It's Like Riding a Bicycle, Right?

I really hope so, because I feel like I've forgotten HOW to blog. Almost every day since my last blog post, I have gone about my daily life thinking, "this would make a great blog post!" or "I have got to sit down and write about that time that..." I've even started writing blog posts in my head, people. And yet.

This month has been busy with so many things--some wonderful, some angst-y and the like--but definitely rife with blog fodder. And so my plan for this evening, while Ethan is off watching Toy Story 3 with friends at the community center, I am trying to use my precious 1.5 hours of free time to organize my thoughts and the events of the past few weeks.

I have to be honest that some of my blogging attention has been co-opted by my recent obsession with Instagram. Do you instagram? Because, as I think I just said, I'm obsessed. "iPhonography" photography has become my new hobby, mainly because it involves, at least the way I do it, very little actual talent and really spectacular photographic results, if you use the right applications and can press buttons on your iPhone.

So instead of blogging lately, if I'm not at the gym, training for the Susan G Komen 3-day Walk for the Cure (nudge nudge, wink wink--the donation link is to the right--sorry for the obnoxious begging for cash, but its not for me!!), I am wandering through one of the purty small towns in my area in search of funky little things to take pictures of and then run through a series of filters and effects to come up with the most bang-for-your-iPhone-app buck pictures I can. And then I post them on Instagram (sarahndipity71) whilst oooooh'ing and aaaaaah'ing at other, far more gorgeous pictures taken by other instagram'ers, many of whom have bona fide photography skills and talent. So there's that.

But that doesn't mean I don't have a lot to tell you about--like the drama around kindergarten "assessments" and the horror of the latest dentist appointment (mine, not Ethan's, whose teeth we actually take care of), and Ethan's discovery of the concept of fibbing and of attempting to bargain his way out of everything from eating his vegetables, to going to bed at night, to picking up his toys at the end of the day.

And then there's the haircut. That he got today. That is uber-short, at least by the "I want my hair as long as yours, Mommy" standard we live by in this house. We were going for this look:

as modeled by a 3.5 year old Ethan on the fall festival carousel. Clearly shorter than he's worn it in over a year, but still getting a little bit of a flip in the back and some kicky little bangs.

In the past few weeks, leading up to the haircut, you could say that his hair has been a bit out of control. You could say its been in his eyes a little bit. You could say, and if you were his teacher, you did say, that perhaps the down-to-his-nose bangs were interfering with his ability to start reading effectively because, um, he can't see the words in front of him. Sigh.

But look at how sweet:

Today, mere hours before the assault on his locks, dressed up as a cowboy at the Purim celebration at preschool. Because of course there were Jewish cowboys in ancient Persia. Right?

"Please don't let my mom ever chop my hair off. Please don't let my mom ever chop my hair off..."

Okay. It's long. I know.

So what's a mom to do? Just cut his bangs a little and either A.) further confuse random strangers about the exact gender of my child? or B.) run the risk of mullet-izing him with too much business in front and too much party in the back?

The only alternative seemed to be to go see our regular stylist at the "obscenely over-priced-but-they-play-Nick-Jr-shows-so-its-almost-like-being-at-home-but-with-scissors" salon and have her trim his hair way up, all around, so it will grow back out in the same style. Hopefully by the time we wake up tomorrow morning.

And this is what we got:

WHO is that kid?!!! Is it me or does he look like a totally different child?! Still beautiful and wonderful and all that, but just totally different. I believe it's shorter than we asked for, but honestly, I think the stylist is sick to death of me because I've taken Ethan to her 2-3 times this year and each time I say, "just a tiny bit, okay. Not much. Only a little. Well, maybe we should just come back in a few weeks when it gets a little longer...." And given that this time I said, "We're cutting it short!" I'm guessing she saw an opening, and went to town, cutting it her version of short, which is the actual, most sane peoples' definition of short, as opposed to my jacked-up version of short, which is actually, erm, long.

Despite the sad and forlorn look in that last picture, Ethan swears he is happy with his haircut. Although he did ask me on the way home, "My hair is growing back already, mom, right?"