.

It's been a big week 'round these parts. Some things I can't talk about (No, I'm not pregnant. You shut your dirty, whorish mouth.) and others I can. Here's the things I can speak of:

1. Tomorrow is D-Day. Donation Day. A-la-Pantene Beautiful Lengths Day. My appointment is after work, which gives me enough time to think about it all day and eventually change my mind. I think I'm really going to miss the tonypail. Like, a lot. But it's time for a change and I've wanted to do this since like 1905.
2. A super fun post in collaboration with Cheerios is also planned for tomorrow. Is the suspense killing you?!
3. Another giveaway is on the horizon! I'm considering some crazy Halloween-related ideas on how to enter...stay tuned.
4. Alex will be 18 months on Friday. **faints**

That's all for now. I can't even sit still about the hair. I've been twirling it around my pointer finger all day. And maybe singing to it just a little bit. Don't judge.

It Happened.

For the first time on Tuesday, I was that mom with that kid.

"What?!" You exclaim. "Alex is an Angel!"

Eh. Notsomuch.

Don't get me wrong, I still maintain that Alex on his worst day is still better than the worst kid on his best day, but Tuesday was the day it happened. He threw a public tantrum and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

The worst of it? He was getting his hair cut.

This is his third haircut. You might remember that the first two were hugely successful. He was such a good boy and sat still and even got a sucker when it was all said and done. Not this time.

Basically, he screamed and screamed and wouldn't sit still. I'm not into bribing a kid to be good, but he wasn't even having the cookie or sucker I offered. Obvi, I was flying solo, so Joe wasn't there to help with reinforcements and I pretty much just wanted to disappear into the floor and never return.

That said, we survived. But even survival at its best still resulted in my kid looking like he joined the Marines:

The few. The proud. The Alex monster.

Hair-lemma. Oh, And Coupons.

As mentioned previously, I'm currently growing out my mane to donate to Locks of Love. And, as also foreshadowed, I'm losing my patience and slowly losing the will to keep growing.

10 inches is the minimum length (That's what she said. Snort.) for Locks of Love. And upon further research, Pantene has a program called Beautiful Lengths that only requires 8 inches (double snort). I could chop off what I have right now and meet that requirement...so does that make me a cheater?

Seriously. This ponytail is out of control. To "switch things up" a bit, I parted it on the other side today. A part! That's the best I can do to get any form of variety out of this mop. I'm annoyed and losing patience.

Methinks that I'll be a Beautiful Lengths donator the day after Boot Camp is over. Yesyesyes...zees ees zee plan.

Oh, and in unrelated news, Gap's Give and Get program runs August 26-29. You get 30% off at Gap, Banana Republic, Old Navy (and outlets!) and the charity of your choice will get 5% of your purchase. Charities include (click the links to get the coupon): The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society; World Wildlife Fund; Feeding America; Global Fund's Project (RED); Big Brothers Big Sisters; and Teach for America.

As always, you're welcome.

Keeping Up With The Kristi.

Uhhhmmmm...so remember that one time when I talked about my inadequacies as related to the styling of my long hair? And how I am basically inept with styling tools? And how I just wanted it to look all perfect like America Ferrera's or Kim Kardashian's?

Well, I think I made it happen last weekend. It only took me about a half can of hairspray and twenty minutes of awkwardly twirling my hair around a seventy billion degree curling iron in the back of my head, but I think I achieved my own personal hair perfection.

Pardon the stupid look on my face, but it's very tricksy to take a self portrait with le cell phone and NOT have the phone in front of your face. Because, seriously, that would have blocked the hair...which was clearly the whole point of the pic.

And in case you're wondering, this look has not been attempted since. But I can do it. Without burning off my arm, neck or face in the process. That's the point, here.

Father's Day.

Sunday was a relatively low-key day at the VeeDub household...just how we like it. In the world of gift-giving, I think I did pretty well this year. I got Joey hand-stamped silver collar stays from a sweet etsy store. One says "baby loves joey" (also on his wedding ring) and the other says "alex loves daddy". I know. Awesomesauce.

Alex got his Daddy a book called "Geek Dad." I He saw it in last month's Parenting magazine and just had to get it. It provides instructions for all sorts of cool/geeky father & son projects - like making a WORKING lamp from Legos. Again, awesomesauce.

