Yesterday I took the kids to get haircuts. Now you wouldn't think this is a big deal and for 4ft it isn't -- he loves LOVES to get his hair cut. The Grumpybutt does not and to say he hates it isn't a strong enough word to describe the loathing he has for the whole process. I even pay more to take them to a kid specialty salon and still he acts like every strand of hair that is cut is a painful and personal affront to his person.
He goes limp. He screams. He cries. He whimpers. And the whole time he tries to burrow into me as I try to keep the hair from getting in his mouth while murmuring words of encouragement and trying not to show how embarrassed I am that he's acting like the hair stylist is cutting him.
I swore the last time I'd never do it again without the Husband there to stand with him while I pretended he was someone else's child. (Does that make me a bad person? Oh well.) It's exhausting to get his hair done. But there I found myself, alone, with three kids, walking into the hair salon.
Fun times. Never again. I know I've said it before but I mean it this time.
Now today against my better judgement I'm taking all three kids, by myself (I'm hoping my mom descends upon me like an avenging angel and goes with me) to get an Easter picture done. Again, 4ft I'm not worried about. He canNOT wait to get on his little Easter suit (that he insisted on getting, don't look at me like that) and cheese for the camera. The Snugglebear will look adorable in her Easter finest and say nary a word (since she can't talk) and will easily get her picture taken (I hope). However, in a fit of madness I got the Grumpybutt a matching Easter suit which I shall be wrestling onto his protesting person and pray to the gods of photography that I get at least ONE picture where his demon nature isn't showing.
What was I thinking?