Going Green

I feel like this is a birth announcement. Don't panic. I didn't lose my middle-aged head, have a mid-life crisis, and decide that Charlie and I needed a "D" to go along with the A, B, and C. It's Wes who has had a new "baby". Well, it's House of Tiki that's had a new addition. Wes is just the one experiencing the labor pains. Okay, maybe I'm having labor pains too....in the shipping department.

House of Tiki's new green Shakatiki mug has been launched. This is the 4th Edition of H.O.T.'s mascot mug. We've had brown, peanut butter, blue, and now green. The Tiki World is gobbling them up. In just the first hour of listing, we've sold all we have of the first run. How can the Tikiphiles help but love him? He's beautiful.




I tease Wes that there's a striking resemblance between he and Shakatiki:



From the front anyway. I don't know about the okole.

I Can Only Trust

I'm very worried. Unfortunately, that's about all I can say about that. I'm hoping that I can somehow "inject" thoughts of rationality and common sense by osmosis. But lately, that doesn't seem to be working. Neither does old fashioned talking. Sometimes you have to say what you need to say and hope that it translates well. Saying it is one thing. Whether the one you're saying it to is listening or has heard your concerns is quite another. I'm left in a place where all I can do is trust. Right now, that's a difficult pill to swallow.

Round Three of the Evolutionary Process

By now, it has been well-established that my son has gills, webbed feet and hands, and CANNOT stay out of the sun and surf. Therefore, despite the warnings that he should TRY to stay away from the beach and out of the water after re-dying his hair back to a somewhat "normal" state, we find ourselves, yet again, opening another box of hair color in less than a week's time.

Apparently, the orange was coming through again. His friend Alexis had taken to calling him "My Little Leprechaun" a bit too much for his liking. So, I come home from work to find the hair salon in my backyard open for business and a begloved Alexis squirting the magic goo onto the Grommet's head.






Now, even closer to his "natural" color, he PROMISED to keep his head out of the ocean and sunlight. I know this is a promise that this boy cannot keep. I'm now taking bets on how long it will be before his hair falls out from over-processing. Either that, or perhaps, miracle of miracles, the evolutionary process has now finally reached his brain.

Let the countdown commence.

If you can't trust your friends, then I hope you have a Mommy...

It's summer. I expect some bonehead moves by The Grommet during summer. It's usually the outcome of harmless fun. He's lost his car keys before and had to be rescued. He's broken fins off of surfboards. He's jumped in the ocean with his cell phone in his pocket. He's taken all of our toilet paper for T.P. raids and left us stranded. There are numerous events that I'm sure I don't even know about because he has his friends to bail him out of whatever "duh" moment he might encounter that doesn't require parental consent or money. I'm quite sure that it works the same way with them; he's there when they need him. Money being the operative word because he's an "adult" now and really doesn't require our approval for the decisions he makes. However, I'm glad to say he DOES seek out our counsel for most, if not all, of his prospective comings and goings.

I got a call at work:

Bry: Hey Mommy, I'm thinking about dying my hair blonde.
Pua: Why?
Bry: The guys and I thought it would be fun.
Pua: YOU thought it would be fun? Or THE GUYS thought it would be fun? I mean,
Bry, it's YOUR hair...THEY don't have to walk around with it.
Bry: Well, it's all of us.
Pua: And which one of "all of us" is doing this?
Bry: Jeff, Jon, and Juice.
Pua: Um, well Bry, again..it's YOUR hair and you're 19. Really, what do I have
to say about it? It's your decision. But I'll remind you that you guys
have done some pretty crazy things to Jon's hair in the past. Remember
that payback's a bitch.
Bry: Yeah, but I trust them. It'll be fun for the summer. I just wondered
what you thought.
Pua: Bryson, as I recall, you went to summer camp when you were 9 and came home
with bleached hair. I don't remember you calling and asking me what I
thought then. Why now?
Bry: (laughing) True. I don't know..I guess 'cuz you're my Mommy and I trust
you.
Pua: Ha! Well then, I hope you trust your friends as much as you trust me.
Bry: Okay. See you later.

I thought about our conversation for a few minutes after the call. As much as I love those boys, I wouldn't trust them with my hair. The fact is, my son is ALL ABOUT his hair. He's kinda like John Travolta's Tony Manero. This boy takes longer to do his hair than both of his sisters take to do theirs combined. God forbid anyone should touch it after it's perfectly coiffed. I've also been present when they decided to shave designs into their friend Jon's hair. I shudder. I know Jon's mom has shuddered as well. Jon's a much better sport about his hair than Bry. I end the thinking process with the comforting notion that it's just hair and hair grows back. That's always been my M.O. Choose your battles. This isn't one that requires too much emotion on my part. Hair grows back and it's just not a big deal. Not a big deal to me anyway.

