Today was the day of the boys monthly hair cut.
Otherwise known as "Aunt Jill the Beautician takes twice the recommended amount of Xanax."
I've changed their diapers, got them dressed, and tried to make them do something as simple as finish eating their dinner before commencing with whatever is that particular nights choice of wrestling match is. (For the record, it's usually the one where Rakes hits Trot with a light saber until he cries or kicks Rakes in the gibleys. Whichever comes first.)
I've seen them both twitching like a tweaker on meth while waiting for me to open up the bag of gummi bears, practically run in place while I try and pour apple juice in a sippy cup before they commence the ultimate freak out, and watched them both stammer like they have Tourette's Syndrome as I fix lunch for them.
So I have the greatest admiration that Jill hasn't jammed the thinning shears into her eardrum or ran screaming out the door of the salon while attempting to perform the beauty shop equivilant of trying to horsecollar a rabid mongoose.
And yeah; I'm well aware Rakes looks exactly like that kid from Slingblade with his hair cut short.It's at least one place on his body I know he can't be hiding any deadly weapons.
There’s Not Enough
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