Attention World: A-Line Bobs Are Out

Last Wednesday I got a new haircut. I’d been considering a new ‘do for a while, but I was paranoid of The Chop because I always regret it. Always.

Last time I cut my hair (other than a trim) was four years ago. I cut it to my shoulders, hated it, and swore I’d never cut it again (that may have been the fifth or sixth time in my life that I performed that ritual).

As usual, I started getting bored with my hair. It had no shape or style. It was heavy, and it took a really long time to blow dry.

Before: Fresh out of a pony tail

(see more ‘before’ pics on my flickr page)

On Wednesday, I was at my mom’s house when I turned to her and said, “Mom, cut my hair.” I told her how I wanted it, and she snipped away. I figured that I would have my mom cut it, and if it looked good, I saved myself twenty bucks. If it looked bad, I’d go to my stylist for a touch up.

It didn’t look bad, but it needed some doctoring. Today was my “doctor” appointment, and this is the final result:

Front

Side

I got an A-line bob with a little extra length to cover my hump. You know what this means, right? A-line bobs went out of style six months ago. They must have because if I have one, they’re definitely not in style anymore (see #1-9).

I just need to practice my styling techniques a little bit. I think I did ok for my first try.

In other news, I’m quitting my job tomorrow. More on that later…

 

Before You Have a Kid…

…ask yourself Am I willing to climb on a childrens wooden rocking horse in front of a photographer to try and convince my son to smile for the camera?

Because chances are, you will have to do something that humiliating on a daily basis.

Look Nicky! Mommy loves the rocking horse. Weeeeee! Come sit on the rocking horse, Nicky. It’s so much fun. Yippee!

All that work for this?

 

How David Archuleta Ruined My Anniversary*

Thanks for all of your Anniversary wishes! Scotty and I don’t usually make a big fuss over our anniversary, but since this was our fifth, we decided that we should do something fun so we went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory and took a carriage ride through downtown Salt Lake City.

We let Nicky tag along because we love him, and we think of our anniversary as the day we started a family, so why not make it a family day? (don’t mind the dirty look on his face. He had fun).

Unfortunately, the whole day was ruined by Governer Huntsman who decided to pronounce May 9 as “David Archuleta Day.” Why not ‘Scotty and Brittany Day?’ Why?!? Next time I have dinner with the Governor, I’ll be sure to mention it.

Speaking of David Archuleta, this is where he goes went to high school:

But that doesn’t matter because this post is about me! (am I selfish or what?)

I may have mentioned recently that Scotty has had some problems in the gift giving area. I’m pleased to report that he has made up for all of his mistakes. I’ll let this picture do the talking:

Happy Anniversary to me!

For Mothers’ Day, Scotty gave me a 3-piece quilting set with a cutting mat, rotary cutter, and acrylic ruler (it was on my list). I’m so spoiled.

Over the weekend, I had some time to reflect on motherhood and how my life has changed since having Nicky. I love him so much. Guess what he gave me for Mothers’ Day:

For the first time in his whole life, he laid down on the floor and fell asleep. I’m so happy to be able to experience the joy of being a mom.

*Just kidding, David Archuleta.

 

I Still Love You

Happy Anniversary

Five years ago I married the love of my life.

He is my best friend, my priority, and my rock.

He is the hand I hold, the shoulder I cry on,

and the only man on this earth I’ve ever eaten donuts in bed with.

Today we celebrate the day we wed, the day we started our family together.

Scotty, I love you.

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Since it’s our Anniversary, I think now is a great time to tackle this Meme that Christie tagged me to do:

Meet My Husband

What is his name? “Scotty”

How long have you been married? Five years!

Who eats more? As much as I would like to say Scotty, the true answer is probably me. I eat… a lot.

Who said “I love you” first? Scotty said it out loud, but I wrote it on his hand in pen before we ever exchanged words.

Who’s taller? Definitely Scotty. I’m 5′7″ and Scotty is 6′3.”

Who sings better? I hope the correct answer is me because if I sing as bad as Scotty, the people who sit in front of us in church probably hate us.

Who is smarter? Scotty and I both cover different genres of intelligence. I’m more book smart and he’s more street smart. I spell stuff correctly, and he changes the oil in the car. We make a great team.

Who has the worst temper? Hands down, that’s me!

Who does the laundry? I do. Scotty helps fold and put away sometimes, but I do all of the washing. He’s not allowed near the laundry, especially the diapers.

Who does the dishes? Whoever gets enough twenty-second increments of toddler-free time to accomplish the task.

Who cooks dinner? I do unless the cooking involves fire or any type of fuel.

Who drives? When we’re together Scotty always drives. He’s pretty particular about it.

Who is more stubborn? I think we’re equal in the matter (although Scotty is surprisingly stubborn).

