it's all fun and games
until you're cutting your hair
with the chicken shears
The wee one and I were up in his room today, having a nice, quiet moment together. He was playing with his snap circuits and I was going through a box of old stuff, showing him things from when I was in elementary school. (Example: local newspaper clipping showing that I had solved a riddle from the previous week's paper and won five lottery tickets donated by the sheriff. Exciting!)
So we're hanging out and chatting and it's nice, because we never really have a chance to do that.
Then, all of a sudden: BZZT!
My head gets yanked to the left.
Sharp pain emanates from my scalp.
A small, "oops." and then a "let me fix it."
More yanking, scalp pain, yanking, scalp pain, etc.
The wee one has introduced his snap circuit motor to my hair.
Before I even had a chance to yell OW, QUIT IT. He said – and this is a direct quote – "I think if I turn it back on, I can get it out."
By this time I am completely, painfully, irreversibly attached, via hairball, to the snap circuit motor. Finally I manage to actually yell, OW, QUIT IT. The wee one instantly drops the motor and backs away, with his hands in the air like I'm going to shoot him.
The motor hangs limply off the top of my head like a tiny leprechaun hat made of a battery and a ball of hair.
"I'll go get the scissors!" he yells gleefully, still not fully understanding the situation, and as he runs from the room, I think "FUCK." because having a leprechaun hat made of your own hair and a snap circuit motor, while sounding fashionable, is actually quite painful and unattractive.
That's when I started to laugh. Because how could you not? I vaguely wished to be the kind of mom who, upon finding herself in an unwanted, painful leprechaun hat situation, would strike fear into the heart of the 7-year-old. The kind of mom would would be all, "Oh no you di'int," in a menacing voice feared throughout the land.
Instead, I laughed and laughed. And when we couldn't find the hair-cutting scissors, I used the kitchen shears to hack out the leprechaun hat and hand it over to the wee one. "You have to get the hair out of it," I said as gruffly as I could manage. "And don't ever do this again. What if I had been your sister?"
Then he scampered off to disentangle the hairball from his motor, and I went back upstairs to put away my box.
Afternoon mother/son bonding achieved? Check. Though when I orginally had thought of "bonding" I hadn't really imagined it would mean bonding my scalp to a battery-powered motor. Next time I will be more specific with my plans – and they will not include leprechaun hats of any type.