Took the boys for much-needed haircuts last week. Haircuts are especially necessary because they are the one time I know that some form of soap goes near their heads. I used to insist on shampoo every day because it trickles down and I was therefore guaranteed that their faces and hands would touch soap daily. But they’ve started locking me out of the bathroom; I can guarantee nothing. Recently, a mother of one of Efram’s friends told me that my sweet boy has been boasting that the secret behind his no-fail mohawk is the fact that he hasn’t used shampoo in three weeks. Apparently dirty hair does more tricks.
Here he is getting his head cleaned.
This is the same boy who recently developed a foot infection because he’d been wearing the same pair of socks for anywhere between eleven and sixteen days. By the time I found the socks, they were so revolting I could have cracked them in half. Lucky socks aren’t all that lucky if they give you leprosy. (He thinks I am sending him to sleep-away camp for two weeks but the boy is a walking infection; how am I supposed to do that?)
The one downside to haircuts is that the place we go is attached to a toy store. It’s actually in back of a toy store, so you can’t avoid the toys. Whoever isn’t getting a haircut bombards me with requests to buy all sorts of things in which I have no interest in buying.
XL fart bombs? How much less offensive are the medium ones? And why, oh why, would a mother buy a six pack?
Bennett assured me that he’d only used them outdoors (I’m not as dumb as I look), and told me that buying six of them was a great deal. Luckily for me, the toy store closed before the haircuts were done. So, we left the place with clean heads, and fart-bomb free.