An Admission

I have to make an admission. I was 32 or so when I finally asked mom why she sent me to school with mismatched barrettes and the not-so-stylish 'do. The look she gave me made me think she was thinking how I'd gotten a brain injury that would allow me to be so naive on topics such as these.

"I didn't fix your hair that way, Tricia."

"Well, who?" I think I may have asked.

Hard stare.

"OH!"

Enlightenment. It was me. I fixed my hair myself. I may have even squirreled those mismatched barrettes away in my apple pockets. (Isn't that a cute outfit? Mom made it, I'm pretty sure.)

So, I would like to transfer my angst over this picture to my teacher. If it was you, Mrs. Salami, who let me sit for a photo with silly hair, I expected more! However, if it was, Ms. Riggs; par for the course, really.

So, why did I do this to mom? I wanted her to leave a comment. So, leave a comment, mom!!

***

Boy Stories:
Trevor is teaching Devin to talk.

"Are you taking me to Motorola today, Mom?" Trevor asked.
"mumuumumu Mo-orola today, mommy? Devin asked.

When I dropped them off, Devin cried. He didn't want me to leave. But, then his teacher asked if he wanted to go see Trevor. He willingly left my arms to go to her so that he could go see "Treasure". Despite the fact that Trevor hits and chokes and won't share with his brother about 25% of the time they are together, Devin adores Trevor above all others. I hope Trevor understands someday the responsibility he has towards his brother. I hope that Trevor learns to adore Devin as much as Devin adores him. They'll be a great team when that happens.

And this last bit is so insignificant, it's probably that brain injury mom wondered about a few years ago that makes me want to mention it.

I dropped a bucket of yogurt this morning and said Uh-oh. Little Devin said, "What happened?" So. Stinking. Cute.