I’m not really sure what to write about this week. Things have happened, don’t get me wrong, but nothing seems interesting enough to keep your attention.
Baby appointments are definitely adding up. I failed the first glucose test, so I had to go back for the lovely three-hour version. Thankfully, everything turned out just fine.
We also got kittens! I’ve been needing a mama barn cat, so I stopped by my Aunt Julie’s last week. Apparently, my nesting instincts kicked in hard because I came home with more kittens than I probably needed. (Is there really such a thing as too many kittens? Don’t answer that dad.)
I’m also not enjoying this heat, and my girls are pretty mad at me for keeping them inside on ninety-degree days. I’m fairly certain I’ve watched Frozen at least seven times this week just to keep them from staging a full-blown mutiny. At this point, I know every word to “Let It Go,” and honestly… I’m considering taking Elsa’s advice.
But probably the craziest thing that happened this week was the haircut I gave my husband.
I messed up.
Like… “Oh, frick!” out loud kind of messed up.
I usually cut his hair because he wears ball caps and winter hats all the time, so you never really see it anyway. This time, though, for whatever reason, I wasn’t paying attention. I forgot to put the guard on the clippers, and with the very first pass... he was bald. Right down to the skin.
CUE THE PANIC!
I tried to even everything out as much as I could, but there was absolutely no hiding this disaster. I felt horrible. And my husband? He’s just way too sweet. Like, I seriously do not deserve this man kind of sweet.
He looked in the mirror and started laughing. “It’s no big deal, hun. Hair grows back.” Meanwhile, I was frantically trying to come up with believable stories he could tell people.
Blame the kids? Too mean. A freak shaving accident? Maybe. Had surgery and needed part of his head shaved? That would’ve required me to draw on a scar, and I’m not that committed to the bit.
Instead, he threw on his beanie and called it good. I, however, could not stop thinking about it for days. I was about ready to call Angie for an emergency rescue appointment, but he just shrugged it off and laughed about it with everyone at work.
Whenever residents asked why he was wearing a winter hat in the middle of July, he’d take his hat off and simply say, “My wife gave me a haircut.” Instant laughter. Every single time.
Well, this week he has a work class in Wahpeton, and we couldn’t exactly send him to a professional business class looking like he’d lost a fight with a lawn mower. Wearing a beanie all day probably wouldn’t make the best first impression.
So last night he asked me for a Peaky Blinders haircut. I panicked. “I’m going to make this worse, dude!” He just smiled and said, “You got this.”
This boy has way too much trust in me.
So I watched a couple of YouTube videos, took a deep breath, and gave it another shot. Thank goodness! It turned out so much better. Not perfect by any means, and I’m sure somebody will still ask where he got his five-dollar haircut. But at least now it looks intentional and I could finally breathe again.
Crisis averted. My confidence has been partially restored... although it’ll probably be a long, long time before I volunteer to cut his hair again. Or at the very least, I’ll make sure the guard is actually on the clippers first.
Thanks for putting up with me, hun! You’re an absolute trooper. Most husbands would have confiscated the clippers after that first haircut, but somehow you still trusted me enough to let me try again. I’m still not sure if that’s true love or just poor judgment.
I’m so proud of you for taking this workshop class. I know you’re going to learn a lot, meet some great people, and do amazing things. And if anyone asks about your haircut, just remember, you’ve got a built-in conversation starter.
Either way, I promise to stick to baking cookies for a while... and maybe leave the hair to the professionals. Love you!
