the summer chop.

My very best friend in the world (aka Wayne) finally officially finished school two weeks ago... One year down, three to go! Three years still seems like a long time -- but I can promise you that by the time Wayne reaches graduation, it'll be like getting a pie in the face and we'll be all, "Whoa! Where did that come from!?"

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Anyway. After nine long months of Hebrew mutterings and paper editing and pre-presentation nerves and deep theological research, we felt it was necessary to partake in some year-end celebrations. First up on the agenda: Suzanne's summer haircut.

Okay, this was not officially part of the celebrations, it just happened to work out that way.

I love getting my summer haircut. I have a ton of hair (so my hair stylist Shelly says) so it feels wonderfully light after getting a bunch of inches whacked off. The one thing I don't like about getting a hair cut? When I'm asked what I want done. I have no idea what I want done. I usually mumble out something vague like "Uhh... just cut it to here... and... um... bangs. Trim my bangs" and it usually turns out okay -- my hair is cut and my fringe is restored to its former glory and out the door I swish.

However, this time around something reckless got into me and I said, "No layers!" when Shelly
asked what I wanted done. I have no idea why I said this. I have nothing against layers. It's just that I've always had layers and wondered what it would be like without them.

Shelly: Are you sure you don't want layers?
Suzanne: Umm... (suddenly unsure) Ahh! I have no idea!
Shelly: How about I just do a little tiny bit and see what you think.
Suzanne: Okay, yeah... (Gripped with sudden desire to control the situation despite entire lack of hair styling knowledge) But only a little bit.
Shelly: (snippy snip!) How's that?
Suzanne: Yeah, that's good. Keep it at that (completely feigned confidence).
Shelly: Are you sure? I could do some more.
Suzanne: (totally not catching the fact that Shelly is indirectly telling her that her hair will look stupid if she doesn't get more layers) Nope, that's fine.

So apparently there's a reason layers are used. I mean, the hair stylists always make your hair look fantastic but when your hair dries after the next shower you take, kablam, reality. Turns out that if you don't have layers your hair looks somewhat triangular, especially on hot and humid summer days. Nice. I'm going to be triangle-head-Suzy until the fall, because being the frugal Dutch girl that I am, I only visit the salon twice a year.

On the upside, Wayne and I went to Steak n' Shake afterwards for half price celebratory-school's-over milkshakes! And everyone knows that milkshakes make everything better, especially when they're half price. Mmmm. 

tourist season.

Tourist season has begun here in Michigan! Actually, it never really stops... but that is completely okay, because we love having visitors! We feel very far away from our families so it's always nice to spend a weekend with some familiar faces.

We've had guests the last two weekends -- Wayne's family two weeks ago, and a part of my family last week. When guests come over we do a lot of eating and a lot of sitting on couches and being silly. Having guests also forces us to do some exploring of the city and it's fun to discover places we've never been yet!

Wayne and his Mom.  

 Wayne's uncle -- the happiest 42-year-old you'll ever meet! 

 2 out of the 3 cutest children in the world. 

It was a hot weekend -- thank goodness for excellent water features!

We're looking forward to having more visitors as well as getting back into Canada for some good old-fashioned fun at the stomping grounds of our youth. Hurrah for summer! 

on being busy (or why I've been MIA)

Not that I need to give any excuses. I refuse to be a blogger who apologizes for taking a hiatus from writing... although I didn't really realize I was taking a hiatus until I looked at the date of my last post. Life just happens sometimes, and taking part in that is so much more vastly important than producing little scribbles on here, like this lady says.

This is what happens when you don't visit your own blog for awhile:

1) Everything is a potential posting topic -- par exemple (that's french), how I can't fold fitted sheets. How pie dough can be so, so fickle. How California strawberries taste lame, even in strawberry season. How Michigan State Parks can't hold a candle to Ontario Provincial Parks. How little green tips of basil plants poking through the soil make me want to do a happy little garden dance. How I can't believe that Wayne and I (but mostly Wayne) have made it through our first year of seminary (3 more to go!).

In other words: my brain is a mess. A great big blogified mess. I'll get it all out and sorted at some point and write about it here. Don't you worry, sugar!

2) People discover your blog and suddenly there are NINE PEOPLE following it! Now, it was never my intention to stack up followers. I started this blog to empty my brain and to aid my family in keeping track of my mental state. I'm pretty sure that my mom and mom-in-law and aunts etc still haven't figured out how to comment/officially follow this but I know they're reading it faithfully which I appreciate. 

However, my horizons have been expanded thanks to an Irish lass with a pretty sweet name who keeps a blog here -- and wrote about ME! As a result some more followers have trickled on board... haha. I'm still aghast. Thanks Orla. Hope you're having fun in TO!

3) You panic slightly. Time does not allow you to write, and you have this horrible sinking feeling that if you don't get something online right now the whole blogosphere is going to crash and burn in a magnificent explosion of pyrotechnics because clearly blogger.com is depending on you and you alone to keep the earth spinning.

Oh please. I was being sarcastic. I'm not that egocentric. At least... hopefully not. Tell me if I am and smack me hard. Gah.

It's raining today. Don't forget your umbrella-ella-ellas!

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so satisfying.

There is something absolutely satisfying about pruning a boxwood.

 Before.

And after!

This little buxus is not one I actually sheared, but I did spend the majority of the morning trimming back shrubs just like it! And it felt so satisfying. So so satisfying. 

