You know those weeks when you’ve left a power point presentation till the night before? When your kids are seemingly possessed by the devil? When your clothes dryer breaks and homeownership suddenly doesn’t seem so cool? When your kid’s rash keeps getting more and more alarming but you need to ignore it until you have a bit more free time? (We went to the doc’s yesterday–it’s papular acrodermatitis, the doc printed out pages from a rash book otherwise I wouldn’t remember. And the bottom line is that while it looks alarming it isn’t hurting him or contagious) When you attempt fartleks for the first time and realize you aren’t actually in very good shape even though you’ve been jogging for almost a year? (Although how fucking awesome is it that there is a running term called fartlek?)
Well it has been one of those weeks.
And last night I did this to my child.
I cut his hair, felt like it looked ok (I’m blaming exhaustion and a shitty week for that astonishing lack of good judgment), and sent him to bed. Seriously. This was not in the middle of the cut. This what was the original end of the cut. When he got up this morning I saw what I’d done.
Ok. So I don’t have skills with a pair of scissors. But I do have a heart somewhere deep down and went much shorter than I was planning. Look. I didn’t want to cut his hair at all. I was trying to trick him into growing it long again. But Z brought him home from T-ball on Tuesday night with a head of wet hair. From sweat. I still resisted, but Z shamed me into putting my poor child’s personal comfort over my desired aesthetics. Yes, the boys are lucky to have one sane parent.
Then I did this guy. Comparatively not too bad!
Post fartleks. Feeling the pain big time.