Haircuts all around!

A few days ago, I was on the phone. The kids were in bed, lights turned low, wine glass was full. It was MOMMY time. Until, I heard the ever present pattering of footsteps in the hallway. As soon as he realized I knew he was up, a loud "POOP! MAMA! Me go POOP!" was heard throughout the house. He knows better than to get out of bed when it's mommy time, and poop is pretty much the only excuse I am accepting these days. "Ok, but hurry it up. And don't play in the water!" I hollered after him before immersing myself back into my glass of wine and enamored phone conversation.


Let me back up a few moments. I should mention that Travis, being the ever dutiful and wonderful husband he is, was installing special door locks on my front and garage doors. The little pooper in question had escaped on me for the last time this day. I wasn't putting my heart through another minute of searching for the ever wandering soul with human feet.


Back to the story. My neighbor, the wonderful Miss Carol, was telling me how funny she thought her early morning visit from Brady had been that morning. He was bringing her Avon books in exchange for rice crispy treats. He was supposed to be playing in the backyard while I was switching clothes from the washer to the dryer and putting a new load in. Oh, and I may have stopped to go potty along the way. I know, arrest me now.


Anyway, Carol couldn't stop laughing. She is an elderly woman completely in love with my boys. I have offered them to her several times. She isn't biting. I wonder at that.


Ok, I am trying very hard to ask Miss Carol to please CALL ME immediately the next time Brady escapes my fenced in and pad locked backyard to her house. She is agreeing at about the time I realize the topic of our conversation has been in the bathroom . . . and very quiet . . . for about ten minutes. I decided to do a quick investigation. Only Steven King could know such horrors I witnessed this night.


As I opened the bathroom door,m I immediately noticed Brady, still dressed, on the bathroom counter. As I was getting ready to tell him to get down, my eyes caught the horror of the evening.




Hair.


Lots of hair.


Not on Brady's head.


Scissors.


Itty bitty goatee trimming scissors.


In Brady's hand.


My eyes flew to his head and I told the laughing Miss Carol who was just now telling me how beautiful my babies were and asking why I didn't get them into modeling that I had to go. I would call her in the morning.


I hung up the phone.


I told Travis to get in there.


Brady stood, watching me. Wondering if I was going to explode.


Travis gasped. And then he laughed.


I started crying.


When I was calm enough to look closer and the heaving sighs had finally quit forcing their way through my lungs, I examined the damage. He had several bald spots along the front, top, and back of his head. His bangs were no more. He had a weird line cut along the side of his head. He now had an Alfalfa-esque cow lick standing straight up in the back of his head.


Only one solution.


Shave his head.


His beautiful blond locks would be no more.


So, the next day I took him to the barber for a shave. I took Bryce with me, as well, since he was due for a trim (well, and it is illegal to leave a five year old home alone, I am pretty sure). Brady went first. Bryce was fascinated by the clippers. Brady did awesome through the whole thing. (He has haircut issues). When the barber told Brady his new buzz cut looked fantastic, Bryce's eyes perked up. I groaned. "Mom, buh-buh-buzzzz cut has the same letter as MY name! I want a buh-buh-buzz cut!" "Oh no! You can't! You won't be able to fix your hair anymore! We can't use gel and hairspray on a buzz cut! Are you sure?" "Yep," he told me, "I am verrrrry sure! I want a b cut." Ugh. "Your father is not going to be happy about this."


So, I now have bald babies. People say they look adorable and, well, of course they do. They are my children, after all. But, they look better with hair.