Oopsie’s remedy.

Remember this post? Yes? No? Well ever since that day, I’ve decided to let his hair grow. It needed to grow. It had to grow. Even if it meant that my child looked as if he were some Lost Boy from Peter Pan’s gang. His hair was so untamable by this point that I gave in. I really wanted to let it grow for another week or so. Just “fresh” enough for his Baptism in the next few weeks.



We were asked by his stylist, “Why did you let his hair get so long and crazy?” I lifted up the hair that was covering the tiny little fibers that could perhaps resemble hair. She then nodded and said, “I see” and asked what I wanted. I told her that I wanted something that can disguise that little patch of non-hair and yet look adorable. As you can see by the picture his hair was overgrown—by a lot! This is what his face looks like when Thomas the Tank Engine has my little boy under his spell. That, and all you get are a few “Choo-choos” under his breath.



While Michael got his hair cut, daddy was busy elsewhere. He had decided that since Michael didn’t need his assistance today, that Monkey Balls could use some can of whoop-@$$.

At the end of our visit at my favorite place, this is what Michael ended up looking like:

A little bit better, don’t you agree?

Oopsie!

Do you see what I see (sorry if that song sticks?) Yep. That’s one giant bald spot on my son. I’d love to tell you that it was all him, but it wasn’t. I’ve let my husband believe it was and I can’t get the courage to tell him it was me. Yes. Me. I finally told him after a pink swear and “Cross your heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in your eye.”

 

Backstory: My husband is somewhat cheap. If he can do it, he’ll try and save money and do it. Every month (Michael’s hair grows fast, just like his mama’s) he hates hearing, “Michael needs a haircut.”  This usually means that I’ll hear Steve say, “I’ll do it!” and me answering, “No! He moves to much.”

 

Anyways, back to the story…

I saw my husband’s clippers getting ready to be used yesterday and I picked them up. Somehow I got the great idea to just snip a wee bit off the top since it was so tall already. Just a wee bit I thought. Michael moved and BAM! Hair, long hair, on my lap. Michael softens the blow with, “Uh oh!” I start laughing. Hard. Just like the online acronym, ROTFLMAO. Just like that. My husband comes into our bedroom and he asked what was going on. I show him and let him assume it was all Michael.

 

Yep. That was my Saturday.