THE best-laid plans - I am coming to realise that this is all you can ever have with children - plans.
Although, things never seem to go to plan, so maybe there isn't much point.
Take the past weekend.
This week, my boys were having their photos taken at daycare.
As I am sure many mothers have done, I realised their shaggy and long hair needed to be cut and tidied before a permanent record of their apparent lack of grooming was taken.
Having not had the best experience with my almost two-year-old Master T, I waited for Saturday and dragged hubby along too - for moral support and another set of hands.
Bribing the kids with promises of Freddo Frogs and milkshakes, we waited patiently for our turn.
Master T was up first.
He was completely fine - until the moment they began to put the cape on him.
He spun around and tried to climb my husband like a monkey up a tree and screeching like one too.
As we explained that he hadn't had a proper haircut for over a year, we decided to try the noiseless scissors.
Unfortunately it must not be the noise of clippers that Master T takes issue with. He clearly doesn't like anyone trying to touch his head at all.
After some unsuccessful, very tentative perseverance with the scissors, Hubby said to clip it quick.
Five minutes of screaming and squirming and big tears rolling down the eyes, we had a little boy with a shaved head.
We like to keep our boys' hair a little long. When we have clipped it in the past, we always used the longest length.
In the screaming and the haste of just trying to get something done, we never told the hairdresser.
So our boy with thick and long hair all of a sudden had very little and spiky hair.
I am fairly certain he had more hair when he was born.
Trying to cope with my overreaction and trying not to think about the pending photos, I took Master T for a walk to distract him while his brother had his hair cut.
Pleased that at least one would look the way we wanted, I made my way back to see how Master H was getting on.
It had only been a few minutes, but there was no sign of Master H or hubby.
Thinking they might have had to dash to the toilet, I checked with the hairdresser.
"No, they left," she said.
"I couldn't cut his hair because he has head lice."
Horrified might be an overreaction, but it is not an understatement of my feelings.
I wanted to crawl under a rock. I certainly wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could.
The rational part of me was telling myself that all kids get head lice. It was completely common. It was no reflection on me or my parenting.
Then I remembered the photos.
One skinhead and one as shaggy as an unkempt dog.
When we got home we began the process one did when there was head lice in the family.
Gross strong shampoo, combing and washing - lots of washing.
After going out to run a few more errands, I found hubby shaving Master H's hair.
Given how long it had been, it seemed the quickest and most effective way to try and get rid of the lice.
And at least the boys would both have tidy hair for their photos.
Even if they did look like angelic little cherubs yesterday, and like mini thugs today.
All I had wanted was for them to look nice for their photos at daycare.
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