This seems weird to you. I get that. But if I put a pair of shears in your hands and set you in front of a row of boxwood, you'd totally get the pruning urge, too. Look out, little shrubs. Suzanne is on the loose. 

And yes, I use latin when I speak of shrubs and trees. I spent a whole semester memorizing 200+ latin names for shrubs and trees. You're darn right I'm going to put that to use, if for no other reason than to sound smart. 

some things.

Here are some things.

1) I enormously dislike it when a husband is referred to as a "hubby." Big dislike, baby. And I have no idea why. I have never referred to Wayne as my hubby or hubster or hubs and absolutely never ever will, no matter what the blogosphere tells me. It weirds me out, and I have no logical explanation for why that is. Wayne doesn't seem to care one way or another, but I would certainly not appreciate it if Wayne started referring to me on his blog as his wiffy or even worse, the wubs. It sounds completely RIDICULOUS! Arghhhhhh! However, I do sometimes feel like Wayne should have a code name (despite the fact that I've revealed his real name several times) so that I can keep him safely anonymous since there's all kinds of scary people out there reading my blog. I'm sure of it.

But not hubby. Anything but hubby. It's agonizingly tacky and sounds a little emasculating. Glagh.

 

2) I've slowly been learning how much of an online blog culture actually exists -- and it is a strong culture. There are fads and leaders and followers and wanna-bes. I'm pretty sure the majority of female bloggers under the age of 17 have spent much of the last couple weeks of spring posting macro shots of flower blossoms from their backyard with airy pretty quotes underneath, then posted pictures from their latest baking endeavour, describing the culinary experience with explosively descriptive adjectives. Now I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this blogging style. It's your blog -- blog away, my friends. That's what a blog is for. I just think it's interesting how certain blogging styles can be so strong within particular demographics. 

And I also might be kind of making fun of you. The delightful crunch of the cookie makes your taste buds sing? Really??


Bad Suzanne. Bad future PW. Bad.

3. On the weekend while driving through the city we passed by a junkyard that was completely packed with old cars. It was surrounded by high fences that were topped with barbed wire, and staggered along the fence were signs -- signs that said "Beware of Dogs". I did not think that junkyards with guard dogs actually existed and it took me about three blocks to calm down. I totally thought junkyard dogs were the creation of cartoonists and bad plot writers.

I'm sorry. I don't know why this is such a huge deal. I'm fascinated. It's weird.

4. On the same drive this weekend, we were stopped at a busy intersection when a car passed us going in the opposite direction. It wasn't just any car. It was a screaming yellow Mustang convertible, and the dude had suped it up with rims, racing stripes, inappropriate text along the side, the works. But that wasn't all. There were antlers -- antlers -- fastened all over the car. Antlers on the hood, on the doors, on the trunk -- and to complete the ensemble, a full-out buck's head attached to the very back of the car. The best part was the dude had this creepily loud sound of a horse whinnying at intervals coming out of some sort of speaker... Wayne and I stared at it in silence, then looked at each other in shock and just started laughing hysterically.

That's not all.

We saw the 'stang AGAIN, the next day, in a different part of the city! We heard him before we saw him -- the loud whinnying, you see. More laughter. Even more disbelief. Still not sure how we ran into him twice.

Okay. Now that is all. Thanks for tuning in. Ya'll are shining stars.

another trip around the sun complete.

Today is my 25th-plus-5-days birthday. Which, if you're any good at math, means that my birthday happened last week! Yay.

You know how when you get older, you're supposed to not really care that it's your birthday? I totally still care. I still wake up with that funny feeling in my stomach, in wonder and awe that it's actually my birthday. That delicious thought runs through my head all day and gives me absolute freedom to do whatever. I. Want. To a certain degree, of course.

It was a good birthday. The forecast predicted thunderstorms. We had heavy humidity but breezy winds, and plenty of sunshine. No thunderstorms, thank you very much. My super thoughtful husband took me out for breakfast, the most important AND best meal of the day (though not necessarily the healthiest). We got the early bird special and a few extra sides because our eyes are bigger than our stomachs -- even at 25.

Wayne bought me tulips. I killed them with love -- a.k.a. mixing up my own flower food from scratch that ended up being toxic. Sorry tulips. I was alone at the office all afternoon doing computer work and blasting songs from the itunes Glee* radio station while bopping on my exercise ball and entering information about muscle spasms and levator scapulaes into patient charts. Oh yeah... I am rocking the chiropractor lingo. Just wait til I start talking about your rhomboids and quadratus lumborum.

I ate leftovers for dinner because I didn't want to cook. We drank Magic Bullet frappucinos on our back deck because Starbucks is silly and stupidly expensive. We watched episodes of Castle (which is an excellently crime-y type of show). I read a book out loud to my compliant husband because I wanted to. Yes, I like reading books out loud. My children will be forced to listen to many books out loud before bed time. I was brought up that way, and loved it. And they shall love it too. I hope.

And by the end of the day I was 25, and not quite sure how I felt about that. Because I'm pretty sure I just turned 15 last year. I'm hoping my brain (and maturity level) catch up to my actual age at some point. That'd be nice.



*Just a disclaimer that I'm not actually a fan of the tv show Glee. Tis a silly show. To be quite honest, I found the story lines to be... well... for lack of a better word, boring. Completely and totally. Unoriginal, too. The songs, though -- the songs I like. I love me some good harmonies!