Herbal Hair Mask

Finally!  My hair has passed my shoulders and my patience has paid off.  I have not had hair this long since I got married.  I have this terrible habit of chopping it off on a whim, only to be followed with tears and oaths of never ever ever cutting it again.

  I'm just not good at hair.  The front of my hair hangs straight and lifeless, while the back is super curly and the sides are wavy.  No patience for blow-drying and straightening every day, no money for highlights, no skill for curling.

I sought out a natural way to give my lifeless hair a boost.  Herbs, eggs and vinegar, anyone?

My coffee bean grinder pulsed a few tablespoons of chamomile flowers and dried nettle leaves, good for both hair shine and scalp health.  I then put the herbal powder in a small saucepan with 1/4 cup apple-cider vinegar and the juice of one lemon.  After heating and stirring, I took the mixture off of the heat, and let it cool for a couple of minutes.  Then, an egg and 1 teaspoon of olive oil was added.  With a good stir, I added the goo to my dry hair, starting at the scalp.  Once nicely coated, I tied up my hair with a too-tiny-to-wear-post-baby tee shirt and went to bed. (Caution, it stinks.  Husbands may be hostile to your search for healthier hair!)

The following morning I showered with a comb in hand and combed out the herbs forever.  Really. They are stubborn little guys.  After an eternity in the shower I had to let my hair air-dry.  A good brush, a look in the mirror and, woah! My hair was so shiny and felt like silk.

While the kids slept I ran my curling iron through it all, helping the danger zones (ok, ok, my whole head).

Not trying to gross anyone out here, but I went three days without washing my hair after using this mask and my hair held up extremely well.

Oh, to be feminine in heart and in hair!  Happy gooping!

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True Story.

When we found out that we’d be having our third baby in less than two and a half years, one of the first things I thought of (other than my stretch mark gallery) was that this meant having three kids in diapers. Oh. My.  That’s like twentyish diapers a day. Thankfully, we use cloth diapers about 80% of the time, so the cost is managable. But three? That’s a lot to handle.  

To lighten my load, I decided to potty train my 2 1/2 year old Rafferty.  He is a smart, eager to learn type, and true to my form I chose an all-in approach to potty training.  I put him in big boy underwear (possibly the cutest thing ever) and told him no more diapers.  For three days straight, I’d catch him having an accident, I’d run him to the potty and repeat the phrase, “make sure you tell mommy when you have to go potty, ok?”.  Basically, I did nothing for three days but shadow my kid and pick up his messes.  (oh yeah, and take care of an eighteen month old. And nurse a baby.)

The program I followed swears that any kid will get it by the end of the third day.  And it kinda worked.  He loved the praise for going in the potty, and loved the m&m rewards even more.

For the next three weeks or so he wore big boy pants. And then it started . . . the rebellion.  The m&m’s must have lost their flavor or something, because suddenly the potty lost its appeal.  Rafferty had nothing to do with it anymore.  I mean, who has time to run to the potty when there is a train track that needs built or when Buzz needs to fly passed infinity?  

I do what I’m told, and the program told me to stick it out whenever there was a regression.  I tried my best to encourage him, sing his praises, and not gripe about the nasties covering every inch of my almost-off-white carpet.  (who puts down this color of carpet, anyway?!) 

We had had several back to back days of the potty rebellion, when it finally happened.  

The incident.  

Rafferty and Cosette were busy jumping on their mini trampoline on our back porch.  I had the door open so I could hear Cosy scream whenever Rafferty jumped on her head.      I peaked my head out the door and as usual, Rafferty was jumping and laughing as Cosy was on her rear, trying desperately to get on her feet.  What wasn’t usual, though, was that Rafferty had taken off his pants.  

I took a step closer and saw that he had completely filled his undies with poop. . . and he was jumping with all his might. I shouted something like,  “BAH! STOP JUMPING!”, and grabbed him under the arms and ran him to the bathroom.  His legs and feet were decorated with his artwork, and he smiled at me as if he was quite proud of his achievement.  As I slid off his wasted undies and tossed them in the trash (yeah, I wasn’t going to even try to salvage the pair), I remembered my daughter.  

Oh. No.

I shouted for Dustin to come put Rafferty in the bath (this is when I am so so so thankful my husband works from home!) and took off to the trampoline.  There she sat, my precious little girl, hands full.  Hands full of her brother’s poo.  The world stopped spinning. I saw her waste-coated little hands go up to her face in slow motion. And then towards her mouth. I got to her in a fifth of a second and swept her to the bathroom to throw her into the tub with her brother.  Gross.  

That was the incident that made me cheerfully throw in the towel on potty training.  Three kids in diapers? Easy.  Scrubbing supernatural amounts of poop off of the trampoline? Horrific.  

