You know what you did
Perfecting the hairy eyeball, the mother stare, the parental glare-the EVIL EYE OF DOOM to cast upon your child is something that you must do and learn to do it without laughing. I perpetuate the notion that I can read their minds and I know everything that happens-even when I am not around is the best aid in parenting that I could use to wield a sense of right and wrong steering my child on the path of not completely sucking ass.
There is really only one thing that will completely make me freak out, punish and torment my kid.
Lying will not be tolerated. Under any circumstances for any reason what so ever. Never. It’s always bad and will incur my complete ugly wicked witch of the west plotting and scheming to make you miserable. I will get you my pretty and the little dog too.
Okay, not the dog. Dogs can’t lie. But YOU SIR are in deep shit.
Recently our son Spawn requested a hair cut. I have been cutting his hair since he was born and he has had maybe a handful of professional haircuts and the boy doesn’t really care either way. He is used to the unkempt curly messy look his naturally curly hair takes and doesn’t like his hair to be brushed and has recently taken an aversion to bathing as well so you can imagine-haircut or not-how terrific his hair looks. The other night in the kitchen using clippers I crafted a pretty rad looking haircut. Kinda punk rock with it longer in the front, shortish sides and trimmed back. He looked kind of skateboarder rad. I liked it. So did Spawn. Covered with hair he reluctantly takes a shower and then comes down and I admire my handy work once again.
“Hey, the front looks so much shorter, it doesn’t look like I cut it before.Huh?” I ruffle his hair back and forth looking for the hair I thought was there. I stare at him. I ask him why it looks shorter. Spawn says, “Its just wet.” I look at him, “Huh. Wet. Hey Honey-doesn’t his hair look shorter than before? ” I say to the husband who replies “Its just wet.” Huh, I think.
Fast forward to bedtime and we send spawn upstairs to brush his teeth and we hear a weird “hhhhnnnnnnnnnn” buzzing sound. Husband sprints up the stairs to see Spawn in the bathroom with the small beard trimming clippers who says quickly “Okayokayokay. I will put it away.” Husband reports his finding.
The plot thickens and gels together.
I call the boy downstairs. “Spawn,” I say with the hairy eyeball,” You get one chance to tell me the truth and I will know either way, Did you cut your hair before your shower with the beard trimmer?” I glare intently crouched down to his eye level.
Spawn looks at me then down at the floor and says singularly, “Yes.”
I explain I don’t care what his hair looks like but he can not lie to me. Ever. For any reason. Ever. You have to live with a dorky bowl cut bangs too short large forehead looming haircut but DO NOT LIE TO THE MAMA.
(bonk!) Court is adjourned.