I haven’t had a haircut since something like April. I want to go see Heidi, but her schedule doesn’t mesh well with mine, so I’ve been putting off making an appointment.

A review of past hairstyles:

Here I am in 2001 or somewhere thereabouts. I had short hair for the shortest time of any hairstyle. I loved how easy it was; never frizzy, took about five minutes to style. My husband hated it and pointed out what I’d been hearing a lot: women loved it; men hated it. ‘Nuff said.

With this hair, my sisters and I had a Christmas photo taken. We each had a copy. The sister who is 13 years older than I am had the photo on her desk at work. Her boss picked it up and asked if I was the oldest sister. I started growing it out the very next day.

Here’s the hair, circa 2003. Sad to say, I think I look pretty much just like this right now. I guess I should be glad that I don’t look much older four years later, a period that included two job changes, teaching a teenager to drive and making a cross-country move. This is what happens to my hair with a long-term lack of attention.

While the photos of me with a giant perm and mall bangs would have you clutching your stomach and rolling on the floor, they haven’t been scanned (and God willing, never will be) and therefore won’t be shared with you, dear Internet.

Here I am with my sisters in 2005. This is not an accurate representation of the three of us. I am wearing flats. They are wearing heels. And I know what you’re thinking; you have a blonde sister?! Here’s the deal; she lives in Florida. Everyone has blond hair in Florida. Go ahead. Tell me who’s the oldest! It better not be me.

Here’s another shot from the same day with my mom. Do I look like her?

In 2004 we took a ski trip with our buddy Dave. When you’re skiing, it’s entirely appropriate to a) not wear any makeup whatsoever and b) sport little girl hairdos. Here I am, with rock star Dave, in Marcia Brady-inspired long pigtails.

In early 2006 I cut my hair semi-short again — not, you know, alternative lifestyle short, but short.

I like this hair, uh, on me, not the dog. His is unruly and curly. Mine was short enough to wear straight (ha! no pun intended) successfully. The thing about having longer hair is that I can wear it up, but I’m not that creative with that so it’s not much worth it.

So, yeah. I need a haircut.

We’ve all done it; had to hand over a sick child to someone else to care for while we went to work. Sometimes it was just the sniffles or, worse, a slight fever we hoped would disappear before the end of the day, or at least go undetected until we could get home. My kids never seemed to get sick on a weekend, or on my day off and in previous less family-friendly jobs, taking off to care for a sick child was discouraged.

When I was a much younger working mom, I had a boss who was decidedly not the best for working moms. His understanding of what his largely female workforce endured to work under inflexible conditions was limited. As a father, his wife stayed at home and had a nanny to help when the kids were young. As a child, he was raised with help as well. He, while employing a high percentage of working moms, personally believed that mothers should stay home with their children. Knowing that, I should have been forewarned that the work environment would not be a friendly one.

Most memorable was the morning my daughter, then about two years old, was sick to her stomach. I knew I still needed to get work done and, weighing my options, decided to pack my poor little girl into the backseat with a towel and a bowl (just in case) and make my 45 minute commute to pick up work to do at home. I was weakened by desperation to, in my mind, keep my job and take care of my daughter simultaneously. Halfway through the drive I had to pull over because my daughter was throwing up in the backseat. I thought, “What on earth am I doing? This is ridiculous,” and finally turned around for home. When I called the office to tell them I wouldn’t be in but they could e-mail me this or that to work on at home, my immediate supervisor relayed a message from the big boss. He’d told her that I needed to find someone to watch my kids when they were sick and “get my ass into work.”

I don’t, in retrospect, know why I didn’t quit on the spot. The whole scenario upset me so much that it became one of the top reasons on the list I left that job, sadly, a few years later.

Sometimes priorities go askew and it’s hard to know when work absolutely has to take a backseat, but when kids are sick, they must come first.

Yesterday, a colleague of mine e-mailed the office to say her young daughter was sick and she’d be taking her to the doctor in the morning and check in later in the day to keep on top of what was going on. I immediately responded to remind her that sick kids come first, a message I want to needlepoint on pillows and deliver to every working mom I know. Today, I’m fortunate to work at home so a sick kid means I might have to take, at worst, half a day off to take them to the doctor, but they’re old enough now that the attention they needed when they were small is no longer necessary.

I may have had to learn this lesson the hard way, but I’m determined to look out for younger working moms so they never have to experience what I did.

What do you do when your kids are sick, and you must work? How about your employer? Is there a policy in place? 

I’m thinking about my future as a Spice Girl. I think they need a Studious Spice.

A couple of weeks ago, we toured the historic Jamestown Settlement. While we were there, we were shocked to see a bald eagle on the ground. It appeared to be hurt, and did not move anything but its head when we drew near.

