I'm calling some of you out at the end of this post.

If you follow me on twitter or instagram, you are well-informed of the saga that is my hair. In case you missed out, I went to get my hair cut at a salon the other day, by a lady who "specializes" in curly hair. I had the highest of hopes. She asked whether I would like it styled straight or curly. Having never been to anyone before who even pretended to know what to do with curly hair, I asked for it to be styled curly. And this was the end result.

As she kept telling me that this was "so so cute," I started wondering whether I was just.... not with it enough to recognize cute when I saw it? But many of you confirmed that in fact, this is not cute. This is a hot mess. My mother (always the first one I complain to, always the first one to offer rays of sunshine) reminded me that it was not as bad as "that one time in high school when a "stylist" blew it out straight" for me. My hair looks awful every time I come out of a salon so I cannot remember specific horrible experiences, but THANK YOU MOM for reminding me that I have looked worse. I reminded her that that was 50lbs ago, and it's easier to deal with bad hair when you're skinny. She countered with "you are healthy, have beautiful babies, a handsome husband..." I struck back with, "I live in HELL and my cute dog smells like ass." Then she called me and I had to own up to the fact that I was being dramatic. For reference, this is what my hair looks like now.

A little frizzy and frazzled at the end of the day, but Molly seems to like it, judging by her near-constant death grips on it.

LOOK AT THE CHUB CAN SHE GET ANY CUTER?! Also, she does own clothes, she just never happens to be wearing any when I take my camera out.

My parents came to town this past weekend to visit and to take my sister back home since school starts up soon. I love having them around. Always funny stories, good food, and hands that are looking to hold or play with a child.

Sam was already in bed during that particular "photo shoot." But the next morning, he was back to work, demonstrating to his adoring fans the fine art of properly separating shapes.

Molly watches with anticipation. "When is he going to pull some milk outta that box? Isn't that what we're all waiting on?"

I also made this monstrosity.

Back home in Alabama, my dad's shop caters to BOTH teams (I know, the things people do to make money), so I made him a little decoration to hang some tshirts from. Fear not, I'm making an Auburn one too. AND IT WILL BE BIGGER AND BETTER WAR EAGLE!

Why won't they come live with me? Are those cheeks not sweet enough? (Rhetorical question. Those cheeks ARE sweet enough. Too sweet, actually. Sweet enough to give you the die-uh-beetus if you kiss them too much.)

Yes, this is as happy as Sam can muster on-demand while sharing the spotlight with his sister.

He much prefers some one-on-one time with Pops.

And then, after these photos, they packed up and left us. (I don't know why they would do that either.) So now we're back to the usual: pumping, feeding, errands, diapers, laundry, dishes, timeouts, playdates, cooking, sweating. (Ok, to be fair, the sweating never stopped.)

Now that it is almost the weekend, and I am done recapping LAST weekend, I need to ask y'all a favor. More than anything, I love when y'all leave me comments and let me know what you thought about what I've written. I try to respond to every! single! comment! Seriously, I do. But if you're wondering why I haven't responded to your comment (I know you all sit on the edge of your seats, checking your email, waiting for me to respond...), it's because you don't have your email address set up for me to reply to. Stupidly, I reply to every comment, even the ones that say I'm emailing noreply-comment@blogger.com, but I would much rather respond to YOU! Repeat offenders being:

Ruthie
Kerri
Stephanie
Aggie

I'm sure there are more of you out there, but those are just the most recent comments I've tried replying to. Also, Kerri, I am flattered you think I look like that Olympic swimmer. I wish that was the reason I haven't been blogging much lately. I also wish I had an Olympic swimmer's body. Amen.