A journalist observes life in the far north.
I bought three hair magazines and have narrowed my future new hairdo down to five different styles, all short because a) I want to look younger and hipper and b) I don’t want to have to brush my hair very often. I am looking for something that looks fabulous after combing my fingers through my hair with a little mousse.
I have one thing going for me, and it’s that I have thick hair. Oh, and I am 99 percent sure that I will dye it platinum blonde. Think black eye makeup, hoop earrings and low-cut shirts. The look I am going for is MILF. We’ll see if I have the kahoonas to do it. I have thought about lopping my hair into a pixie for about 20 years and I’ve never done it. I’m too chicken that I’ll wind up looking butch, especially on account of my amazonian-proportioned body. But at this point, anything ought to look better than a grown-out wedge, dish-water blonde in color and quickly graying. I look like a mousy housewife and wind up wearing a lot of hats.
Lucky may get a haircut, her first, soon too. She has patches of hair behind each ear that are longer than the rest of her hair, making her look a little like Peter Boyle from “Everybody Loves Raymond.” Although it’s hard to imagine this girl sitting still in a barber’s chair. She has graduated from walking like a robot to walking like a drunk. She hardly ever crawls anymore. And she is in the big-girl car seat, which is a driving hazard because I am preoccupied with watching what she is doing back there.
Alec and I recently attempted to start potty training. It didn’t go well. We stripped Lucky naked and brought her potty seat into the living room and resolved to watch for when it looked like she might have to relieve herself. We wound up both getting distracted and Lucky pooped on the floor. When Alec saw what she was doing, he grabbed her and held her on the potty seat for about 30 seconds. She screamed the whole time.
Lucky is 29 inches tall and weighs 19 pounds, which is small for her age, according to her doctor. Who knew I was capable of producing a petite child? She drinks milk now. No more formula. She knows lots of words even though she can’t say them, including eat, shoe, book, dog and kiss. Don’t ask me how I know. A mother just knows these things.
She had her first timeout recently after getting into trouble for playing in the trash can. We took her to a party on Saturday night, and she seemed to enjoy it, which was a big relief because the holidays are approaching and there will be more parties. She liked exploring the house where the party was held and she especially enjoyed playing in the ice chest where the beverages were kept. She managed to keep it together until about 10 p.m., which is two hours past her bedtime.
I don’t know how I’ll find the strength to leave my girl behind for three weeks while trekking in Nepal in April. It’s reassuring to know that her many relatives in Washington and Oregon are delighted about her upcoming visit.