My Faulty Brain
Imagine my surprise when I unloaded the kids' homework from their backpacks and found out that there is no school on Wednesday. I was thinking Thursday, sure. Friday, of course. But Wednesday?
I'm glad about it - it will give me the chance to finish crafting their pilgrim outfits, and to glue gun a few more feathers on my headdress for our family Thanksgiving pageant.
We're not actually doing that, but now I'm sort of thinking that it would be funny. Can you see my family piling out of the minivan with buckles on our shoes and bonnets on our heads and maybe some ears of corn? Hmm. Maybe a visit to the local craft emporium is on the agenda for tomorrow.
Anyway... what I meant to write about is my trip to the hair salon with my two oldest kids yesterday. Fed up with my kids looking like feral children, I decided that the time was nigh for a little Great Clips action. My youngest, with her scraggly mane, needed it the worst, but Girlfriend was sawing logs on the couch, and I wasn't going to wake her for anything. She's in a whining phase, and I'm one eeeeeehhhhhhh-eeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh-eeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh from blowing a gasket and sending shrapnel in all directions.
We marched into the salon during a lull, and they were able to cut their hair right away. My son went first, gesturing to a picture of a kid on the wall and indicating that he wanted "that hair."
While he was getting his hair buzzed, my daughter and I thumbed through a few magazines, where I saw an ad for this: Juice Crittoure which is a new fragrance line for dogs from Juicy Couture. You have got to be kidding me.
Sixty Dollah? For DOG PERFUME? Not for my dog.
My son flirted shyly with the hair stylist until he had his new 'do, and then my daughter sulked her way into the chair. She wanted a little off. Just a little. Mom, jeez. Stop looking.
My son stood next to me repeatedly kissing my cheek and professing his undying love while my eight-going-on-fifteen-year-old tried to look like she wasn't looking at herself in the mirror. Catching my eye, she rolled hers and looked away.
Once her hair was trimmed, I paid and we headed home. Looking in the rear view mirror, my son caught my eye and blew me an enthusiastic kiss. My daughter caught me looking at her as she preened in the window reflection. She cracked a smile and I smiled back.
And, wow. There isn't much to that story after all. But my kids have better hair. Two of 'em, anyway. Woo!