I like to think that I’m immune to the inherent messiness of my children. That people will cut me some slack if they happen to notice that one of them has a small smudge on their face. Or a few hairs out of place due to my inability to tame a bad case of bedhead.
I think the husband is more concerned with how the children appear in public. If they are well-groomed, that must mean that they are well cared for. I totally get this line of reasoning and try not to giggle when he needs to comb their hair or wash their face just one more time before we’re out the door. I’m sure it’s good to worry about this type of thing – I do try to ensure the kids aren’t poster children for neglect, they are always passably clean and well-dressed – but sometimes I’m too lazy and desperate to get out of the house in a timely fashion to worry about minor details.
Even though I like to think I don’t obsess about the kids’ appearance, Arlo’s hair is the bane of my existence. If you’ve seen pictures of my boy you may have noticed the hair monster that lives atop his wee head. We’ve cut his hair five times and he’s not even a year old. The problem is, I’ve always left the haircutting to his dad – Jason being more brave than I am when it comes to wielding pointy objects next to a fidgety baby’s face. Even if I managed to give him a trim without gouging out his eyes, I feared it would be a hack-job of monumental proportions. That the actual fashion police may seize him and lock him up until the bare patches regrow and he’s deemed fit to be seen by the public.
On the weekend, I summoned up my courage and decided to cut Arlo’s ridiculous mop. Like a good mother, I chased my boy around the living room with sharp scissors while he eyed me suspiciously with a look that could only mean, “What the hell are you doing, you crazy woman? And what have you done with my cuddly, non-stabby-motion-making mother?”
I’m proud to say that I did an alright job and his eyesight remains intact. I didn’t even have to haul him into one of those god-awful kiddie salons for an emergency patch job. Oh, how I hate those places. The beauty school drop outs. The kids strapped helplessly to car-shaped chairs that might as well be electric chairs they’re all screaming so violently. And since the haircut? No one has flashed my son the peace sign or asked him if he could hook them up with some decent Mary-J-Wanna. Now, that’s progress.
I was feeling quite pleased with my one clean-cut kid, even if it only lasted a few hours before his hair was decorated with little bits of food. Then, during dinner last night, Elliot ate 1/8 of a bite of food and told us she was going out to play with her friend, Hannah. Because we’ve grown tired of the whole begging/yelling/defeated drinking cycle that is dinner with a picky eater, we allowed it. We told Elliot to stay in the front yard with all the other kids, she shouted, “OKAY!” in a totally noncommittal tone and flew out the door.
Of course, as soon as she met up with her fellow wily accomplice they went inside Hannah’s house. Being the supportive spousal unit that I am, I fled the scene. I had made plans to go out and figured the husband and his trusty sidekick, Arlo were capable of fetching our little runaway without my meddling.
When I returned home later in the evening, Jason said this, “So, we really have to make sure that Elliot puts shoes on before she goes outside.” Hmm, interesting. Apparently, when Jay arrived at Hannah’s house, Elliot greeted him with her shirt on backwards, a victim of dress-up play follies. Then, while Jay and Hannah’s parents looked for Elliot’s shoes, she informed them that she hadn’t worn any. She’d been so excited to play with her friend that she’d ran two house-lengths outside in stocking feet .
So, my poor mortified husband walked his shoeless, backward-shirt-wearing daughter home. I pictured him during their quick walk of shame, fearful that our entire street was tsk-tsking his inability to properly clothe his preschooler. In reality, I doubt anyone saw them, much less contacted the appropriate authorities to inform them of the Great Shoe Mishap of ‘08. Most of my neighbors, particularly Hannah’s parents, are lovely, non-judgmental people. They’re pretty laid back about the harmless antics of silly kids, especially when they know those kids are well-loved. Now I just have to convince Jason of that before he gets it in his head that we have to move so that we can start fresh in a neighborhood where no one knows what kind of parents we really are.
I thought if Arlo could keep his hair long, him and Stinky could hook up as the town hoodlums. We’re totally going for the long-haired hippy look with ours – if nothing else, to annoy our mothers (terrible people we are).
I hope she has shoes on today……given the HORRIFIC weather I’m observing out my window……
I finally learned to check my children’s faces for dirt when we arrived at a NICE resturant and had no way of cleaning little miss things face, which happened to be covered in chocolate and no I have no idea how long the chocolate was in the car! Needless to say, I always carry wipes or a washcloth now.
