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Browsing Tag: Cian

They Said Not to Do It: The Quarantine Haircut

There are things I’ve done that I regret in this life. That 8 a.m. math class my freshman year in college is a big one (or, rather, the fact that I rarely showed up to it). That pixie cut (“But Cameron Diaz looks so cute in hers!”) circa 2001. Tequila. But here, in this time of pandemic, I’ve done the most clichéd regrettable thing of all: I cut Cian’s hair. When I say “cut,” I mean I took scissors to Cian’s hair the other day, trying to maintain the style he’d had before. I cut it once, then twice to fix the once, then the final, cringe-worthy time to fix the mess I’d made the first two times. My child. My beautiful sweet kid with the longish hair we both liked so much… …now has a buzz cut. He spent all of the day afterward glaring at me while pointing at his head: “I have ELF EARS!” But then the girls, thankfully, spent the rest of the evening telling him how great it was, and that he…

Cookies and Creativity and the Quarantine Slump

Okay, at this point of quarantine, you’re in one of two camps: #1: You are a person who’s settled into this “new normal,” and are content and calm. You’ve weeded the flower beds, laid down fresh mulch, and are considering a fresh coat of paint inside your house. You’ve set yourself and your family on a flexible-but-calming schedule, and have a routine for sharing the laptops for work and school. You’re the parent who organizes the Zoom playdates for your kids. Or: #2: You’re the person who’s finally realized that this could go on forever and the kids eat all the food and the carpets are so dirty and who can freshen up their landscapes when they’re too worried about catching coronavirus if they leave the house for the garden center and you miss restaurant margaritas and your friends and you really should be decluttering the closets/finishing the book/organizing the family finances/making sourdough starter but you can’t, you just can’t, because you are tired of it all. You are a desperate for a…

Easter During a Pandemic: Well, That was Different

Quinlan was in my bathroom Sunday morning as we were getting ready to go see my mom. It was Easter. We’d giggled over the baskets and laughed through the backyard egg hunt and baked and eaten the Resurrection Rolls, but we’d also watched a lot of LEGO Star Wars, and every single one of us fell asleep during a televised Easter Mass. Normally at that time David and I are running around doing last-minute clean-up, cooking, decorating, because we always host Easter dinner for the family at our house in the afternoon. We were so not busy this particular morning. I wasn’t hollering at anybody to vacuum the stairs or comb the hair or help me set out the silverware. There were no spring flowers on the table, or lilies rising from pastel foil to fill the house with their sneeze-inducing scent. David went for a run. It was weird. I had taken a curling iron to my hair for the first time in a month and a half–these days the hair is air-dried and forgotten about, a process I am fully on board with–and Quinlan…