Accidental Mohawk

Our boys wanted to get their hair cut into Mohawks last summer.

Really, it was the older one’s idea. When pressed, he said he wanted a Red Mohawk. So, we showed him some pictures..

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I don’t know why, but it turned out he wanted a Faux-hawk and the little one followed his lead.

Fair enough, you have to WANT, I mean REALLY, REALLY WANT to be noticed or have something to say to go for the real Mohawk. I should know, I had a Mohawk in High School.

I was the victim of an Accidental Mohawk.

Now, I didn’t fall into some electric buzzers, go to a menacing mean girls’ sleep-over, or have a lobotomy or anything exciting like that. This was the 80s and I was definitely a little out there – had frosted, permed hair ala Madonna in Borderline, complete with one side and underneath shaven for a nice asymmetrical look.

But what I also had was a nicotine-crazed Stepmother (now an ex-Stepmother) who had just quit smoking. And, who, incidentally, was cutting my hair. That was where the trouble came in…

My Stepmom started “trimming” my hair all around, then on the longer side.  She kept cutting shorter and shorter and shorter. My Dad walked by the room once or twice, rubbed his glasses, rolled his eyes, and walked away. My Stepmother furiously snipped and snipped and snipped. Any time, I said, “All good, I think that’s enough.” She held on tight to those clippers, like she would have her long-lost friend the cigarette, and then, she kept going.

She just couldn’t stop…

This is about what I ended up looking like:

As an adult who used to smoke, I completely and totally understand this now. She was just out of her head. When you first quit smoking you have jitters as if you’ve been plugged into the wall and someone has thrown water on you. On top of it you are completely stupid. Really. You are, it’s like your brain shuts off. Well, shuts off after drinking 5 pots of coffee in 5 minutes.

As a 15 year old about to start a new year of school, not so much with the understanding…

So there I was with my new ‘do. Complete with a tail covering that last piece of head where the two sides met in the middle of my Stepmother Scissorhands hairstyle. Honestly, it was really more Mullet than Mohawk. But, a Mohawk was much cooler and seemed intentional. I could pull it off, I thought. At least I was skinny and already didn’t fit in.

To top it off, I had to go home to my Mom’s house. Now, you try explaining that haircut to your Mom in Savannah, GA in 1985.

She could not believe it! Her eyes said “My daughter has a freakin’ Mohawk!!!!!” She called Dad and she cut that tail off. Well, right after Class Pictures, she cut that sucker off. Looking back, I think her leaving that mullet-like tail for photo day was my punishment.

I wish I had a picture here to show you, but, not surprisingly, I don’t.

Let’s say it was about like this, minus the stardom and hotness and plus the awkward 15 year-old girl.

I told Mom about the boys getting Mohawks last summer and I anticipated an upset reaction but she said nothing. Usually, if I don’t hear about it right away, I get word a few days later…

When I got the cal during the week, I was very surprised. She asked what kind of hair wax we used to keep the boys’ hair up. Her co-worker wanted to know for her kids.

Well, times certainly change.

Woke up early and started shopping for guns

I am really grumpy when I don’t get enough sleep. Everyone looks at me a little sideways around here wondering what random thing I’m going to make a big deal about. Uh-oh, Mom didn’t sleep well…don’t complain about the cold lumpy oatmeal or the over-salted eggs with shells in them. Just smile and be glad there is camp today.

It is true. I have to say that having kids at a later age has taught me why we are biologically supposed to have kids at a younger, much younger, age. It’s the freaking sleep. When I was in my twenties, I would stay up til 4am, regularly. I’d get up throughout the night, answer crisis calls (often involving guns), and then go back to sleep. In the morning, I’d go about my day as a Violence Prevention Counselor as if nothing had happened. Now, I’m up early and I’m the one shopping for guns.

Well, to be fair, they are just Nerf Guns.

We are throwing our kid a Nerf Gun party in a few weeks and I’m looking for the right weapons for our 7-year old and his friends.  Because we are a family who believes in fairness, equity, non-violence and peace, we will make sure each child is armed with the same 20-dart, rotating-barrel automatic Nerf machine-gun. Then we will set those little maniacs loose, with their guns, cheap sunglasses, and homemade vests, to open fire on each other, and, of course, us. It will be a blast.

And in the end, I just feel like such a proud Mama when I get to boast, “I’m throwing the perfect GUN party for my kid! His father and I couldn’t be happier that he’s taken to firearms!”

We start them young with hand guns: http://youtu.be/59LVcwR-bQs

So you want to taxidermy your dog? Me, too!

I’ve got this really old dog. I’ve had him since he was a pup and I was closer to being a pup myself. We’ve lived together longer than me and either of my parents, my siblings, my husbands or my kids. No wonder I’m going to have a hard time letting him go. He’s a pretty cool dog, as well, at least that’s what people say. “He’s the greatest dog ever!” I think the bar is a little low…my dog doesn’t jump on you, bite you, bark at you, or eat your children…thing is, he can’t do most of those things any more.  If he tried to jump on you, he’d fall over or if he ate your child he’d have an awful case of indigestion and we’d be up every night for a week with diarrhea and vomiting. I mean he’s always had a weak stomach and gets sick from table scraps or eating random dead things at the park. I can’t imagine what a kid would do to his digestive problems.

Anyway, my big guy turned 112 recently. That’s 16 in regular years, you know the formula, dog ages 7x faster than people. We made him some carrot pancakes with a dog bone candle and sang him Happy Birthday. My kid taped a happy birthday card to him. It was quite the celebration. In thinking about it,  I don’t know what’s more amazing, Moses being 112 or that everyone knows that dog age formula. Ask for the formula for relativity and we’d all start drooling…

So, my dog and I go on walks to take the kids to school. It’s me with the arm outstretched backwards slowly tugging the slow beast along. I think he really likes it. I can tell by the way he stops and looks up at me through cataract eyes and wiggles his skinny head out of his over-sized collar. It’s such a fun way to be late to school. The kids are up ahead on scooters, bicycles, tricycles, super-fast feet, and here I am pulling along my ancient dog sweetly asking his deaf ears to hurry up on those degenerated legs. Meanwhile, I’m yelling at the kids to wait up. It’s really a delightful way to start to the morning. We all get our needs met. Everyone is happy.

I’m glad I figured out how to make that all work. See, I’m doing it right.

Now, I just have to find a taxidermist.