Well, at least ONE of them was happy.
I usually write up a bit of background before I post my ‘Fro picture, but this one really needs no set up. The smiling girl is my daughter at her birthday party last year. The less than thrilled little girl is her cousin. And the even less than thrilled “dear-lord-put-me-out-of-my-misery” man is my daughter’s father. I’m not claiming him as my husband of 16 1/2 years in this blog! Trust me, that’s the fakest smile ever. He just wanted it to be over with already! Here’s a closeup:
Hopefully he’ll do a better job and put on a real happy face for her birthday party this weekend. She’ll be turning 11. Time to start singing “Sunrise, Sunset.”
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I was born and raised in Alaska. Except for a few years during elementary school and the last 5 years, Alaska was home. Things are just different in Alaska. Lots of things. Things that when people visit they are kind of dumbstruck over. But we Alaskans just think it’s normal.
Case in point, my picture for this week. Even if you ignore the peach jumpsuit with a green belt, my obvious lack of a hair style, and whatever kind of face I was making for the camera . . . . . on second thought, how CAN you ignore those things. Lord help a girl. What was UP with me and my apparent “never ready for the camera” self? *heavy sigh*
Anyway, the thing that amuses me about the picture is the use of guns as decor. It also wouldn’t shock me if they were loaded. Because nothing says “I’m an Alaskan” like guns hanging on the wall. This was taken at a friend’s house – actually the friend who had me wear the bridesmaid dress from last week’s ‘Fro Me To You. And I KNOW that neither of my parents had the least bit hesitation about letting me spend the night where firearms were within reach of crazy teenagers.
Yep, it was a different time back then. And by back then I mean 1984 – just in case you were wondering. You can join in the ‘Fro Me To You Fun at We are THAT Family!!
Yep – this post just plain causes me physical pain. So here it is . . . . . . . . .
The year was 1990 and I was a bridesmaid. I bet you never could have figured any of that out on your own. The bride’s sister and I were messing around with the camera before the ceremony.
What is there really to say? It was 1990. Royal blue was a must at every wedding – complete with dyed to match shoes. Please don’t look at how white my skin was yet how tan my legs were. The bow . . . . the drop waist dress that does NOT work on someone who is short waisted . . . . the big hair. Well, the hair can’t be truly appreciated until you see the following picture:
Here we are – me and the bride’s sister, Hannah. Yes, I paid a hefty chunk of change to get my hair to unnaturally stay all over to one side. *sigh* Two years later, Hannah was a bridesmaid in my wedding. Had Polly and Jim not moved to the other side of the country, Polly would have certainly been in my wedding as well.
But as much as it pains me, it would pain me more if all the satin, hairspray and eye shadow were in vain. My dear friends, Polly and Jim are still married!!! They are the proud parents of three boys and are adopting a little girl. Had the marriage not lasted, I might be a tad on the bitter side. Polly and I met when we were 12 and we have stayed in contact all these years. Just so you know, we’re going on 28 years of friendship. God is good.
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With the holiday season upon us, I thought this week’s ‘fro entry should reflect it. Well, that and when my husband saw this picture laying around he said, “This has to be your ‘fro entry this week. Holy cr*p, look at your hair.” Thanks honey. Really.
So here we have my attempt, 10 years ago, at a beautiful family photo to impress all of our friends with.
Yeah, that’s quite a picture. Take a minute and take it all in. I’ll start deconstructing it piece by piece.
- My husband and the crazed lunatic look on his face. Trust me, his eyes are never that perky. Just moments before he had announced, “This better not take all night.” OH what Christmas spirit doth overflow.
- Obviously looking at the pug was more fun for my then almost 3 year old son. He insisted on holding that black piece of wood so he could ‘moke in a piccure. Loosely translated, smoke in the picture. Yes, my son wanted to smoke. In our Christmas picture that was supposed to make us look like a Stepford family.
- One can only assume that the spot on said son’s crotch is pee. What else would it be?
- The 8 month old looking intently at her shoe. Did we really expect more than that?
- Gander down at the spot on my pant’s leg. Don’t remember that being there. Probably never knew it was there.
- The pug. Our dearly departed St. Ginger. She looks like she just needs to escape. And quick.
- And yes, holy cr*p Batman, look at my hair. That’s a lot of hair, even by 1998 standards.
In case you’re wondering, out of the 10 or 15 pictures we took that night, none of them made the cut. I used a picture of just the kids instead.
Join the fun over at Kristen’s blog: We Are THAT Family.
This edition of ‘Fro Me To You is courtesy of the late 80’s . . . . ugh, aren’t most all of them? Anway, I called this post “Accidental Tourist” but, as I pointed out in this
post, we rarely dress the way we do on accident.
Seriously, could you tell we were tourists in Hawaii? The fanny pack, the mismatched clothes, the improper footwear for walking around downtown Honolulu for HOURS. But what gets me is how supremely confident we all look. Fake smiles and a bit of indignation with the one on the right side. Man, we must’ve been a blast to be around. I’m guessing the picture was taken early in our vacation because we were living in Alaska at the time and we hadn’t yet been burned to a crisp. That virgin white Alaska skin . . . . . it bakes up nice and crispy.