Mark snapped a few photos so we could hurry back and alert the park rangers — when got back to the visitors’ center we urgently relayed the info, sharing the photo with the rangers so they’d hightail it out there to pick up the bird.

It was rather emotional, seeing this majestic bird so close, and so obviously not right . . .

Earlier in the week we visited Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Va. where three bald eagles reside in Eagle Ridge. All three had been injured in accidents and do not fly. While on its way off the endangered species list, it’s getting easier to see how they got there in the first place.

 ** Update from today’s news: Bald Eagle Soars off Endangered List

The family rushed to a theater at noon on Friday, June 22. We were in upstate New York, so there wasn’t the fervor to fill the seats that there was in Charlottesville. My dad, the other movie star in the family, joined us. We weren’t alone in the theater — but it was by no means full — which was good because the group of us stage whispered and pointed at The Big Scene when the husband appears just over Steve Carrell’s shoulder, in a shot just before the flood.

Am I spoiling the movie?

Anyway, it was pretty exciting and hilarious, so focused were we on seeking his and other familiar faces throughout the movie. Seeing it for the first time outside of C’ville was good, too. The people sharing the theater with us probably thought we were nuts.

I feel as if I should be wearing sequins, and maybe a tiara. I’d like to thank those who nominated me for the C’ville 20, published today. I hold the penultimate spot on the list so scroll down and enjoy the photo!

The list, for those out-of-towners, celebrates the “ones to watch” in Charlottesville and I’m in the company of some fine folks. Wendy Brown is a new acquaintance and another list-dweller. She’s helped me make some nonprofit connections recently and her spot on the list is well-deserved.  

Dear Dad,
I am soooo sorry. I really did not know that I drew on your Robert
Plant autograph and the autograph is not ruined. I promise that I will
be more careful and ask permission before I draw. If it makes you feel
better I will have no computer for 1 or 2 weeks. Again I am so so so so
so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so sorry.
Love,

The girl

Editor’s note: Plant’s autograph, while one of my husband’s prized possessions, to the untrained eye was but a scribble on a piece of notepaper. The girl was forgiven.

I’ve long been fascinated by the Guinness Book of World Records, so much so that I earned my own world record in 1998. Little did I know that the place where my parents had their first date was also a world record holder. We’re preparing to celebrate my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary in upstate New York in a couple of weeks and some googling revealed that yes, indeed Guptill’s Arena still stands.

Now, ideas on how to incorporate this landmark into the festivities? I’m thinking photo opp. I’m not sure I can get them back into rollerskates. Or Mom into a poodle skirt, for that matter.

Thanks to Jen, who bestowed upon me the Thinking Blogger Award

It’s my second — can you believe it? The first was from Dana, who I am anticipating meeting in person at the end of next month.

So onto awarding others:

C.B. Whittemore writes the most fantastic marketing blog, Flooring the Consumer. Full disclosure: Whittemore is an employee of a client of the firm I work for, which is how I know her blog and more importantly, her! She’s smart and focused on her audience, providing great insight and creative thought.

Scott Young is a kid! And he’s teaching us all how to live life to the fullest. He makes me ashamed to be such a slacker.

I am really enjoying K.C.’s writing. Her life of stunning mediocrity is anything but. She’s another C’ville gal, too. Love the local bloggers.

Speaking of which, Michael Strickland is another kid! A local HS blogger, he’s seriously giving me hope for the next generation of co-workers, bloggers, employees, etc. I’m watching you, kid!

And to the winners: By accepting this award, you agree to the following: Acknowledge the origin of the award. Write a post with links to five blogs that make you think. Optional: Display the Thinking Blogger Award with a link to the post that you wrote using either the gold or silver versions of the award.

I interviewed a woman today, as part of a project I’m working on for a client. She told me that she came in to work a little late this morning because she’d just delivered her kids (aged four and seven) to her parents’ home out of state. For the summer.

No, that’s not the role model part but GOSH what wild summers we would have had, kid free for three months. I digress.

She shared with me, that not only are she and her husband committed to their kids spending time with the grandparents but every year they take an adult vacation — just the two of them, somewhere fabulous. Every! Year!

I was so jealous I could barely finish the interview. I was all, “Uh, where was I?” while imagining myself lolling about on a beach, Mai Tai in hand on an annual “adult” vacation.

I managed to congratulate her, gave her the verbal slap on the back and said, maybe a little TOO emphatically, “That’s fantastic! More people should do that.”

And I meant it. More people should flat take vacations, adult or kid-oriented, no matter; but SHAME on you if you reach the end of the year with vacation time to burn.

So today that gal is my mom role model.

Who’s yours?