Thomas surveying his carnage . . .
Taken from Thomas' Journal. February 24, 2009
Dear Thomas,
This morning I realized that I am in desperate need of a shower, and that I should be sure to take it before going to the library. And also that perhaps we could walk there and get incredible exercise. Looking at you and realizing that you hadn't had a bath in oh-so-long, I hurried you in a dropped you beside your little foam letters you threw at Dad this morning during his shower. While you splashed I serveyed the plethora of baby gadgets, toys, and the giant Nesquik bottle that you put in the bathtub last night, and Dad put on the floor this morning. While drying you off I couldn't help looking at your long hair, and I decided to go for a little trim trim.
Needless to say after a couple minutes I was sitting on the toilet seat, holding the Thomas-in-a-towel baby in my legs and trying to comb and snip. Of course you were wiggle and wriggling to grab the cosmetic counter items. Every turn of your head I would reposition my fingers to try to catch some hair in between the scissors.
The top went by uneventfully, and then I moved on to the sides, and around your lovely big calic. (the small calic being finished up top.) Last time I cut your locks you sat nicely (in a towel of course) on the counter and looked in the mirror. But every once in a while you wanted to grab the scissors and touch what was going on. Due to your new strength and dexterity, I decided the non-mirror route may have a better chance. However, at this point, most of the reachable cosmetics were now on the floor, and I was running out of fascinating girl stuff like mascara to hand to you, and you were getting increasingly feisty, trying to grab the scissors, and throwing the comb when you got the chance. A wave of inspiration hit and I put a couple of coveted foam letters on the side of the tub, and laid you across my lap, in the towel, to reach for them while I trimmed around your ears and the back of your neck. This lasted about 45 seconds.
I succombed to setting you up on the counter, standing in the nude, looking at your face in the mirror, and playing with "toys" like my hair straightener and deoderant on the shelf. Of course, such a great angle can naught but be taken advantage of, and the counter was soon sprayed in a way that only little boys can spray onto a contact solution bottle that strangely resembled a stylized fire hydrant.
Suffice it to say, I was quickly and carefully placing random "wet" items into the sink for future rinsing off and sanitizing (once the haircut was finally finished) whilst of course balancing the chore of keeping you from falling off the counter when you peered over the precipice to see where the toys landed after great pitching feats.
I resumed the task at hand, finishing off the very back, and trying to even out the places where you had turned your head suddenly, creating jagged lines. Alas I finished! I would like to say there were no tears, and that little thin hairs were not attracted to a small puddle on the counter but I cannot.
Looking at you proudly standing on your pedestal I realized you did not come naturally furry like some other people in your family, and that we must soon wash off your coat of hair. I turned on the shower, and reached my arms out and rinsed you off. You cradled yourself in the fetal position and turned your face out of the stream. Pulling you out I realized that since everything in the room was covered in hair I better go get another towel. I set you down on the mat, ran out closing the door behind me, grabbed another towel, and rushed back in just in time to see you step off the mat, feel your legs sliding out from underneath you, and slide gracefully onto your backside. I scooped you up before you could cry, and was towel-drying your hair and taking pictures before you could say, "Jackie Robinson."
After much yawning I decided a nap was in order, we can go to the library when you wake up. I'm getting in the shower.
Love,
Mom
Sorry I haven't posted in so long! I've had writers cramp. Pictures to be posted later. :)
Haircut . . .
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