Hair

I can't focus on work.

I'm accomplishing nothing today.

Probably because it's the day after Halloween and I ate a LOT of chocolate yesterday.

And drank a lot of orange juice.

Or perhaps it's because baby Charlotte is moving about like crazy today and seems to have developed a bad case of the hiccups - possibly due to all the chocolate and orange juice - and the rhythmic bumping and jerking (while lovely) is seriously distracting.

It may be that my maternity pants are too big and keep sliding down every time I stand up taking my equally useless and uncomfortable maternity underwear down with them forcing me to do a weird "pant & and underwear pull up jig" every time I need to step away from my desk ... which is a lot ... so instead I'm just sitting at my desk trying to find something to do that won't require me to stand up.  Ever.

Or it could simply be that the temperature in my office is currently sitting somewhere around the thirty-eight degree Celsius mark and my nose and eyelids are perspiring.

All of the above seem to be contributing nicely toward me NOT getting anything done.

So I'm just sitting here thinking instead.

And reflecting on my wonderful, nutty, weekend ...

Jackie Chan's hair was out of control.  And so was our house.  Both of these items related because they showed serious neglect on the part of Curtis and I.

So on Saturday I stayed home and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.  I needed to.  Early nesting I suppose.  (That and my Mom is coming on Friday and I didn't think she needed to add "potential level two hording at daughters house" to the list of things she worries about in the wee small hours of the morning.)

And Curtis took the boys to run errands and to take Jackie Chan to get his hair cut.

Huge mistake.  Huge.

When they got home I took one look at Jackie Chan and very nearly died.  It was the Worst. Cut. Ever.

If I was blindfolded, on a roller coaster, with dull kitchen scissors and stumps for hands, I could have done a better job.

I yelled a bit.  At Curtis.  Because I needed to vent and he was there and the idiot who'd butchered my child's hair wasn't.

And then I called and yelled at the place where Jackie Chan's hair massacre had just taken place.

And then we got him an appointment where I go to get my hair done.  An emergency appointment.

He's eight.

But bad haircuts are traumatic and Jackie Chan had ALREADY been a victim of one traumatic hair cutting fiasco this year and two in the span of a year is just too much for anyone to handle.

So off we went to the appointment and he now has the best hair he's ever had.

And Jackie Chan has since informed Curtis and I that he would like to continue to see "so-and-so" at "such-and-such a salon" because "he clearly knows what he's doing and knows how to do MY hair right."


Yup.  Jackie Chan is eight and now goes to a salon - where he has his own personal hairstylist - to get his hair cut.


I realize that many of you will think this is all just a bit ridiculous, but what can I say ....


... it would seem as though the times, well, they are a changin' ...