There may be some out there who are getting a little tired of my constant updates about Husband's new lawn-mowing scheme. Or rather, his non-lawn-mowing scheme.
The lawn mullet (I know, I know, lawn Mohawk) is now in its second month of life. This may be the final update because while it's thrived well into the first week of fall, tell-tale signs of impending dormancy are starting to appear.
But last week I got a Facebook message from a young friend who lives a couple of blocks away:
"MomQueenBee! Husband has started a trend! K. has officially jumped on the bandwagon and is growing and maintaining a yard Mohawk. Lol!"
The lawn mullet has a little brother! We could not be prouder.
Oh, and in another, less exciting update, I can now say how long a henna tattoo lasts. For me, that would be just under a week. I'm a faithful handwasher (in addition to all of the regular eating-and-bathroom washings, I head for the sink any time I get home from someplace outside the house because pretty sure I grabbed handrails and grocery cart handles) and this devotion to sanitation has not been good for henna maintenance. I only have the flower on my wrist remaining.
Nonetheless, this experience of having a henna tattoo has been a hoot. When one is the approximate color and squishiness of a loaf of Wonder Bread, a hand tattoo is an unexpected accessory. Pretty much everyone noticed, but absolutely no one commented.
And that was a shame, because I had a whole list of responses ready, including "WHAT? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?"
I am becoming what my Boys have dreaded I would become.