I got tired of not being Jean Seberg, so I just went balls to the wall and asked Jami to cut my hair dangerously short. I may have used the term "lesbian chemotherapy short," but I don't rightly recall.
I really like it, and it officially makes me the shortest-haired person in our family. I don't know why I'm proud of that, but I am. Also, it's strange even for someone who's had short hair for a while to look in the mirror, see something blatantly contrary to conventional beauty, and LOVE it. It's not pretty by any standard definition, but it is rad, and I think I'll keep it super-short for the time being.
Dark circles be damned! Look at how scrunchy-nosed happy this 'do makes me.
But I know who you really come here to see, so here's a peek of the lady of the hour, Miss Olivia Lee.
Briefly resting between wiggles
The further she dives into restless toddlerhood, the harder it is to get a good picture of her. She may not be walking yet, but, DAY-UMN, is that kid squirmy. So don't be surprised if all you see are fuzzy pictures; they're the only kind I can take right now.
"The room, as part of the world, revolves around me."
She still isn't a walker, although nature and physical therapy will change that course soon, but she's a prolific talker. Her latest surprising linguistic conquests: "attorney" and "tapenade," but "I love you" and her own name remain elusive. She does slap her chest while yelling "ME!" and she announces all of her farts by seriously repeating "toot" afterward, so at least I've taught her the important things.
But her cutest new word is a mispronounced one, which is why it delights me so. Let's kick it old-skool, shall we?