Emme Claire Domestic Terrorist

For those who do not have the privilege of knowing Emerson Claire Kosub, you are missing out. This kid is priceless. My friends at work routinely ask me to tell them the latest "Emme story". Here are the latest two:

1. A couple of weeks ago, I put my kids to bed and then went on to bed myself. Two and half hours later, I woke up to a bright light shining in my eyes. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw Emme standing by my bedside wearing full Cinderella regalia, right down to the high heel shoes. She apparently had found a flashlight and decided to blind me/scare me half to death with it. When I asked her what in the world she was doing, she whispered, "I loot-en for cues." Translation, she was looking for clues. At midnight. In heels. Go figure.

2. Last weekend, I was painting the living room and mostly ignoring Emme. There being no furniture in the main rooms or accessible toys (remodeling the house), she was understandably bored. I was up on a ladder when I heard her saying, "It's okay, just lie down and be still, that's a good boy, just lie still and be good..." Out of an abundance of curiosity and caution, I got down to check it out. There she was, petting a sleepy Duncan, sweet talking him into a totally relaxed state of mind and ever-so-slowly easing his soft floppy ear into the stapler.

I cried out, "Emerson Claire what are you doing!?"

"Oh, I jus po-tin a ho in Duncan's ear."

"Well, that's going to hurt him, so stop it."

"Mommm, it jus one ittle ho."

That's right, according to her you can staple an innocent dog's ears so long as you keep it down to "one little hole".

Priceless.

1st Date

It's 6:40 in the afternoon and both of my kids are blessedly asleep. Sure, I'll pay for it later when they are still going strong at 11:00 p.m., but I have just enough time for a quick adorable Carson-story.

Carson had his first date, sorta. On Wednesday, Brookie-Cookie (the love of his life) needed a ride to tennis class. Enter Carson all googley-eyed and nervous. We turn on her street and he turns to me and I-kid-you-not, says,"I wonder just how beautiful Brooke is going to look when she walks through that door?" Couldn't you just die? Well, she looked just as cute as a button and smelled great too. According to her father, Brooke was in a similar tizzy and had doused her self in about a half gallon of strawberries and cream perfume. She had also wrote "Hello Carson" on her Magna-Doodle and put it next to the front door for him to see. They took a quick peek at her room (it was evidently a giant pink paradise) and off we went.

Carson practically killed himself trying to beat her to the car so that he could open her door for her. His over eagerness was such that I felt it necessary to caution him to wait until the car stopped moving before he went to open her door for her again once we got there. All went smoothly during the lesson and 45 minutes later their first big date was over.

Carson later said, "Mom, what do you wish for me?" And I answered my stock answer, "I just wish your wishes come true." He smiled and said, "Oh good, then you wish that I become an Army man and marry Brooke too." How cute is that???

Bad Hair Day

It happens once, maybe twice in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. You find that certain someone who knows you better than you know yourself. The one person in a million who truly listens and hears you completely. That one special individual who is everything that you ever wanted and more. And just like that, it can all be swept away.

Kim, my hairdresser has moved away. Evidently, her stupid husband got some dream job in Washington D.C. and she decided to go with him. I know, I know, I had three perfect years of great haircuts and fabulous highlights and not everyone can say that. But, I am now left adrift, hairdresser-less. And during what is probably the windiest summer on record for Wichita Falls.

Do you know that you have a greater chance of being killed by a terrorist that finding a competent hairdresser? Okay, I lifted that line from Sleepless in Seattle and I think it applies to finding true love, but whatever, same difference. The sentiment remains true and I can back it up.

I went to my hair salon today for a simple trim of my bangs. A simple enough job- or so you would think. They gave me some squeaky voiced child who had bedazzled every single piece of equipment she owned including her beautician’s license. She proceeded to butcher my bangs until they were unrecognizable as a natural extension of my head. When she was done and I had an opportunity to survey the wreckage, I realized that I had seen myself with this haircut once before. When I was four- and had to cut chunks of hair off after I had fallen asleep with gum in my mouth. I look like a cross of Ramona Quimby and a mange infested dog.

Blessedly, most of the office was gone by early afternoon and I did not have to face anybody with my stumpy, weird, so-not-blended (I specifically said blend them into the rest of my hair) bangs. I think I can manage the weekend with a pair of strategically placed sunglasses on top of my head, but after that, I just don’t know.

I guess it’s better to have had a great hairdresser and lost her ………