that I probably already knew, but have learned again - the hard way.
1). That I am highly unfashionable (and like it that way).
2). That, despite the fact that I don't wear heaps of makeup or spend ages on my appearance, I am, nonetheless, very vain.
3). That I adore symmetrical hairstyles. Symmetry, for me, is extremely important. Extremely.
Over the weekend the State was hosting a hairdressing competition / fashion show. The daughter of a dear friend had entered but her model had become unavailable a few days before the event. We were having dinner at their house when I agreed to stand in for her. (I know, I know, what was I thinking? Well, I 'll tell you. I was thinking that she is such a dear, sweet, girl and she will be a great hairdresser one day and that it was a great opportunity for her and if I didn't do it chances are she wouldn't find anyone else, given the short notice. I was also not terribly impressed with my hair and thought, honestly how much worse could it be? Never ask that.) She cut my hair on a stage with five other junior hairdressers and their models before a vast audience and a panel of judges who hovered unnervingly near. Poor, dear, Ana was so sweet and worked so hard (they had 30 minutes, start to finish) that I didn't know how on earth I was going to break it to her that we would have to fix this up. Drastically!
It kind of defies description so I have included one small photo so that you can appreciate my pain. I will just add that the long blond bit does not continue around to the other side, but rather tapers up my head, at an angle towards the ear. I am sure that this unusual coif would look perfectly fabulous on a rock star, fashion guru or hairstyle artist, unfortunately I am none of the above. It was also not remotely what I pictured from her description. In a state of shock, feeling like a sheep, all shorn and exposed, I followed the other "models" to the forefront of the stage where we perched like statues for an interminable 15 or 20 minutes, while people pointed and whispered and judges closely scrutinized our hair follicles. Having muscle spasms and internal panic attacks while trying to strategize how on God's green earth I was going to be able to take Ruhi to school in the morning looking as I did I began to wish that the stage would open up and I could inconspicuously slip into a darkened crevice until my hair grew out again or that Harry Potter would be so obliging as to lend me his invisibility cloak for an hour or so, at least till the end of the evening. Alas my desperate, fervent and feeble hopes for anonymity were soon dashed as we were then instructed to stand (so that judges could see how our hair looked standing up, because it is so very different from when we were sitting down. Um... yeah) The standing was then followed by a parade down a catwalk (I'm not kidding. I can still hear the hastily whispered instructions one woman gave to another: "Head up, chest out, tread lightly...Go!") Well, I could have frozen like a deer in headlights, and I'm fairly certain they don't have to contend with the type of lights I was dealing with, but down the catwalk I went attempting to tread lightly which was easier said than done because my boots emit an odd thundery thump with every step, fortunately the music was blaring so loudly I doubt anyone heard. Now, because I am not a professional model, I will admit that I did not have my head up the entire time (and I take my hat off to people that do - some catwalks are frighteningly
narrow) as, with the shower of blinding lights and camera flashes, I had the insatiable desire to see where I was going. From the catwalk we were herded to a lobby area where a professional photographer had set up a 'photo shoot'. Imagine my delight, because we all know how very much I love having my picture taken. Not only that, there were vast hoards of people watching you have your picture taken. Even better. After that I was done. And I wanted nothing more than to race home to the kids or at least find an obscure spot for a good cry where I could avoid the smirky glances and mourn my shorn locks in private. I was still holding it together until Ana asked the manager if it would be OK for me to leave a little early as I had young children. The answer was a resounding and uncompassionate "No. The event is an all day affair. You have to stay until the awards are given out." Well, I say, that just about finished me off. I was then asked, point blank: "Do you like your hair?" My answer: a tearful sniff. I will just say for the record that I did not cry while at the event. Not even when Mehran arrived to pick me up. I wept copiously in the car, however, until Mehran helped me put things in perspective. He told me that it's really not so bad. That he even liked it and that a lady at his school had breast cancer. She lost one breast and all her hair. She had a reason to cry. I had no reason at all. He is absolutely right. Thanks honey. Love ya.
Well the hairstyle may not have won any awards and Ana needn't have asked how I liked it as the welled up eyes and rapid sniffing (despite protests that I was fine) gave my opinions away.
for me. After a week of Bayan being sick with a cold, after movie reviews, crafty projects, extra cooking, cleaning and laundry I took a little time once the kids were in bed and had a cup of rosey tea with bee nectar from the honey farm and actually read a few pages from a book I have been trying to read for over a year now... ahhh. Sometimes the simple things are soooo good.
I have been trying to help Anisa put simple sounds together to make words. She has been doing very well with the at family: cat, sat, rat, etc. But she doesn't like sitting still for long and I thought I might introduce some sight words so that she could practice reading simple sentences. I wrote a few words (some familiar, some not) in big boxes in chalk on the driveway and she had to jump into the box containing the word that I asked her to identify. She loved it. She even added some of her own words. She is beginning to like copying and really enjoys putting letters together for me to "read". We will do this again soon and maybe I will have her read out the words so that I get a chance to jump around too... it's only fair.
Later in the evening, as a special treat for family night we made pancake cups by putting the pancakes into muffin tins and baking them in the oven, we then added freshly chopped strawberries and freshly whipped cream and then gobbled them up. Naturally.
I came across a brilliant idea at "Lets Explore" and decided to try it for myself. I am most impressed. We took an old formula can full off formula that Bayan would not, under any circumstances deign to consume (can't say that I blame him), emptied it out and while the kids practiced writing letters in the powder I decorated the can with assorted cardstock and a series of flowers I made from craft stones and paper punches. With help from the girls we put together a list of kid friendly chores, like helping wash the dishes, take out the trash, empty the dishwasher, dust a room, clean a mirror, etc. We wrote the chores on individual slips of paper and embellished each with a flower (just for fun, and well... because it was much prettier that way, plus it matched the can.) The first night we tried it they thought it was a lucky dip and actually cheered when they pulled out doing dishes and dusting. We haven't used it every night, but whenever we have scenes such as these have followed: Ruhi drew out the card Set the table for dinner. And here is the enthusiastic response.
She even tracked down placemats for herself, Anisa and Bayan. All this without any assistance or prompting. Anisa's favourite chore is helping wash the dishes, but they were even happy when they pulled out help clean the toilet. Can you imagine? It's a magic can. At least for now.
