My hair, my opinion

I got a haircut Monday evening after work. I typically wait to get these much-dreaded haircuts until the last possible minute. And in the past I have always scheduled them for Fridays so I can have the entire weekend to get acquainted with the new do. That way on Monday back at work it won’t be quite a shock to everyone.
I dread hearing all the forced oohs and ahhs. I hate the monotonous, “Oh wow, you got a haircut…”
Unfortunately, because I am now being forced to work Friday evenings, I no longer have the luxury of Friday haircuts. Thusly, I made this last appointment for Monday. I made sure to be early for work today (the day after the haircut) so that I could walk into an empty office as opposed to walking into a crowded room of people dying to make comments about my appearance. I know, I think about these things way too much. But people don’t think before they speak, and I take things personally.
So far, the people who have seen the new do have said the expected “Wow you got your hair cut,” and “Boy that’s short.” Stuff like that.
But my boss did a triple take and shouted, “Whoa, you really cut your hair. Did you do it yourself?!” What the heck does she mean, did I do it myself?!!!!!!! Isn’t that about as insulting as you can get?
A few hours later another coworker walked up to me with mini scissors and said, “Looks like you whacked that all off yourself!”
Most of the females in the office said they loved it, as most women will do. See, women are smart that way. So are husbands. Hubby had nothing but nice things to say.
The truth is my haircut is quite a difference. Pre-haircut my locks brushed my shoulders; now they fall short and choppy right below the chin. The do reminds me of 1920s-esque bed hair, which I fixed part curly, part straight. Yes, it appears uneven and irregular, which is what I wanted. While it may appear haphazard, it took my stylist an hour to do. She did a fantastic job and I love the cut.
You have every right to disagree. Just please have the decency to not tell me about it. It’s not a bumper sticker pronouncing my views. It’s not up for opinion. It’s just a haircut.

Guest blogger: Magpie

Because I visited my niece Madeline (Magpie) this weekend, she practically begged me for an invitation to be my guest blogger today. She said, "Tia Mel, please stop blogging about birds and let me tell your readers a fascinating tale." So without further delay, here's Magpie...

Hi, I'm Magpie. I am 7 months old. I am beautiful and I love, love, love to sit in the activity center that my Mimi and Great Tia Irene got for me. It makes tons of noises, which I like because I am a noisy gal.

Is that a camera, Tia Mel? I'm trying to play, and you keep taking pictures.

I guess I'll let out one of my blood-curdling screams. You know, just for fun. The instructors at my daycare are particularly fond of those screams, or so they told my mommy.

Speaking of mommy, here she is, holding me after I'm fresh from a bath.

Her arms are the best place in the world.

Well, I don't mind hanging out with Tia Mel either.

Especially when she lets me honk her nose as if it's a piece of playdough.

OH NO! It's time for bed! I guess that's all the time we have today.
See you next time.

Easter Innocence

My sister Melissa was nice enough to let me subject her 7-month-old daughter Madeline (better known as Magpie, my niece) to an Easter-themed photo shoot yesterday morning. What’s so funny is that just a few days before, Melissa and I were making fun of parents who pay to have their children’s photos taken on every single occasion (Easter, Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, Halloween, Flag Day, etc.). But when I thought up this idea with brightly colored plastic eggs, I couldn’t resist.
The joy of the 10-minute photo shoot was only heightened by the fact that this little girl is so very charming. She just sat there and giggled and played with the eggs for 10 solid minutes. No tears, no squirming, no fussing. She was such a delightful subject. Magpie is going to be so sick of my photo shoots by the time she hits puberty. But until we reach that point I’m going to cherish every moment.
How do you pick just one photo?!

