The Return

If there were one lesson I am in dire need of learning right now, it would be that of Being Happy In The Present. The weather in DC is 100% perfect right now: bright skies, mid-70s, occasional breezes. It is SPRING in its most perfect form. But it's all I can do to fear the heat. I know it's only a matter of time before I'm sweating 24 hours a day and my hair quadruples in size and turns into something resembling the spawn of a tumbleweed and a rat's nest. Please, don't be jealous. But amid the fear and the frantic, frizzy ponytails, there is a promise of something more. And to remind me of the glory of summer foods, we have the return of Fretalian Night.
Fretalian Night was invented last year when Bria and I would visit the farmer's market every Wednesday in Old Town. We would pick up a baguette, tomatoes, basil, and strawberries and then swing by Trader Joe's for some brie on our way home. Dinner was whipped up in no time once we returned home. Brie and bread for the French half and bruschetta for the Italian half of Fretalian Night. The strawberries round it out for the perfect light summer meal.
So am I concerned about how I will survive another summer? Incredibly. But is it a price I am willing to pay for the abundance in fresh berries and basil and tomatoes? Of course.

third time's the . . . well, not the charm.

I have cut my own hair a couple times:

1) When I was maybe 11, I decided to give myself bangs. I just grabbed a huge chunk of the front of my hair and cut it straight across. My mom confronted me, and fearing punishment, I lied and said, "I didn't cut my hair." It was a blatantly obvious lie, so when she re-confronted me, I said, "what? that's not a lie. I trimmed my hair." I did receive a stern look, but the only real punishment was my own hideous hair.

2) When I was 16, I had long hair and needed a change. I went into the salon and asked for shoulder-length with layers and got a chin-length bob. I added layers myself, which weren't actually horrible, except that I hadn't discovered a flat iron yet, and I was deep in the throes of a hair-bleaching addiction. I looked like a neon q-tip.

3) A couple of weeks ago, my (trying-to-be) edgy haircut had grown out too much, and then I missed my appointment to clean it up, so I picked up my scissors and went to town. MISTAKE. Somewhere in that moment of decision I forgot that I have a ton of thick hair. Soooo . . . I ended up with this strange blunt cut of thick hair curling under and hitting me right at the chin. Not cute. Not cute at all. When I went to California a couple days later, my dear sister Amy laughed at me and took me straight to the salon where they thinned the whole thing out and reassured me my hair would grow back. And sitting in that chair I promised to NEVER AGAIN cut my own hair. It was then that I realized I ended up with the same hair cut I gave myself when I was 17. AND, I almost cut bangs. Oy. Thank goodness I now have a flat iron. And in order to shake things up and not look exactly like my 17 year-old self, I dyed my hair brown. Then I had a little photo sesh with Bria.

Ok. I actually don't hate it. But all I want for Christmas is for my hair to grow quickly.