Big boy pants will make another appearance, once I’ve recovered from round one.  

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Why I'm Afraid of Blogging

me, unperfect

I'll wake up with an idea.  I will then go and share this idea with my husband, who will say, "cool, you should blog about that.".  This has happened countless times this passed year.

Yet I just can't bring myself to do it.
 I have this fear of blogging, but it really isn't about blogging at all . . .

My fears stem from these thoughts:

Someone out there is saying just what I want to say, only they're saying it better.

I want to write about what I think is important.  What if someone disagrees with me? 

I want to make people laugh, but I'm not that funny.

I want to encourage and share wisdom, yet I'm not really all that wise.  

I am an insecure fourteen year old all over again!  The reality is that I will never be the best of the best, and that bugs me like a nasty hangnail or something else really really irritating.

SO, what to do?

 First, stop coveting my sister's gifts.  Second, use my own gifts with excellence. Third, give thanks for my portion now.  Sometimes I can be funny.  So my blog might some times make you laugh.  Every once and a while I am blessed with insight or wisdom from the Lord.  I will share what I learn.  Plenty of times I have opinions and even convictions to relay.

Considering the blog title Life Project, I must remember that I am an ongoing work, pursuing this and that, significant or not-so-significant, all to God's glory.

I pray I can be filled with confidence and peace as I decide to blog.

Lord willing, I will be able to see God's faithful hand growing me into a more devoted and beautiful Christian, living a life with a heart to please him first.  

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One of my Favorite Little Blessings

My son Rafferty, nearly two years old, is one of the most fascinating little guys in the world.  (At least in my world!)  This morning I took him to the library for toddler time.  There, about twenty babies and toddlers sat on the floor with their parents, clapping rhymes and being read stories by the enthusiastic librarian.

At first, Rafferty agreeably sat in my lap, happy to clap and observe the colorful room and other kids.  This only lasted for about two minutes.  Then he was off! Literally running circles around the other kids, making a bee line for the cd player within reach, and trying to rip the forest creature stick-ons from the wall.  The trash can was soon tipped over, the area rug's corners folded up, and the bowl full of "egg shakers" emptied, filled, and emptied again.

A few, maybe five, of the other toddlers danced and walked around the room.   But not a one displayed the bountiful energy and enthusiasm as Rafferty.  He wins.

We get home and he shows me his dinosaur. "I found a dinosaur", he says.  Complete sentence, proud mommy.  This is followed by "scary" and "the vug in rug".  (From Dr. Suess's There's a Wocket in my Pocket, a household favorite)  


He "ride a horse" on the arm of the couch, proclaiming himself to be Jessie, the cowgirl from Toy Story.  (We'll have to work on that one)

He touches my computer, again. And is disciplined for touching my computer, again.

Later he feeds Cheerio (our dog) off of his plate, again.  And is disciplined for feeding Cheerio off of his plate, again.

I smile at his joy when I give him a taste of butter, his favorite.  I hurt for him when his diaper rash brings forth alligator tears.

I laugh when he points and identifies fifty different objects in the room, including every body part and mommy's baby in her belly button.  I do not laugh when I catch him squeezing his baby sister's face with both hands, again.

I know that when bed time rolls around for my little man, I'll be ready.  My feet will ache from chasing him. My voice will ache from reading "Commotion in the Ocean" four times in one sitting.  My brain will hurt from answering "what's this?" two thousand times in a single day.  But my heart will be bursting with love and thankfulness that I get to be his mommy.

Created in God's image, this one of a kind ball of energy and personality is a blessing unlike any other. I love you, Rafferty!

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Disappearing Act & Round 3

~~from round 1, I wish I was still this tiny! ;) ~~

I wrote my last post, oh so long ago, with so much excitement for building a routine I could have put two exclamation points at the end of each sentence. I was ready. Ready to wake up early, tackle the impossible and live more efficiently.

Little did I know . . .

I was about to find out I was pregnant! (yes, again!)

I know a lot of you are super-women who aren't phased one bit by the challenges brought on by the first trimester. I, however, am not one of you. I simply could not bring myself out of bed one minute earlier than absolutely necessary. The thrill of ambition left me as quickly as the morning sickness came a' callin.

God's abundant grace carried me through those first several weeks. My loving husband offered me understanding and a whole heap of slack instead of calling me a whimp.

Now I can revisit my ambition, I think. My lofty routine can be realized, maybe. Okay, so perhaps I am a little hesitant to fully commit to an absolute. But, I am feeling much better in body, the Spirit fills me and life is needing some intentionality.

Blogging on a regular basis may now become a reality rather than a thought for "tomorrow". I'm glad to be back!

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