At the beach!

In late July we met my parents, brother and his two kids at the beach for a week.

We stayed in a big beach house that fit all of us - we even had a "Kids Zone" downstairs for the under 18 crowd. 

It was perfect.

Here are some pics....

 Grandma and Grandpa who made the beach house possible!

 Ava and cousin Phoebe aren't afraid of north coast cold water!

 Allie, Danny and cousins at breakfast.

 Ava and Phoebe catch some air...

 I'm usually the one behind the camera but here's me and the girls.

 Big sister Annabelle (and Dad) joined us half way through the trip...

Nailed it.

We’re in the middle of a major painting project at our house this summer, but it has nothing to do with the walls.
Our girls have gone crazy for nail polish.
Blue polish, black polish, pink polish. Polish with rainbow glitter, polish with gold sparkle, polish with iron dust. You name it, we have a little bottle of it.
We grown-ups might think we’re being daring by getting a tiny flower painted on our big toe. But teens take nail art to a whole new level. Each finger might be painted a different color. Their hands flash neon, green or white with stripes, polka dots and decals.
And the days of regular old nail polish are over. Today there’s crackle nail polish, strawberry-scented nail polish, magnetic nail polish, nail polish paint pens and nail polish tabs that you stick on instead of paint on.
It’s like their nails are their own mini art installations. Or graffiti. The oldest Huffman has been painting mini canvases on her nails, the latest featuring her favorite characters from the movie “Up.” I’m thinking she could make big bucks for her college tuition as a nail technician.
The combination of three teens and nail polish can get explosive. The other night I ended up refereeing a fierce argument over a bottle of “Pistol Packin’ Pink.”
Calm down, girls, I said. It’s light pink. How different could it be from this other bottle of light pink?
I swear all six of their eyeballs simultaneously rolled at me for that comment.
Carefully negotiated trades between sisters have been brokered between their individual nail polish collections.
“If you paint my left hand, you can use my new white nail polish,” said one to another.
We weren’t always a nail-polish-friendly home. I am referring to what has become known as “the bedspread incident.” A few years ago, a bottle of dark pink polish somehow ended up dripping on Mom and Dad’s light blue bedspread. At the time, a certain Huffman thought she could prevent Mom from noticing the stain by simply covering it with a hand towel. As if.
The spill resulted in the confiscation of all nail polish in the home and a painting ban of several months.
Besides the bedspread, I’ve found drips of nail polish on the walls, on the bath towels, on the bathroom tile and in the sink. Note to any kids reading this: Nail polish does not come out of towels. Or carpet. Or the dog’s hair.
Naturally, there’s more to nail polish than just the bottles themselves. If you’re knee deep in nail polish, you need all kinds of accessories like cotton balls, Q-tips, tiny manicure scissors and nail polish remover. I should be buying acetone by the gallon.
The other night, the youngest Huffman showed off her latest manicure — black nails with white tips.
I wish I had more nails to paint, she said, as she admired her work.
What if you had four hands? I asked her.
“That’d be awesome,” she said.

Root Canal part II

What's worse than a root canal?

Two root canals.

It's been almost two weeks since my you-know-what.

My tooth still hurts.

I went to my regular dentist today for the permanent filling. I told him it still hurts.

He said we'd need to watch the tooth because I might need to see Dr. Root Canal again.

Lovely.

Is there some speical saint you can pray to about a tooth?

I could use a good saint about now. 

Root... canal

Root Canal.

Ugh. I hate even typing those words. My dental phobia has been documented in my column but that doesn't mean I'm over it.

Today my favorite dentist tells me I need a root canal. This is not what I expect my favorite dentist to tell me. I prefer a tender pat on the hand and a "see you in six months." 

Instead, he uses those two words: root canal. 

Even worse, he's sending me to a different dentist called an endodontist.  That's a fancy word for Dentist Who Does Only Root Canals.

The Endodontist said I can have IV sedation for my root canal. 

I'm happy to hear this.

