All I wanted was for them to get a haircut.
Last week, Lizzie says to me, “Mom, I need a haircut.”
“I know sweetie, but it’s just not going to happen between now and next week. Let me get through the weekend.”
When your ten year old asks for a haircut, you know its bad.
But there just was no way. It was a more than insane weekend with the swim meet, the dance, the awards, the birthday parties, the memorial service, the Eagle Scout Honor Court, etc. etc. This weekend is relatively normal with only a few things going on, but next weekend will be just as bad. Two meets this time. So bad, that I got a hotel room for Abby and I so we could at least get clean between sessions, maybe even sleep an hour or two. But I digress, that is a future post, I’m sure.
Today was the day.
Sun is shining.
Swim practices, class parties and preschool sing-a-longs wouldn’t start until later, Lucy and Emma would BOTH be home. It was a perfect plan.
Until it wasn’t.
It began with a knock down drag out with Bennett and a little “tough love” of how a son is supposed to speak to his mother and how he isn’t. I won’t bore you, but his gift of snark collided and crashed with my inability to tolerate it. This all happened around 6:30am, 25 minutes before the bus leaves our neighborhood. I made my point with my son with regards to my feelings about his mouth and his guilt set it.
Which prevented movement and conscious thought.
Of any kind.
He sat at the table and pouted for a good 17 minutes of his 25. Finally I told him I wasn’t going to drive him to school if he missed the bus and that he could just stay home all day and miss his party. That got him moving.
Before they left, I said to Lizzie (who was ready to go, board game in hand), “We’ll go get y’all’s hair cut today after school.”
Bennett piped up, “So we are car riders?” (Throughout the school year, the only way to fit hair cuts into our schedule was if I checked them out of school at the very last minute possible, 1:45. I guess I’m glad he understands this.)
“No, you guys are on early release today, so we’ll just go after you get home.” But Bennett was stressed and weepy about missing the bus and no snack and how Lizzie had already left, so either he didn’t process this or plain didn’t hear it.
Not another word was said or mentioned until I got an email from his teacher inquiring about the lack of a “car rider note.” I explained the situation and told her that, “No, he needs to ride the bus home.”
In the ensuing craziness of a water balloon fight with his class, his teacher didn’t have a chance to read the email until later … after Ben had left to go to with all the car riders. Long story short, he didn’t get on the bus.
Now, this wouldn’t typically be a problem. The school called, I was frustrated with him, but no biggie, I’d just wait until Lizzie got home and we’d go get him. But no …
Lucy and Emma, who’d gone to have lunch and promised to be home by 12:45 texted.
“Mom, I need a hair cut too, can Lucy just drop me off?”
“Sure,” I texted back to Emma. “You’ll have to wait on me, but I’ll be there when they get home.” (Note I didn’t know Ben had missed the bus at this point.)
Lucy dropped off Emma, and went across the street to the Apple store to pick up her computer, but when she left, traffic was so bad because of road construction, that she detoured. A looong way out of the way. Meanwhile at this point, the school had called, Mary was home, I couldn’t leave her to go get Ben or Emma, Lizzie was on the bus and Lucy was driving around West Cobb.
Lucy finally got home, 15 minutes late and I left the house to go grab Lizzie at the bus stop so I could drop her off with Emma (who’d now been at the shop an hour), run to pick up Ben and get back to the hair cut place. But of course of all days, today is the day the bus was 20 minutes late (see road construction comment above).
FINALLY, almost half an hour after 1pm (a full hour and 15 minutes after school let out), I’d gotten Bennett and we were at the hair cut place.
When people say to me, “I don’t know how you do it …” referring to the scheduling of our crazy family, I often think of it as air traffic controlling. Planes are landing and taking off all over the place, and it’s my job to make sure they don’t crash.
Every now and then, they crash.
But at least their hair cuts look nice.