Four hours later, Charlie, Caris and I are in the living room talking about her plans for the 4th. Suddenly, Ellie starts barking wildly and running to the front door. It's not that "Hi there!" kind of bark. It's that growly "Stranger Alert" kind of bark. As the stranger gets closer, Charlie says; "Who's this kid? One of Bry's friends?" Caris and I, almost simultaneously, blurt out; "Ohhh myyy gawddd..it's Bryson!" He comes in the door and stands in the doorway. His hair..
well, my first thought was that he looked like one of Fred and Fanny Farkel's kids. Yeah, I'm dating myself, but that's the honest truth about what was running through my head. The problem is that what was running through my head came out as uncontrolable laughter. Caris and I were doing spit-takes. I knew in an instant that Caris was going to get a lot of mileage off of this CHAMPION of bonehead moves on Bry's part. Charlie just had a look of horror on his face and said; "Bryson! What the hell?" Bry looked like he was going to cry. His friend Juice followed him in the door with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. He began to explain...

THIS is BEFORE it happened:


THIS is what was supposed to happen:



THIS is what actually happened:


I regained my composure while he pleaded with me to help him. I did not give him the "What did you think was going to happen?" lecture. Charlie and Caris were handling that quite well. I led my distraught son and his snickering friend out the back door to the patio to have a seat and calm down while I went inside to find one of my handy-dandy, always on-hand boxes of hair color. I could hear Caris through my bathroom window giggling and giving him the business. When I got out there, she was walking around him like a shark circling a wounded seal, delivering jab after jab. I told her to stop, but I think all the years of frustration of sharing a bathroom with him were bubbling to the surface and she was getting her money's worth.

I told him that I knew that this wasn't going to get him back to his natural hair color and that it would probably be lighter. He said anything was better and that if it didn't work that he was just going to shave his head and wear a cap until it grew back. Caris told him that she was SURE it wouldn't work and that he should just skip the repair process and go ahead and shave. At this point, I literally escorted her, still laughing, to the door and told her she needed to go. I have to say, Bry took her ribbing pretty well. He never got mad at her or yelled back at her. He took all her crap without a word. I was pretty proud of him. I think she was the least of his worries.

Once we got the color in and he went and showered, I got all my laughter out. Charlie was still horrified. I told him, as I often do, that this just isn't something to get his knickers in a twist over. It's just good, clean, fun. Sure, it's a lesson learned and I'm sure he won't let his friends near his hair again. But c'mon, who got hurt? Let it go.

When Bry got out of the shower, he looked more like Bry again. It's a little lighter than his normal color, but it's definitely brown again. He was smiling and came and wrapped his arms around me in a big, tight hug and whispered in my ear; "I love you. Thank you SOOOOO much."

Mom and L'oreal to the rescue. I guess his nickname has now changed from "Grommet" to "Leprechaun" and his friends gave him a pretty hard time on the 4th. But I think that's a whole lot better than "Junior Farkle".

THIS is after Mom saved the day...Happy 4th!:

Because It Makes Me Smile

This is where the Grommet shines. He told me when he got back that he knows that he was born on the mainland, but feels in his soul that Hawai'i is his home. I know how he feels. The boy has pa'akai wai running through his veins. And from looking at this picture, I really don't think translation is necessary.

Be Still

I feel like a fool for a suggestion I made to someone. Turns out, my suggestion wasn't such a good one and it embarrasses me that I wasn't more informed. Seriously embarrasses me.

Two family members have been diagnosed with cancer this week. One is terminal. One, well we still don't know.

My embarrassment is surviveable and I'll live. My friend will forgive me for being naively ignorant because at least now I'll know stuff and I'll make wise choices in the future.

I wish the prognosis were the same for my loved ones. But we can't be naive, and we can't bury our heads in the sand. I wish it was as easy as surviving embarrassment.

Today I feel lost. Tomorrow and the following days, I need to be strong for them. I want to say the right things and do the right things. I've been through this before, more times than I think is fair. It's all too uncomfortably familiar and that just pisses me off. Sometimes there is no right thing to say or right thing to do. For now, I tell myself to just be still.

Stilettos in Baggage Claim

Since traffic was unusually light this morning, Charlie and I found ourselves an hour early at LAX to pick the boys up from their flight home. So, we located a couple of open seats near the baggage claim area and partook in that most amusing of pastimes; people-watching.

Airports and beaches are my favorite places to watch the comings and goings of the creatures that share our breathing space. There is never a lack of entertainment. From fashion to parenting skills, I ALWAYS walk away from a people watching adventure feeling...well, feeling pretty good about myself. If I'm ever sad, I make a quick drive down to the beach, perch on the sea wall next to the walk and just watch. In no time at all, I'm thinking that things just aren't too bad.

As we view events from our little corner, Charlie makes an observation:

Charlie: Why do women who are traveling, when they KNOW they're going to have to walk a lot and cart around luggage, and children, and whatnot, wear 4-inch stiletto heels?

Pua: Um...you're asking me? The woman who hardly EVER wears shoes at all? Maybe they cherish looking sexy and fashionable over comfort. Maybe they enjoy pain. Maybe they think they'll be discovered for some reality show. Hell, it's L.A., you never know. Nothing says talent like pushing a stroller while you're balancing on torture devices wrapped around your feet.

Charlie: Well, I definitely know why men can't wear high heels the way women can. Their center of gravity is completely different.

Pua: Eddie pulls it off perfectly. In fact, Eddie does it better than 95% of the women in this airport right now. That man looks FIIINNNEEE in stilettos. I loves me some Eddie in spikey heels!

Charlie: Eddie Izzard?

Pua: Uh HUH. I would lick that man's leather.

:::Quiet Pause:::

Charlie: Isn't there a shoe store on Sunset?