 Last time I had IV sedation was when my wisdom teeth were pulled. The nurse started my IV and I never even saw the dentist. Still have no idea what he looks like. And that's OK with me. I don't want to get to know a bunch of new dentists. 

Especially ones that Only Do Root Canals.

I asked my favorite dentist if he could come with me to my root canal. Could he assist with the procedure?  Could he just watch over the endodontist's shoulder? He laughed like I was making a joke. 

I was sort of not joking.

I'd like to pretend this isn't happening to me, so if I never post again about my root canal, you'll understand.

Root Canal.

An overdue Father's Day post

Presenting... a long overdue Father's Day post!

A few weeks ago we headed to Bodega Bay for a day for dad.

Oldest Daughter was with her boyfriend on a graduation trip to Disneyland so there were only four of us that day. 

We found a few spots to take some pics.

Happy Father's Day DJ!

They may not always act like it, but they love you :)

 This was taken at Bodega Head. It's an overlook with amazing views... but sheer cliffs and no railings. Definitely not safe for little kids.

Alfalfa and horses

Grandpa Donnie's neighbors suddenly got about six horses (and one mule). When the girls heard this they immediately headed out into the alfalfa field to see the animals.

Those horses were thrilled to see the girls pulling handfuls of alfalfa to feed them over the fence.

One horse was really grabby so Ava made a point to feed the horses the big guy was squeezing out.

There is always something new at Grandpa Donnie's house.

 This guy had a net mask to protect his eyes. They were weepy.

 The dog loves running in the field.

Wake up call

The oldest Huffman girl just turned 18. Yep, there’s no denying it. We are now the parents of two children — and one newly minted adult.
At great personal risk, on the morning of Oldest Daughter’s birthday, I ventured into her room before I left for work to wish her a “happy birthday.”
I rubbed her back to wake her up, but I think the only reason she opened her eyes was because she knew it would be bad juju to yell at her mom on her birthday.
Later, I texted her from work.
Happy birthday, I wrote.
You are now officially an adult. This means you can vote. Or be on a jury. Or become a Marine.
I got no response.
I take it that means she’s not ready to enlist just yet.
My child-free co-workers helpfully pointed out all the other things our daughter can do now that she’s 18.
“She can buy cigarettes,” said one.
“She can get married to a scary biker dude in Reno,” said another. Or gamble and play the Lotto.
Wow. Thank you, co-workers, for suggesting those amazing options for our new 18-year-old. I now have a fresh set of worries to be anxious about.
I figured while I was at it, I might as well binge on the parent-of-a-new-18-year-old anxiety and get it out of my system.
I found this list on a Yahoo board: “100 Things You Can Do Now That You’re 18.”
Oh, there are some wonderful new “choices” in which our new adult can now partake.
For example: Change your name, get a tattoo, get a piercing, buy spray paint, sue someone, be sued, purchase liquid white-out, pawn something, adopt a child, be on “Jerry Springer,” get a hotel room, buy nitrous oxide and skydive.
The list got even better.
A new 18-year-old can also: Chew tobacco, go to an adult jail, purchase Nicorette gum, buy a monkey, carry a gun and rent a port-a-potty.
Some weren’t all that bad:
Our daughter can now get a Netflix membership, buy insurance, donate blood, get a non-prepaid cellphone, begin earning credit and move out of the parental units’ house.
Some were downright aspirational:
She can become a mentor, become an undercover cop, work full-time, lease an apartment, rent a house, finance a car, be a manager and start her own business.
Maybe I should come up with my own list: “100 Things Your Parents Can’t Wait For You To Do Now That You’re 18.”
Samples: Stop teasing your sisters. Make your bed more than once a month. Take your little sister to the mall. Write thank-you notes without endless reminders from your mother. Explain what a “meme” is. Start paying rent.
But I think Nos. 96 and 100 from the Yahoo list are what our daughter will like the best:
“Make your own decisions” and “Have the freedom and independence you didn’t have before.”
Congrats, kid. I mean, congrats, young adult.