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.

• The boy has quit his job at the best store, ever. His reason? He plans to get nothing less than an “A” for the rest of his high school career so he can go to the college of his choice. He’ll go back to work this summer.
• The girl has impressed me with making dinner, baking brownies, practicing piano and recorder and “wearing something nice” (without being asked) to go to her brother’s band concert (at which she managed to stay awake).
• The husband has returned after an eight-day absence (fishing trip) and he was missed.
• The dog smells like ham (a bath was cut short by Niagra Falls occuring from the kitchen ceiling).
• My sister went on safari in South Africa! How cool is THAT?
• My other sister is going to Vegas this weekend and says she’s not getting married there (you never know).
• My dad is making progress on his movie. No, he’s not in this one, like he was in this one.
• My mom won $100 at a church event. Who says faith doesn’t pay?
• I’m headed to the ‘Lou tomorrow with a perfect balance of work, family and friends on the agenda.

‘Twas six years ago today when Clover the Irish Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier joined our clan.

He’s a good pup. I think we’ll keep him.

For dinner, the girl made pancakes all by herself for the very first time.

They turned out quite well.

She made three kinds: plain, blueberry and chocolate chip.

Clover waited patiently for his pancake.

He knows when there are pancakes, he will get one. He knows this so well that anytime he sees us using The Pan, he will sit and wait.

And wait.

C. Lover (that’s his rap name) went a couple of weeks sans bath. He’s not a shedder, so without bathing, scents accumulate quickly on the dog. After carefully pondering last night, I finally nailed the precise scent of the dog.

Not so fresh ham; that’s what Clover smells like. Just thought you’d like to know.

We’ve officially lived in Charlottesville an entire year as a family. We survived the big move and flourished in our careers, both professionally and educationally thoughout the 12 months. Clover adjusted nicely, too, learning after only the first day that our bedroom was not the same place as the backyard. That accomplished, he enjoys the added entertainment value in the actual backyard of those little guys with the long fluffy tails that climb the trees and those giant honking guys who can fly.

The boy has had a good year. He’s as surprised as anyone, we think. His grades have been stellar, he’s gainfully employed, has a girlfriend, has friends, continues his excellent career as the world’s tallest trombone player and seems to be enjoying life. It’s truly amazing how quickly he got over telling us how much we suck, and how much we were ruining his life by moving him 800 miles in the middle of 10th grade. He obtained his driver’s license and has successfully driven hundreds of miles up and down Highway 29. We got to the bottom of his allergy woes (Birch, mostly) and will begin working on restoring peace to his delicately curved spine (physical therapy). Some days, it’s tough to be 6′7″, 190 lbs.

The girl had little trouble adjusting to Charlottesville, as outgoing and friendly as she is, she made friends easily. She still tears up a bit when thinking of her friends back in Missouri, but she e-mails them once in a while and feels great joy when they e-mail back. The tween years are tough for anybody, though, and she had some ups and downs. We’ve hung in there with her, though and found some solutions that restore balance in her life. Two of these are breakfast, most importantly with protein (Zuzu; this is a lesson I learned from you) and the other is an immutable schedule. If she’s to take her shower at 8pm, don’t dare suggest it at 7:59pm. She’s a creature of structure and when respected, is the most amiable child. She has grown significantly the past year, now at 5′3″ and wearing a shoe just a half size smaller than my own. She’s eagerly anticipating a grown up outing with her dad, that promises to be memorable. She’s decided, this year, that she will go to UVA when the time comes, and she will become an archeologist. She adores Thomas Jefferson. We think she’s in the right place.

Mark and I have made a few friends, and grow to love Charlottesville more all the time. It’s difficult to be so far apart from family and friends, but for the most part, we’ve managed to stay in touch and look forward to visits either here, or there. Mark is planning a fishing trip with some scattered friends, with a visit back in Missouri this spring. I continue to travel back to St. Louis for work, anticipating about nine trips in 2007. Our jobs continue to be rewarding and working at home, for me is something I’ve found I enjoy. Unless, of course I’m people starved, and then I get up and get out. Mark continues to enjoy a short commute. We do not take for granted the joy of living and working in the same zip code; a first for both of us.

So a good first year in Charlottesville; we look forward to many more to come.

I thought the stocking stuffers stashed in my closet were safe. Silly me. Clover ferreted them out and devoured in record time (before detection) an entire bag of peanut butter filled Hershey’s kisses and a bag of mini Twix bars. That was Friday morning, at an undetermined time. Later, I discovered the remains of the empty bags. Not a crumb or wrapper was left.

Christmas eve, while we tried to sleep, Clover, trying hard to sidestep those extra Christmas calories, got all bulimic on our bedroom floor. Six times. I was awakened to dog retching sounds every couple of hours. It was a long night.

Since some of the golden metallic wrappers, coated with a glaze of semi-digested dog food, didn’t end up in our bedroom, but rather in the backyard, I suggested an outdoor activity, similar to an Easter egg hunt, for the children. For some reason, that idea didn’t go over.

Christmas morning brought all the joys of the holiday; we opened gifts, had a lovely breakfast, drank a pot of coffee and began the phone calls across the country to relatives and friends far away but dear to our hearts.

And then I cleaned the bedroom carpet.

The girl was seriously hacked off at the boy. She’d given the dog a bath at my request (Clover smelled like a foot, or more accurately an ear, as I think he has an ear infection. Paging Drs. Chhotu and McCaul!) and neglected to clean up the bathroom afterward. So, her brother, rightly so, demanded that she march up there and take care of it. She slammed a door and stomped up to the bathroom, cleaned it up and then took her shower.

The next morning, the boy got out of the shower to a misty message written on the mirror: “I hate you, Boy.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed when he told me. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks,” he said. Later, I made his sister apologize. She said she had no idea he’d see what she’d written the night before. “I was just so MAD.”