Have you been here all night Lego guy? Did one of my sons dress you in your armor and helmet, leave you here to guard the black raspberry and vanilla hand soap? Did you get lost somewhere between the bathroom sink and the piles of right angles, bumps, and clicks? Thank you Lego guy for keeping me company during my morning routine and above all for making me smile.
With a small house, and an even smaller bathroom, it’s a wonder my husband can open up the bathroom “barber shop” every other week. I usually try to avoid this male bonding experience when I can, but sometimes it’s unavoidable as my husband (a.k.a the in-house master barber) often needs a helping hand whipping those little boys’ heads into shape.
Generally haircuts are an all out battle with our 2-year-old, but we’ve become crafty parents, masters at distraction (music, singing, even letting him hold the clippers and pretend to cut Elmo’s hair). And even with all those tricks up our sleeve, it really is an terrible task trying to get that squirmy little boy to sit still long enough for a gentle peeling of his hair. We don’t cut much, still, the theatrical event is an exercise in patience, collaboration, and sheer wit.
My oldest on the other hand, is an old pro at receiving a haircut, he’s been sitting for haircuts for years now. He sits with his action figures in hand and just let’s the clippers glide right over his head—easy. I’d like to think that he enjoys this bit of pampering–this pseudo barbershop boy bonding experience, but I’m never quite sure.
Anyway, the other day during barbershop hours I took a peek inside at what looked like a chaotic mess filled with high-pitched buzzing and dark curly clippings all over the floor. Standing there I decided my help was not needed in that already tight space so I got away while the gettin’ was good–left those boys to their own devices.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been back and forth to the optometrist in search of the right fit for my new gas permeable contact lenses (which I should add are super expensive). And in the 30 years I’ve worn contact lenses, I’ve only completely lost them a couple of times. I would like to think that’s a remarkable record. Well maybe not remarkable, but at least pretty good.
However, things surely change when you’re a parent. Yesterday, during my usual morning routine, I opened up my contact lens case and found nothing on the left side, nothing, not a trace of what was supposed to be my left lens. As I stood there puzzled, trying to remain calm, I knew there could only be one explanation.
And as my husband so kindly reminded me (not that I needed a reminder), when we put things in the reach of little fingers, they are bound to explore, lose, and destroy things. I guess that’s what I get for leaving them within reach. The culprit, or maybe I should say the suspect (innocent until proven guilty right?) will be two years old (as of tomorrow) and is super curious. How tempting is it to see the contact lens case just sitting on the sink? I imagine those busy brown fingers might know better, but it’s still just too tempting–playing, fumbling with things, turning the water on and off, that contact lens didn’t stand a chance.
Stepped in the bathroom this morning and saw something that didn’t quite fit between the potty and the towel.
Someone didn’t get the memo that basketballs don’t belong in the bathroom.