Thursday, May 24, 2007
I looked Tess in the eye and asked her -- quite calmly, I must say, and with genuine curiosity -- whether the hairstylist Grandma took her to up north had done that on purpose. I got two lies in a row, then, when I promised not to get mad, she admitted to cutting it herself.
"And where did you put the hair you cut off?"
"In a bucket. In my room."
Henceforth the scissors have been relinquished and she must do all crafts in my presence. Her hair is still long in back, so she's got a kind of modified (gack) mullet. Which will look just GREAT when she is flower girl at my brother's wedding next month. SIGH.
I gave my MIL a chance to even it up, and she hacked off too much on the other side. She usually does a great job with Tess's bangs and I've even had her cut some off the back in the past; Tess must have wiggled this time. Grr.
All right, people, it's got to be said. It was cute (and I loved everyone's reaction) when he was 4 months old and 19 pounds. I was even okay when he hit 22 pounds at 6 months. But if one more person comments on how much they love fat babies, I'm gonna start takin' names. Because I have constant back pain and he can understand more than you realize.
Oh my God, I've got to go munch those bread dough thighs. Later 'gators.