Saturday night, after I put the kids to bed and informed them that wolves would eat them if they didn't go to sleep, I went downstairs to enjoy some quiet time. The peace was soon broken by the sound of Ethan screaming. Then, Ben called down to me "Mom! Ethan's got blood!" Damn it. I told those wolves to wait for my signal. Seriously, though, I ran upstairs and saw my little baby boy with blood covering the lower half of his face and both hands dripping with blood. It seems he was doing a little recreational furniture climbing and broke a fall with his face. This is not the first time it has happened. Last summer, Ethan gave himself a half dozen nose bleeds from similar activities. Just like those times before, once I cleaned him up and snuggled him, he calmed down and all was well. It's worth pointing out that he gave himself a bloody nose at daycare earlier in the week from running into a pole. He's going to end up looking like Owen Wilson if he keeps this up.
Sunday afternoon, I was outside with the boys when I decided that they both looked really shaggy and could stand to have their hair trimmed. I thought I'd give it a go, despite the fact that I have never, ever, ever given either of them a decent haircut. Ever. You know that Ben Franklin quote that goes, "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?" That totally doesn't apply here. Shut up.
I got out my hair cutting scissors and a comb and decided that Ben would be the first sacrifice upon the altar of really bad ideas. It was going fairly well right up until I snipped off a tiny chunk of his ear. He sat screaming as I ran to get some tissues and blood dripped onto his shirt and got in his hair and... oh, the humanity. I am such an ass. He stopped screaming once a bandage was applied but there was no way in hell he was going to let me near him with scissors. He didn't even want to go and let a professional finish the job I had started. I couldn't just leave him with a quarter of a haircut, so I found my clippers. Unfortunately, they were missing the adjustable guard. "Oh, well," I thought. "I'll just eyeball it," I thought. "Can't be that hard," I thought. Actually, I didn't think any of those things. I was just batshit crazy. As you can probably guess, I made the kid look ridiculous. If I had smeared some dirt on his face he could have been "Urchin #4" in a production of Les Miserables. I decided to head out and buy some brand new clippers to at least try to even things out. I told my mom my plan and her response was, "you're letting him out in public like that?!" Look, he's lucky he still has both ears, mom. Sheesh.
After purchasing the fantabulous new clippers with their various adjustable attachments and "self-sharpening" blades (how??), I finished the job while lamenting how short his hair is now and muttering that "your daddy's gonna kill me." Ben was a champ. Then, I turned my lunacy on Ethan. Ethan, who had beheld the entire spectacle from the beginning, was not going to put up with my crap. He screamed like a beast. He thrashed, he clawed, he fought, he wiggled, and he spat angry defiance at me. I bribed him with cookies, though, and got him to hold still long enough to give him a slightly longer and much more even-looking version of his brother's haircut.
Both boys have since informed me that they like their haircuts and that they still love me. Ben even told me, "I don't want daddy to kill you." I can't say that I would be as gracious and forgiving in their shoes. A good friend of mine has assured me, though, that I have definitely scarred Ben and that he'll probably fear scissors for the rest of his life. Just one more way I have made a mark on his delicate psyche.
The point I want to drive home is, I had nothing to do with Ethan's bloody nose. That's all on him.