The mops on their heads have been driving me absolutely crazy! I had reached the point where I couldn’t stand it for just one more minute. Now normally my husband would just break out the clippers but one stubborn little child wanted to still keep it “kind of long.” Well, it most definitely needed a clean up. The trim job I did to the little guy’s bangs was pretty poor as well.

We finished up dinner tonight and I checked online to see if Snip-its was still open. Nope. However, the SuperCuts nearby was still open. Out the door I went with two kids in tow without even cleaning up the dishes (that’s how badly I wanted this done).

We arrived and they were kind of excited. Deacon volunteered to go first. As I am explaining to the stylist that I want her to clean it up, not too short. Clippers or scissors, which ever she prefers…it happened. My kryptonite. My head began to whirl…please dear Lord this is NOT happening right now. Please. Please. Please. “Mam, your little one is throwing up!”

Dun, dun, dunnnn. My first thought, I will admit, was not my son. It was “please don’t lose it. What am I going to do if I lose it too?” It was then followed by an, “Oh [insert curse word] that is [cursing] carpet!” Carpet now covered in cous cous and olives. For all of you that knows cous cous…it’s a bitch to clean up, even when it’s a few pieces spilled over from a plate onto the table.

I hurried him to the bathroom and he finished up, not before gracing the hallway in front of the bathroom with his projectile concoction. Mortification then set in. Followed by the woman, who just butchered my son’s hair, handing me a stack of towels to clean up the mess and following that up with a “Throw those away when you’re done. We’re Board of Health certified.” Applying the undertone of “Get your kid the hell out here, but not before you sanitize everything.”

I immediately called for back-up. Thank God my husband was home and able to deliver clean clothes. I would have lost it all if I had to change the poor baby. I’m dry-heeving just retelling it.

I went back to the front to try to clean the mess off of the carpet. Luckily the front door was open and there was a fresh clean breeze coming through. I asked for a vacuum to get up that stinking cous cous… “We’re out of vacuum bags.” What!?

All I wanted was a couple of heads trimmed. In and out. What I got: one bad hair cut, a bag full a puke clothes, a kid who still has a mop on his head, and having to dish out a big tip while hanging my head in shame. I will never go there again!

Adventures in motherhood. Isn’t it grand?

Now where’s my wine?