Barber Shop.

Ethan is finally growing real hair and its only taken him two and a half years. His fluff has been pretty fashionably styled up till now. So I made my husband take him to his hair dresser for the very first hair cut and all went rather well ... no screaming, tantrums or other such fun things that seem ok in a two year olds world of acceptable behavior.

Now being the ever confident mother I am, I take him off to the barber in town to have his hair cut because he is starting to look like cousin it. We are no sooner inside the door and Ethan wants no part of this idea. I then wrangle him out of his coat and onto the plank of wood put across the arms of the chair. He is now in full swing of a tantrum and I am trying to be very polite to poor old Italian barber who has to try and make my son look like he got a hair cut while sitting still. My forward thinking of placing bribe items in each hand so as to distract from the man wielding scissors is not working and you guessed it, I dont have a back up plan. Its also probably the coldest day we have had this fall and I am sweating and so is the poor old barber. I am holding Ethan down, there is sweat covering my face and Ethan is covered in his hair which has fallen into his packet of chips and it stuck to his lollipop in the other hand ... what a wonderful site to behold.

I have said this before but after that experience I really mean it - if Ethan was my first born child, he would be an only child.