The Haircut Thing

It's what happens when your kids go unsupervised for who knows how long...

I was out of town from Wednesday to late Saturday night. One of the things I love about Patrick is he really is a good dad, and when I'm out of town I feel secure in our childrens' well-being. Now, they do go out to eat 3/4 of the time, but I guess in the whole scheme of things, what do a few extra meals of chicken strips and french fries matter? And I don't really think that they have a standard bedtime, but what I don't know about that probably keeps our marriage in tact.

But let's get to the point here, okay?

It's late when I get home Saturday night, the kids are asleep, so all I do is sneak into their bedrooms and kiss them goodnight. Pat and I talk for about 30 minutes, and not once did he mention hair, scissors, or the combination of the two.

So before I go out to run Sunday morning, I peek in on my precious little darlings. Parker is kind of awake, so I kneel by his bed while we talk about how terribly and tragically we missed each--there's something wrong with his hair!! I see what looks at first like a shadow on his head! After closer inspection, it was no trick of lighting. It was a streak of hair stubble.

You know I began to fume. How did he do this where did he do this why did he do this and why in the heck did his father not STOP HIM FROM DOING THIS!?!

So I'm back in our bedroom in less than 3 seconds where I unkindly rattle Pat from his sweet slumber. And his response will I know not suprise many of you in the least.

HE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW PARKER HAD GIVEN HIMSELF THIS REVERSE-MOHAWK!

How do you not know that your kid has a pair of scissors in his sister's closet and has taken several lengthy swipes off of his crown? How do you give your kid a bath that evening, wash his newly fashioned hair, and not even notice?

I wanted to scream, Is this what happens when there is no supervision?!?

Yes, yes it is. And just as I was about to denounce my husband as an incompetent father, I remembered that just a couple of weeks ago, Parker had free reign in the kitchen long enough to dump together a hideous concoction of crackers and lemonade. So I just shut my mouth and I thanked God that Parker didn't decide to make fried eggs that night.

Our kids are doomed.

Anyway, here was the damage:

So this afternoon, we went to the local Super Cuts to get a heavy-duty buzz cut. Pat says we're sending him to the Marines the day after tomorrow. Don't you love how our little soldier looks now?

Fortunately for Peyton, she was able to capitalize on her Daddy's weak moment, and she got her long-awaited haircut herself. She loves it. I love it.

All's well that ends well.

The Cooking Thing

About a year ago, I found the GREATEST toys at a garage sale.

Fake food. There was pizza, ice cream, hamburgers, french fries, fake fruits, vegetables, and condiments.

I'm sure I got them all for a steal, but I really didn't care. I was so excited for the kids to get their imaginations revved up!

Now Denise and Pat gave me a lot of grief. They thought the toys were ridiculous. I thought they were inspiring. In fact, they were so inspiring that apparently, Parker felt that he has graduated from the fake food.
Here's what he mixed up for me with a couple of weeks ago, with the real stuff:

The kids and I had gotten home kind of late that evening. We had been to the gym and then stopped by Chic-Fil-A to grab some supper for the kids. I had sat them down at the kitchen table to eat the rest of their nuggets and fries--the rest they had devoured on the way home. I thought with them eating it might be safe to jump in the shower quick.

Boy, was I wrong. When I came out of the bathroom, I was greeted by Parker and he was proud to present me with my supper that he had created by his own self.

"Look what I made for you, Mom! Are you hungry?"

One glance at the concoction and I completely lost my appetite, but since I'm such a great mom--you know, the kind that leaves her 3 and 4 year olds unattended--I kept a warm smile on my face.

"Why don't you take a bite?" I asked him.

"No. It's all for you," he beamed. Lovely.

Here's what I think he included in his recipe: half a sleeve of saltines, cheezits, I think marshmellows, Dora Fruit Snacks, and the rest of my large lemonade. The lemonade was a nice touch, I must say. It added an ever-so-subtle tang, not to mention improving the dry texture to one of moist slime.

I know, because he watched me until I took a bite.

The Country Thing

We spent a good portion of the summer in a small, quaint village.

It was in a southeastern valley region.

Of Nebraska.

Now my kids have been city dwellers for their entire lives. Patrick, too, has never lived outside of the city limits.

I, however, lived the first 13 years of my life on a farm, and the next 5 in a town with the population of 70. 70 people. The sign did say "63," but when my family moved in, we raised the number to 70.

That's a 10% increase.

That's also really sad.

I learned to drive a tractor before I learned to drive a car (when I was about 8 years old). I learned how to dress a chicken (which means you chop off its head with an ax, dunk it in scorching hot water, and pull the feathers by the handful, for those of you who thought we put them in their Sunday best). I learned to sew pillows, simple tops, simple skirts, curtains, and prom dresses, and in that order. I learned to ride a horse and clip a mane and hooves. I learned the difference between milo and shattercane and walked local fields every morning for 3 weeks every August.

Yeah, fun stuff.

But still, I'd like for my kids to have some inkling--and maybe someday appreciation--for small-town country life. I'd like them to learn a few things when we go back to my hometown. I'm not talking Laura Ingalls Wilder here. I'm not going to ship them off to some Amish camp to learn how to live off of the land. If they'd just understand that milk comes from a cow and not the dairy isle at the local Kroger, I'll be happy.

So here's the progress we made this summer.

First, Parker is fascinated with the irrigation pivot systems. He wants to know what they do, how they move, why they move, where the water comes from...why aren't there any plants yet to water? He's also interested in the grain elevators. He gets that a farmer will harvest the corn from the field using a combine, and then they take it to the elevators. Then it goes to the store and we buy bread!

An amazing and miraculous transformation, for sure. But it's a start.

Peyton is enthralled with horses. She has learned to stop, to go, to turn. But really, she's much more interested in their bodily functions. Why do they lift their tails when they poop? Why do they spread their legs when they potty?

Which shouldn't make this news too suprising: She learned to squat.

Last night the kids were in the backyard having a white trash pool party--playing in the sprinklers. Pat yells at me to come outside so that I can witness our daughter with her bikini bottoms around her ankles and her hinny just inches above the grass. "I goin' potty!" she exclaims.

A lovely sight, I'm sure you can imagine. One of my proudest mom moments.

Parker has taken advantage a grassy nook a time or two, but for some reason it's much more troubling when your darling little daughter bares her butt in front of God and everybody. Why is that?

But a better question is, which one of my brilliant and classy sisters taught her this new trick?