Hair Accoutrements

I have a friend who often comments on how cute my daughters' hair is. The funny thing about this friend is that she has daughters, too. And their hair is always brushed and pulled back, just like mine. I have pointed out to her on many occasions that the only difference between my side ponytail and hers is an accessory clipped into the tresses. In girls' hair, I believe accessories are key.

Naturally, here chez Hunter, we have a plethora of hair accoutrements: ribbons, bows, flowers, etc.

Now, my kids do chores. They clean their rooms and they help clean the common areas of the house. But, they clean like kids. You know what I'm saying, right? So, sometimes, I start from top and bottom and I go through the house cleaning like a madwoman. I clear out nooks that kids don't see and secret stashes the kids think I don't know about. Invariably, I find hair accessories in almost every room of the house (not Mason's room--he'd never be able to sleep at night!).

When I find a hair clip, I just pick it up and then put it in my hair until I make my way to the bathroom that houses the girls' hair supplies. If you stop by my house on such a day, you'd undoubtedly see me with a couple of clashing bows in my hair. This has actually happened to me--where someone stops by and says, "Nice bow(s)" and I wonder what they are talking about until I walk past a mirror.

Anyway, a while ago I must have been on a particularly in depth cleaning frenzy because by the time I got to the girls' bathroom, my head was covered in hair paraphernalia.

When I saw my reflection, I just had to laugh. This was a day that no witness stopped by to see my stunning look and it seemed too funny not to share. I had to take a couple of photos so you could laugh, too.

Without further ado, I present my awesome hairdo of which you will be insanely jealous, no doubt:

Thank you, Dr. King

It's no secret that my Teensy has a best friend. A bestie. A BFF. They've scarcely sneezed without each other over the past eight years of their little lives.

Her name is Selena.

Here is a precious photo of the two of them on their baptism day:


Okay. So, a couple of days ago, I was driving the kids home from school and Mackenna was excitedly telling me about what she had learned that day. It was about civil rights. She was rattling off names like Ruby Bridges, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Rosa Parks. She explained to me that without these people, her class at school would look totally different: there would be no black people. She was so earnest in her effort to educate me. I just "Oh!"-ed intermittently like I was hearing this bit of history for the first time.

Then my Teensy spoke up with a question. "Mom," she began, "Would Selena be considered white or black?"

I chuckled softly. "Honey, Selena is white."

"No, Mom," she responded forcefully. "She isn't. She's dark."

"I know her skin is darker than yours, but she is still white," I proclaimed.

"Mom!" Teensy barked in a disgusted tone. "Have you even seen her skin? It's dark."

I was laughing in earnest at this point and trying in vain to convince her that her best friend is the same race as she is. I tried to point out that Selena's sister, a red-head with skin the color of drifted snow is clearly white and that because they have the same parents, they are clearly the same race, but Marlee wouldn't buy any of it.

Then, it occurred to me that Selena actually is 1/4 Latina. I tried to explain that she gets her quick-to-tan skin from her grandmother who is from Mexico. That just brought up a whole new bout of confusion. "What's Latina?" Gracious.

So, what did we learn in the car ride home? That we are thankful for people like Martin Luther King. Because without him, not even brunettes who tan would be allowed to go to school with my blonde daughters. Sakes alive.

The Master of This Saint

Hey, remember when I was a blogger? Those were some good times, weren't they?

I miss those heady times. Truly, I do.

Remember when my husband was ridiculously busy getting his master's degree while working full-time and serving in the bishopric of our church? I'll tell you a little secret: that was not the best or easiest time of my life.

Well, those days are long gone, devoted reader!

My Michael done grad-gee-ate-ed in September. The University of Virginia had a special night to commemorate the occasion. They held the event at a really cool place in Virginia called The Airlie Center. Seriously, look at this place! Here's my Jorge taking photos in the garden:


We used the graduation dinner as an excuse to dump our kids at my friend Lisa's house overnight. (It was only her birthday and I had her watch my kids overnight. Don't you wished you lived near me so I could take advantage of your kindness, too?)

While Lisa was celebrating her big day with a house full of extra kidgets, my Michael and I were dressing up, eating yummy food, laughing, and touring the grounds of the gorgeous venue. Oh, and we were getting diplomas!


I received a commendation elevating me to the status of "Saint" for putting up with my husband being in the program.

