It'll Grow Back- And Other Disasters

    It all started last night. Which I realize was Sunday, but it was all in preparation for Monday, so basically it began the Monday curse. 

    I have been cutting Mike's hair since we got married. At first it was pretty obvious that it was not professionally done, but my sister is a fabulous beautician and she taught me well. With time I have greatly improved. In fact, its pretty good if I do say so myself. And I do. I've NEVER really made a mistake. Notice the past tense.
  
    Mike works in PR (Public Relations), specifically Financial PR. Which is serious business. Bankers, investors etc. You know, the kind of people that don't mess around, which is good because they handle money. Well last night I was cleaning up his haircut so that it would look amazing since he had a new client meeting today. I carefully set out the clippers and each attachment that I would use. And wouldn't you know it I took three huge swipes across the top of his head before I noticed I was using the smallest attachment. There was no going back. 

    Of course I did what I had to to. I burst into tears. In all honesty, part of that was to cover the laughter that bubbled up when I realized what I had done and saw the panic in Mike's eyes. Why this was funny to me I have no idea. Can't explain it. I was also simultaneously embarrassed and really sad. Mike of course told me he had really been wanting a short cut and assured me that this was just fine. I have pretended to screw up before, and he never thought it was funny then. Nevertheless, my awesome husband looks amazing and was a great sport...I just hope he doesn't get in trouble. If he does, I have no reservations bursting into tears for any number of supervisors and explaining the situation. The situation being that Mondays are cursed. 

Hand over fist eater!

    Tonight we are going to meet to new friends for dinner. A friend of ours has family out here that invited us for dinner and FHE (I'll explain about this later, but it means family home evening). All we need to do is show up and bring dessert. That. Is. All.

    So I waited to get the kids dressed until 3:30PM. THREE THIRTY so that they couldn't possibly get that dirty before we leave. Right? Nope, they are a mess. While they were eating noodles for lunch, usually one of their cleaner meals, I was making cookies for dessert. Here is how that went down:

Finally dressed and ready...

    Emma starts gagging on a noodle. This is not unusual, she gags on everything, and inevitably it leads to throwing up. As I hear this the fire alarm goes off. The cookies have only been in for 5 of the 8-9 minutes called for but when I open the oven black smoke billows out. Now both kids are coughing, the alarm is piercing, and Emma starts to puke. I climb up on a chair to turn off the alarm and can't get the &%($% thing to stop. Now Beckett is crying, undoes his lapbelt and stands up in his chair. 

    It takes about 10 minutes to clear the smoke, wash away Emma's puke, save Beckett's life, and get the alarm off. Have I mentioned that I hate Monday?

MMMM. Yum Right?

    As I survey the messy kitchen, burnt cookies (despite turning the oven down to 275 the cookies burned again after 2 MIN, its like it got hotter), and dirty kids I groan inside. There are moments I want to stop time and enjoy these moments forever. There are other times, like Mondays, that I just wanna yell. 

    Well. I hope Mike doesn't get caught in traffic tonight. There is no time for another try at dessert so he is going to have to pick something up on his way. I really can cook. And my house is usually clean. And my kids are darling. Just not when people come to visit. Or invite us to dinner. Or skype with us. Oh well right? It's Mondays fault.