Doh!

I did it again, Dancing with the Stars:


Instead of doing something useful like cleaning clutter, scrubbing bathrooms, vacuuming, or coloring my hair, I got sucked into the madness of your show. It's all your fault with the crazed B-List, or E-List stars (even Kathy Griffin turned down your show), doing their fancy dances and even hearing one poor rendition of an excellent Alicia Keys (!) tune. But I enjoyed the "What's Up Pussy Cat" number sung so well as I waltzed with weasel baby and sang to him in the beautiful alto soprano voice that I hear in my head. And here I thought we were already into week six at least, but it is only week three. Time is just crawling along -- what it is it about this season's show? I shall have to miss you tomorrow because I am already committed to waste 90 minutes on the more important presidential debate with performances by two staid and apparently sane men wearing glitter-free suits. No razzle dazzle for me tomorrow night, DWTS. Don't even tempt me to watch your show after the debate. I won't even take a peek, no sir!


Tonight poor Cloris Leachman lost her wig in her confusing dance number and I was reminded that Gabie needs his hair cut. He decided not too long ago that he hates hair cuts. Last spring I took advantage of cutting his hair when he had strep throat. Honest, I did not know he had strep throat until the day after the photo was taken. If you have a determined toddler, get him while he's sick! And use lots of chupa chups (lollipops, to you).

This is what Gabie's hair looks like under normal circumstances. Nana was able to cut his hair that time:

I tried to get the same effect, but he would not let me cut over the his right ear.

The damage was already done. I bravely carried on around his head, determined to finish the job.

I'm no longer allowed to give hair cuts. So out of desperation, Mike waits until Gabie is fully asleep, and then snip! snip! snip!:

He usually only gets the bangs, though. At this point, we just want Gabie to be able to see. It looks like a bowl is slowly growing on top of his head, kind of mop-topish. My next move: take him to the place at the mall where kids sit on carousel-type seats and watch videos while getting their hair cut.

Usually Nana cuts his hair, but he won't let her since the Syrup Incident. Two-year-olds have long memories. If only we had known there was sticky syrup in his hair then it would not have been so painful as Nana combed through it to cut it. So, last spring, about a month after I chopped his hair, I took him to a salon. I was going to lie and tell the stylist that he had cut his own hair, but then I thought, what if she notices the cuts in back where I tried to follow Nana's line? What then? Would I say that he held up a mirror to see the back of his head as he supposedly sneaked the scissors? Of course, she asked who butchered his hair and I could not lie. It still did not go well for all of us. He screamed while I held him (forcibly) in my lap as she got in a snips when he'd stop squirming in my arms. I told the stylist cutting his hair, when she looked like she was going to bail, "Cut it. Just. Do. It." Fun times.

Did I tell you Gabie has a piercing scream? Turn down the volume, I'm warning you. Here he is when he was about 15 months old (and me, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen). Fun times.