Sunday, January 31, 2010

The cost of sleeping in

I have a great husband I really do. He lets me sleep in on Saturday morning and makes me breakfast in bed EVERY day. But sometimes I am not sure about the cost of some of the things he does for me. Like most Saturday morning I can expect the cost for an extra 3 hours of sleep is a trashed family and play room. I can expect that my kitchen will not be spotless after he makes me breakfast. But all that is OK I can handle most of it.

Well I got a big surprise last Saturday morning when I came downstairs. As always my little man ran to mommy and jumped into my lap on the couch. I was hugging and loving on him when I noticed some hair on his shirt. With a little more investigation I found A LOT of hair on his shirt. I turned to my husband just in time to see all the color drain from his face when I asked "Where did this come from?"

Before he could answer we both jumped off the couch and were running to the playroom screaming "ANNABELLE TERESA COMEAUX!!"

As we rounded the corner into the kitchen she came running out of the play room with this happy look on here face that quickly turned to guilt. She was screaming "MOMMY MOMMY I am going to be a barber when I grow up!"

I instantly grabbed he head and started tugging at her hair to see if it had been cut. Thankfully she was smart enough not to cut her own hair. If she had I am truly not sure who I would have killed first. When we finally got into the playroom I discovered that not only did she cut Judges hair she got a hold of a baby doll and a boba toy. She had filled a toy plate with HAIR!!

So after I got done with my screaming fit I just had to ask her how she got Judge to set still! I have tried cutting his hair, his grandmother has tried and every time he is a PAIN!! So she explained to me that she held his hand and he sat still for her. She said she didn't want him to have UGLY hair so she decided that she would cut it for him!

I couldn't be as mad as I wanted because Dennis was standing there with this dumbfounded look on his face. This look that he gets when he knows I am not happy or he is in trouble. It is a hard look to explain. He calls it his "please don't beat me look!"

I don't know what I am going to do with these kids they are trying to give me a heart attack it seems.

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