Lying to your kids makes you a better parent...

Dear Cheeks,

By now you know that I lied to you when we went to the salon on Tuesday. Though you're not as traumatized as you were when we left, I know you still haven't forgotten that I lied right to your face without even stuttering. I'd like to say a few things in my defense about why I lied to you and then tricked you into getting your hair cut.

1) You won't let me brush your hair in the morning.

2) You won't let me put your hair up after the non-existent brushing.

3) You get food in your hair every.single.day [you know this drives daddy crazy].

Needless to say, those are three very good reasons to get your hair cut. An added bonus is that your new first grade teacher will stop wondering if your mother has enough money to invest in a brush.

Even though you're only six and probably won't understand this, I just want to tell you that you can't get your hair cut like mine b/c your hair was shorter before we even set foot into the salon.

When the hair cut lady and I were whispering in the corner, we were trying to figure out how to get the back of your hair to look like this without you realizing how much was actually being cut off.



So I just wanted to say that I'm sorry I lied to your face deceived you.

Just remember, it wasn't all bad.



Love,
Momma

I Really Just Don't Understand

Last night (well, early this morning) Little Man woke up and started crying at the top of his lungs. "Waaah. Moooom. Waaahhh." I rolled over and looked at the clock, realized it was 3 in the morning, decided if it was that important he'd come find me on his own and rolled over and went back to sleep. Only for the next two hours, he continued crying screaming. Finally, around 5:30, I couldn't take it anymore and went in his room to find out what the problem was. He shudderingly told me his tummy and head were aching. I asked if he needed Tylenol and he nodded. "Yes, please". Oh, super polite now that we've gotten mommy out of bed, aren't we?

I go into the kitchen to get him a Tylenol and some water and he follows me in, looking awfully damn pleased with himself now that I'm stumbling around the house and he isn't all alone in his misery. I give him the Tylenol, ask if he's better and send him back to bed.

Now I know all of you are looking at me like I'm the worst mother in the world. I let my child scream for TWO HOURS before I got up to see what was wrong with him? There's a special place in hell reserved for people like me, right? Except..he's 9. NINE.

I'm sorry, but I don't understand why a freaking nine year old would lie in bed and SCREAM at the top of his lungs for two hours instead of just getting up and coming into my room to tell me he's not well. When I asked him about this he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled. SMILED.

You can't tell me he didn't do it on purpose.

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Welcome to Not Dead Yet, where Casee and I come to be thankful that we're still alive (and that our progeny is as well).