Photos of the Day

Bye Bye little nest

I know you’re getting sick of hearing about birds, and I promise I’m not the crazy old bird lady. But I have one more bird story.
This morning as I was enjoying my breakfast, Pinto the cat alerted me with a spastic little meow that something was of interest in our sunroom. His tail was slicing through the air at the speed of light – you could feel a breeze from it in the next room. This usually means he is stalking something that is moving – say a spider or fly, etc.
This morning it happened to be a family of birds that was encroaching upon our ceiling fan located in the sunroom. They must have flown in through the open door, seen the fan and immediately decided, this is the perfect spot to build a nest.
Diligent workers they are, these birds were taking turns flying to the woods, collecting small piles of brush, and delivering them to the “bowl” of the fan that is attached to the ceiling. The nest was already more than halfway constructed.
Then hubby did something unthinkable. He waited until both birds flew outside and he shut the door.
It was one of the saddest sights in the world when those little birds came fluttering back with a newly found pile of brush in tow. They noticed the glass door shut in front of them and they stood there just wondering and waiting, how do we get back to our nest – we’ve worked so hard to build it.
They’d fly away for a brief moment hoping we’d reopen the door, and then they’d reappear. At one point they stationed themselves on the feeder, eager to get a better grasp at the situation before them.

I took this photo of the birds perched on
the feeder from inside the kitchen window.

I felt so bad. I know they’ll find a new home soon. We’ll (hubby will) clean out the partial nest and turn the fan on for the spring. That should deter any new birds from building another nest.

For the birds

I'm getting pretty desperate to take a decent photo of a bird at the bird feeder now that spring has arrived. This past Saturday I couldn't sleep past 7:45 am (don't you just love when that happens?!) and decided I'd get up and stare at the bird feeder until a blazing red cardinal came for a feast. I bundled up in my cold morning gear, put my zoom lens on the camera and headed for the back yard.
I could hear the birds scatter as I approached. I tried to hide around the corner of the house and fool them into visiting the feeder; I wanted them to know I meant no harm. But these birds are ever so cautious.
When no birds came after 5 minutes, I walked back around to the front of the house and searched the trees for birds. They flew away in my presence as well. I got a photo of this little fellow eating scraps off the street in front of my neighbor’s house.

I then decided to brave the back yard again. Hubby’s grandmother’s boat sits–currently in large puddle of excess rainwater–in perfect sight of the bird feeder. I took a seat on a not-so-comfy edge of the boat and waited for 10 minutes. I’ve heard that birds will come near so long as their surroundings are kept constant. So if I sat there long enough, they’d feel comfortable enough to approach.
Sure enough, after 10 minutes this little guy shows up near the vegetable garden. He assesses his surroundings for a bit and stares me down.

Looks again toward the bird feeder to weigh his options.

Lunges and makes a beeline for the feeder.

Yum. The sweet taste of success.

I think I fell in love with this bird. He was the only one brave enough to visit the feeder while I was present. When it gets warmer out I’ll spend even more time back by the feeder and perhaps even more birds will find their courage.
I also fell in love with the plump robins. They tend to take great interest in pillaging the yard for goodies. Right now they must be pleased because tons of worms have surfaced with all this rain.

One of the number one reasons I purchased my zoom lens was so that I could take photos of birds. I’m obviously not good at working it yet, as almost all of my photos turn out slightly blurry, never quite as crisp as ones taken with my smaller lens. I’m not sure if it is just a bad lens, or if I need to be using a tripod at all times, or if there is a specific setting I’m forgetting to use. Any suggestions, photography friends of mine?

