Today was a busy day. I had a morning to myself (thanks to preschool and friend Megan who watched Nels) which I filled up with sewing and chores (current fun household task: get the stench of water damage and cat piss out of our laundry room carpet). Then a two-kid pickup (Sophie’s last day of preschool!), lunch date, and haircuts for both kids. Let me tell you, getting your kids’ hair cut at a salon during an appointment that takes place after naps should have started is quite a challenge, but since I am Kick-Ass Mama it worked out (I accomplished it with copius amounts of trail mix and the head restraining device from A Clockwork Orange). Afterwards, an elderly woman with freshly clipped and (of course) tightly permed hair gripped my arm (why do these sweet little old ladies always have an iron-like grasp? And why don’t these old ladies have their perm shaped into a giant afro with a pick sticking out instead of the obligatory Q-tip cut?) and gushed, “Your children were so well-behaved for their haircuts!”
I didn’t want to piss on her parade, but while it was true my children were cute, clean, and well-dressed during their haircuts (which sometimes creates an optical illusion for “well-behaved”), and it’s true my daughter held her shit together most of the time, the fact is my son was wigglier than a gummy worm on a hotplate. He also was laughing the whole time, then snorting when hair got in his eyes, and tearing at the “smock” the hairdresser tried to ply, and saying, “OUCH!” loudly (causing a few customers to glare at the poor girl trying to cut his hair) when nothing had in fact hurt him. Plus I think we left an assortment of trail mix all over the salon. I just hope Ms. Sweetheart Geriatric USA didn’t step on a petrified almond and twist her ankle on the way out.