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And here we are with another lovely edition of ‘Sincerely ‘fro me to you. I was in Florida for two weeks and am just now starting to feel somewhat normal. One of my first thoughts upon waking this morning was that I HAD to get this post done.
A little background on the picture. My brother and I hated having our pictures taken by the professionals. I can’t tell you the number of 8 x10’s my poor mother has of us with tear stained eyes and puffy red lips and noses. So one year she had a brilliant idea.
She decide to pay a professional a truckload of money to come out to our house and take the pictures there. I mean, we’d be comfortable, we’d be surrounded by comforting things, thus ensuring angelic, perfectly posed smiles on our faces, with our heads tilted just so. Here’s what she got:
My. Poor. Mother. The fact that the woman has not ended up in a mental facility thanks to her uber-shy, crybaby kids who turned out to be extremely independent and defiant at later ages attests to her strength of character. Mom even brought a friend over for moral support. The friend ended up yelling at us to stop crying and smile. Yeah, it didn’t really work.
Guess what? After the photographer left in what I’m sure was abject defeat, she took her own pictures of us. We were smiles all over the place, albeit with tear stained eyes and puffy, red lips and noses.
Join the fun at Kristen’s blog: We are THAT Family.
I don’t do mornings. Nor have I ever done mornings. Nor will I EVER do mornings. Not even Christmas morning.
Me. Up way too early on what I’m guessing was Christmas morning 1974. I was all of five precious years old. I think what was going through my head, if not verbalized, was, “Seriously. You want me to put her head on that stand down there? At this ungodly hour? Why don’t you just do it yourself? Merry freakin’ Christmas everyone.”
As usual, join the fun at We Are THAT Family.
In honor of the awesome haircut I’m SURE I’ll be getting on Thursday, I offer this blog. A bit of background . . . . Yes, I’m getting my haircut. This has been a day three weeks in the making. I’m pretty sure I have found THE place in Portland to get your hair cut if it’s curly. And, supposedly, I have found THE stylist for curly girls in THE salon. Gasp. Let me collect myself.
I have been in the throes of “growing out” for over a year . . . . 14 months to be exact. At times it has been distressing. At times, harrowing. Other times I have been rendered speechless by the condition of my tresses. Apparently it got so bad last week it prompted my daughter to abruptly announce she wished I’d hurry and get my hair cut. Sadly, I thought I was having a great hair day.
So in celebration of the AMAZING haircut I will be receiving on Thursday, let me post a picture of my worst haircut ever. It was 1993; Tyler and I had been married about eight months. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I went uber-short and got highlights. My husband affectionately named this style “bird head.” To this day he still mentions ol’ bird head now and again. What a guy.
Please try not to notice how my “blazer” matches the hotel bedspread a little too perfectly (and in return I’ll try not to mention that I had a matching skirt). And yes, I was wearing stirrup pants. Just in case you can’t tell from the severely pegged way they taper off the edge of the photo.
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Ahhh, friendship. Where would we be without it? Especially when we can drag said friend into our own humiliation. This week, in honor of her birthday this past weekend, I am including my friend, Caroline, in this week’s entry. (Yes, she blogs. I know you’ll be kind if you visit her.)
Caroline and I met during our last year of college. I honestly can’t remember how we met, other than she lived in the dorm room next to me. But we became “bosom friends”. . . . “kindred spirits” if you will. We dreamed of visiting Prince Edward Island together because, well, we were as tight as Anne and Diana. If you have no clue what I’m talking about, read “Anne of Green Gables.” You won’t be disappointed.
Anyway, I guess our closeness got the best of us. For some reason, we thought, as 21 year old women, it would be fun to dress alike? I honestly don’t remember, but that has to be the only explanation for the following picture.
The year was 1991 and my memory is a bit fuzzy (or is it because I’ve been staring at those outfits), but I almost think we went shopping together for this duo. But I could be wrong. And the saddest part? I think I was wearing white shoes . . . . . probably pumps.
The best part about this picture is even though we’ve lived on opposite sides of the country ever since, we’ve never lost contact for too long. It seems amazing now, since there was no internet or even e-mail back then. I am honored to have such a sweet, loving friend after all of these years!
Ya know, each week as I thoughtfully prepare my ‘Fro entry, part of me is angry at Kristen. How dare she make me relive such atrocities of my past. Then the other part of me is mad at myself for loving it so much.
Imagine if you will, it’s November 1994. You and your husband are on an all expense paid trip to the La Quinta Resort in Palm Springs, CA. You’re on your second honeymoon in a sense because just 2 1/2 years ago you were in the same city on your first honeymoon. Yep, Palm Springs in August. We were really thinkin‘ on that one.
So to commemorate your second honeymoon, you decide to . . . well . . . sexy the hair up. How do you do that? First, you run to Wal-Mart, purchase some Miss Clairol and go about 10 shades lighter than your normal “boring brown” hair. You gasp as your get out of the shower upon first seeing how orangy it is, but undaunted you press on. Second, you pay an arm an a LEG at the resort salon to get an awesome ‘do. What you forget is that Palm Springs caters to the
nearly dead mature crowd. At the time, I was 25. I pretty much ended up with a hairstyle a grandma would wear.
Me with light orange hair is no longer an option. But, hey, something worked. Because this trip will always be known as the trip where we threw away the birth control! Woot! And literally nine months and six weeks later our son was born.