I TuTu. Do You?

I'm not a sewer...wait...that didn't come out right. Sew-er. I don't sew. In fact, if the health and well-being of my family depended upon my paltry sewing skills, we would all be sickly and starving.

However.

My kid likes tutus. Her friends like tutus. We were invited to a birthday party for two little girls. I got to thinkin', "hey, I wonder if I could make some tutus...". 

So, three days and three "no sew" (ha! I sewed, trust me, I sewed) tutus later, we've got this:

...and I am ridiculously proud of myself.

Actually, it was quite a crafty weekend all around. The kids and Sascha painted chairs for the helluvit and I made tutus. Aren't we bitchin'?

Snarled

Ally once had a snarl in the back of her head. A big one. This one was so dense and uncombable that we dubbed it The Rats Nest. I wasn't paying attention when it first started...busy with moving details and tired of chasing her around with a hairbrush, I got lazy. The next week, it was bigger and more painful to manage. Afraid of the pain, Ally shrieked and ran whenever I mentioned the snarl. Exhausted and tired of confrontation, I let her. After about three weeks, it was permanent. There was no detangler (ethnic or otherwise) on the market that could penetrate this massive entity. Trust me, I tried. So, one fateful morning, I got out the scissors. After that, we were all happy...though Ally's head looked strange for about four months.

As I wrote the first sentence above, it struck me hard and fast that this little anecdote is highly metaphoric. Either you work on that snarl in the early stages or it ends up with a personality of its own and the only way to deal with it is through amputation.

Amputation sucks.