Who is the first to admit they were wrong? I guess Scotty because I never have any wrongs to admit.

Who has more friends? I do, especially if internet friends count (hollaaaaa!)

Who has more siblings? Let me do inventory… let’s see… Scotty 13, Britt 9. I guess the answer is Scotty.

Who wears the pants in the family? Right now, Nicky, but hopefully someday we’ll be in charge again.

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If you missed my series of posts about how Scotty and I came to be, you can find them here:

Our Story Chapter 1: The Crush

Our Story Chapter 2: The Dance

Our Story Chapter 3: The Turning Point

Our Story Chapter 4: The Chase Continues

Our Story Chapter 5: Through Good and Bad

Our Story Chapter 6: The Mission

Our Story Chapter 7: The Return

Our Story Chapter 8: The Proposal

Our Story Chapter 9: The Wedding

Our Story Chapter 10: Four Years Later

(I have to apologize because all of the pictures have been deleted from these posts, and I haven’t had a chance to re-load them yet. I also need to apologize for the sloppy formatting of this post. I blame it on an unfortunate copy and paste catastrophe).

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As always, I’ve posted about Lost at We Heart TV.

 

Changes

I’ve neglected to tell you that I accidentally got a job a few weeks ago. How does one acquire a job accidentally? It’s simple really. All you have to do is be related to a manager who recently fired four employees and needs help.

I can’t say no to anyone, and I was very fortunate to be contacted by said relative first because just yesterday I got a phone call from my former boss offering me a job that would have been hard to turn down. Luckily I’d already accidentally gotten a job and had a good reason to turn down Former Boss. You see, Former Boss has a sneaky way of being hard to say no to. “I want to stay at home with my baby,” doesn’t always cut it for Former Boss.

I was *this close* to accidentally getting a second job.

But back to the first job - I’m working 8-10 hours a week at… well… I don’t really know what to call it, but if you live in the Salt Lake area, you’ve probably heard of it. Five words related to my job are: weddings, centerpieces, banquets, linens, and  black pants. The job is definitely different from my former office job, and yet, surprisingly similar.

There has also been another change in the Brittish household. I seem to have lost some hair, a good 5 or 6 inches at least. Unfortunately my new haircut is shaped like a bell so I’m not going to show you any pictures until after my “fix it” appointment on Wednesday of next week. Be patient, friends. I know how you love hair photos, but you’re going to have to wait for these!

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Don’t forget to e-mail me by tomorrow if you want to participate in the upcoming Super Duper Blogger Book Exchange: bloggerbookexchange [at] gmail [dot] com.

 

How To Get What You Want For Mothers Day

Last year was my first official Mothers Day.

I woke up that Sunday morning anticipating a special day, but when I rolled over to face Scotty, the first thing he said to me was, “I didn’t get you anything for Mothers Day.” Scotty isn’t usually a jerk, but on that day he was. I wasn’t necessarily expecting anything (because Scotty doesn’t present me with gifts for any occasion), but I was hoping for a sincere, “Happy Mothers Day!” and maybe some breakfast in bed or something. Instead, Scotty rolled over and went back to sleep, so I went downstairs and prepared my own breakfast while bawling my eyes out and making sure to bang the pots and pans loud enough to keep him awake.

I shouldn’t be telling this story to the internet, but you need to know what happened last year so you can further appreciate the steps I took to avoid this scenario this year.

It turned out that Scotty had wanted to get me a porch swing for the back yard, but he never had tome to go to the store and get it. Scotty and I had a nice long talk about the issue in which I explained to him that he should have just told me that. We discussed better ways in which he could have presented that information to me. I made sure to tell him how pissed off upset I was when he went back to sleep, and I had to go downstairs and make my own breakfast.

Now the question is: Did Scotty learn anything from this experience?

To prevent a repeat of last year’s traumatizing holiday, I - being the selfish good wife that I am- made a list of things that would make me really happy on Mothers Day and placed it on the seat of Scotty’s truck. It’s a pretty simple list including gift ideas and nice, little things that he can do. I don’t expect a gift, of course, but I expect something. Some kind of gesture of love and appreciation for the hard work I put in as the mother of his child.

Will it work?

I’ll be sure to report back to you.

 

It Would Have Made An Awesome Wedding Gift

On Friday, a really good friend of mine from high school got married. Sweet Pete the Ladies’ Treat -as we called him back in 9th grade- met the girl of his dreams and got hitched just in time to pack his bags and move to Florida to sell security systems for the summer (The Wife is going with him, don’t worry).

Being a man, SPTLT didn’t put forth the effort to track down old friends to invite them to his wedding. The only reason I was invited was because I talked to him on the phone in December and, upon learning of his engagement, insisted that he send me an invite. I was only 45% sure that he would follow through, since he had five months to forget about me before the invites needed to be sent, but to my surprise, the invitation showed up in the mail a few weeks ago.