Buttery heaven

On my way to work this morning I stopped briefly by Guglhupf Bakery & Patisserie in Durham. I had been there only once before when I was working as a Production Assistant for a commercial job. I was basically a runner and the director wanted freshly baked goods awaiting him when I picked him up from the airport after his flight from L.A. I ordered a croissant, a banana and chocolate muffin, and a cheese Danish for him. The baked goods sat tightly wrapped and piping hot in the back seat of the car when I arrived at the airport. We piled the director’s luggage in the trunk, got him situated in the back seat with hot tea, and informed him of the goodies, letting him know they were from “the best bakery in town.”
He didn’t even touch them. Well, maybe he sniffed at them and then turned away, completely ungrateful and uninterested.
It was no loss to me, as it wasn’t on my dime. And I had never eaten anything from that bakery so I didn’t know what he was missing out on.
Today things changed. After much deliberation, I approached the counter at Guglhupf and ordered a day-old croissant that was priced at 40 percent off (what can I say, I’m cheap…). I brought it to work and waited 3 hours before touching it. Oh good Lord this thing was so good. I inhaled it. I’m convinced that it was prepared with a stick of butter. Real, full fat butter. I am slightly devastated that I’ve just discovered these fluffy, flaky, buttery croissants. I am worried that this bakery is on my way to work. It’s too easy of access. This could be bad.
I’m not the only one convinced that this bakery is absolutely fantastic. Many restaurants use Guglhupf baked goods on their menus. Hubby’s restaurant (411 West in Chapel Hill) will now be preparing a few sandwiches with a variety of their breads, including the rustic house, the plain ciabatta, and the paysan.
And when hubby and I visit Wine Authorities for Saturday wine tastings, they always have fresh baked bread from Guglhupf for sale. That’s probably why our Saturday lunches are always bread and cheese plates.
I am delighted by what I feel is my discovery, though the bakery has been around since 1998. And I feel sorry for the big L.A. director that missed out on such a treat, especially when it was right at his fingertips.

Bracket frenzy

To a good majority of people, today is a day as important as their own birthday, maybe even more important than their wedding day or the birth of their first child. It’s the day when they get to show off their bracket and embark on the guessing game of a lifetime. For in the end (April 6), they may just have chosen the correct number of winning teams in the NCAA Tournament 2009, and they may win a sum close to $200. This is VERY important for some people.
What’s funny is that this is a day important even to people who do not care about sports, people who don’t follow any teams in particular. This category of persons may not have watched a single game all regular season, but when it comes time to fill out those sacred brackets they feel suddenly very empowered and called to duty. The world must know of my preferences and my predictions for the outcome of the tournament, they silently convince themselves.
I fall into that category. I’ve only half-watched a total of 4 games this year. Yet I’ve just finished filling out my bracket. It was honestly the first item on my list of things to do today.
I confess that I don’t even recognize the names of some of these schools: BYU, VCU, Stephen F. Austin, Morgan St., Robert Morris…
The ones that were acronyms sounded more professional to me, so I selected them to survive the first round. Yes, they can thank me later. Because of my support, they will go very far.
Other schools I picked because they were located in places I’d someday like to visit: Arizona, West Virginia, Connecticut.
Some schools I selected for personal reasons: My sister had a dog named Xavier. My friend Bridget moved to Missouri in 8th grade. Maryland has delicious crab cakes.
These all seem like good reasons to me. And honestly, this thing is all luck anyway. So good luck to all those out there who have invested $10 and all their pride into this thing. April 6th is a long way away.

Childcare

Hubby and I were told more than a month ago to begin looking for daycare for our bun in the oven. While we laughed at the thought of beginning our search so early, we did begin our quest not long after. There are numerous online resources to aid in these types of searches, though none prove as valuable as visiting the daycares in person. Actually, sometimes a phone call is all it takes to rule out a bad egg.
So far it has been tough for us. We know what we can afford – in Durham that only gives us about 20 daycare options. We called 15 daycares yesterday. Of those, 4 centers were beyond our means, 3 centers were only enrolling kids 2 years and up, 2 or so didn’t answer the phone, and 3 were already completely booked for October (when we’ll need care). That left 3 facilities.
One was located on Page Road, which is not considered convenient for us. Another place I had to call back when the “director” was available. She sounded very gruff on the phone. I asked if she had any openings in October. The answer was yes. I asked if she could tell me the tuition rates, as they were not listed online. “Why don’t ya just come by? I’ll tell you when ya get here.”
I’m sorry, but if you have to see me in person to tell me your rates, forget it. I’m not willing to drive to a place unless I know the cost upfront. Hubby thinks the lady wanted to see us and decide how much we could afford just by looking at us, then tell us the cost. Nice.
The final place, Harvest Learning Center in Chapel Hill, welcomed us with open arms for a visit. The director chatted with us for an hour, gave us the tour, and answered all of our questions. We both loved the place. Put us on the waitlist, we said. We’re number 26.
We are 4th on the waitlist at Cresset Christian Academy, a daycare I trust as I have a friend who sends two of her children there. We also are considering getting on the waitlist at KinderCare (though my first visit there smelled of rotten spaghetti, and my second visit, while it smelled fresh, there was “no one available to speak with me.”).
But beyond those options, things are looking grim. Locally, there are many home care facilities. But without the recommendation of someone I know and trust, I’m fearful of those. Especially in Durham.
Suggestions please…!

