I have recorded a few low points and down days in my time off, but today we reached a new, I don’t know, tragi-comedic apogee today. It did start like a bad joke. And then it got worse. After a promising start I should have guessed it was going too well.
There is a hairdressers at the end of our road, called Juniors, that caters especially for children, with lots of toys and exceptionally patient staff, and it turns out a whole back room for parties. And my Junior and I (because they also do adults, and it’s easier to do it together) were booked in for my pre-return to work haircut.
No.2 didn’t have a good nights sleep last night, but had slept in later than normal, and seemed fine, right up until we were about to leave, but I thought I had some leeway, and anyway was trying to keep her going to an afternoon of settling in. Where nursery was going to try napping her (good luck, they’re going to need it…). So I sent Junior up to get his haircut first, while I played with No.2 to settle her, before I thought I could get mine done.
The first half of the plan went pretty well. Junior didn’t like the electric trimmer much, but had a good haircut, and looks much smarter. No.2 hadn’t settled as much as hoped, but was fairly quiet, and had enjoyed the dolls house (note for Grandad there…). So I got in the chair. First mistake, hubris. Who do I think I am leaving both children behind me? Fool.
No.2 then rejects the toys she’s been playing with and comes to hang off the hairdressing chair and is whinging about 5/10. Which is a lot for her. The hairdresser says she doesn’t mind her being on my lap. BIG mistake. I think it was the hair. She was rubbing it into her mouth and eyes, and this made her rub them more, etc. She goes up to about 8/10.
Junior, who until this point has been quietly playing, starts acting oddly – walking round and round the room. Didn’t think too much of it until this fella appeared:
Yes, the Phantom Poo. Junior uttered the dreaded words: “Daddy my need a poo”. I get up, showering hair everywhere to rush him to the lavatory in the back room. No.2 put on floor too unceremoniously, goes to 9/10. Get him to toilet, but as we didn’t have his special seat, no poo, but clearly desperately needs one. Hairdresser has picker No.2 up to try to calm her. She’s now at 10/10, and clearly going to stay there. Sit back down to try and finish haircut.
Now the next customers walk in. Great, an audience for Act 3. Or possibly guinea pigs for the sound weapon that No.2 now is.
Junior now insists this time he will poo, get him there carrying No.2 really uncomfortably for both of us. Gets to 11/10. “It’s stuck” declares Junior. Back to the chair, tell the hairdresser just to finish it. At this point I actually look in the mirror, and realise she’s already completely removed my sideburns, which with amount of hair I have means it looks like a bowl cut. Nothing I can do by this point, so I get out as quick as I can.
(NB There is some artistic licence in this statement, and Tracy did an amazing job in extremely challenging circumstances, and I will be more than happy to go back! And I learnt how to get matted hair off skin – talcum powder.)
Obviously, the minute I take off the gown, No.2 goes quiet. As I write this, Junior is in bed calling for Mummy after a far longer nap than his younger sister had, and No.2 is covering the house in hair despite a complete change of clothes.
And still no poo….good job I love them so much!