Friday is always FunDay.

There is something unbelievably sad and selfish that happens to a Mom when she witnesses one of those “growing up” moments. Or two, today…in my case. All we did was play at the park and then get Count Waffles a haircut. That’s all we did. Yet somehow, everything has changed.

Count Waffles did his usual thing at the new park here in Suburbia. He ran. And ran. And ran. Then he ran up to some kids and asked, “do you want to play with me?” and promptly ran away. How he will ever make friends this way is beyond me.

The usual playgroup crew was present, plus maybe a half dozen other non-school aged kids with their nannies (we were on the other side of town today…the one where both parents work). A little baby boy, about Princess Peanut’s age came crawling over to our little girl and sat. At 9-months they really just sit. So HRH and the boy basically just drooled and stared.

Then came trouble. A friend’s 12-month old. Who thought it would be fun to use the butt-heavy babies as bowling pins and plow through the two, knocking both the weebles on their sides.

From NOWHERE, Count Waffles raced over. Scolded the 12-month old with a very, very harsh, monster voice “That’s MY sister…no hurt MY sister.” And ran away.

I stood there, stunned. Baby still rolling on her back. Wondering who the hell that protective brother might be…and how the hell I could get him to manifest this alter ego more often.

Then came the haircut. Because, you know, Mom hasn’t had enough fun for one week. It’s standard practice around here that Count Waffles just NOT get haircuts. Trust me, it’s much easier this way. There are no tears. No screaming. No globs of hair stuck to a lollipop. But the hair, officially getting caught in his eyes, finally had to be dealt with.

We entered one of those kid salons and I put on my game face. You gotta have a game face for haircuts. I told you, it’s a blood sport.

Ready to pry fingers off chairs and strap him down if need be, I announced to the lady at the desk (poor, unsuspecting woman) that Count Waffles the Terrible had arrived.

“Ok, sweetie, we’re ready for you…come on back”
Game face. Game face.
“Ok, time to get my hair cut Mom. Good Bye.”
Good bye? Uh, wait…I’m going with….uh…good bye…umm…
Count Waffles marched to the Jeep haircut chair. Sat down. Played with a basket of toys while they clipped away.
I sat in a chair.
Feeling totally obsolete.


  1. I usually have to sing all the Lazytown songs and a couple Wiggles’ ones to get my Monkey Boy to sit remotely still. I figured now that we live near the Twin Cities, there must be a place that gears the scene to kids and doesn’t cost a fortune. Until, he’s rocking the mullet like no other 3 yr old I know.

  2. I have resisted the big-boy haircut experience by trimming bangs only…which looks very Dickensian, but allows my little one to retain that curly-locked, cherubic appearance…I dread the day I have to put a lock of hair in an envelope.

    Yours in the growing up struggle.

  3. My boy will sit still, but he’ll sit and bawl during the entire procedure. So I’ve resorted to using electric clippers on him at home. It’s too bad you can’t easily harness “super brother” (able to stick up for sister at a moment’s notice, willing to give noogies to unsuspecting bullies, ready to fight little sister’s fights when she’s out-manned)- just enjoy it when he does it. I got a large case of the no longed neededs, when I took my eldest to Girl Scouts. They start, and she’s practically shoving me out the door.

  4. Don’t you just wanna say “DAMMIT! Stop growing up! Stay my baby!”

  5. Aw, it means you are doing a good job as a mommy! All of it!

    “Then he ran up to some kids and asked, “do you want to play with me?” and promptly ran away” — playing hard to get always works, dontcha know?!?

  6. Those moments sure are bittersweet. But like running2ks said, it means that you’re doing a good job as a mommy 🙂

  7. Ain’t it just a tug-o-war at either being something so terribly joyous that you don’t have to battle the haircut, but at the same time terribly sad? I *hate* that struggle (am I deliriously happy about this? or so teary it hurts?)

  8. Bethany, you just said it…exactly.

  9. I think that’s that whole stupid bittersweet thing. I mean, yeah, I’m glad that they’re doing X behavior (or NOT doing X behavior, as the case may be) but MAN this is all happening a lot faster than I expected…

    I think, no matter how many kids you have, maybe the last one just shouldn’t grow up. You can get all excited about the big kids’ milestones, and then snuggle up with that milky smelling bundle with the fluff for hair and just rock… I guess that only works if you have more than one. Maybe that’s a bad plan.

  10. Thats the worst part about being a mum, watching them need you less and less..maybe thats why we look at them and see the babe we bought home from the hospital so easily? Because at that time they were totally dependant on us for EVERYTHING except breathing! It’s good to feel needed and it’s sad to watch that disappear bit by bit….

  11. I have a love-hate relationship with those moments. I love to watch them as they grow and learn new things…watching with amazement knowing that I created those little balls of perfection. On the other hand, I hate those moments because with each passing milestone, I’m losing my little babies.
    Being a mom is rough emotionally!

  12. i remember when my number one son got his first haircut. he was three years and three months to the day. his curls were the envy of any girl. he did not want to get a hircut, so his dad had to get one at the same time. out came the clippers. he sat like a little soldier while i BAWLED! I didnt just tear up, i had tears running down my face, ducky turned to me and said “it doesnt hurt mommy, its ok” which made me cry harder. on a good note, his dad was laughing at me so much that he turned his head at the wrong time and got a BIG gouge out of his hair that couldnt be covered up! muwahahahaha.

    i know that the first time he shaves his face i will cry the same as i did when he was just three, getting his first hair cut. i wonder if it would be weird to save the facial hair the way we did the first curls?!?

  13. Your haircut story is my haircut story. Robey refused haircuts for months. I put it off forever and ever until December just before Christmas pics, then talked it up and promised him the moon. He marched straight in sat completely still and never made a sound, just let the lady cut his hair – scissors, razor and all. I was shocked.

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