We took a little trip to Great Lakes Crossing to visit Joe's personal Disneyland, Bass Pro Shop. We also got Mister Ragamuffin's hair cut. Behold:

Sleeping pre-haircut.

Being awesome during haircut.

Sleeping post-haircut.

 Best. Kid. Ever. He also happens to have the best Daddy, ever. I love my life.

This...

...is what I want need my hair to look like.

Forgive the super weird look on America Ferrera's face, but I had to pull an image from a grainy YouTube video of last week's Ugly Betty episode to give you the visual of such hair perfection.

Here's the prob: I'm definitely 100% retarded when it comes to curling irons, rollers and any other tool that "curls". Chances are that I would lose a lot of hair in the process, people would get hurt, and Pantene's stock would plummet. I also think those giant velcro rollers (like Gretchen uses on "Real Housewives") are fab-yooouu-less, but I'm too chicken to try them.

I'm not completely at a loss - I'm actually quite skilled at styling my hair when it's short, mostly because it requires a straightener, aka a styling tool I can operate without breaking into a cold sweat. Exhibit A: one of my best short-hair days ever.

Me and my bf, Cait.

It should be noted that this was taken minutes before the

Spice Girls' reunion tour. Yeah, we're that awesome.

Please teach me your voodoo hair magic, oh stylers of Ugly Betty. Because I have at least another 2 inches of growth (read: four months) before I can successfully perform my Locks of Love donation, and walking around with an eternally unstyled ponytail really doesn't do my mop any justice. Le sigh.

Modifications.

I willingly agreed went to see Avatar in 3D today...so I can officially check that one off the list 'o Resolutions. Those looking for a review...I haven't stopped laughing long enough to actually process the plot line. Maybe someday soon.

In its place, I would like to add the following: donate hair to Locks of Love.

I have always, always, always, always wanted to do this. And I've begun the process no less then eleventy billion times. However, when a girl gets bored, there are three things that can happen: 1) she buys new shoes; 2) she organizes her purse; or 3) she cuts her hair.

I have loads and loads and loads of shoes and a purse that is organized within an inch of its zebra-fab life (a separate zipper pouch for my 47 lipglosses, for reals). I've also had (and loved) shortish hair for most of my post-high school life (with the exception of the growing out phases for my wedding, Kyle's wedding and Kelli's wedding) but every time I've attempted to actually grow it out enough for LoL, I get bored before reaching that precious 8 inch mark needed for donation. CHOP. Hair fail.

However, I find that right now is the perfect time to recommit myself to this lifelong goal. You see...if I were to chop this mop off now, I would look like someone snapped a head of lego hair atop a bowling ball. Yeah...short hair does NOT look good when these cheeks are chubby.

So, as I work on my "fit into skinny jeans" Resolution, I will also be growing my hair out for LoL. And when the day comes that I can glide those precious Seven For All Mankinds over these child-bearing hips without a tub of Vaseline and a small army of freakishly strong midgets, I will reward myself with a fabulously cute and new short haircut from a ridiculously overpriced Royal Oak salon.

Ready, set, GROW!

Stalker?

I decided about 3 haircuts ago that the 45 minute drive to my former (and very loved) salon just couldn't cut it anymore. Ha! I'm so punny! While the cut and stylist were always perfect, my time with my boys has become far too precious.

My previous salon was a Redken salon, but research and faithful blog following revealed that Kerastase salons were great...if not better. I did some further googling and found a new (Kerastase) salon much closer to home.

The first visit was a smashing success. Loved the cut. Loved the stylist. Then she quit. I love my luck. So I switched it up and went with the owner (you can never go wrong with the owner, right?). She also turned out to be faboo, but it was a rather strange experience...

Maybe someone with more knowledge of the hair industry can 'splain this to me, but it was as if she had an intern/apprentice following her (and me!) everywhere she went. Washing my hair? She watched her like a hawk. Walking back to the station? Followed me step for step. Cutting my hair? Literally stood 6 inches from me and watched her every snip. She finally made herself useful at the end by picking up a blow dryer and drying my hair...but it was so, so, so strange. I felt like she was my stalker...following my every move. And she didn't say a word the entire time. I tried to make small talk to ease my discomfort, but she just stared at me blankly, continuing to hold all the owner's scissors and combs, should she need something.

It was seriously bizarre. Honestly it was so uncomfortable I might start the salon hunt all over again...ack!

Is this a Kerastase salon thing? Or an owner-of-the-salon-has-a-god-complex thing?