Sunday, September 16, 2007

Blood, tears, and Ikea

It was an exciting day for Liam yesterday, full of highs and lows, good and bad, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. This picture was taken when we finally found him after he'd been told he needed a hair cut. For some strange reason he was not excited about this.

The original idea had been just to trim a little above his ears. Didn't think it would be a big issue since the last time Bern had done it he didn't fight it. No crying. Might have had something to do with seeing Connor's hair being cut first the last time without him crying. This time Connor escaped the cut. Anyway, Daddy got handed the scissors after Liam buried his face in Mommy's neck. I hate scissors. Cutting the hair of small feral animals scares the hell out of me. Too much thrashing. Too many eyes, ears, noses, too much innocent skin. And true to my fears, I cut him just above his right ear. I cut him. I MADE BLOOD COME OUT OF MY CHILD! Sure it hurt him, but it's 8:30 in the morning and I already need alcohol and therapy.

Now since I'd already made him look like a circus freak before cutting him (I MADE BLOOD COME OUT OF MY CHILD!) and scissors were no longer an option, it was out with the razor. Wheee! The scary noisy razor. By this point Liam is begging to get in the shower, which he hates since it means a hair wash, just to put an end to the torture. Sorry, buddy, that's the next part of our floor show. The shaving took about 3 to 4 hours, give or take. Turns out his head really wasn't the size of a beach ball, he just had a LOT of hair.

Then it was off to Ikea.

Spinning in Ikea from Zoo Keeper on Vimeo.
Ikea is a magical place. Ikea is Swedish for yogurt cones! It's also a place where your 2 and 4 year olds can loose their freakin minds. It's like a giant version of every house, including your own, where you've been told not to run around in. Around every corner is a new living room or kitchen. Hundreds of beds to jump on.

Sofas and arm chairs. Kitchens full of drawers and cupboard doors to bang. Heaven. I say to hell with the little ball cage thingy you can leave the kids playing in while you shop, let the adults sit in there and add a bar. Give the kids free run of the entire store. After an hour or so you go find them curled up on a sectional or the bin full of sheep skin rugs and off you go, everybody's happy.

Giant bunk bed? Absolutely not.

1 comment:

  1. Hubby lied to me. Ikea is supposed to be Swedish for crap.


Come on, sailor. I love you long time.