At last

I confess that I am a procrastinator. I always have been. This habit began in middle school. Projects would be due, we were given plenty of notice, and I’d wait until the last moment to get them completed. I think waiting makes it all the more special in the end. Or so I tell myself.
As an adult, I still tend to procrastinate, but in different ways. Recently, hubby’s and my garden has fallen victim to this foul tendency of mine. We had all fall to prepare the soil for spring planting, though we never once touched it. Then we had all winter to play catch up – prepare, amend, enrich the soil, start planning the garden, start pulling out dead plantings and weeds from last year’s garden. We still avoided doing any of this. The veggie garden looks like a ghost town, tumbleweeds and all.
Together, hubby and I are exponentially delayed when it comes to stuff like this. So sure enough, leave it to us to wait until the official last weekend of winter (the 1st day of spring is March 20) to begin to fool with the garden.
We visited Lowe’s this past rainy weekend and spent an hour picking out seeds, a peat pellet greenhouse system, a few potted plants, and some other random items (like paint swatches for the nursery). As a side note, it is impossible for me to go to a home improvement store and not pick out paint swatches, even when there is nothing to paint.

The greenhouse pallet we purchased had 72 peat “stations.” These little dry soil pellets begin the size of a 3 stacked quarters and grow to the size of a shot glass when hot water is added to the tray beneath them. The resulting soil cups are the perfect size for seedling growth. I added annual and perennial seeds to about 30 of the 72 pellets while hubby added vegetables to the rest.

We planted Shirley Poppy, Zinnia, Nasturtium, Hollyhock, Sweet Pea, cucumber, lettuce, zucchini, brussel sprouts, and 3 types of tomatoes. The seeds should become seedlings just in time for us to transfer them to the garden after the last frost.

Our potted plants replaced what used to be candles surrounded by glass globes.

A potted ivy was in need of a much cooler container.
We went to Everything But Grannies Panties,
an antique store on Guess Road,
and found this lovely ceramic chamber pot.

I also pleaded for a birdfeeder. Our yard is often visited by cardinals, blue jays, robins, chickadees, finches, and crows, though the last bird is far from a welcome guest. We got the cheapest feeder, the cheapest birdseed, and the cheapest shepherd’s hook we could find. I stationed the feeder in the backyard directly beside the sunroom and have yet to see a bird visit it. Hubby promises it is because of the rain.

Photos of the Day

Pinto the cat, beautifully handsome and holy.
Look at him, sitting on the kitchen table, paws propped upon the Bible.

Here I've captured him looking up into the heavens asking God for forgiveness for all of the sins he will surely commit today while mommy and daddy are at work.

He is obviously pleased with his prayer.
And wants me to tell him what a good boy he is.

Okay, Pinto, now you look a little too proud in this photo.
I never realized I had a self-righteous cat.

Spring preview

Bradford pear trees are in bloom (I'm thinking perhaps a little too early), and look like giant cotton balls throughout my neighborhood. Of course they smell like rotting fish, but you give some and you take some.

Our bradford pear at sunrise

So much white!