After nagging SPTLT to invite me to his wedding, I had to show up. The problem: The reception was an hour away, and SPTLT didn’t invite any of our mutual friends so I had no one to go with. I know that some of you are thinking What about Scotty? Yeah, Scotty could have gone with me, but I didn’t want to make him.

So what did I do? I decided to invite people to SPTLT’s wedding.

Now, in many cultures, this would probably be unacceptable, but in Utah, receptions are typically held in church gyms and include chocolate chip cookies for refreshments. In short, I knew it wouldn’t be a big deal if I brought two friends with me who I know SPTLT would have invited if their addresses had fallen out of the sky into his lap.

Leelee, Chelley, and I love going on road trips, so we piled in my Santa Fe and tried to make it to the Land Of Cow Poo on a quarter tank of gas (we made it). As we cruised I-15, Chelley suddenly yelled out, “Oh my gosh! A buffalo!”

I looked to my right, and there he was…

For the next 45 minutes, we rode along side this stuffed bison head, which we lovingly named Buffalo Pete in honor of the groom.

If Buffalo Pete isn’t an accurate portrayal of life in Utah, then I don’t know what is. The only unfortunate part of the journey was our inability to commandeer Buffalo Pete and abandon him in SPTLT’s gift pile (because SPTLT would have loved boarding a plane to Florida with a bison in tow).

 

Embarrassing Moment of the Week

It’s not what you think (although I was completely soaked from front to back). I guess you could say that my son thinks it’s cool to spill stuff on me (like ice-cold glasses of water) in public places. He also thinks it’s funny to run away from me in said public places so I have to get up and chase him with my wet pants and leave a dozen people wondering if I did, in fact, pee myself.

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Did you watch Lost last night? Even if you didn’t, you should still stop by my post at We Heart TV and say hi.

 

You know what’s funny?

…when you go to Bed, Bath & Beyond with your friend and flip a rubber chicken at her.

Really… it’s hilarious, but why one earth does BB&B sell rubber slingshot chickens? (they have slingshot monkeys with super hero capes on them, too).

Know what else is funny?

When your friend discretely slips a pair of silicone boobies in your shopping cart and then you’re stuck with them at the register.

Luckily I found the boobs before I checked out.

Silly friend. 

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If you are interested in joining the Super Duper Blogger Book Exchange Round III, please e-mail me at bloggerbookexchange [at] gmail [dot] com by May 9. There are a few changes for this round, and I will e-mail you the details including the necessary deadlines for this round.

 

It Happened During Air Out Time

I’ve always felt really bad for babies for having to wear diapers, they seem so restrictive and uncomfortable. When I change Nicky’s bottom and see the redness and indentations from his diaper, it breaks my heart.  I’ve become a firm believer in “Air Out Time.” A few minutes of naked-bumness between diaper changes allows Nicky’s skin to have some freedom, and I feel much better about putting a diaper on a newly, aired-out bottom than a wet, red bottom.

During Air Out TIme, Nicky runs wild. There’s something about being partially naked that makes little boys extremely hyper-active. The downside to Air Out Time is that I eventually have to corral the child to put a new diaper on him. This can be tedious work since Nicky is a mega wiggle worm, and I often have to resort to holding him down with one of my legs while fastening his diaper only to have him run off with a butt cheek hanging out.

This morning when I got Nicky out of bed, I let him run around naked for a while before bathing him. As he chased the cat around the house, I took care of some paperwork in the kitchen. As I was sitting at the counter signing documents, something seemed wrong. I glanced over at Nicky and two things were happening:

1. Nick had taken a newly purchased strawberry plant off the kitchen table and was plucking it’s leaves and scooping the dirt out of the pot…

2. …while squatting and pooping on the living room floor.

I tried not to panic, but I needed to do something. My mind was slow to react, and for a moment, I just sat there staring Nick in the eye. It was then that Nick started crying hysterically. I think he realized that something had gone wrong, and it scared him. This was, after all, his first poop outside of a diaper, and perhaps the sensation was overwhelming.

I went to pick Nicklaus up, but he screamed louder and started running away from me.

Yes, he stepped in his poop.

Yes, he ran into the kitchen leaving little foot-shaped smears on the linoleum.

When I finally caught up to him, I picked him up and went straight to the bathroom. Nicky was hysterical. I couldn’t do anything to console him. I had to bathe and dress him while he screamed uncontrollably.

Apparently pooping in the living room is very traumatic for a sixteen-month-old.

After Nicklaus was dressed, I continued to cradle him and tell him it was ok, but he was still really upset. I ended up giving him a bottle because it was the only thing I could think of to calm him down. He went right to sleep and has been asleep ever since.

Not only is pooping in the living room a very traumatic experience, evidently, it is also exhausting.