My Michael received a diploma pronouncing that he'd earned a Master's of Science in the Management of Information Technology.



Mine's better. I mean, who wouldn't rather be a saint than a master? (Just kidding.)

At any rate, we are thrilled that Jorge's long-time goal of an advanced degree has been fulfilled.

Now, about my dream of going to Santorini. . .

Of Ethan and Kimber

Part of the reason I haven't blogged in the better part of a year is because I just wasn't sure how to break the news of Ethan's death.

The death of a child is just a hard thing to understand. And I'm not pretending that I have all the answers. But I do take comfort in the fact that Ethan had a great seven years in this life. He was a happy, well-loved little boy who lived every minute he had.

When I heard the news about Ethan's passing, I hopped on a plane and headed to Arizona to help my dear friend Kimber in whatever way I could. That was my plan. Go help Kimber.

Amazingly enough, while I was there scrubbing bathrooms, cleaning up backed up sewage (some might call Kimber the Job of Mesa), making lasagna and trying to make Kimber laugh, Kimber was busy comforting others, including me.

Her strength was a beautiful phenomenon to witness. It still is.

Naturally, she has "bad days," as she admitted to me just last week, but she is finding joy in her new baby, her other children and her husband. She is busy making her house a lovely home for her family to enjoy. She is doing her best to live a full life with an Ethan-shaped hole in her heart.

At this time of Thanksgiving, I am hoping I can follow Kimber's example and focus on the many things I have to be grateful for.

Do You Pray?

Dear Friend and Devoted Reader, I am selfishly going to tell you a very sad thing. I am not doing it to make you feel bad or cry; I am doing it to plead for your help--in prayer.

Meet Ethan:

On Sunday, Ethan, was his normal, energetic seven-year-old self. His mom put him to bed but was woken up in the middle of the night by his screaming. She went into his room and found him unconscious. After he was transported to the hospital, it was discovered that he had blood on his brain. A diagnosis of Arteriovenous Malformation near his brain stem followed. (Basically, when his little body formed years ago in the womb some blood vessels tangled, compromising their structural integrity. Sunday night, those vessels burst, causing blood to be released in his brain.) Not good, to say the least.

Ethan is fighting for his life and he can use all the help he can get. That’s where you and I come in. My little family and our extended family have said countless prayers on his behalf and I am hoping that you will join us in praying for Ethan’s strength and for his doctors’ and parents’ wisdom to know what is best for him.

Here is a little picture of my Teensy with her arm around her cousin, Ethan. That’s right, Ethan is our cousin. He is my kids’ second cousin and, through marriage, he is my first cousin once removed. That may sound like a distant relative, but believe me, it is not. This child’s family is near and dear to my heart.

Ethan’s mom is my dear friend and college roommate, Kimber. I have such a soft spot in my heart for that girl. She was a great roommate—fun, considerate, sharing, etc. And most importantly, she introduced me to her “cute cousin, Michael” the moment he moved to town. The very best things in my life—my husband and children—are a direct result of my association with Kimber. If I can repay a small part of that by soliciting for prayers on behalf of her sweet little boy, I am happy to do it.

Thank you for your prayers and good thoughts for Ethan.

Familial Torture

Dear children, before you get out of your church clothes, please stand in front of Grandma's Christmas tree for a quick picture.

*Immediate sounds of mutiny. Cries of victimization.*

Okay...Maia put your gum under your tongue. Mason and Marlee, stand up straight. Mason and Mackenna, you need to smile. Marlee what are you doing with your jaw? Look here and just smile!

You know what...just do what you want for a minute.

Fabulous. It's the photo every mother dreams of having. Let's do one more.

Okay. You've had your fun. Now, dear children, for the love of all, please stand nicely and smile naturally for 2 seconds.

Oh, forget it.

Pull Up a Chair

Don't you just love to try new things? Especially new types of projects? I know I do!

When my dear friend's son broke one of the chairs in her sitting area, I hatched a scheme that would allow me to try my hand at a little reupholstering.

I scoured the local thrift stores and found this little beauty:


Several hours, many staples and not even one swear word later, I presented her with this:

Now, let's not kid ourselves: it's not perfect. But, my friend cried when she saw it. And I count that as a success. I mean, who doesn't love trying something new and making a self-proclaimed non-crier shed some tears ?