I just attacked Isaac with the scissors two days ago…he was getting a bit of a mullet…that wont do. I’m astonished that you were able to get the job done. Being a hairdresser I even have a hard time. I usually use my razor on them because it has guards and I can’t maim anyone. I can’t believe people work in those crazy salons. I HATE cutting most kid’s hair. Their parents ALWAYS promise McDonalds if the kids are good…then after they’ve screamed and fought me the parents say “k lets go to McDonalds now”…every time. Then there’s the other parents who wont let me cut their hair if the kids are wailing…they just taken them home and cuddle them and cry with them. GRRRRRR. Ha ha ha. Good work though…we need an after photo!
Don’t worry about the shoes, or the socks, or the clothes, or the hair! Kids don’t care about that shit, and neither do most adults. You’re so fortunate to live in a neighborhood where Elliot can be play across the street and be semi independent – it’s so rare. As for Arlo, I doubt that he will have Edward Scissorhands dreams, he’ll just be laughing that he can occassionally outrun his Mom!
Picky Eaters: It will never end, sorry. My 13 year old still plugs her nose when she has to eat zucchini. Drama Queen! Whatever! There’s a rice shortage or haven’t you heard?! (as if they care)
*snort*
He would be forever traumatized by what our neighbors see on a regular basis!
Don’t worry about how they look – your husband sounds like he deserves a gold medal for trying so hard!!!
There is nothing nicer than seeing kids who look like they have had fun as opposed to those that look perfect but unhappy …..
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I don’t see any problems here….let Arlo’s hair grow, let Elliot continue being shoeless, buy some drums and start an herb garden. Everyone will just think you’ve started a commune.
Hair is very challenging. I have a curly haired girl who live in mortal terror of barrettes and pony hairs. (By which, she obviously means hair elastics.)
And the shoes? Maybe she couldn’t find the right pair for her outfit. Perhaps no shoes was indeed the best fashion choice at the time.
husbands are funny aren’t they? we just had a similar conversation this week only it was in regards to me. you know not showering, throwing on a hat and going to target. sometimes you just must leave the house and showering, blow-drying etc just eat up time.
precious out of the house time!
For the most part I’m pretty laid back about how my kids look in public. A smudge on their face or a spot on their shirt doesn’t usually bother me. The one exception in Elle’s hair. I cannot stand to have thos lovely red curls look messy.
The day after Little A was born my husband brought Elle to the hospital for a visit and her hair was all ratted up into a huge knot on the back of her head. I listened in horror as he told me about all the places he and Elle had gone together that day. (The store, the bank, his office to pick something up, Target.) All I could think as he was talking was that everyone who saw Elle that day looked at her and thought “Look at that girl’s hair! Doesn’t her mother care about her at all?!” Irrational, I know. I blame it on post-partum hormones. Or I would if the whole thing didn’t still make me want to cry when I think about it today.
Something has to give in my opinion. They can’t have clean teeth AND clean faces. That is far too much work for me.
Men are funny like that. My husband freaks out if Alexis is out in public with a stain on her shirt. You would think that since he does the laundry he would appreciate the need to not blow through her entire wardrobe for silly little stains, but he doesn’t.
I loved your description of the kiddie hair salons! Ugh, we took the girls there for the first haircuts. Fifty bucks and a stapled plastic baggies with a few curls we left, never to return and they haven’t had a haircut since. It’s a much easier decision to make with girls
I’m relating to Jason a little here because my daughter wore the exact same outfit two days in a row to preschool. Initially I thought it was because I had taken her one day and then my mom got her dressed and took her the next day and didn’t know what she’d worn. But nope my mom pretty much just let her wear the same thing because she really liked it. I was slightly freaked.
But yeah…I suppose it’s really not the worst thing in the world .
Ha, ha, ha! Yes.
The shame! How can you show your face out the door again?
I’m not big on shoes. I went barefoot a lot as a kid. But grubby faces, ugh. Snotty noses…double ugh.
My husband’s the same way. He’s always tucking in the kids’ shirts and re-combing hair I’ve just combed.
I’m laughing at the image of you running around the house, chasing Arlo with the scissors!
hmm Jason should have gone home shoeless too and then it would have looked normal!
Maybe a Flowbee for Arlos hair?
Haha. Poor Jason. Steve couldn’t care less about details like that, in fact yesterday it was pouring rain and he took the girls to my dad’s so I could finish making the house picture perfect for the open house. I met them there only to discover that Freya was wearing open toed sandals with socks. In the rain, the cold, cold rain.
We left the house today with Ella looking a mess. I considered changing her clothes, but decided that it just didn’t matter enough for me to take my chubby bum up the stairs to retrieve a clean outfit.
Your Jason would have been mortified.